'Twas the proud Sir Peter Parker who saw with the climbing noon Ruin and wreck on each blood-stained deck that day in the wane of June,-- The shivered spar and the shattered beam and the torn and toppling mast And the grimy gunners wounded sore, and the seamen falling fast; But from the stubborn fort ashore no sight of a single sign That the rebel sires and sons had quailed before his ships-of-the-line. 'Twas the proud Sir Peter Parker who saw the fall of the flag From the fortress wall; then rang his call:--_They have lost their rebel rag!_ And the fifty guns of the Bristol flamed, and the volumed thunder rolled; _'Tis now_, the haughty Admiral cried, _we'll drive them out of their hold_! But little he knew, and his British crew, how small was their vaunted power, For lo, to the rampart's crest there leaped the dauntless man of the hour! 'Twas the proud Sir Peter Parker who saw with a wild amaze This hero spring from the fortress height 'mid the hail and the fiery haze; Under the wall he strode, each step with the deadliest danger fraught, And up from the sand with a triumph hand the splintered staff he caught. Then, still unscathed by the iron rain, he clambered the parapet, And 'mid the burst of his comrades' cheers the flag on the bastion set. 'Twas the proud Sir Peter Parker who slunk through the night to sea, With his shattered ships-of-line a-port and his ships-of-line a-lee; Above there was wreck, and below was wreck, and the sense of loss and woe, For the sneered-at rebel sires and sons had proved them a direful foe; But War's dark blight on the land lay light, and they hailed with a joyful smile The stars of victory burning bright over Sullivan's sandy isle. CLINTON SCOLLARD. The British fleet remained in the neighborhood for three weeks to refit and then sailed away to New York to coöperate with Howe. Charleston was saved and for two years the Southern States were free from the invader. A NEW WAR SONG BY SIR PETER PARKER My lords, with your leave, An account I will give, Which deserves to be written in metre; How the rebels and I Have been pretty nigh, Faith, 'twas almost too nigh for Sir Peter! De'il take 'em! their shot Came so swift and so hot, And the cowardly dogs stood so stiff, sirs, That I put ship about And was glad to get out, Or they would not have left me a skiff, sirs. With much labor and toil Unto Sullivan's Isle, I came, swift as Falstaff, or Pistol; But the Yankees, od rat 'em-- I could not get at 'em, They so terribly maul'd my poor Bristol. Behold, Clinton, by land, Did quietly stand, While I made a thundering clatter; But the channel was deep, So he only could peep, And not venture over the water.