"Ten thousand thanks!" the gouty man replied; Such kind attentions from a stranger! He knows, too, (the unconscionable elf,) He knows that rogues and thieves by scores Even beneath your very nose, Blow out your candles-thus-and thus- And-walk off-thus "-- So said, so done; he made no more remark, But marched off with his prize, THE BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS.-Geo. H. Boker. JUST as the hour was darkest, Just between night and day, From the flag-ship shone the signal, Not a sound but the tramp of sailors, As the anchors came apeak. The men work'd on in silence, With never a shout or cheer, Till 'twas whisper'd from bow to quarter, Then groan'd the ponderous engines, The moon through the fog was casting As the captain's latest order Was flash'd into the night : "Steam on! and, whatever fortune Sink with your bows all northward: It was hard, when we heard that order, All wrapp'd in the foggy darkness, Next Farragut's stately flag-ship Ah! many a prayer was murmur'd For the homes we ne'er might see; And the silence and night grew dreadful With the thought of what must be. For many a tall, stout fellow Who stood at his quarters then, In the damp and dismal moonlight, Never saw the sun again. Close down by the yellow river, In their oozy graves they rot; Strange vines and strange flowers grow o'er them, But short was our time of musing; That the whole great fleet was moving, M* Then Porter burst out from his mortars, As if a volcano had open'd Where his leaf-clad vessels lay. Howling, and screeching, and whizzing, Dropp'd down on the low, doom'd fortress Shattering earth and granite to atoms The whole air quaked and shudder'd Fort Jackson and Fort St. Philip, By this time were flashing and thundering Through the hulks and the cables, sunder'd By the bold Itasca's crew, Went Bailey in silence, though round him No answer he made to their welcome, Meanwhile, the old man in the Hartford Yes, paused in that deadly tornado Have you any notion, you landsmen, I tell you, the air is nigh solid Perch'd aloft in the forward rigging, And the fort's huge faces of granite Now quicker and quicker we fired, While the fort, like a mighty cauldron, And the stone flew aloft in fragments, And the brick into powder broke. So thick fell the clouds o'er the river, "Full head! Steam across to St. Philip! St. Philip grew faint in replying, "But, ha! what is this? Back the engines! Back, back! The ship is aground !” And down the swift current came sweeping At once the good Hartford was blazing, "We are lost!" “No, no; we are moving !" Away whirl'd the crackling raft. The fire was soon quench'd. One last broadside We gave to the surly fort; For above us the rebel gunboats Were wheeling like devils at sport. And into our vacant station Had glided a bulky form: 'Twas Craven's stout Brooklyn, demanding Her share of the furious storm. We could hear the shot of St. Philip And the crash of her answering broadsides We could hear the low growl of Craven, Then, ranging close under our quarter, He waved his blue cap as he passed us; Of Lawrence the hero, was burning Right and left flash'd his heavy broadsides; Was a target for his shot. All burning and sinking around him The victor, seem'd doom'd with the vanquish'd, And he took up the bloody conflict, And glimmer'd from shore to shore. But while powder would burn in a cannon, Boggs pounded away with his pivots |