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" Ten thousand thanks!» the gouty man replied ;
"Indeed,” replied the stranger (looking grave,)
“Then he's a double knave :
Of these domestic foes,
Even beneath your very nose,
And --walk off-thus ?--
Nor waited for replies,
But marched off with his prize,
THE BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS.-Gco. H. Buker.
Then groan'd the ponderous engines,
Then tlounder'd the whirling screw, And, as ship join'd ship, the comrades
Their lines of battle drev.
A blur of lurid light,
Was flash'd into the night:-
May follow the attack,
No vessel must turn back."
It was hard, when we heard that order,
To smother a rising shout;
And we burn’d to give it out.
Brave Bailey moved ahead ;
To the starboard station led.
To port her head inclined ;
Bell's squadron closed behind.
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.
Then Porter burst out from his mortars,
In jets of fiery spray,
Where his leaf-clad vessels lay.
The bomb-shells arch'd on high,
Dropp'd swiftly from the sky-
A plague of iron death,
With their pulls of sulphurous breath.
As the great globes rose and fell,
As the open gates of hell.
And the battery on the right,
Out into the murky night.
By the bold Itasca's crew,
The shells and the grape-shot flew.
Till abeam St. Philip bore ;
In his broadsides' steady roar!
Had ranged to Fort Jackson's side : What a sight! he slow'd his engines
Till he barely stemm’d the tide.
Of case-shot and shell and ball,
And he lay there, wood to wall!
Who have seen a field-tight won,
Hurl:d out from a ten-inch gun ?
I tell you, the air is nigh solid
With the howling iron flight;
Where the Ilartford lay that night.
With his restless eyes aglow, Sat Farragut, shouting his orders
To the men who fought below. And the fort's huge faces of granite
Were splinter' and rent in twain, And the masses seemed slowly melting,
Like snow in a torrid lain.
Now quicker and quicker we fired,
Till between 11s and the foe
Was leaping to and fro;
Was boiling with flame and smoke,
And the brick into powder broke. So thick fell the clouds o'er the river,
You could barilly see your hand, When we ļieard from the foremast rigging,
Old Farragut's sharp command : (Full head! Steam across to St. Philip!
Starboard battery, mind your aim ! Forecastle, there, shift your pivots! Now
Give them a taste of the same !"
St. Philip grew faint in replying,
Its voice of thunder was drown'd. “But, ha! what is this? Back the engines !
Back, back! The ship is aground !"
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.
Ring on her armor of chain,
Taking and giving again.
We could hear the low growl of Craven,
And Lowry's voice, clear and calm,
As clean as your open palm.
Out burst from the smoky fogs
The ship of bold Charley Boggs.
The blood of his glorious race,
Once more in a living face.
Rams, gunboats-it matter'd not;
Was a target for his shot.
Lay tive of the foe; but he,
When along daslı'd gallant Lee.