The donkey stole the lion's skin and brayed,
And Farragut our Cyclop's fortune made.
Where are the trophies of our Yankee brave?
The lecherous order, and poor Mumford's grave;
Ship Island's tortures, Mrs. Phillips' cell,
For mercy's reign the cruelty of hell;
A Shylock brother—a Prætorian band—
A starving city and a plundered land:
These are his triumphs—Fisher was his shame,—
Oh! triumph worse than is the coward's name.
"I'll blow Fort Fisher 'mong the region kites!"[See picture 11]
Oh, glorious thought! but ere the fort ignites,
Our Cyclop's sailed away infirm of will,
And saucy Fisher flash'd defiance still.
"Far better I were hermetically seal'd,
Than homeward borne upon a bloody shield."
Picture 12."But hold, enough; no further we'll pursue
The modern Haynau. "Bottled" Chief, adieu."
[Page 27].
"Fort Fisher be my epitaph!" 'Tis meet,
For long ago it gave thy winding sheet.
But hold, enough; no further we'll pursue[See picture 12]
The modern Haynau. "Bottled" Chief, adieu.
Haply my country's freedom still remains,
And with the night have passed oppression's chains:
Oh, may the storms which settle o'er our land
Be gently lifted by th' all-saving Hand;
The dove return; fraternal discord cease,[See picture 10]
And millions join the Jubilee of Peace!
