All, all, must hide their fading light,
In the radiant glow of the handkerchief fight;
And a paean of joy must thrill the land,
When they hear of the deeds of Banks’s band.
’Twas on a levee, where the tide of “Father Mississippi” flows,
Our gallant lads, their country’s pride,
Won this great victory o’er her foes,
Four hundred rebels were to leave
That morning for Secessia’s shades,
When down there came (you’d scarce believe)