Not too long the brave shall wait:
On their own heads be their fate,
Who against the hallowed State
Dare begin;
Flag defied and compact riven!
In the record of high Heaven
How shall Southern men be shriven
For the sin!
Edmund Clarence Stedman.
THE BATTLE OF MORRIS' ISLAND
A CHEERFUL TRAGEDY
[April 12, 1861]
I
The morn was cloudy and dark and gray,
When the first Columbiad blazed away,
Showing that there was the d—l to pay
With the braves on Morris' Island;
They fired their cannon again and again,
Hoping that Major Anderson's men
Would answer back, but 'twas all in vain
At first, on Morris' Island:
Hokee pokee, winkee wum,
Shattering shot and thundering bomb,
Fiddle and fife and rattling drum,
At the battle of Morris' Island!
II
At length, as rose the morning sun,
Fort Sumter fired a single gun,
Which made the chivalry want to run
Away from Morris' Island;
But they had made so much of a boast
Of their fancy batteries on the coast,
That each felt bound to stick to his post
Down there on Morris' Island.
III
Then there was firing in hot haste;
The chivalry stripped them to the waist,
And, brave as lions, they sternly faced
—Their grog, on Morris' Island!
The spirit of Seventy-six raged high,
The cannons roared and the men grew dry—
'Twas marvellous like the Fourth of July,
That fight on Morris' Island.
IV
All day they fought, till the night came down;
It rained; the fellows were tired and blown,
And they wished they were safely back to town,
Away from Morris' Island.
One can't expect the bravest men
To shoot their cannons off in the rain,
So all grew peaceful and still again,
At the works on Morris' Island.
V
But after the heroes all had slept,
To his gun each warrior swiftly leapt,
Brisk, as the numerous fleas that crept
In the sand on Morris' Island;
And all that day they fired their shot,
Heated in furnaces, piping hot,
Hoping to send Fort Sumter to pot
And glory to Morris' Island.