And on that dolorous strand,
To greet the victor brave,
One flag did welcome wave—
Raised, ah me! by a wretched hand,
All outworn on our cruel land,—
The withered hand of a slave!
But all along the levee,
In a dark and drenching rain
(By this 'twas pouring heavy),
Stood a fierce and sullen train,
A strange and frenzied time!
There were scowling rage and pain,
Curses, howls, and hisses,
Out of Hate's black abysses,—
Their courage and their crime
All in vain—all in vain!
For from the hour that the Rebel Stream
With the Crescent City lying abeam,
Shuddered under our keel,
Smit to the heart with self-struck sting,
Slavery died in her scorpion-ring
And Murder fell on his steel.
'Tis well to do and dare;
But ever may grateful prayer
Follow, as aye it ought,
When the good fight is fought,
When the true deed is done.
Aloft in heaven's pure light
(Deep azure crossed on white),
[Our fair Church pennant waves]
O'er a thousand thankful braves,
Bareheaded in God's bright sun.
Lord of mercy and frown,
Ruling o'er sea and shore,
Send us such scene once more!
All in line of battle
When the black ships bear down
On tyrant fort and town,
'Mid cannon cloud and rattle;
And the great guns once more
Thunder back the roar
Of the traitor walls ashore,
And the traitor flags come down.
Henry Howard Brownell.
THE BALLAD OF NEW ORLEANS
[April 24, 1862]
Just as the hour was darkest,
Just between night and day,
From the flag-ship shone the signal,
"Get the squadrons under way."
Not a sound but the tramp of sailors,
And the wheeling capstan's creak,
Arose from the busy vessels
As the anchors came apeak.