V.
Yet the hailing bolts fell faster,
From scores of flame-clad ships,
And about us, denser, darker,
Grew the conflict's wild eclipse,
Till a solid cloud closed o'er us,
Like a type of doom, and ire,
Whence shot a thousand quivering tongues
Of forked and vengeful fire.
VI.
But the unseen hands of angels
Those death-shafts turned aside,
And the dove of heavenly mercy
Ruled o'er the battle tide;
In the houses ceased the wailing,
And through the war-scarred marts
The people trode with the step of hope,
To the music in their hearts.
Columbia, S.C., August 6, 1862.
A Ballad of the War.
Published Originally in the Southern Field and Fireside,
By George Herbert Sass, of Charleston, S.C.
Watchman, what of the night?
Through the city's darkening street,
Silent and slow, the guardsmen go
On their long and lonely beat.
Darkly, drearily down,
Falleth the wintry rain;
And the cold, gray mist hath the roof-tops kissed,
As it glides o'er town and plain.