THE MISSISSIPPI.
237
Sudden flashed the words of triumph, lightningborne from town to town,
"Haughty Vicksburg has surrendered! we have torn their colors down!"
And again, in clearest echo, ere the clamorous joy was still,
"We are masters of Port Hudson, and the River sail at will!"
So from Traitor's grasp forever was the Mississippi won;—
Praise the Lord, O shouting People! round the world the glad news run!
········
By the wave or in the woodland slumber still, O Boatmen bold!
Seaward down, through loyal levels, rolls the River as of old!
Rolls the River, swift, resistless, scorning bounds and forts and foes,
Undivided from the Passes to Itasca's lone repose.
Hark! a murmur of thanksgiving! all its waves in music flow,—
Ransomed banks lean o'er to listen,—joyous winds harmonious blow!
On its breast in grander plenty through the ages yet unborn,
Still shall float the teeming harvests,—fairest cotton, golden corn;
"Haughty Vicksburg has surrendered! we have torn their colors down!"
And again, in clearest echo, ere the clamorous joy was still,
"We are masters of Port Hudson, and the River sail at will!"
So from Traitor's grasp forever was the Mississippi won;—
Praise the Lord, O shouting People! round the world the glad news run!
········
By the wave or in the woodland slumber still, O Boatmen bold!
Seaward down, through loyal levels, rolls the River as of old!
Rolls the River, swift, resistless, scorning bounds and forts and foes,
Undivided from the Passes to Itasca's lone repose.
Hark! a murmur of thanksgiving! all its waves in music flow,—
Ransomed banks lean o'er to listen,—joyous winds harmonious blow!
On its breast in grander plenty through the ages yet unborn,
Still shall float the teeming harvests,—fairest cotton, golden corn;
