or months, I say, had the rebels, with the eyes of their cannon, looked
down
From the high-crested forehead of Lookout, from the Mission's long sinuous
crown
Till GRANT, our invincible hero, the winner of every fight!
Who joys in the strife, like the eagle that drinks from the storm delight!
Marshalled his war-worn legions, and, pointing to them the foe,
Kindled their hearts with the tidings that now should be stricken the blow,
The rebel to sweep from old Lookout, that cloud-post dizzily high,
Whence the taunt of his cannon and banner had affronted so long the sky.

Brave THOMAS the foeman had brushed from his summit the nearest, and now
The balm of the midnight's quiet soothed Nature's agonized brow:
A midnight of murkiest darkness, and Lookout's dark undefined mass
Heaved grandly a frown on the welkin, a barricade nothing might pass.
Its breast was sprinkled with sparkles, its crest was dotted in gold,
Telling the camps of the rebels secure as they deemed in their hold.
Where glimmered the creek of the Lookout, it seemed the black dome of the
night
Had dropped all its stars in the valley, it glittered so over with light:
There were voices and clashings of weapons, and drum beat and bugle and
tramp,
Quick flittings athwart the broad watchfires that spotted the grays of the
camp:
Dark columns would glimmer and vanish, a rider flit by like a ghost;
There was movement all over the valley, the movement and din of a host.

'Twas the legion so famed of the 'White Star,' and led on by GEARY the
brave,
That was chosen to gather the laurel or find on the mountain a grave.
They crossed the dim creek of the Lookout, and toiled up the sable ascent,
Till the atoms black crawling and struggling in the dense upper darkness
were blent.
Mists, fitful in rain, came at daydawn, they spread in one mantle the
skies,
And we that were posted below stood and watched with our hearts in our
eyes;
We watched as the mists broke and joined, the quick flits and the blanks of
the fray;
There was thunder, but not of the clouds; there was lightning, but redder
in ray;
Oh, warm rose our hopes to the 'White Star,' oh, wild went our pleadings
to heaven;
We knew, and we shuddered to know it, how fierce oft the rebels had
striven;
We saw, and we shuddered to see it, the rebel flag still in the air;
Shall our boys be hurled back? God of Battles! oh, bring not such bitter
despair!

But the battle is roll