ing still up, it has plunged in the mantle o'erhead,
We hear the low hum of the volley, we see the fierce bomb-burst of red;
Still the rock in the forehead of Lookout through the rents of the windy
mist shows
The horrible flag of the Crossbar, the counterfeit rag of our foes:
Portentous it looks through the vapor, then melts to the eye, but it tells
That the rebels still cling to their stronghold, and hope for the moment
dispels.
But the roll of the thunder seems louder, flame angrier smites on the eye,
The scene from the fog is laid open--a battle field fought in the sky!
Eye to eye, hand to hand, all are struggling;--ha, traitors! ha, rebels,
ye know
Now the might in the arm of our heroes! dare ye bide their roused terrible
blow?
They drive them, our braves drive the rebels! they flee, and our heroes
pursue!
We scale rock and trunk--from their breastworks they run! oh, the joy of
the view!

Hurrah, how they drive them! hurrah, how they drive the fierce rebels
along!
One more cheer, still another! each lip seems as ready to burst into song.
On, on, ye bold blue-coated heroes! thrust, strike, pour your shots in
amain!
Banners fly, columns rush, seen and lost in the quick, fitful gauzes of
rain.
Oh, boys, how your young blood is streaming! but falter not, drive them
to rout!
From barricade, breastwork, and riflepit, how the scourged rebels pour out!
We see the swift plunge of the caisson within the dim background of haze,
With the shreds of platoons inward scudding, and fainter their batteries
blaze;
As the mist curtain falls all is blank; as it lifts, a wild picture out
glares,
A wild shifting picture of battle, and dread our warm hopefulness shares;
But never the braves of the 'White Star' have sullied their fame in defeat,
And they will not to-day see the triumph pass by them the foeman to greet!

No, no, for the battle is ending; the ranks on the slope of the crest
Are the true Union blue, and our banners alone catch the gleams of the
west,
Though the Crossbar still flies from the summit, we roll out our cheering
of pride!
Not in vain, O ye heroes of Lookout! O brave Union boys! have ye died!
One brief struggle more sees the banner, that blot on the sky, brushed
away,
When the broad moon now basking upon us shall yield her rich lustre to-day:
She brings out the black hulk of Lookout, its outlines traced sharp in
the skies,
All alive with the camps of our bra