ves glancing down with their numberless
eyes.
See, the darkness below the red dottings is twinkling with many a spark!
Sergeant Teague thinks them souls of the rebels red fleeing from ours in
the dark;
But the light shocks of sound tell the tale, they are battle's fierce
fireworks at play!
It is slaughter's wild carnival revel bequeathed to the night by the day.

Dawn breaks, the sky clears--ha! the shape upon Lookout's tall crest that
we see,
Is the bright beaming flag of the 'White Star,' the beautiful Flag of the
Free!
How it waves its rich folds in the zenith, and looks in the dawn's open
eye,
With its starred breast of pearl and of crimson, as if with heaven's colors
to vie!
'Hurrah!' rolls from Moccasin Point, and 'Hurrah!' from bold Cameron's
Hill!
'Hurrah!' peals from glad Chattanooga! bliss seems every bosom to fill!

Thanks, thanks, O ye heroes of Lookout! O brave Union boys! during Time
Shall stand this, your column of glory, shall shine this, your triumph
sublime!
To the deep mountain den of the panther the hunter climbed, drove him to
bay,
Then fought the fierce foe till he turned and fled, bleeding and gnashing,
away!
Fled away from the scene where so late broke his growls and he shot down
his glare,
As he paced to and fro, for the hunter his wild craggy cavern to dare!

Thanks, thanks, O ye heroes of Lookout! ye girded your souls to the fight,
Drew the sword, dropped the scabbard, and went in the full conscious
strength of your might!
Now climbing o'er rock and o'er tree mound, up, up, by the hemlock ye
swung!
Now plunging through thicket and swamp, on the edge of the hollow ye hung!
One hand grasped the musket, the other clutched ladder of root and of
bough:
The trunk the tornado had shivered, the landmark pale glimmering now,
And now the mad torrent's white lightning;--no drum tapped, no bugle
was blown--
To the words that encouraged each other, and quick breaths, ye toiled up
alone!
Oh, long as the mountains shall rise o'er the waters of bright Tennessee,
Shall be told the proud deeds of the 'White Star,' the cloud-treading host
of the free!
The camp-fire shall blaze to the chorus, the picket-post peal it on high,
How was fought the fierce battle of Lookout--how won THE GRAND FIGHT OF
THE SKY!

ONE NIGHT.

I.

From the window at which I write, in these November days, I see a muddy,
swollen river, spread over the meadow