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Over the ground that morning lost

Rolled the blue billows, tempest-tossed,

Following a hat on the point of a sword.

Spite shell and round-shot, grape and canister,

Up they climbed without rail or banister—

Up the steep hill-sides long and broad,

Driving the rebel deep within his works.

'Tis nightfall; not an enemy lurks

In sight. The chafing men

Fret for more fight:

"To-night, to-night let us take the Den"

But night is treacherous, Grant is wary;

Of brave blood be a little chary.

Patience! the Fort is good as won;

To-morrow, and into Donelson.

LATER AND LAST.

THE FORT IS OURS.

A flag came out at early morn

Bringing surrender. From their towers

Floats out the banner late their scorn.

In Dover, hut and house are full

Of rebels dead or dying.

The national flag is flying

From the crammed court-house pinnacle.