Page:Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War.djvu/86

78 A baleful brand, a hurrying torch

Whereby anew the boats are seen—

A burning transport all alurch!

Breathless we gaze; yet still we glean

Glimpses of beauty as we eager lean.

The effulgence takes an amber glow

Which bathes the hill-side villas far;

Affrighted ladies mark the show

Painting the pale magnolia—

The fair, false, Circe light of cruel War.

The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one.

Shoreward in yawls the sailors fly.

But the gauntlet now is nearly run,

The spleenful forts by fits reply,

And the burning boat dies down in morning's sky.

All out of range. Adieu, Messieurs!

Jeers, as it speeds, our parting gun.

So burst we through their barriers

And menaces every one:

So Porter proves himself a brave man's son.&#91;7&#93;