er song of victory, giving the details of the battle, ending in the triumphant victory of Sumter's volleyed lightning, and closing with an apostrophe to his native city:
O glorious Empress of the main, from out thy storied spires Thou well mayst peal thy bells of joy and light thy festal fires,— Since Heaven this day hath striven for thee, hath nerved thy dauntless sons, And thou in clear-eyed faith hast seen God's angels near the guns.
This victory was short-lived, however, for on 27 August, by a land attack, Fort Sumter was reduced to a shapeless mass of ruin, though the city itself stood unshaken.
As the fate of the city became more and more uncertain, William Gilmore Simms, now in his old age, did all in his power to rouse the Spirit of the inhabitants.
In a series of poems, Do Ye Quail?
The Angel of the Church, and Our city by the sea, he presents in passionate words the claims of the historic city upon its inhabitants.
Especially vivid is his plea for St. Michael's