61. on the victories Gained by the Ninth regiment of New-Jersey Volunteers, at Roanoke and Newbern, N. C.
Composed in German by A. Loewe. Translated by L. F. Kampmann.
As the angry storm-clouds crashingO'er the dark horizon go,
Pealing thunder, lightning flashing,
So we marched against the foe.
We behold the grave-like passes,
Isle of Roanoke, so drear!
But we heed not thy morasses,
Nor thy blazing batt'ries fear.
Each his polished weapon aiming,
Toward the battery we drew,
Jersey rifles fast proclaiming
That they carry far and true.
This th' affrighted rebels seeing,
Leave their ground with panic dread;
‘Fore the men of Jersey fleeing,
Who those deadly bullets sped.
Driving them from each position,
Like the wild hunt, on we go,
Till they yield without condition:
Thus we overcame the foe.
In the west the sun sinks glorious,
And our work is fully wrought;
Roanoke sees us victorious,
Quicker than we erst had thought.
Bolder grew the fearless bearing
Of our Burnside from that day;
“Up!” he cries, “ye men of daring!
Up! once more unto the fray!”
Passed our three weeks resting-season,
We to Newbern turn our prow;
Once again to conquer treason:
Fortune fair, attend us now!
Eighteen miles from Newbern City
We step bravely on the land;
Well supplied with balls (oh! pity!)--
And the rifle in our hand.
Dark, umbrageous forests greet us,
Like the doors of gloomy night;
There they stand, as 'twere to meet us,
Ready for the coming fight.
Though the subtle rebel foemen
Lurk therein like tigers sly,
Yet they soon shall learn to know men
Who can make them turn and fly.
Ha! there barricades are rising,
But behind them stands no foe;
This good omen us advising,
They already backward go.
Shouts of joy the woods awaken;
Lo! a powerful battery,
By the enemy forsaken--
Does he now before us flee?
To the work ourselves addressing,
Forward still our march is bent;
Through the gloomy forest pressing,
Sternly on the fight intent.
See! the skies are fillled with sadness,
Curtained thick with murky clouds;
And the sun the wonted gladness
Of his shining face enshrouds.
Pours the rain; in streams of sorrow
Heaven deplores the coming fray,
Weeps for those who shall to-morrow
Be the king of terrors' prey.
Night, her careful robe outspreading,
Doth at last the earth enclose;
Halt we then — no rebel dreading--
Great and small may now repose.
Soon the cheerful camp-fires, glowing,
Light the dingy forest round,
O'er the heavens a bright glare throwing,
Whilst our loud “hurrahs” resound.
[60] Stacked in pyramidal beauty,
Flashing rifles stand for walls:
“On the morrow do your duty,
Hit, that every rebel falls!”
Morning comes at length — a morning
That to many is their last;
Shadowy mists, of death forewarning,
Spectre-like come sweeping past.
Strikes the hour that leads to action;
Strikes, the hero's heart to try:
“Forward! 'gainst the rebel faction;
Forward now, to win or die!”
Hark! loud roars the cannon's thunder;
On we go with hearts elate:
Jersey rifles never blunder;
Jersey men can meet their fate.
“Jersey men have come to fight you:
Know ye the Ninth regiment,
That at Roanoke did fright you?
That is now upon your scent.”
“Never quailing at your forces,
Onward! is their battle-cry;
They shall all be turned to corses,
Ere a man of them will fly.”
Then the glittering rifles shower
Leaden hail on rebel hordes;
‘Fore those sacks of blue they cower--
“Rebel, fear'st thou mud-sill lords?”
Four long hours we fought; the flying
Rebels then gave o'er the strife;
Each poor fellow inly sighing:
“Jersey bullet, spare my life!”
Blood and corpses tell the story
Of the Ninth's heroic might.
Brave and firm it stood: “let glory
Wreathe its brows with laurel bright!”
Jersey Ninth, so great and glorious,
Raise on high thy flag unstained;
Write upon it, twice victorious,
Roanoke and Newbern gained!1
