|
|
A. Lincoln
New Year's Address of the New York HeraldHow swiftly roll the years away, Like waves along the shore! "Twas Sixty-Three but yesterday, And now 'tis Sixty-Four. And while again the Newman sings The year's auspicious dawn, We hail the promises it brings, Upon it's broad and shining wings From the grand old year that's gone. This very day, twelve months ago, Came forth the Proclamation, To some three-million Southern slaves, Of their emancipation. And "Father Abraham" now declares, With pride and exultation, That it has opened wide the gates Of Freedom, in the Southern States, Insuring our salvation. Last New Year, resting from the shock Of a disastrous fight, Our grand Potomac army lay In a melancholy plight. While all around the Vicksburg hills, And far along the shore, The rebel great guns, looking down, Barr'd our approaches to the town, And shut up every door. It was, too, last New Year's morn, Magruder with his fleet Of steamboats, clad with cotton bales, And all his plans complete, Pounc'd on our ships at Galveston, While sleeping, I'm afraid; For, otherwise, the daring Turk Could not have done the bloody work Of that foolhardy raid. Again, 'twas on last New Year's night, Driven back and held at bay, Rosecrans reformed his broken lines, For yet another day. 'Twas well. He turned the battle's tide, Snatch'd victory from defeat-- Bragg, driven to the right about, Barely escaped a final rout, In his forlorn retreat. And here commenced our victories Of the glorious year gone by--- Glorious, from the auspicious signs Of the crowning triumph nigh. Vain were the task here to recount The feats our boys have done, On every field--on every wave, Link'd with some story of the brave, And names immortal won. How at the Post of Arkansas, An ugly rebel den, The whole concern was "gobbled up," With full five thousand men; Here Hindman, Price and Holmes & CO., Were found chastised and quelled, Within Missouri's borders, and In Arkansas, till scarce a band Remains to be expelled. How, down in Louisiana's swamps, And fields of corn and cane; And lakes and bayous, General Banks-- In a dashing Spring campaign-- Routed the rebels, hip and thigh, And with but little slaughter, Successfully, on every hand, Clearing their "graybacks" from the land Their gunboats from the water; How, on the hills of Gettysburg, Lee's bold and grand array, One hundred thousand strong, were met, And how they lost the day; How less than sixty-thousand men, Straggling through mud and rain, That bleeding, shattered host retired; How from that day its hopes expired Never to rise again. And we might tell how this event, Throughout the mighty North, Crowned the rejoicings of the day We call "the Glorious Fourth;" And how Grant and his army had Their celebration, too, With thirty-thousand rebel troops, Defiling by in solemn groups, As in their last review. How Vicksburg fell into our hands, On "Independence Day," Army, forts, batteries, magazines, In all a grand display; How next--Port Hudson caving in, "Old Massassip" was free To the East and the great West again, While the rebel States were cut to twain From Memphis to the sea. Of all these things, we might for hours, Like an old time minstrel sing, Had we the task assigned us, and An ancient listening king; And tell how Thomas saved our cause, At Chickamauga, and How, from wild Chattanooga's heights, The great North wakes to new delights, Which thrill throughout the land. How Longstreet up at Knoxville found, Burnside had found a home (**) How Hooker fought above the clouds On Lookout's lofty dome;-- How Sherman stormed a beetling cliff, Celebrating at the sight-- (**) How Mission Ridge was next convulsed;-- How Bragg was utterly repulsed And routed left and right. And we might sing the gallant deeds Done by our bold Jack Tars,-- Those generous, daring, fearless boys Of Neptune and of Mars-- On Mississippi's ample flood, Red River and Yazoo;-- And how they made the rebel's break, From many a troubled inland lake, And jungle-bound bayou. And how along the Atlantic line Bold Jack has cleared the coast; How Sumter's walls have ceased to be The Charleston rebels boast. But of these themes and many more, Worthy the poet's song, The HERALD files the facts impart, And every needful map and chart, And so we pass along. Old Abe says "Johnny Bull's a trump, Look at those rebels rams!" Jeff Davis says "John Bull's a cheat, Look at his tricks and shams. That Southern independence now Depends on Southern arms; That Louis Napoleon's fighting shy, That "he refuses--can't tell why--" To take us to his arms. King Jeff, in fact gives up his case With many tears and groans, Is there no spot reserved, where he May rest his broken bones? Hemm'd in--how can he now escape The terrors of the law? Let Welle's look sharp, or the knowing blade May slip the Wilmington blockade And turn up in Nassau. Jeff's cause is lost--the end draws nigh Our armies pressing on, Will still contract their tightening lines, Till his last chance is gone. How restoration is to come, In truth we cannot tell. We trust that wise and wholesome rules, Will cut out fanatics and fools, And all will yet be well. Napoleon's scheme in Mexico-- How goes it? What's the chance? Well, the Frenchman plays his fiddle, but His Dutchman does not dance. For he knows the Mexicans at best Are a slippery, dangerous crew, And that the Yankees may come down And kick out Dutchman, throne and crown, And the jolly Frenchman too. Napoleon in this thing, you see, At length is fighting shy; Because, much nearer home, he finds He has other fish to fry. Good. Let him pass. Now what about Great Heenan and Tom King? We can't do justice to the case, We leave it in its proper place, In the records of "the Ring." What of the Russian ball? Hi--Hi! It was a grand affair. The beaux were fine, the belles divine, And all the world was there. But what would Barnum call it? Well, A humbug if you please; Like the Dickens ball--"long time ago," Or that grand Aldermanic show Of the astonish'd Japanese. What of the year's elections? Good! The Copperheads are dish'd. How's Congress? Guess it's pretty much As "Father Abram" wished. What of our new Lord Mayor--run in Contrary to all rule? They say that Mozart chuckled, while Old Tammany smiled a ghastly smile-- Good-bye to Brudder Boole. How's gold? To buy it or to sell, You run some little risk. And "greenbacks?" Plentiful and cheap. How's trade? Brisk--very brisk. And how about our taxes? Well, We are gaining on John Bull. Shall we be call'd to drain his cup? Can't say. How's cotton? Cotton's up, And shoddy, pork and wool. Fun, fashion, folly, and finery reign, In the midst of blood and crimes. 'Tis strange that this most frightful war Should bring such jolly times. We hope the day of peace draws nigh, That when we next appear The season's compliments to pay, The States, from Maine to Texas may Join in the glad New Year.
|
A Love Letter Civil War Poetry A Horse Soldier 6th Iowa Cavalry Fun Stuff Links Contact |
JAC - 2003