The stronghold crowns a river-bluff...

The stronghold crowns a river-bluff,

A good broad mile of leveled top;

Inland the ground rolls off

Deep-gorged, and rocky, and broken up —

A wilderness of trees and brush.

The spaded summit shows the roods

Of fixed intrenchments in their hush;

Breast-works and rifle-pits in woods

Perplex the base.—

The welcome weather

Is clear and mild;‘ tis much like May.

The ancient boughs that lace together

Along the stream, and hang far forth,

Strange with green mistletoe, betray

A dreamy contrast to the North.

Our troops are full of spirits — say

The siege wo n't prove a creeping one.

They purpose not the lingering stay

Of old beleaguerers; not that way;

But, full of vim from Western prairies won,

They'll make, ere long, a dash at Donelson.

Washed by the storm till the paper grew

Every shade of a streaky blue,

That bulletin stood. The next day brought

A second.