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.— 9 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 won'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.