Two months have passed since Jackson died in the woods And they brought his body back to the Richmond State House To lie there, heaped with flowers, while the bells tolled, Two months of feints and waiting. And now, at length, The South goes north again in the second raid, In the last cast for fortune. A two-edged chance And yet a chance that may burnish a failing star; For now, on the wide expanse of the Western board, Strong pieces that fought for the South have been swept away Or penned up in hollow Vicksburg. One cool Spring night Porter’s ironclads run the shore-batteries Through a velvet stabbed with hot flashes. Grant lands his men, Drives the relieving force of Johnston away And sits at last in front of the hollow town Like a huge brown bear on its haunches, terribly waiting. His guns begin to peck at the pillared porches, The sleepy, sun-spattered streets. His siege has begun.