GONE at last, | |
| That brave old hero of the Past! | |
| His spirit has a second birth, | |
| An unknown, grander life;— | |
| All of him that was earth | 5 |
| Lies mute and cold, | |
| Like a wrinkled sheath and old | |
| Thrown off forever from the shimmering blade | |
| That has good entrance made | |
| Upon some distant, glorious strife. | 10 |
| |
| From another generation, | |
| A simpler age, to ours Old Ironsides came; | |
| The morn and noontide of the nation | |
| Alike he knew, nor yet outlived his fame,— | |
| O, not outlived his fame! | 15 |
| The dauntless men whose service guards our shore | |
| Lengthen still their glory-roll | |
| With his name to lead the scroll, | |
| As a flagship at her fore | |
| Carries the Union, with its azure and the stars, | 20 |
| Symbol of times that are no more | |
| And the old heroic wars. | |
| |
| He was the one | |
| Whom Death had spared alone | |
| Of all the captains of that lusty age, | 25 |
| Who sought the foeman where he lay. | |
| On sea or sheltering bay, | |
| Nor till the prize was theirs repressed their rage. | |
| They are gone,—all gone: | |
| They rest with glory and the undying Powers; | 30 |
| Only their name and fame and what they saved are ours! | |
| |
| It was fifty years ago, | |
| Upon the Gallic Sea, | |
| He bore the banner of the free, | |
| And fought the fight whereof our children know. | 35 |
| The deathful, desperate fight!— | |
| Under the fair moon’s light | |
| The frigate squared, and yawed to left and right. | |
| Every broadside swept to death a score! | |
| Roundly played her guns and well, till their fiery ensigns fell, | 40 |
| Neither foe replying more. | |
| |
| All in silence, when the night-breeze cleared the air, | |
| Old Ironsides rested there, | |
| Locked in between the twain, and drenched with blood. | |
| Then homeward, like an eagle with her prey! | 45 |
| O, it was a gallant fray, | |
| That fight in Biscay Bay! | |
| Fearless the Captain stood, in his youthful hardihood; | |
| He was the boldest or them all, | |
| Our brave old Admiral! | 50 |
| |
| And still our heroes bleed, | |
| Taught by that golden deed. | |
| Whether of iron or of oak | |
| The ships we marshal at our country’s need, | |
| Still speak their cannon now as then they spoke; | 55 |
| Still floats our unstruck banner from the mast | |
| As in the stormy Past. | |
| |
| Lay him in the ground: | |
| Let him rest where the ancient river rolls; | |
| Let him sleep beneath the shadow and the sound | 60 |
| Of the bell whose proclamation, as it tolls, | |
| Is of Freedom and the gift our father’s gave, | |
| Lay him gently down: | |
| The clamor of the town | |
| Will not break the slumbers deep, the beautiful ripe sleep | 65 |
| Of this lion of the wave, | |
| Will not trouble the old Admiral in his grave. | |
| |
| Earth to earth his dust is laid. | |
| Methinks his stately shade | |
| On the shadow of a great ship leaves the shore; | 70 |
| Over cloudless western seas | |
| Seeks the far Hesperides, | |
| The islands of the blest, | |
| Where no turbulent billows roar,— | |
| Where is rest. | 75 |
| His ghost upon the shadowy quarter stands | |
| Nearing the deathless lands. | |
| There all his martial mates, renewed and strong, | |
| Await his coming long. | |
| I see the happy Heroes rise | 80 |
| With gratulation in their eyes: | |
| “Welcome, old comrade,” Lawrence cries; | |
| “Ah, Stewart, tell us of the wars! | |
| Who win the glory and the scars? | |
| How floats the skyey flag,—how many stars? | 85 |
| Still speak they of Decatur’s name, | |
| Of Bainbridge’s and Perry’s fame? | |
| Of me, who earliest came? | |
| Make ready, all: | |
| Room for the Admiral! | 90 |
| Come, Stewart, tell us of the wars!” | |
| |
