 | War-lyrics and other poems |  |
DOWN!
(April, 1865.)
Yard-arm to yard-arm we lie
Alongside the Ship of Hell—
And still through the sulphury sky
The terrible clang goes high,
Broadside and battle cry,
And the pirates' maddened yell!
Alongside the Ship of Hell—
And still through the sulphury sky
The terrible clang goes high,
Broadside and battle cry,
And the pirates' maddened yell!
Our Captain's cold on the deck,
Our brave Lieutenant's a wreck—
He lies in the hold there, hearing
The storm of fight going on overhead,
Tramp and thunder to wake the dead!
The great guns jumping overhead,
And the whole ship's company cheering!
Our brave Lieutenant's a wreck—
He lies in the hold there, hearing
The storm of fight going on overhead,
Tramp and thunder to wake the dead!
The great guns jumping overhead,
And the whole ship's company cheering!
48
Four hours the Death-Fight has roared,
(Gun-deck and berth-deck blood-wet!)
Her mainmast's gone by the board,
Down come topsail and jib!
We're smashing her, rib by rib,
And the pirate yells grow weak—
But the Black Flag flies there yet,
The Death's Head grinning a-peak!
(Gun-deck and berth-deck blood-wet!)
Her mainmast's gone by the board,
Down come topsail and jib!
We're smashing her, rib by rib,
And the pirate yells grow weak—
But the Black Flag flies there yet,
The Death's Head grinning a-peak!
Long has she haunted the seas,
Terror of sun and breeze!
Her deck has echoed with groans,
Her hold is a horrid den
Piled to the orlop with bones
Of starved and of murdered men—
They swarm 'mid her shrouds in hosts,
The smoke is murky with ghosts!
Terror of sun and breeze!
Her deck has echoed with groans,
Her hold is a horrid den
Piled to the orlop with bones
Of starved and of murdered men—
They swarm 'mid her shrouds in hosts,
The smoke is murky with ghosts!
But to-day, her cruise shall be short—
She's bound to the Port she cleared from,
She's nearing the Light she steered from—
Ah, the Horror sees her fate!
Heeling heavy to port,
She strikes, but all too late!
Down, with her curséd crew,
Down, with her damnéd freight,
To the bottom of the Blue,
Ten thousand fathom deep!
With God's glad sun o'erhead—
That is the way to weep,
So will we mourn our dead!
She's bound to the Port she cleared from,
She's nearing the Light she steered from—
Ah, the Horror sees her fate!
Heeling heavy to port,
She strikes, but all too late!
Down, with her curséd crew,
Down, with her damnéd freight,
To the bottom of the Blue,
Ten thousand fathom deep!
With God's glad sun o'erhead—
That is the way to weep,
So will we mourn our dead!
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