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112
THE FUNERAL OF THE MAINE.
Out of the harbor she sought long ago,
Harbor that welcomed, but served not to save,
Under the clouds, bending piteous and low,
Crept the great ship to her grave.
Not from the battle's tumultuous breath,
Not from the glory of victory's morn:—
But from her travail of flame and of death,
Lo! a republic was born.
Harbor that welcomed, but served not to save,
Under the clouds, bending piteous and low,
Crept the great ship to her grave.
Not from the battle's tumultuous breath,
Not from the glory of victory's morn:—
But from her travail of flame and of death,
Lo! a republic was born.
Not in the arms of this Queen of the Wrecks,
Lingered the dust of her far-famous dead:
Forests of palms hailed the flag on her decks—
Roses above her were spread.
Long had she waited her funeral-day,
Lying in rough state mid sunlight or gloom:
Now the world's plaudits each step of the way
Followed her path to the tomb.
Lingered the dust of her far-famous dead:
Forests of palms hailed the flag on her decks—
Roses above her were spread.
113
Lying in rough state mid sunlight or gloom:
Now the world's plaudits each step of the way
Followed her path to the tomb.
Full sixty fathoms we buried her low,
'Neath the rough sea and the ne'er-changing skies:
Far from molesting of friend or of foe,
Heedless of tempests she lies.
Lies in the arms of the ocean-waves pressed,
With the wet sea-roses over her spread,
While, with the love of a nation caressed,
Arlington cares for her dead.
'Neath the rough sea and the ne'er-changing skies:
Far from molesting of friend or of foe,
Heedless of tempests she lies.
Lies in the arms of the ocean-waves pressed,
With the wet sea-roses over her spread,
While, with the love of a nation caressed,
Arlington cares for her dead.
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