Down came the corvette on our weather;
Then thundered our broadsides together.
Thus thus we fought all day;
And when the sun set and evening spread
Across the East her mantle gray,
Under our lee she lay,
Her decks a mass of dead.
Yet at her splintered foremast head
Her ensign laughed,
Lifting and flapping in the draft,
Scorning our shot to bring it down.
Our Captain eyed it with a frown
To hide his admiration—
Hero himself, he heroes knew,
Tho' children of a hated nation.
Then to his weary blood-stained crew

He cried:—
"To your guns once more
And let our broadside roar!"
Then hot and close we plied
Her with shot that tore
Her fore and aft;
Yet still that crimson banner laughed—
Yet still her broken, bleeding men
Gave back our cheers again.
We would have spared them then;
As with fierce and flashing eyes,
With eyes aflame with pride,
We looked upon a foe
Who for twelve hot hours defied
A vessel twice her size.
But Fate thrust in a bloody fist
And gave our hearts a devilish twist.
A random shot that hit our rail
Came from her foremost gun,
And flying in the splinter hail
Struck down the one
Whose voice had shaped and cheered the fray

Thro' all that mad and murderous day.
He fell; and for a space we stood
As though our smoke-grimed forms had turned to wood,
The victims of some deadly spell.
Silence—save for the feverish groans of they
Who, writhing, dying lay—
Was over all; then suddenly there burst a yell
That would have shocked and staggered hell!
Ah! you who sit with me to-night
And talk of war, of might and right;
Had you been there to see that fight,
When, reeling down upon the wreck,
We boarded, leaping on her deck,
And mad with slaughter—mad and blind
With blood of ours, aye, your own kind.
We shot and cut, we slew
The remnant of that dauntless crew;
And when our pikes had struck the last
Tore down that ensign from the mast.
Had you been there, I say, to see

That horror—but, enough for me
To tell, we shuddered at the sight
When in the chill that follows fight
We gazed upon that slaughter pen
And knew those things as fellow-men.
With feverish haste we cleared the deck,
Then fired the slowly sinking wreck,
And cutting loose stood off astern,
And watched her spar and topsides burn
Till suddenly a blinding flash;
A roar. Silence. Here—there—a splash
And all was o'er. We filled our yard,
Though leaking much and laboring hard
Stood up for port, and made at last
The harbor's light. But ho! avast
With tales like this; they breed a thirst—
Another glass—my throat is curs'd
With fire. Here's to the gallant tar
Who talks of peace, yet longs for war;
Who lives to see his ship again
Dispute the glory of the main,
And man for man, and gun for gun,

Meet such another dauntless one.
A FOGGY MORNING.
Seaward driving, like a shriving
Gray monk cloaked in gray,
Thro' the crowded ship-enshrouded,
Buoy-bound reaches of the bay;
Misty moving phantoms proving
Vessels creeping slowly past.
Hark! the droning fog-horn moaning
From the steamer looming vast;
Bell-buoy telling when the swelling
Swell of ocean rocks its boat
Where the ledge's granite edges
Threaten ships that overfloat;
Canvas dripping, dew streams slipping
Down the black and swollen gear;
Helmsman peering at the steering
Compass thro' a watery blear;
Topsails dimming in the swimming

Vapor sea that floats o'erhead,
And the singing seaman swinging
Constantly the pilot lead;
Sun uprising with surprising
Mystic glory haunts the shroud,
Red and rolling thro' the shoaling
Eastward verges of the cloud;
Spars uplifting on the shifting
Billows of the fading mist
Seem suspended on extended
Rippling ropes of amethyst;
Day-star bursting, hotly thirsting,
Drains the fog with fervid lips;
Sunlight flashing shows us dashing

Past the port, the town, the ships.