Poems for the Sea/Our Ships

by Lydia Sigourney

OUR SHIPS.

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The ships from young Columbia's shore,
   As fleet they are and free,
As those from haughtier realms, that boast
   Dominion o'er the sea.
As gallantly their banners float,
   As keen their lightning's fly,
And braver hearts than there are found
   Beat not beneath the sky.

White as the glancing sea-bird's wing
   Their swelling sails expand,
Beside the bright Egean isles,
   Or green Formosa's strand,
Or where the sparse Norwegian pine
   A sudden summer shares,
Or Terra del Fuego's torch
   Amid the tempest glares.

Unmoved, their trackless course they hold
   Though vengeful Boreas roars,
And make their port on stranger coasts
   Or undiscovered shores,
Rude people of a foreign speech,
   Have learned their cheering cry,
"Land-ho! Aloft!" and "Bear-a-hand!"
   With the ready tar's reply.

From zone to zone,—from pole to pole,
   Where'er in swift career
The venturous keel a path explores,
   Our Yankee sailors steer.

The white bear, on his field of ice
   Hath seen their signals tossed,
And the great whale,—old Ocean's king,
   Doth know them to his cost.

The spices from the Indian isles,
   The plant of China's care,
The cane's sweet blood from tropic climes
   Their merchant-vessels bear,
Wherever Commerce points his wand,
   They mount the crested waves,
And link together every sea
   The rolling globe that laves.

Still nearest to the Antarctic gale
   Our daring seamen press,
Where storm-wrapped Nature thought to dwell
   In hermit-loneliness;
"Whose masts are these, so white with frost,
   Where fearful icebergs shine?"
My country from her watch-tower looked
   And answered,—"They are mine!"

Columbia's ships!—With dauntless prow
   The tossing deep they tread;
The pirates of the Libyan sands
   Have felt their prowess dread;
And the British lion's lordly mane
   Their victor might confessed,
For well their nation's faith and pride
   They guard on Ocean's breast.

When strong Oppression fiercely frowns,
   Her eagle rears its crest,
And means no bird of air shall pluck
   His pinions, or his breast;
And brightest on the threatening cloud
   Gleam out her stars of gold;
Huzza! for young Columbia's ships—
   And for her seamen bold!

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