The channels are filled with uncouth shapes
That lurk below in the brine—
The force of fifty ships is there
In the sullen, sunken mine!
Tho' no orders come from the quarter-deck,
Hear the rip of the rapid-fire!
Full speed ahead, astern, or check,
At a spark from the semaphore wire!
And the ship she trembles from top to keel—
Tho' she rates twelve thousand tons!
And her scorched decks leap with a thundering throb
'Neath the roar of her twelve-inch guns!
Dented and tortured and pierced, she stands
The blows on her ringing plates;
Grimy and black she signals back
To the flags of her fighting mates.
Hear the grinding crash from her armored prow,
Hear the rattling Colts from the mast?
Young Steel Flanks of the living Now
Is Old Ironsides of the past!
Oh, then here's to the men, where'er they be—
The men of steel and steam!
They're the same old stock from the parent block—
When they welcomed the wind abeam.
Tho' one shot may equal a broadside's weight,
One blow may decide the fight,
They serve their guns, they aim them straight,
And the Flag will be kept in sight!
The old captains bold—cocked hats and gold—
Were made for their country's hour,
And the Soul of the Ship proclaims the mold
Of the Mind in the conning tower!
*******
Let us sing the song of Wind and Sail—
Brave deeds of the captains bold!
Never a name but was known to fame,
And was praised, in the days of old.
Let us sing the song of the armored ship,
With the ramming, roaring bow!
For the flag is the same, the men are the same—
'Tis the song of Then and Now!
THE TORPEDO BOAT.
She's a floating boiler crammed with fire and steam,
A toy, with dainty works like any watch;
A working, weaving basketful of tricks—
Eccentric, cam and lever, cog and notch.
She's a dashing, lashing, tumbling shell of steel,
A headstrong, kicking, nervous, plunging beast—
A long, lean ocean-liner—trimmed down small;
A bucking bronco harnessed for the East.
She can rear and toss and roll
Your body from your soul,
And she's most unpleasant wet—to say the least!
But see her slip in; sneaking down, at night,
All a tremble, deadly, silent—Satan-sly.
Watch her gather for the rush, and catch her breath!
See her dodge the wakeful cruiser's sweeping eye.
Hear the humming! Hear her coming! coming fast!
(That's the sound might make men wish they were at home
—Hear the rattling Maxim, barking rapid fire!)
See her loom out through the fog with bows afoam!
Then some will wish for land—
(They'd be sand fleas in the sand;
Or yellow grubs reposing in the loam!)
She's a floating boiler crammed with fire and steam,
A dainty toy, with works just like a watch;
A weaving, working basketful of tricks—
A pent volcano and stoppered at top notch.
She is Death and swift Destruction in a case
(Not the Unseen, but the Awful—plain in sight).
The Dread that must be halted when afar;
She's a concentrated, fragile form of Might!
She's a daring vicious thing
With a rending deadly sting—
And she asks no odds nor quarter in the fight!
