Above the forts, above the drift
Of wrecks which strife had made;
And Farragut sailed up to the town
And anchored—sheathed the blade.
The moody broadsides, brooding deep,
Hold the lewd mob at bay,
While o’er the armed decks’ solemn aisles
The meek church-pennons play;
By shotted guns the sailors stand,
With foreheads bound or bare;