But ah! destruction now blazes its fiery links,
And even victory sinks
Its heavy weight beneath.
O frightful tragedy! A furnace is the sea,—
The triumph ours,—the flames have reached the enemy:
He burns, he dies in smoke, beneath the struggle rude
The Northern heroes sink, with weariness oppressed,
And ask a moment’s rest,
As if they were subdued.
And whence that threatening cloud that hangs upon their head?