THE “CUMBERLAND.”
By H. W. LONGFELLOW.
Then far away to the south uprose A little feather of snow-white smoke, And we knew that the iron ship of our foes Was steadily steering its course To try the force Of our ribs of oak.
Down upon us heavily runs, Silent and sullen, the floating fort, Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, And leaps the terrible death, With fiery breath, From each open port.
We are not idle but send her straight Defiance back in a full broadside! As hail rebounds from a roof of slate Rebounds our heavier hail From each iron scale Of the monster’s hide.
“Strike your flag!” the rebel cries, In his arrogant old plantation strain. “Never!” our gallant Morris replies; “It is better to sink than to yield!” And the whole air pealed With the cheers of our men.