Or, when against her dusky hull We struck a fair, full blow, The mighty, solid iron globes Were crumbled up like snow.
On, on, with fast increasing speed, The silent monster came; Though all our starboard battery Was one long line of flame.
She heeded not, nor gun she fired, Straight on our bow she bore; Through riving plank and crashing frame Her furious way she tore.
Alas! our beautiful, keen bow, That in the fiercest blast So gently folded back the seas, They hardly felt we passed!
Alas! Alas! My Cumberland, That ne’er knew grief before, To be so gored, to feel so deep The tusk of that sea-boar!
Once more she backward drew a space, Once more our side she rent; Then, in the wantonness of hate, Her broadside through us sent.
The dead and dying round us lay, But our foeman lay abeam; Her open portholes maddened us; We fired with shout and scream.
We felt our vessel settling fast, We knew our time was brief; “The pumps, the pumps!” But they who pumped And fought not, wept with grief.
“Oh, keep us but an hour afloat! Oh, give us only time To be the instruments of heaven Against the traitors’ crime!”
From captain down to powder-boy, No hand was idle then; Two soldiers, but by chance aboard, Fought on like sailor-men.