Here Alfred, the Truth-Teller, Suddenly closed his book, And lifted his blue eyes, With doubt and strange surmise Depicted in their look.
And Othere, the old sea-captain, Stared at him wild and weird, Then smiled till his shining teeth Gleamed white from underneath His tawny, quivering beard.
And to the King of the Saxons, In witness of the truth, Raising his noble head, He stretched his brown hand, and said, ‘Behold this walrus-tooth!’
Longfellow.
[XCI]
THE CUMBERLAND
At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, On board of the Cumberland, sloop of war; And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past, Or a bugle blast From the camp on the shore.
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.