From the stanch hearts and stout
Of the Yankees there went out:
But to rout
The British lion then
Were maddest folly, when
One to ten
Their gallant allies lay,
Scant of powder, day by day
In the bay.
Chafing thus, impatient, sore,
One day along the shore
Slowly bore
A clipper schooner, worn
And rough and forlorn,
With its torn
Sails fluttering in the air:
The British sailors stare
At her there,
So cool and unafraid.
"What! she's running the blockade,
The jade!"
They all at once roar out,
Then—"Damn the Yankee lout!"
They shout.
Athwart her bows red hot
They send a challenge shot;
But not
An inch to right or left she veers,
Straight on and on she steers,
Nor hears