Each minor object that obstructs its way—
Down on the verdant carpet that has spread
Beneath its branches in the summer heat,
Behold it lying like a warrior stern,
Who, having grappled in the deadly fray,
Has sank amid his fellows in his pride—
But not to die, tho’ robbed of all its green,
Still shall it in the lofty steeple live,
Or in the battle-ship, whose thunder speaks
The voice of freedom on her ocean way.