Part 9 (1/2)

An India s.h.i.+p of fame was she, Spices and shawls and fans she bore; A whaler when the wrinkles came-- Turned off! till, spent and poor, Her bones were sold (escheat)!

Ah! Stone Fleet.

Four were erst patrician keels (Names attest what families be), The _Kensington,_ and _Richmond_ too, _Leonidas,_ and _Lee_: But now they have their seat With the Old Stone Fleet.

To scuttle them--a pirate deed-- Sack them, and dismast; They sunk so slow, they died so hard, But gurgling dropped at last.

Their ghosts in gales repeat _Woe's us, Stone Fleet!_

And all for naught. The waters pa.s.s-- Currents will have their way; Nature is n.o.body's ally; 'tis well; The harbor is bettered--will stay.

A failure, and complete, Was your Old Stone Fleet.

THE TEMERAIRE

_Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac_

The gloomy hulls in armor grim, Like clouds o'er moors have met, And prove that oak, and iron, and man Are tough in fibre yet.

But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields No front of old display; The garniture, emblazonment, And heraldry all decay.

Towering afar in parting light, The fleets like Albion's forelands s.h.i.+ne-- The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show Of s.h.i.+ps-of-the-Line.

The fighting _Temeraire,_ Built of a thousand trees, Lunging out her lightnings, And beetling o'er the seas-- O s.h.i.+p, how brave and fair, That fought so oft and well,

On open decks you manned the gun Armorial.

What cheerings did you share, Impulsive in the van, When down upon leagued France and Spain We English ran-- The freshet at your bowsprit Like the foam upon the can.

Bickering, your colors Licked up the Spanish air, You flapped with flames of battle-flags-- Your challenge, _Temeraire!_ The rear ones of our fleet They yearned to share your place, Still vying with the Victory Throughout that earnest race-- The Victory, whose Admiral, With orders n.o.bly won, Shone in the globe of the battle glow-- The angel in that sun.

Parallel in story, Lo, the stately pair, As late in grapple ranging, The foe between them there-- When four great hulls lay tiered, And the fiery tempest cleared, And your prizes twain appeared, _Temeraire!_

But Trafalgar is over now, The quarter-deck undone; The carved and castled navies fire Their evening-gun.

O, t.i.tan _Temeraire,_ Your stern-lights fade away; Your bulwarks to the years must yield, And heart-of-oak decay.

A pigmy steam-tug tows you, Gigantic, to the sh.o.r.e-- Dismantled of your guns and spars, And sweeping wings of war.

The rivets clinch the iron clads, Men learn a deadlier lore; But Fame has nailed your battle-flags-- Your ghost it sails before: O, the navies old and oaken, O, the _Temeraire_ no more!

A UTILITARIAN VIEW OF THE _MONITOR'S_ FIGHT

Plain be the phrase, yet apt the verse, More ponderous than nimble; For since grimed War here laid aside His Orient pomp, 'twould ill befit Overmuch to ply The rhyme's barbaric cymbal.

Hail to victory without the gaud Of glory; zeal that needs no fans Of banners; plain mechanic power Plied cogently in War now placed-- Where War belongs-- Among the trades and artisans.

Yet this was battle, and intense-- Beyond the strife of fleets heroic; Deadlier, closer, calm 'mid storm; No pa.s.sion; all went on by crank, Pivot, and screw, And calculations of caloric.

Needless to dwell; the story's known.

The ringing of those plates on plates Still ringeth round the world-- The clangor of that blacksmiths' fray.