No More Learning

looking down the Bay,
There flaunted the Rebel Rag--
The Ram is again under way,
And heading dead for the Flag!

Steering up with the stream,
Boldly his course, he lay,
Though the fleet all answered his fire,
And, as he still drew nigher,
Ever on bow and beam
Our Monitors pounded away--
How the Chickasaw hammered away!

Quickly breasting the wave,
Eager the prize to win,
First of us all the brave
Monongahela went in
Under full head of steam--
Twice she struck him abeam,
Till her stem was a sorry work,
(She might have run on a crag! )
The Lackawanna hit fair,
He flung her aside like cork,
And still he held for the Flag.

High in the mizzen shroud
(Lest the smoke his sight o'erwhelm),
Our Admiral's voice rang loud,
"Hard-a-starboard your helm!
Starboard! and run him down! "
Starboard it was--and so,
Like a black squall's lifting frown,
Our mighty bow bore down
On the iron beak of the Foe.

We stood on the deck together,
Men that had looked on death
In battle and stormy weather--
Yet a little we held our breath,
When, with the hush of death,
The great ships drew together.

Our Captain strode to the bow,
Drayton, courtly and wise,
Kindly cynic, and wise,
(You hardly had known him now,--
The flame of fight in his eyes! )
His brave heart eager to feel
How the oak would tell on the steel!

But, as the space grew short,
A little he seemed to shun us,
Out peered a form grim and lanky,
And a voice yelled: "Hard-a-port!
Hard-a-port! --here's the damned Yankee
Coming right down on us! "

He sheered, but the ships ran foul;
With a gnarring shudder and growl--
He gave us a deadly gun;
But as he passed in his pride,
(Rasping right alongside!
)
The Old Flag, in thunder tones,
Poured in her port broadside,
Rattling his iron hide,
And cracking his timber bones!

Just then, at speed on the Foe,
With her bow all weathered and brown,
The great Lackawanna came down,
Full tilt, for another blow;
We were forging ahead,
She reversed--but, for all our pains,
Rammed the old Hartford instead,
Just for'ard the mizzen-chains!

Ah! how the masts did buckle and bend,
And the stout hull ring and reel,
As she took us right on end!
(Vain were engine and wheel,
She was under full steam)--
With the roar of a thunder-stroke
Her two thousand tons of oak
Brought up on us, right abeam!

A wreck, as it looked, we lay--
(Rib and plankshear gave way
To the stroke of that giant wedge! )
Here, after all, we go--
The old ship is gone! --ah, no,
But cut to the water's edge.

Never mind then--at him again!
His flurry now can't last long;
He'll never again see land--
Try that on _him_, Marchand!
On him again, brave Strong!

Heading square at the hulk,
Full on his beam we bore;
But the spine of the huge Sea-Hog
Lay on the tide like a log,
He vomited flame no more.

By this he had found it hot--
Half the fleet, in an angry ring,
Closed round the hideous Thing,
Hammering with solid shot,

And bearing down, bow on bow--
He had but a minute to choose;
Life or renown? --which now
Will the Rebel Admiral lose?

Cruel, haughty, and cold,
He ever was strong and bold--
Shall he shrink from a wooden stem?
He will think of that brave band
He sank in the Cumberland--
Ay, he will sink like them.