atches, lonely calm and storm,
A stern, sad disciple,
And rooted out the false and vain,
And chastened them to aptness for
Devotion and the deeds of war,
And death which smiles and cheers in spite of pain.

Beyond the bar the land-wind dies,
The prows becharmed at anchor swim:
A summer night; the stars withdrawn look down--
Fair eve of battle grim.
The sentries pace, bonetas glide;
Below, the sleeping sailor swing,
And it their dreams to quarters spring,
Or cheer their flag, or breast a stormy tide.

But drums are beat: _Up anchor all!_
The triple lines steam slowly on;
Day breaks, and through the sweep of decks each man
Stands coldly by his gun--
As cold as it. But he shall warm--
Warm with the solemn metal there,
And all its ordered fury share,
In attitude a gladiatorial form.

The Admiral--yielding the the love
Which held his life and ship so dear--
Sailed second in the long fleet's midmost line;
Yet thwarted all their care:
He lashed himself aloft, and shone
Star of the fight, with influence sent
Throughout the dusk embattlement;
And so they neared the strait and walls of stone.

No sprintly fife as in the field,
The decks were hushed like fanes in prayer;
Behind each man a holy angel stood--
He stood, though none was 'ware.
Out spake the forts on either hand,
Back speak the ships when spoken to,
And set their flags in concert true,
And _On and in!_ is Farragut's command.

But what delays? 'mid wounds above
Dim buoys give hint of death below--
Sea-ambuscades, where evil art had aped
Hecla that hides in snow.
The centre-van, entangled, trips;
The starboard leader holds straight on:
A cheer for the Tecumseh!--nay,
Before their eyes the turreted ship goes down!

The fire redoubles, While the fleet
Hangs dubious--ere the horror ran--
The Admiral rushes to his rightful place--
Well met! apt hour and man!--
Closes with peril, takes the lead,
His action is a stirring call;
He strikes his great heart through them all,
And is the genius of their daring deed.

The forts are daunted, slack their fire,
Confounded by the deadlier aim
And rapid broadsides of the speeding fleet,
And fierce denouncing flame.
Yet shots from four dark hulls embayed
Come raking through the loyal crews,
Whom now each dying mate endues
With his last look, anguished yet undismayed.

A flowering time to guilt is given,
And traitors have their