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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115082" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On Board the Cumberland</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stand to your guns, men!" Morris cried.<br> Small need to pass the word;<br>Our men at quarters ranged themselves,<br> Before the drum was heard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then began the sailors' jests:<br> "What thing is that, I say?"<br>"A long-shore meeting-house adrift<br> Is standing down the bay! "</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A frown came over Morris' face;<br> The strange, dark craft he knew;<br>"That is the iron Merrimac,<br> Manned by a Rebel crew.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"So shot your guns, and point them straight;<br> Before this day goes by,<br>We'll try of what her metal's made."<br> A cheer was our reply.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Remember, boys, this flag of ours<br> Has seldom left its place;<br>And where it falls, the deck it strikes<br> Is covered with disgrace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"I ask but this: or sink or swim,<br> Or live or nobly die,<br>My last sight upon earth may be<br> To see that ensign fly!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass<br> Came moving o'er the wave,<br>As gloomy as a passing hearse,<br> As silent as the grave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her ports were closed; from stem to stern<br> No sign of life appeared.<br>We wondered, questioned, strained our eyes<br> Joked—everything but feared.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She reached our range. Our broadside rang,<br> Our heavy pivots roared;<br>And shot and shell, a fire of hell,<br> Against her sides we poured.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God's mercy! from her sloping roof<br> The iron tempest glanced,<br>As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch,<br> And round her leaped and danced;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or when against her dusky hull<br> We struck a fair, full blow,<br>The mighty, solid iron globes,<br> Were crumbled up like snow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On, on, with fast increasing speed,<br> The silent monster came;<br>Though all our starboard battery<br> Was one long line of flame</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She heeded not, no gun she fired,<br> Straight on our bow she bore;<br>Through riving plank and crashing frame<br> Her furious way she tore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas! our beautiful keen bow,<br> That in the fiercest blast<br>So gently folded back the seas,<br> They hardly felt we passed!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas! alas! my Cumberland,<br> That ne'er knew grief before,<br>To be so gored, to feel so deep<br> The tusk of that sea-boar!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once more she backward drew a space,<br> Once more our side she rent;<br>Then, in the wantonness of hate,<br> Her broadside through us sent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dead and dying round us lay,<br> But our foemen lay abeam;<br>Her open port-holes maddened us;<br> We fired with shout and scream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We felt our vessel settling fast,<br> We knew our time was brief.<br>"Ho! man the pumps, the pumps!" but they who pumped,<br> And fought not, wept with grief.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"Oh! keep us but an hour afloat!<br> Oh! give us only time<br>To mete upon the traitors' heads<br> The measure of their crime!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From captain down to powder-boy<br> No hand was idle then;<br>Two soldiers, but by chance aboard,<br> Fought on like sailor-men.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when a gun's crew lost a hand,<br> Some bold marine stepped out,<br>And jerked his braided jacket off,<br> And hauled the gun about.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our forward magazine was drowned;<br> And up from the sick bay<br>Crawled out the wounded, red with blood,<br> And round us gasping lay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes, cheering, calling us by name,<br> Struggling with failing breath,<br>To keep their shipmates at the post<br> Where Glory strove with Death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With decks afloat, and powder gone,<br> The last broadside we gave<br>From the guns' heated iron lips<br> Burst out beneath the wave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So sponges, rammers and handspike—<br> As men-of-war's-men should—<br>We placed within their proper racks,<br> And at our quarters stood."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up to the spar-deck! save yourselves!"<br> Cried Selfridge. "Up, my men !<br>God grant that some of us may live<br> To fight yon ship again!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We turned—we did not like to go;<br> Yet staying seemed but vain,<br>Knee-deep in water; so we left<br> Some swore, some groaned with pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We reached the deck. There Randall stood:<br> "Another turn, men—so!"<br>Calmly he aimed his pivot-gun:<br> "Now, Tenny, let her go!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It did our sore hearts good to hear<br> The song our pivot sang,<br>As rushing on from wave to wave<br> The whirring bomb-shell sprang.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Brave Randall leaped upon the gun.<br> And waved his cap in sport;"<br>"Well done! well aimed! I saw that shell<br> Go through an open port."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was our last, our deadliest shot;<br> The deck was overflown;<br>The poor ship staggered, lurched to port,<br> And gave a living groan.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down, down, as headlong through the waves<br> Our gallant vessel rushed,<br>A thousand gurgling watery sounds<br> Around my senses gushed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then I remember little more.<br> One look to heaven I gave,<br>Where, like an angel's wing, I saw<br> Our spotless ensign wave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I tried to cheer. I cannot say<br> Whether I swam or sank;<br>A blue mist closed around my eyes,<br> And everything was blank.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I awoke, a soldier lad<br> All dripping from the sea,<br>With two great tears upon his cheeks,<br> Was bending over me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I tried to speak. He understood<br> The wish I could not speak.<br>He turned me. There, thank God! the flag<br> Still fluttered at the peak!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And there, while thread shall hang to thread,<br> Oh, let that ensign fly!<br>The noblest constellation set<br> Against our northern sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A sign that we who live may claim<br> The peerage of the brave;<br>A monument, that needs no scroll,<br> For those beneath the wave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+H.+Boker">George H. Boker</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=115082" data-title="On Board the Cumberland de George H. Boker" data-description="Stand to your guns, men!" Morris cried./ Small need to pass the word;/Our men at quarters ranged themselves,/ Before the drum was heard./And then began the sailors' jests:/ "What thing is that, I say?"/"A long-shore meeting-house adrift/ Is standi..."></div>
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