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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117226" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tripoli</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">One to ten of you lesser men—these are the odds we crave:<br> For the ring of the sword, at the cry to board, is a song that befits the brave.<br>Board and burn, that ye well may learn, how American tars atone:<br> Borrow ye may, but there dawns a day when we come to claim our own!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tripolitan pirate and Turkish thief, they had harried her there on the sunken reef,<br> Plundered, and robbed, and stripped her crew, for such was Tripoli law:<br>Lowered her barred and star-set flag, and run to her peak their pirate rag,<br> For the shaming of William Bainbridge and the fame of Jussuf Bashaw!<br>They had towed the wreck to the haven’s neck, and under the castle’s guns,<br> And bound and jailed all them that sailed as the Philadelphia’s sons:<br>So the frigate lay in Tripoli Bay, by the Molehead batteries pinned,<br> And along her flank, in a watchful rank, the guardian gunboats grinned!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Out of the Gulf of Sidra’s gales, a brig and a ketch, with flattened sails,<br> Slid toward Tripoli harbor as the sun ahead went down,<br>And, by the forts of Jussuf Bashaw pinned like prey in a panther’s paw,<br> The captured frigate at anchor saw, in the curve of the pirate town.<br>And one of the pair had the peaceful air of a merchantman landward led,<br> And one of the two a Maltese crew, in fezzes of flaming red;<br>But they muttered on deck as they marked the speck of the flag that swung on high<br> Where the crimson bars and the silver stars had rippled against the sky!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then a wind came out of the cool northwest, and lifted the ketch on a heaving crest,<br> Bulging her sails till the sea sang low at the touch of her slender prore,<br>And she leapt, with the joy of a living soul, through the narrow channel ’twixt reef and shoal,<br> And ran, like a racer, toward the goal of the tall black hull inshore!<br>But the brig lay to on the darkening blue of the offing, a mile outside,<br> And watched the ketch on the rippling stretch of the fort-girt harbor ride,<br>Till out of the light she slid from sight, tackle, and sails, and mast,<br> Undismayed, in the sombre shade that the hull of the frigate cast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now the staunch Sicilian pilot cried to them that leaned on the frigate’s side:<br> “This is the Stella of Malta, with her anchors swept away,<br>And her cables, too, to the very last, when the storm of yester night went past.<br> So we crave your leave to take a fast from your quarter until the day.”<br>“And what ye ask is an easy task” an officer made reply.<br> “Since ye have no line, I will send you mine, with leave in our lee to lie.”<br>So the ketch crept near to the frigate’s sheer, and, swung by the swirling tide,<br> Veered around, till her bowsprit ground on the Philadelphia’s side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then Stephen Decatur’s slender sword in the moonlight winked, as he thundered “Board!”<br> The hatches yawned on the ketch’s deck, and, quick as a man may turn,<br>Up from her hold, with a stirring shout, sixty American tars leapt out,<br> And mounted the frigate’s black redoubt like a wave that breaks astern!<br>And the startled night saw such a fight as none but the desperate make,<br> Blow on blow from foe to foe for the Philadelphia’s sake!<br>Cheer on cheer, as the end drew near, and a final charge, and then<br> The frigate lay in Tripoli Bay—an American ship again !</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From twoscore ports the smoke-wreaths crept, and a single rocket skyward leapt<br> To tell the brig in the offing that Decatur’s work was done,<br>As the victors sprang to the ketch’s deck, and pulled away from the blazing wreck<br> That reddened the tide to the harbor’s neck, with news of the glory won!<br>And the slim flames struck from rail to truck, till the haven gleamed and glowed,<br> And the whole wide night was ablaze with light where Decatur’s oarsmen rowed;<br>While Tripoli’s sons from a hundred guns sent shot from the shelving shore.<br> And the frigate replied with her last broadside—an American ship once more!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Stewart had seen that Decatur’s crew had done the work that they came to do,<br> And the boats of the brig lay close inshore, as the ketch out-won her way;<br>Watching, the oarsmen, drawing near, pause in their rowing, and, deaf to fear,<br> Rise to their feet with a stunning cheer in a harbor light as day!<br>Over the tide from the boats outside the answering cheer came in,<br> The hail of his mate who must watch and wait to the lad who may work and win!<br>And Decatur’s men, at their sweeps again, sped on from the panther’s paw,<br> While the frigate flamed, by her own reclaimed, at the gates of Jussuf Bashaw!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One to ten of you lesser men—these are the odds we crave:<br> For the ring of the sword, at the cry to board, is a song that befits the brave.<br>Board and burn, that ye well may learn how American tars atone:<br> Borrow ye may, but there dawns a day when we come to claim our own!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Guy+Wetmore+Carryl">Guy Wetmore Carryl</a> from <i>The Garden of Years and Other Poems</i><div class=q>
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