| Do you know of the dreary land, |
| If land such region may seem, |
| Where ’tis neither sea nor strand, |
| Ocean nor good dry land, |
| But the nightmare marsh of a dream— |
| Where the Mighty River his death-road takes, |
| ’Mid pools, and windings that coil like snakes, |
| (A hundred leagues of bayous and lakes,) |
| To die in the great Gulf Stream? |
| … … |
| Would you hear of the River-Fight? |
| It was two, of a soft spring night— |
| God’s stars looked down on all, |
| And all was clear and bright |
| But the low fog’s clinging breath— |
| Up the River of Death |
| Sailed the Great Admiral. |
| On our high poop-deck he stood, |
| And round him ranged the men |
| Who have made their birthright good |
| Of manhood, once and agen— |
| Lords of helm and of sail, |
| Tried in tempest and gale, |
| Bronzed in battle and wreck— |
| Bell and Bailey grandly led |
| Each his Line of the Blue and Red— |
| Wainwright stood by our starboard rail; |
| Thornton fought the deck. |
| |
| And I mind me of more than they, |
| Of the youthful, steadfast ones, |
| That have shown them worthy sons |
| Of the Seamen passed away— |
| (Tyson conned our helm, that day, |
| Watson stood by his guns.) |
| … … |
| Lord of mercy and frown, |
| Ruling o’er sea and shore, |
| Send us such scene once more! |
| All in Line of Battle |
| Where the black ships bear down |
| On tyrant fort and town, |
| ’Mid cannon cloud and rattle— |
| And the great guns once more |
| Thunder back the roar |
| Of the traitor walls ashore, |
| And the traitor flags come down! |