'TWIXT clouded heights Spain hurls to doom Ships stanch and brave, Majestic, forth they flash and boom Upon the wave. El Morro raises eyes of hate Far out to sea, And speeds Cervera to his fate With cannonry. The Brooklyn o'er the deep espies His flame-wreathed side: She sets her banners on the skies In fearful pride. On, to the harbor's mouth of fire, Fierce for the fray, She darts, an eagle from his eyre, Upon her prey. She meets the brave Teresa there -- Sigh, sigh for Spain! -- And beats her clanging armor bare With glittering rain. The bold Vizcaya's lightnings glance Into the throng Where loud the bannered Brooklyn chants Her awful song. Down swoops, in one tremendous curve, Our Commodore; His broadsides roll, the foemen swerve Toward the shore. In one great round his Brooklyn turns And, girdling there This side and that with glory, burns Spain to despair. Frightful in onslaught, fraught with fate Her missiles hiss: The Spaniard sees, when all too late, A Nemesis. The Oquendo's diapason swells; Then, torn and lame, Her portholes turn to yawning wells, Geysers of flame. Yet fierce and fiercer breaks and cries Our rifles' dread: The doomed Teresa shudders -- lies Stark with her dead. How true the Brooklyn's battery speaks Eulate knows, As the Vizcaya staggers, shrieks Her horrent woes. Sideward she plunges: nevermore Shall Biscay feel Her heart throb for the ship that wore Her name in steel. The Oquendo's ports a moment shone, As gloomed her knell; She trembles, bursts -- the ship is gone Headlong to hell. The fleet Colon in lonely flight -- Spain's hope, Spain's fear! -- Sees, and it lends her wings of fright, Schley's pennant near. The fleet Colon scuds on alone -- God, how she runs! -- And ever hears behind her moan The Brooklyn's guns. Our ruthless cannon o'er the flood Roar and draw nigh; Spain's ensign stained with gold and blood, Falls from on high. The world she gave the World has passed -- Gone, with her power -- Dead, 'neath the Brooklyn's thunder-blast, In one great hour. The bannered Brooklyn! gallant crew, And gallant Schley! Proud is the flag his sailors flew Along the sky. Proud is his country: for each star Our Union wears, The fighting Brooklyn shows a scar -- So much he dares. God save us war upon the seas; But, if it slip, Send such a chief, with men like these, On such a ship! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CEMETERY BY THE SEA by PAUL VALERY THE NEWLY WEDDED by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 37. NAPOLEON AT ST. HELENA by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE LADY TO HER GUITAR by EMILY JANE BRONTE TO LESBIA by GAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS ON THE DEATH OF THE MOST NOBLE THOMAS EARL OF OSSORY by CHARLES COTTON GOOD-BYE, OLD YEAR by MIRIAM DEL BANCO |