I'D weave a wreath for those who fought In blue upon the waves, I drop a tear for all who sleep Down in the coral caves, And proudly do I touch my cap Whene'er I meet to-day A man who sail'd with Farragut Thro' fire in Mobile Bay. Oh, what a gallant sight it was As toward the foe we bore! Lashed to the mast, unflinching, stood Our grand old Commodore. I see him now above the deck, Though time has cleared away The battle smoke that densely hung Above old Mobile Bay. Torpedoes to the right and left, Torpedoes straight ahead! The stanch Tecumseh sinks from sight, The waves receive her dead. But on we press, thro' lead and iron, On, on with pennons gay, Whilst glory holds her wreath above Immortal Mobile Bay. The rebel forts belch fire and death, But what care we for them? Our onward course, with Farragut To guide us, nought can stem. The Hartford works her dreaded guns, The Brooklyn pounds away, And proudly flies the flag of stars Aloft o'er Mobile Bay. Behold yon moving mass of iron Beyond the Ossipee; To fight the fleet with courage grim Steams forth the Tennessee. We hem her in with battle fire -- How furious grows the fray, Until Surrender's flag she flies Above red Mobile Bay. We count our dead, we count our scars, The proudest ever won; We cheer the flag that gayly flies Victorious in the sun. No longer in the rigging stands The hero of the day, For he has linked his name fore'er To deathless Mobile Bay. Thus I would weave a wreath for all Who fought with us that time, And I'd embalm that glorious day Forevermore in rhyme. The stars above will rise and set, The years will pass away, But brighter all the time shall grow The fame of Mobile Bay. He sleeps, the bluff old Commodore Who led with hearty will; But ah! methinks I see him now, Lashed to the rigging still. I know that just beyond the tide, In God's own glorious day, He waits to greet the gallant tars Who fought in Mobile Bay. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OFFERING by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ELEGY: THE LAMENT OF EDWARD BLASTOCK; FOR RICHARD ROWLEY by EDITH SITWELL THE LITTLE DANCERS by LAURENCE BINYON ACCORDING TO THE MIGHTY WORKING by THOMAS HARDY THE CROPPY BOY: (A BALLAD OF '98) by WILLIAM B. MCBURNEY |