Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ARMSTRONG AT FAYAL, by WALLACE RICE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ARMSTRONG AT FAYAL, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Oh, the sun sets red, the moon shines white
Last Line: Of the yankee privateer.
Alternate Author Name(s): Groot, Cecil De
Subject(s): Azores; General Armstrong (ship); Mountains; Navy - United States; War Of 1812; Hills; Downs (great Britain); American Navy


OH, the sun sets red, the moon shines white,
And blue is Fayal's clear sky;
The sun and moon and sky are bright,
And the sea, and stars on high;
But the name of Reid and the fame of Reid
And the flag of his ship and crew
Are brighter far than sea or star
Or the heavens' red, white, and blue:
So lift your voices once again
For the land we love so dear,
For the fighting Captain and the men
Of the Yankee Privateer!

The moonbeams, like fine silver, shine
Upon the blue Azores,
As twilight pours her purple wine
Upon those storied shores;
The General Armstrong's flag of stars
In the harbor of Fayal
Flies forth, remote from thought of wars
Until the sunset call.

No glistening guns in serried line
The slender schooner boasts,
A pivot and eight hearty nines
Shall meet her foeman's hosts;
Her sides are oak, her masts are tall,
Her captain's one to trust,
Her ninety men are free men all,
Her quarrel wholly just.

On far Fayal the moon is fair
To-night as it was when,
Glad in the gay September air,
Reid laughed beside his men;
On far Fayal the sun to-day
Was lord of all the sky
As when the General Armstrong lay,
Our banner flung on high;
But now there rests a holier light
Than theirs on land or sea:
The splendor of our sailors' might,
And glorious bravery.

A moment, and the flag will sink
As sinks the sun to rest
Beyond the billows' western brink
Where towers the Eagle's nest,
When round the azure harbor-head
Where sparkling ocean brims,
Her British ensign streaming red,
The brig Carnation swims.

Ere with the sun her sails are set
The Rota frigate glides
And the great ship Plantagenet
To stations at her sides:
They carry six score guns and ten,
They serve the British crown,
They muster o'er a thousand men --
To win were small renown.

'T was by Fayal, where Portugal
Still flaunts her Blue-and-White;
What cares their Floyd for Portugal
Or what cares he for right?
He starts his signals down the line --
Our flag is flying free --
His weapons in the moonbeams shine,
His boats drop on the sea.
Straight to the Armstrong swift they come.
Speak, or I fire! shouts Reid --
Their rattling rowlocks louder hum
To mark their heightened speed.

Fierce o'er their moonlit path there stream
Bright glares of crimson flame;
Our muskets but an instant gleam,
Yet leave them wounded, lame.
They try a feeble, brief reply
Ere back their course is sped.
Before our marksmanship they fly,
Their living with their dead.

Floyd swears upon his faith and all
The Armstrong shall be his;
He scorns rebuke from Portugal,
But not such enemies;
So guns are charged with canister
And picked men go to fight:
Brave hearts and doomed full many were
In the Azores that night.

From nine until the nick of twelve
Their boats are seen to throng
Where rocky islets slant and shelve
Safe from our bullets' song;
Then out they dash, their small arms flash,
While blare their carronades,
Their boarding-pikes and axes clash,
Their guns and cutlass blades.
Our Long Tom speaks, our shrapnel shrieks;
But ere we load again,
On every side the battle reeks
Of thrice a hundred men.

Our rail is low, and there the foe
Cling as they shoot and hack.
We stab them as they climb a-row,
Slaying, nor turning back.
They dash up now upon our bow,
And there our hearties haste;
Now at our stern their muskets burn,
And now along our waist.

Our fo'c'sle weeps when Williams dies,
When Worth falls in his blood,
But bleeding through the battle-cries
Our gallant Johnson stood;
The British muskets snapt and spat
Till Reid came in his wrath,
His brow so pale with purpose that
It glistened down his path.

Forth from the quarter-deck he springs,
He and his men with cheers;
On British skulls his cutlass rings,
His pistols in their ears;
His men beside him hold him good
Till spent the foeman's breath;
Where at our sides a Briton stood,
A Briton sank in death;
Though weak our men with blood and sweat,
Our sides a riddled wreck,
Yet ne'er a British foot is set
Upon the Armstrong's deck.

Three hundred men their Admiral sent
Our schooner's ways to mend:
A hundred British sailors went
Down to a warrior's end.
Two of our lads in death are red,
But safe the flag above:
God grant that never worse be sped
The fray for all we love!

The General Armstrong lies beneath
The waves in far Fayal,
But still his countrymen shall wreathe
Reid's name with laurels tall;
The sun and moon are fair to see
Above the blue Azores,
But fairer far Reid's victory
Beside their storied shores.

Oh, the sun sets red, the moon shines white,
And blue is Fayal's clear sky;
The sun and moon and sky are bright,
And the sea, and stars on high;
But the name of Reid and the fame of Reid
And the flag of his ship and crew
Are brighter far than sea or star
Or the heavens' red, white, and blue:
So lift your voices once again
For the land we love so dear,
For the fighting Captain and the men
Of the Yankee Privateer.





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