Part 2 — ON BOARD THE '76.
Reading edition
WRITTEN FOR MR. BRYANT'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.
November 3, 1864.
[After the disastrous battle of Bull Run, Congress authorized the creation of an army of 500,000, and the expenditure of $500,000,000. The affair of the Trent had partially indicated the temper of the English government, and the people of the United States were thoroughly roused to a sense of the great task which lay before them. Mr. Bryant, at this time, not only gave strong support to the Union through his paper The Evening Post of New York, but wrote two lyrics which had a profound effect. One of these, entitled Not Yet, was addressed to those of the Old World who were secretly or openly desiring the downfall of the republic. The other, Our Country's Call, was a thrilling appeal for recruits. It is to this time and these two poems that Mr. Lowell refers in the lines that follow.]
Our ship lay tumbling in an angry sea, Her rudder gone, her mainmast o'er the side; Her scuppers, from the waves' clutch staggering free, Trailed threads of priceless crimson through the tide; 5Sails, shrouds, and spars with pirate cannon torn, We lay, awaiting morn. Awaiting morn, such morn as mocks despair; And she that bare the promise of the world Within her sides, now hopeless, helmless, bare, 10At random o'er the wildering waters hurled; The reek of battle drifting slow alee Not sullener than we. Morn came at last to peer into our woe, When lo, a sail! Now surely help was nigh; 15The red cross flames aloft, Christ's pledge; but no,[10] Her black guns grinning hate, she rushes by And hails us:—"Gains the leak! Ay, so we thought! Sink, then, with curses fraught!" I leaned against my gun still angry-hot, 20And my lids tingled with the tears held back; This scorn methought was crueller than shot: The manly death-grip in the battle-wrack, Yard-arm to yard-arm, were more friendly far Than such fear-smothered war. 25There our foe wallowed, like a wounded brute The fiercer for his hurt. What now were best? Once more tug bravely at the peril's root, Though death came with it? Or evade the test If right or wrong in this God's world of ours 30Be leagued with higher powers? Some, faintly loyal, felt their pulses lag With the slow beat that doubts and then despairs; Some, caitiff, would have struck the starry flag That knits us with our past, and makes us heirs 35Of deeds high-hearted as were ever done 'Neath the all-seeing sun.
But there was one, the Singer of our crew, Upon whose head Age waved his peaceful sign, But whose red heart's-blood no surrender knew; 40And couchant under brows of massive line, The eyes, like guns beneath a parapet, Watched, charged with lightnings yet. The voices of the hills did his obey; The torrents flashed and tumbled in his song; 45He brought our native fields from far away, Or set us 'mid the innumerable throng Of dateless woods, or where we heard the calm Old homestead's evening psalm. But now he sang of faith to things unseen, 50Of freedom's birthright given to us in trust; And words of doughty cheer he spoke between, That made all earthly fortune seem as dust, Matched with that duty, old as Time and new, Of being brave and true. 55We, listening, learned what makes the might of words,— Manhood to back them, constant as a star; His voice rammed home our cannon, edged our swords, And sent our boarders shouting; shroud and spar Heard him and stiffened; the sails heard, and wooed 60The winds with loftier mood. In our dark hours he manned our guns again; Remanned ourselves from his own manhood's stores; Pride, honor, country, throbbed through all his strain: And shall we praise? God's praise was his before; 65And on our futile laurels he looks down, Himself our bravest crown.