Classic Poem

No spar, no mast, no rigging left!
Of all her panoply bereft,
A helpless wreck this ship of fame,
Lies here, a holocaust of flame!
Dismantled ship and mournful wreck!
No bristling cannon line thy deck;
All thy grand armament of war,
That erewhile thunder'd loud and far,
Have vanish'd from each vacant port
Once menacing like guarded fort;
But ah! these murky smokes that rise,
These lurid flames that scorch the skies,
Are not war's powder-smokes and flame,
But rise from thy consuming frame!
They curl above thee like a cloud,
Enwrap thee as with sable shroud;
Soon will thy oaken ribs consume,
The fabric perish in its doom.
Thy peopled decks are empty now,
No seamen cluster on thy prow,
No sentries, statue-like, keep stand,
With loaded musket grasp'd in hand,
No swarming crews the masts ascend,
To furl, or reef, or sails to bend,
No midshipmen, a mirthful race,
Nor proud lieutenants there to pace,
Moving in epauletted pride,
With burnish'd sabre at the side;
No admiral in trappings gay;
— Hull and his chiefs have pass'd away!
Old ship! methinks thro' fog and haze
Forth on the cloudy seas I gaze,
And view in panorama grand
Thy first proud parting from the land.
Sailing, I see thy prow explore
A foreign coast, an alien shore,
Far as the surfs of ocean roar,
Far as the breeze may blow;
In fancy's glass, all dusk and dim,
A floating world, I see thee swim,
I catch thy seaward prow
I seem to view where groves of palm
Perfume with aromatic balm
And spicy breath, the drowsy gales
That fan thy snowy, rounded sails!
That vision fades! now I discern
Wide o'er thy mighty prow and stern
The blood-red banner of the fire
Careering high, careering higher;
See fiery billows, cloudy smoke,
Triumphing o'er thy heart of oak!
I hear thy timbers rend and crash,
As if devoured by lightning-flash;
I hear thy solid timbers groan,
By that red deluge overthrown;
Harsh sounds, sad tolling like a knell!
— Farewell, old ship of war, farewell!