Classic Poem

'T WAS the very verge of May
— When the bold Olympia led
Into Bocagrande Bay
— Dewey's squadron, dark and dread, —
Creeping past Corregidor,
Guardian of Manila's shore.

Do they sleep who wait the fray?
— Is the moon so dazzling bright
That our cruisers' battle-gray
— Melts into the misty light? . . .
Ah! the red flash and the roar!
Wakes at last Corregidor!

All too late their screaming shell
— Tears the silence with its track;
This is but the gate of hell,
— We've no leisure to turn back.
Answer, Concord! — then once more
Slumber on, Corregidor!

And as, like a slowing tide,
— Onward still the vessels creep,
Dewey, watching, falcon-eyed,
— Orders, — " Let the gunners sleep;
For we meet a foe at four
Fiercer than Corregidor. "

Well they slept, for well they knew
— What the morrow taught us all, —
He was wise (as well as true)
— Thus upon the foe to fall.
Long shall Spain the day deplore
Dewey ran Corregidor.

May is dancing into light
— As the Spanish Admiral
From a dream of phantom fight
— Wakens at his sentry's call.
Shall he leave Cavite's lee,
Hunt the Yankee fleet at sea?

O Montojo, to thy deck,
— That to-day shall float its last!
Quick! To quarters! Yonder speck
— Grows a hull of portent vast.
Hither, toward Cavite's lee
Comes the Yankee hunting thee!

Not for fear of hidden mine
— Halts our doughty Commodore.
He, of old heroic line,
— Follows Farragut once more,
Hazards all on victory,
Here within Cavite's lee.

If he loses, all is gone;
— He will win because he must.
And the shafts of yonder dawn
— Are not quicker than his thrust.
Soon, Montojo, he shall be
With thee in Cavite's lee.

Now, Manila, to the fray!
— Show the hated Yankee host
This is not a holiday, —
— Spanish blood is more than boast
Fleet and mine and battery,
Crush him in Cavite's lee!

Lo, hell's geysers at our fore
— Pierce the plotted path — in vain
Nerving every man the more
— With the memory of the Maine!
Now at last our guns are free
Here within Cavite's lee.

" Gridley, " says the Commodore,
— " You may fire when ready. " Then
Long and loud, like lions' roar
— When a rival dares the den,
Breaks the awful cannonry
Full across Cavite's lee.

Who shall tell the daring tale
— Of our Thunderbolt's attack,
Finding, when the chart should fail,
— By the lead his dubious track,
Five ships following faithfully
Five times o'er Cavite's lee;

Of our gunners' deadly aim;
— Of the gallant foe and brave
Who, unconquered, faced with flame,
— Seek the mercy of the wave, —
Choosing honor in the sea
Underneath Cavite's lee?

Let the meed the victors gain
— Be the measure of their task.
Less of flinching, stouter strain,
— Fiercer combat — who could ask?
And " surrender, " — 'twas a word
That Cavite ne'er had heard.

Noon, — the woful work is done!
— Not a Spanish ship remains;
But, of their eleven, none
— Ever was so truly Spain's!
Which is prouder, they or we,
Thinking of Cavite's lee?

ENVOY

But remember, when we've ceased
— Giving praise and reckoning odds,
Man shares courage with the beast,
— Wisdom cometh from the gods:
Who would win, on land or wave,
Must be wise as well as brave.