Эдмунд Кларенс Стедман (Edmund Clarence Stedman)

The Old Admiral

Gone at last,
⁠That brave old hero of the Past!
His spirit has a second birth,
⁠An unknown, grander life;—
All of him that was earth
⁠Lies mute and cold,
⁠Like a wrinkled sheath and old
Thrown off forever from the shimmering blade
That has good entrance made
⁠Upon some distant, glorious strife.


From another generation,
⁠A simpler age, to ours Old Ironsides came;
The morn and noontide of the nation
⁠Alike he knew, nor yet outlived his fame,—
⁠⁠O, not outlived his fame!
The dauntless men whose service guards our shore
⁠Lengthen still their glory-roll
⁠With his name to lead the scroll,
As a flagship at her fore
⁠Carries the Union, with its azure and the stars,
Symbol of times that are no more
⁠And the old heroic wars.


He was the one
Whom Death had spared alone
⁠Of all the captains of that lusty age,
Who sought the foeman where he lay,
On sea or sheltering bay,
⁠Nor till the prize was theirs repressed their rage.
They are gone,—all gone:
⁠They rest with glory and the undying Powers;
⁠Only their name and fame and what they saved are ours!


It was fifty years ago,
⁠Upon the Gallic Sea,
⁠He bore the banner of the free,
And fought the fight whereof our children know.
⁠The deathful, desperate fight!—
⁠Under the fair moon's light
The frigate squared, and yawed to left and right.
⁠Every broadside swept to death a score!
Roundly played her guns and well, till their fiery ensigns fell,
⁠Neither foe replying more.


All in silence, when the night-breeze cleared the air,
⁠Old Ironsides rested there,
Locked in between the twain, and drenched with blood.
⁠Then homeward, like an eagle with her prey!
⁠O, it was a gallant fray,
⁠That fight in Biscay Bay!
Fearless the Captain stood, in his youthful hardihood;
⁠He was the boldest of them all,
⁠Our brave old Admiral!


And still our heroes bleed,
Taught by that olden deed.
⁠Whether of iron or of oak
The ships we marshal at our country's need,
⁠Still speak their cannon now as then they spoke;
Still floats our unstruck banner from the mast
⁠As in the stormy Past.


Lay him in the ground:
⁠Let him rest where the ancient river rolls;
Let him sleep beneath the shadow and the sound
⁠Of the bell whose proclamation, as it tolls,
Is of Freedom and the gift our fathers gave.
⁠Lay him gently down:
⁠The clamor of the town
Will not break the slumbers deep, the beautiful ripe sleep
⁠Of this lion of the wave,
⁠Will not trouble the old Admiral in his grave.


Earth to earth his dust is laid.
Methinks his stately shade
⁠On the shadow of a great ship leaves the shore;
Over cloudless western seas
Seeks the far Hesperides,
⁠The islands of the blest,
Where no turbulent billows roar,—
⁠⁠Where is rest.
His ghost upon the shadowy quarter stands
Nearing the deathless lands.
⁠There all his martial mates, renewed and strong,
⁠Await his coming long.
⁠I see the happy Heroes rise
⁠With gratulation in their eyes:
⁠"Welcome, old comrade," Lawrence cries;
⁠"Ah, Stewart, tell us of the wars!
⁠Who win the glory and the scars?
⁠⁠How floats the skyey flag,—how many stars?
⁠Still speak they of Decatur's name,
⁠Of Bainbridge's and Perry's fame?
⁠Of me, who earliest came?
Make ready, all:
Room for the Admiral!
⁠Come, Stewart, tell us of the wars!" 

Поддержать сайт