Poems (Waldenburg)/The Cumberland

THE CUMBERLAND.

Chaunt ye waves in monotone,
Ye the mighty, ye the hoary!
Sound the requiem one by one,
Surging upward tell the story,
Story saddest and most grand,
Of the Cumberland.

Once she rode you proudly,
Feared, gazed on with wonder,
Held her own right loudly
With her deep-mouthed thunder,
Mannéd by the bravest band
Was the Cumberland!

Beat the pondrous shot and shell
On her iron armor,
Those stout sides they bore it well,
Dulled the power to harm her,
With iron heart and iron hand,
Stood the Cumberland!

Rent and bleeding! must defeat
Cover all her daring?
Grandly scarred in her defeat
Must she yield despairing?
"Never"! cry that bravest band
Of the Cumberland!

"If retreat then deaths I cry,"
Spake the voice commanding,
"Comrades, better thus to die,
Than our vessel branding
With this shame—'these are the band
Of conquered Cumberland!'"

"If retreat then death we crave,
And we'll meet it in the deep"—
Answered they. The silent wave
Covered them to sleep,
Mournfully did take the band
Of the Cumberland!

Patriots sleep! thy De Profundis
Land and sea shall murmur ever,
Rampant flags shall honor this
Dying brave endeavor.
Thus we leave them, bravest band
Of the Cumberland!