ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND.
Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass
Came moving o'er the wave,
As gloomy as a passing hearse,
As silent as the grave.
Her ports were closed; from stem to stern
No sign of life appeared.
We wondered, questioned, strained our eyes
Joked—everything but feared.
She reached our range. Our broadside rang,
Our heavy pivots roared;
And shot and shell, a fire of hell,
Against her sides we poured.
God's mercy! from her sloping roof
The iron tempest glanced,
As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch,
And round her leaped and danced;
Or when against her dusky hull
We struck a fair, full blow,
The mighty, solid iron globes,
Were crumbled up like snow.
On, on, with fast increasing speed,
The silent monster came;
Though all our starboard battery
Was one long line of flame
She heeded not, no gun she fired,
Straight on our bow she bore;
Through riving plank and crashing frame
Her furious way she tore.
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