They fling their flags upon the morn, Their safety’s held a thing for scorn, As to the fray the Spaniards on the wings of war are borne; Their sullen smoke-clouds writhe and reel, And sullen are their ships of steel, All ready, cannon, lanyards, from the fighting-tops to keel. They cast upon the golden air One glancing, helpless, hopeless prayer, To ask that swift and thorough be the victory falling there; Then giants with a cheer and sigh Burst forth to battle and to die Beneath the walls of Morro on that morning in July. The _Teresa_ heads the haughty train, To bear the Admiral of Spain, She rushes, hurtling, whitening, like the summer hurricane; El Morro glowers in his might; Socapa crimsons with the fight; The _Oquendo’s_ lunging lightning blazes through her somber night. In desperate and eager dash The _Vizcaya_ hurls her vivid flash, As wild upon the waters her enormous batteries crash; Like spindrift scuds the fleet _Colon_, And, on her bubbling wake bestrown, Lurch, hungry for the slaughter, _El Furor_ and _El Pluton_. Round Santiago’s armored crest, Serene, in their gray valor dressed, Our behemoths lie quiet, watching well from south and west; Their keen eyes spy the harbor-reek; The signals dance, the signals speak; Then breaks the blasting riot as our broadsides storm and shriek! Quick, poising on her eagle-wings, The _Brooklyn_ into battle swings; The wide sea falls and wonders as the titan _Texas_ springs; The _Iowa_ in monster-leaps Goes bellowing above the deeps; The _Indiana_ thunders as her terror onward sweeps. And, hovering near and hovering low Until the moment strikes to go, In gallantry the _Gloucester_ swoops down on her double foe; She volleys--the _Furor_ falls lame; Again--and the _Pluton’s_ aflame; Hurrah, on high she’s tossed her! Gone the grim destroyers’ fame! And louder yet and louder roar The _Oregon’s_ black cannon o’er The clangor and the booming all along the Cuban shore. She’s swifting down her valkyr-path, Her sword sharp for the aftermath, With levin in her glooming, like Jehovah in His wrath. Great ensigns snap and shine in air Above the furious onslaught where Our sailors cheer the battle, danger but a thing to dare; Our gunners speed, as oft they’ve sped, Their hail of shrilling, shattering lead, Swift-sure our rifles rattle, and the foeman’s decks are red.