Escaped the gale of outer ocean-- Cribbed in a craft which like a log Was washed by every billow’s motion-- By night you heard of Og The huge; nor felt your courage clog At tokens of his onset grim: You marked the sunk ship’s flag-staff slim, Lit by her burning sister’s heart; You marked, and mused: “Day brings the trial: Then be it proved if I have part With men whose manhood never took denial.” A prayer went up--a champion’s. Morning Beheld you in the Turret walled by adamant, where a spirit forewarning And all-deriding called: “Man, darest thou--desperate, unappalled-- Be first to lock thee in the armored tower? I have thee now; and what the battle-hour To me shall bring--heed well--thou’lt share; This plot-work, planned to be the foeman’s terror, To thee may prove a goblin-snare; Its very strength and cunning--monstrous error!” “Stand up, my heart; be strong; what matter If here thou seest thy welded tomb? And let huge Og with thunders batter-- Duty be still my doom, Though drowning come in liquid gloom; First duty, duty next, and duty last; Ay, Turret, rivet me here to duty fast!--” So nerved, you fought wisely and well; And live, twice live in life and story; But over your Monitor dirges swell, In wind and wave that keep the rites of glory. The Temeraire.[3] _(Supposed to have been suggested to an Englishman of the old order by the fight of the Monitor and Merrimac.)_ The gloomy hulls, in armor grim, Like clouds o’er moors have met, And prove that oak, and iron, and man Are tough in fibre yet. But Splendors wane. The sea-fight yields No front of old display; The garniture, emblazonment, And heraldry all decay. Towering afar in parting light, The fleets like Albion’s forelands shine-- The full-sailed fleets, the shrouded show Of Ships-of-the-Line. The fighting Temeraire, Built of a thousand trees, Lunging out her lightnings, And beetling o’er the seas-- O Ship, how brave and fair, That fought so oft and well, On open decks you manned the gun Armorial.[4] What cheering did you share, Impulsive in the van, When down upon leagued France and Spain We English ran-- The freshet at your bowsprit Like the foam upon the can. Bickering, your colors Licked up the Spanish air, You flapped with flames of battle-flags-- Your challenge, Temeraire! The rear ones of our fleet They yearned to share your place, Still vying with the Victory Throughout that earnest race-- The Victory, whose Admiral, With orders nobly won, Shone in the globe of the battle glow-- The angel in that sun. Parallel in story, Lo, the stately pair, As late in grapple ranging, The foe between them there-- When four great hulls lay tiered, And the fiery tempest cleared, And your prizes twain appeared, Temeraire!