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But his frigate, wife, his bride? Would
blacksmiths brown
Into smithereens smite the solid old renown?
Rivetting the bolts in the iron-clad’s shell,
Hark to the hammers with a rat-tat-tat;
“Handier a derby than a laced cocked hat!
The Monitor was ugly, but she served us right
well,
Better than the Cumberland, a beauty and the
belle.”

Better than the Cumberland!–Heart alive
in me!
That battlemented hull, Tantallon o’ the sea,
Kicked in, as at Boston the taxed chests o’ tea!
Ay, spurned by the ram, once a tall, shapely
craft,
But lopped by the Rebs to an iron-beaked
raft–
A blacksmith’s unicorn in armor cap-a-pie.

Under the water-line a ram’s blow is dealt:
And foul fall the knuckles that strike below the
belt.
Nor brave the inventions that serve to replace
The openness of valor while dismantling the
grace.

Aloof from all this and the never-ending game,
Tantamount to teetering, plot and counterplot;
Impenetrable armor–all-perforating shot;
Aloof, bless God, ride the war-ships of old,
A grand fleet moored in the roadstead of fame;
Not submarine sneaks with them are enrolled;
Their long shadows dwarf us, their flags are as
flame.

Don’t fidget so, wife; an old man’s passion
Amounts to no more than this smoke that I
puff;
There, there, now, buss me in good old fashion;
A died-down candle will flicker in the snuff.

But one last thing let your old babbler say,
What Decatur’s coxswain said who was long
ago hearsed,
“Take in your flying-kites, for there comes a
lubber’s day
When gallant things will go, and the three-
deckers first.”

My pipe is smoked out, and the grog runs
slack;
But bowse away, wife, at your blessed Bohea;
This empty can here must needs solace me–
Nay, sweetheart, nay; I take that back;
Dick drinks from your eyes and he finds no
lack!