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Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 9. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 1 (search)
ould be free! Hail to her captain and crew! Hail to her banner blue! Hail to her deathless fame! Hail to her granite name! Haughty Britannia no longer can boast That she rules the ocean waves; Her fame is dead, and its sheeted ghost Stalks discrowned on her chalky coast, Mocked by Columbia's braves. Hail to the queen of the sea! Hail to the hopes of the free! Hail to the navy that spoke! Hail to our hearts of oak! The British lion may cease his roar: For his darling privateer, At sea a pirate, a thief on shore, Now lies a wreck on the ocean floor, No longer a buccaneer. Hail to our Yankee tars! Hail to the Stripes and Stars I Hail Winslow, chief of the sea? Hail to his victory! Cheers!--“Two-Ninety,” the robber, is dead! And Semmes, the pirate-in-chief, A swordless coward, defea<*>, has fled, Bearing the curse of the<*>a on his head, To England, the home of the thief. Hail to our holy cause! Hail to our equal laws! Hail to our peace to be! Hail to all nations free! George W. Bung
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 9. (ed. Frank Moore), 2. Captain Semmes, C. S. A. N. June 19, 1864. (search)
he gallant cried in affright; “Cover me up from the Yankee's sight.” Heigh-ho! they laid him low, With a bit of sail to hide his woe. Safely they bore the chief aboard, Leaving behind his fame and sword; And then the Deerhound stole away, Lest Winslow's guns might have a say; Landed him in Southampton town, Where heroes like him have had renown, Ever since Lawrence, Perry, and Hull, Took hold of the horns of great John Bull. Had I been Winslow, I say to you, As the sea is green, the sky is blWinslow, I say to you, As the sea is green, the sky is blue, Through the Deerhound I'd have sent a shot, And John might have liked the thing or not I Heigh-ho! come soon or slow, In the end we are bound to have a blow. What said the Frenchman from his hill, After the cannon-shots were still? What said the Briton from his deck, Gazing down on the sunken wreck? Something was said of guns like mortars, And something of smooth-bores at close quarters; Chain armor furnished a word or two, But the end of all was both looked blue. They sighed again o'er th