The Loss of the Birkenhead
Right on our flank the crimson sun went down;
The deep sea rolled around in dark repose;
When, like the wild shriek from some captured town,
— — A cry of women rose.
The stout ship Birkenhead lay hard and fast,
Caught without hope upon a hidden rock;
Her timbers thrilled as nerves, when through them passed
— — The spirit of that shock.
And ever like base cowards, who leave their ranks
In danger's hour, before the rush of steel,
Drifted away disorderly the planks
— — From underneath her keel.
So calm the air, so calm and still the flood,
That low down in its blue translucent glass
We saw the great fierce fish, that thirst for blood,
— — Pass slowly, then repass.
They tarried, the waves tarried, for their prey!
The sea turned one clear smile! Like things asleep
Those dark shapes in the azure silence lay,
— — As quiet as the deep.
Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck,
Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply,
Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck
— — Formed us in line to die.
To die! — 'twas hard, whilst the sleek ocean glowed
Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers: —
All to the boats! cried one: — he was, thank God,
— — No officer of ours!
Our English hearts beat true: — we would not stir:
That base appeal we heard, but heeded not:
On land, on sea, we had our Colors, sir,
— — To keep without a spot!
They shall not say in England, that we fought
With shameful strength, unhonored life to seek;
Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought
— — By trampling down the weak.
So we made women with their children go,
The oars ply back again, and yet again;
Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low,
— — Still under steadfast men.
— What follows, why recall? — The brave who died,
Died without flinching in the bloody surf,
They sleep as well beneath that purple tide,
— — As others under turf: —
They sleep as well! and, roused from their wild grave,
Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again,
Joint-heirs with Christ, because they bled to save
— — His weak ones, not in vain.
The deep sea rolled around in dark repose;
When, like the wild shriek from some captured town,
— — A cry of women rose.
The stout ship Birkenhead lay hard and fast,
Caught without hope upon a hidden rock;
Her timbers thrilled as nerves, when through them passed
— — The spirit of that shock.
And ever like base cowards, who leave their ranks
In danger's hour, before the rush of steel,
Drifted away disorderly the planks
— — From underneath her keel.
So calm the air, so calm and still the flood,
That low down in its blue translucent glass
We saw the great fierce fish, that thirst for blood,
— — Pass slowly, then repass.
They tarried, the waves tarried, for their prey!
The sea turned one clear smile! Like things asleep
Those dark shapes in the azure silence lay,
— — As quiet as the deep.
Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck,
Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply,
Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck
— — Formed us in line to die.
To die! — 'twas hard, whilst the sleek ocean glowed
Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers: —
All to the boats! cried one: — he was, thank God,
— — No officer of ours!
Our English hearts beat true: — we would not stir:
That base appeal we heard, but heeded not:
On land, on sea, we had our Colors, sir,
— — To keep without a spot!
They shall not say in England, that we fought
With shameful strength, unhonored life to seek;
Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought
— — By trampling down the weak.
So we made women with their children go,
The oars ply back again, and yet again;
Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low,
— — Still under steadfast men.
— What follows, why recall? — The brave who died,
Died without flinching in the bloody surf,
They sleep as well beneath that purple tide,
— — As others under turf: —
They sleep as well! and, roused from their wild grave,
Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again,
Joint-heirs with Christ, because they bled to save
— — His weak ones, not in vain.
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