Quick the signal came for action, quick replied we with a cheer, For the friends at home behind us, and the foes before so near; Three times three the cheering sounded, and ’mid deafening hurrahs We sprang into position—­five hundred lusty tars.  And the cannons joined our shouting with a burly, booming cheer That aroused the hero’s action, and awoke the coward’s fear; And the lightning and the thunder gleamed and pealed athwart the
       scene,
Till the noontide mist was greater than the morning mist had been, And the foeman and the stranger and the brother and the friend Were mingled in one seething mass the battle’s end to end.

With broken spars and splintered bulks the decks were strewn anon,
While the rigging, torn and tangled, hung the shattered yards upon;
Like a cataract of fire outpoured the steady cannonade,
Till the strongest almost wavered and the bravest were dismayed. 
Like an endless swarm of locusts sprang they up our vessel’s side,
And scaled her burning bulwarks or fell backward in the tide,
’Twas a fearful day of carnage, such as none had known before,
In the fiercest naval battles of those gallant days of yore.

We had battled all the morning, ’mid the never-ceasing hail
Of grape and spark and splinter, of cable shred, and sail;
We had thrice received their onslaught, which we thrice had driven
        back,
And were waiting, calm and ready, for the last forlorn attack;
When a shout of exultation from out their ranks arose,
A frenzied shout of triumph o’er their yet unconquered foes;
For the stainless flag of England, that has braved a thousand years,
Had been shot clean from the masthead; and they gave three hearty
        cheers,
“A prize! a prize!” they shouted, from end to end the host,
Till a broadside gave them answer, and for ever stilled their boast.

Then a fearful struggle followed, as, to desperation spurred,
They sought in deed the triumph so falsely claimed in word. 
’Twas the purpose of a moment, and the bravest of our tars
Plunged headlong in the boiling surf, amid the broken spars;
He snatched the shot-torn colours, and wound them round his arm,
Then climbed upon the deck again, and there stood safe and calm;
He paused but for a moment—­it was no time to stay—­
Then he leaped into the rigging that had yet survived the fray;
Higher yet he climbed and higher, till he gained a dizzy height,
Then turned and paused a moment to look down upon the fight.

Whistled wild the shots around him, as a curling, smoky wreath
Formed a cloudy shroud to hide him from the enemy beneath. 
Beat his heart with proud elation as he firmly fixed his stand,
And again the colours floated as he held them in his hand. 
Then a pistol deftly wielded, ’mid the battle’s ceaseless blast,
Fastened there the colours firmly, as he nailed them to that mast;
Then as if to yield him glory—­the smoke-clouds cleared away—­
And we sent him up the loudest cheer that reach’d his ear that day,
With new-born zeal and courage, dashing fiercely to the fight,
To crown the day of battle with the triumph of the night.