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Posts Tagged ‘Morgan’

(Mobile Bay, August 5, 1864)

Farragut, Farragut,
Old Heart of Oak,
Daring Dave Farragut,
Thunderbolt stroke,
Watches the hoary mist
Lift from the bay,
Till his flag, glory-kissed,
Greets the young day. 

Far, by gray Morgan’s walls,
Looms the black fleet.
Hark, deck to rampart calls
With the drums’ beat!
Buoy your chains overboard,
While the steam hums;
Men! to the battlement,
Farragut comes. 

See, as the hurricane
Hurtles in wrath
Squadrons of clouds amain
Back from its path!
Back to the parapet,
To the guns’ lips,
Thunderbolt Farragut
Hurls the black ships. 

Now through the battle roar
Clear the boy sings,
“By the mark fathoms four,”
While his lead swings.
Steady the wheelmen five
“Nor’ by East keep her,”
“Steady,” but two alive:
How the shells sweep her! 

Lashed to the mast that sways
Over red decks,
Over the flame that plays
Round the torn wrecks,
Over the dying lips
Framed for a cheer,
Farragut leads his ships,
Guides the line clear. 

On by heights cannon-browed,
While the spars quiver;
Onward still flames the cloud
Where the hulks shiver.
See, yon fort’s star is set,
Storm and fire past.
Cheer him, lads – Farragut,
Lashed to the mast! 

Oh! while Atlantic’s breast
Bears a white sail,
While the Gulf’s towering crest
Tops a green vale,
Men thy bold deeds shall tell,
Old Heart of Oak,
Daring Dave Farragut,
Thunderbolt stroke!

 

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…………………….The Runaway

Once when the snow of the year was beginning to fall,
We stopped by a mountain pasture to say, “Whose colt?”
A little Morgan had one forefoot on the wall,
The other curled at his breast.  He dipped his head
And snorted at us.  And then he had to bolt.
We heard the miniature thunder where he fled,
And we saw him, or thought we saw him, dim and gray,
Like a shadow against the curtain of falling flakes.
“I think the little fellow’s afraid of the snow.
He isn’t winter-broken.  It isn’t play
With the little fellow at all.  He’s running away.
I doubt if even his mother could tell him, ‘Sakes,
It’s only weather.’  He’d think she didn’t know!
Where is his mother?  He can’t be out alone.”
And now he comes again with clatter of stone,
And mounts the wall again with whited eyes
And all his tail that isn’t hair up straight.
He shudders his coat as if to throw off flies.
“Whoever it is that leaves him out so late,
When other creatures have gone to stall and bin,
Ought to be told to come and take him in.”

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