Old Ironsides

Old Ironsides
By Oliver Wendell Holmes

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
         Long has it waived on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
         That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle-shout,
         And burst the cannon's roar:
The meteor of the ocean air
         Shall sweep the clouds no more!

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
         Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
         And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
        Or know the conquered knee:
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
        The eagle of the sea!

Oh, better that her shattered hulk
        Should sink beneath the wave!
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
        And there should be her grave:
Nail to the mast her holy flag,
        Set every threadbare sail,
And give her to the god of storms,
        The lighting, and the gale!