The Cumberland Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,
         On board of the cumberland, sloop-of-war;
And at times from the fortress across the bay
                  The alarum of drums swept past,
                  Or a bugle blast
         From the camp on the shore.

Then far away to the south uprose
         A little feather of snow-white smoke,
And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
                  Was steadily steering its course
                  To try the force
         Of our ribs of oak.

Down upon us heavily runs,
         Silent and sullen, the floating fort;
Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
                  And leaps the terrible death,
                  With fiery breath,
         From each open port.

We are not idle, but send her straight
         Defiance back in a full broadside!
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,
                  Rebounds our heavier hail
                  From each iron scale
         Of the monster's hide.