James Thomas Fields (1817–1881)

OUR Yankee ships! in fleet career,

They linger not behind,

Where gallant sails from other lands

Court favouring tide and wind.

With banners on the breeze, they leap

As gayly o’er the foam

As stately barks from prouder seas,

That long have learn’d to roam.

The Indian wave with luring smiles

Swept round them bright to-day;

And havens to Atlantic isles

Are opening on their way!

Ere yet these evening shadows close,

Or this frail song is o’er,

Full many a straining mast will rise

To greet a foreign shore.

High up the lashing northern deep,

Where glimmering watch-lights beam

Away in beauty where the stars

In tropic brightness gleam;

Where’er the sea-bird wets her beak,

Or blows the stormy gale;

On to the water’s farthest verge

Our ships majestic sail.

They dip their keels in every stream

That swell beneath the sky;

And where old ocean’s billows roll,

Their lofty pennants fly;

They furl their sheets in threatening clouds

That float across the main,

To link with love earth’s distant bays

In many a golden chain.