Commemorative Of A Naval Victory

Sailors there are of the gentlest breed,     Yet strong, like every goodly thing;     The discipline of arms refines,     And the wave gives tempering.     The damasked blade its beam can fling;     It lends the last grave grace:     The hawk, the hound, and sworded nobleman     In Titian's picture for a king,     Are of hunter or warrior race.     In social halls a favored guest     In years that follow victory won,     How sweet to feel your festal fame     In woman's glance instinctive thrown:     Repose is yours--your deed is known,     It musks the amber wine;     It lives, and sheds a light from storied days     Rich as October sunsets brown,     Which make the barren place to shine.     But seldom the laurel wreath is seen     Unmixed with pensive pansies dark;     There's a light and a shadow on every man     Who at last attains his lifted mark--     Nursing through night the ethereal spark.     Elate he never can be;     He feels that spirit which glad had hailed his worth,     Sleep in oblivion.--The shark     Glides white through the phosphorus sea.