The second First-day morning they were brought out in
     squads and massacred, it was beautiful early summer,
The work commenced about five o'clock and was over by
    eight.

None obey'd the command to kneel,
Some made a mad and helpless rush, some stood stark and
     straight,
A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and
     dead lay together,
The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt, the new-comers saw
     them there,
Some half-kill'd attempted to crawl away,
These were despatch'd with bayonets or batter'd with the
     blunts of muskets.
A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two
     more came to release him,
The three were all torn and cover'd with the boy's blood.

At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies;
That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve
     young men.

Would you hear of an old-time sea-fight?
Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?
List to the yarn, as my grandmother's father the sailor told it
     to me.

Our foe was no skulk in his ship I tell you, (said he,)
His was the surly English pluck, and there is no tougher or
     truer, and never was, and never will be;
Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking us.

We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch'd,
My captain lash'd fast with his own hands.

We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the water,
On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first
     fire, killing all around and blowing up overhead.

Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark,
Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the
     gain, and five feet of water reported,
The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined in the
     after-hold to give them a chance for themselves.

The transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels,
They see so many strange faces they do not know whom to trust.

Our frigate takes fire,
The other asks if we demand quarter?
If our colors are struck and the fighting done?

Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,
We have not struck, he composedly cries, we have just begun
     our part of the fighting.

Only three guns are in use,
One is directed by the captain himself against the enemy's
     main-mast,
Two well serv'd with grape and canister silence his musketry
     and clear his decks.

The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, especially
     the main-top,
They hold out bravely during the whole of the action.

Not a moment's cease,
The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the
     powder-magazine.

One of the pumps has been shot away, it is generally thought
     we are sinking.

Serene stands the little captain,
He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,
His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.

Toward twelve there in the beams of the moon they surrender
     to us.

Stretch'd and still lies the midnight,
Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness,
Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass
     to the one we have conquer'd,
The captain on the quarter-