But here the port of peril is; the foeman's dread-
noughts ride
Sullen and black against the moon, upon a sullen
tide.
And only we to launch ourselves against their
stark advance--
To guide uncertain lightnings through these treach-
erous seas of chance!

. . . . . .

And now a wheeling searchlight paints a signal on
the night;
And now the bellowing guns are loud with the
wild lust of fight.

. . . . . .

And now, her flanks of steel apulse with all the
power of hell,
Forth from the darkness leaps in pride a hateful
miracle,
The flagship of their Admiral--and now God help
and save!--
We challenge Death at Death's own game; we
sink beneath the wave!

. . . . . .

Ah, steady now--and one good blow--one straight