Then homeward steered the captive ship, now safe in port she lies, The old and young with rapture viewed our sailors' noble prize; Through seas of wine their health we'll drink, And wish them sweet-hearts, friends, and chink, Who 'fore they'd strike, will nobly sink Our brave Yankee boys.
The banner of Freedom high floated unfurled, While the silver-tipt surges in low homage curled, Flashing bright round the bow of Decatur's brave bark, In contest, an "eagle"--in chasing a "lark." The bold _United States_, Which four-and-forty rates, Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly, Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."
All canvas expanded to woo the coy gale, The ship cleared for action, in chase of a sail; The foemen in view, every bosom beats high, All eager for conquest, or ready to die. The bold _United States_, Which four-and-forty rates, Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly. Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."
Now havoc stands ready, with optics of flame, And battle-hounds "strain on the start" for the game; The blood demons rise on the surge for their prey, While Pity, rejected, awaits the dread fray. The bold _United States_, Which four-and-forty rates, Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly, Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."
The gay floating streamers of Britain appear, Waving light on the breeze as the stranger we near; And now could the quick-sighted Yankee discern "_Macedonian_," emblazoned at large on her stern. The bold _United States_, Which four-and-forty rates, Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly, Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."
She waited our approach, and the contest began, But to waste ammunition is no Yankee plan; In awful suspense every match was withheld, While the bull-dogs of Britain incessantly yelled. The bold _United States_, Which four-and-forty rates, Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly, Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."
Unawed by her thunders, alongside we came, While the foe seemed enwrapped in a mantle of flame; When, prompt to the word, such a flood we return, That Neptune aghast, thought his trident would burn. The bold _United States_, Which four-and-forty rates, Will ne'er be known to yield--be known to yield or fly, Her motto is "Glory! we conquer or we die."