67 - Commemorative of a Naval Victory Commemorative of a Naval Victory. Sailors there are of 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 spirits which glad had hailed his worth, Sleep in oblivion.—The shark Glides white through the prosphorus sea.