| |
| NORTHWEST the wind was blowing | |
| Our good ships running free; | |
| Seven leagues lay Cape Trafalgar | |
| Away upon our lee; | |
| ’T was then, as broke the morning, | 5 |
| The Frenchmen we descried, | |
| East away, there they lay, | |
| That day that Nelson died. | |
| |
| That was a sight to see, boys, | |
| On which that morning shone! | 10 |
| We counted three-and-thirty, | |
| Mounseer and stately Don; | |
| And plain their great three-deckers | |
| Amongst them we descried,— | |
| “Safe,” we said, “for Spithead,” | 15 |
| That day that Nelson died. | |
| |
| Then Nelson spoke to Hardy, | |
| Upon his face the smile, | |
| The very look he wore when | |
| We beat them at the Nile! | 20 |
| “We must have twenty, Hardy,” | |
| ’T was thus the hero cried; | |
| And we had twenty, lad, | |
| That day that Nelson died. | |
| |
| Up went his latest signal; | 25 |
| Ay, well, my boys, he knew | |
| That not a man among us | |
| But would his duty do! | |
| And as the signal flew, boys, | |
| With shouts each crew replied; | 30 |
| How we cheered as we neared | |
| The foe, when Nelson died! | |
| |
| We led the weather column, | |
| But Collingwood, ahead, | |
| A mile from all, the lee line | 35 |
| Right through the Frenchmen led; | |
| “And what would Nelson give to | |
| Be here with us!” he cried, | |
| As he bore through their roar | |
| That day that Nelson died. | 40 |
| |
| Well, on the “Victory” stood, boys, | |
| With every sail full spread; | |
| And as we neared them slowly | |
| There was but little said. | |
| There were thoughts of home amongst us, | 45 |
| And as their line we eyed, | |
| Here and there, perhaps, a prayer, | |
| That day that Nelson died. | |
| |
| A gun,—the “Bucentaure” first | |
| Began with us the game; | 50 |
| Another,—then their broadsides | |
| From all sides through us came; | |
| With men fast falling round us, | |
| While not a gun replied, | |
| With sails rent, on we went, | 55 |
| That day that Nelson died. | |
| |
| “Steer for their admiral’s flag, boys!” | |
| But where it flew none knew; | |
| “Then make for that four-decker,” | |
| Said Nelson, “men, she ’ll do!” | 60 |
| So, at their “Trinidada,” | |
| To get we straightway tried, | |
| As we broke through their smoke, | |
| That day that Nelson died. | |
| |
| ’T was where they clustered thickest | 65 |
| That through their line we broke, | |
| And to their “Bucentaure” first | |
| Our thundering broadside spoke. | |
| We shaved her;—as our shot, boys, | |
| Crashed through her shattered side; | 70 |
| She could feel how to heel | |
| That day that Nelson died. | |
| |
| Into the Dons’ four-decker | |
| Our larboard broadsides pour, | |
| Though all we well could spare her | 75 |
| Went to the “Bucentaure.” | |
| Locked to another Frenchman, | |
| Our starboard fire we plied, | |
| Gun to gun till we won, | |
| That day that Nelson died. | 80 |
| |
| “Redoubtable” they call her,— | |
| A curse upon her name! | |
| ’T was from her tops the bullet | |
| That killed our hero came. | |
| As from the deck, with Hardy, | 85 |
| The bloody fight he eyed, | |
| And could hear cheer on cheer, | |
| As they struck, that day he died. | |
| |
| “They ’ve done for me at last, friend!” | |
| ’T was thus they heard him say, | 90 |
| “But I die as I would die, boys, | |
| Upon this glorious day; | |
| I ’ve done my duty, Hardy,” | |
| He cried, and still he cried,— | |
| As below, sad and slow, | 95 |
| We bore him as he died. | |
| |
| On wounded and on dying | |
| The cockpit’s lamp shone dim; | |
| But many a groan we heard, lads, | |
| Less for themselves than him: | 100 |
| And many a one among them | |
| Had given, and scarcely sighed, | |
| A limb to save him | |
| Who there in glory died. | |
| |
| As slowly life ebbed from him, | 105 |
| His thoughts were still the same; | |
| “How many have we now, boys?” | |
| Still faint and fainter came. | |
| As ship on ship struck to us, | |
| His glazing eyes with pride, | 110 |
| As it seemed, flashed and gleamed, | |
| As he knew he conquering died. | |
| |
| We beat them—how, you know, boys, | |
| Yet many an eye was dim; | |
| And when we talked of triumph, | 115 |
| We only thought of him. | |
| And still, though fifty years, boys, | |
| Have gone, who, without pride, | |
| Names his name,—tells his fame, | |
| Who at Trafalgar died! | 120 |
| |
