| |
| OF Nelson and the North | |
| Sing the glorious day’s renown, | |
| When to battle fierce came forth | |
| All the might of Denmark’s crown, | |
| And her arms along the deep proudly shone; | 5 |
| By each gun the lighted brand | |
| In a bold determined hand, | |
| And the Prince of all the land | |
| Led them on. | |
| |
| Like leviathans afloat | 10 |
| Lay their bulwarks on the brine; | |
| While the sign of battle flew | |
| On the lofty British line: | |
| It was ten of April morn by the chime: | |
| As they drifted on their path | 15 |
| There was silence deep as death; | |
| And the boldest held his breath | |
| For a time. | |
| |
| But the might of England flush’d | |
| To anticipate the scene; | 20 |
| And her van the fleeter rush’d | |
| O’er the deadly space between. | |
| ‘Hearts of oak!’ our captains cried, when each gun | |
| From its adamantine lips | |
| Spread a death-shade round the ships, | 25 |
| Like the hurricane eclipse | |
| Of the sun. | |
| |
| Again! again! again! | |
| And the havoc did not slack, | |
| Till a feeble cheer the Dane | 30 |
| To our cheering sent us back;— | |
| Their shots along the deep slowly boom:— | |
| Then ceased—and all is wail, | |
| As they strike the shatter’d sail; | |
| Or in conflagration pale | 35 |
| Light the gloom. | |
| |
| Out spoke the victor then | |
| As he hail’d them o’er the wave, | |
| ‘Ye are brothers! ye are men! | |
| And we conquer but to save:— | 40 |
| So peace instead of death let us bring: | |
| But yield, proud foe, thy fleet | |
| With the crews, at England’s feet, | |
| And make submission meet | |
| To our King.’ | 45 |
| |
| Then Denmark bless’d our chief | |
| That he gave her wounds repose; | |
| And the sounds of joy and grief | |
| From her people wildly rose, | |
| As death withdrew his shades from the day: | 50 |
| While the sun look’d smiling bright | |
| O’er a wide and woeful sight, | |
| Where the fires of funeral light | |
| Died away. | |
| |
| Now joy, old England, raise! | 55 |
| For the tidings of thy might, | |
| By the festal cities’ blaze, | |
| Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; | |
| And yet amidst that joy and uproar, | |
| Let us think of them that sleep | 60 |
| Full many a fathom deep | |
| By thy wild and stormy steep, | |
| Elsinore! | |
| |
| Brave hearts! to Britain’s pride | |
| Once so faithful and so true, | 65 |
| On the deck of fame that died, | |
| With the gallant good Riou: | |
| Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o’er their grave! | |
| While the billow mournful rolls | |
| And the mermaid’s song condoles | 70 |
| Singing glory to the souls | |
| Of the brave! | |
| |
