|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;
|By each gun the lighted brand
|In a bold determined hand,
|And the Prince of all the land
|Led them on.
|Like leviathans afloat
|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
|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;
|And her van the fleeter rush’d
|O’er the deadly space between.
|‘Hearts of oak!’ our captains cried, when each
|From its adamantine lips
|Spread a death-shade round the ships,
|Like the hurricane eclipse
|Of the sun.
|Again! again! again!
|And the havoc did not slack,
|Till a feeble cheer the Dane
|To our cheering sent us back;—
|Their shots along the deep slowly boom:—
|Then ceased—and all is wail,
|As their strike the shatter’d sail;
|Or in conflagration pale
|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:—
|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.’
|Then Denmark blest 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:
|While the sun look’d smiling bright
|O’er a wide and woful sight,
|Where the fires of funeral light
|Now joy, old England, raise!
|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
|Full many a fathom deep
|By thy wild and stormy steep,
|Brave hearts! to Britain’s pride
|Once so faithful and so true,
|On the deck of fame they 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
|Singing glory to the souls
|Of the brave!
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