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 their breath
For a time.-

But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rushed

66

O'er the deadly space between.

Hearts of Oak!" our captains cried, when each

gun,

From its adamantine lips,

Spread a death-shade the ships,

Like 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 cease and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail;
Or in conflagration pale

Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hailed 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 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;
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

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,
Elsinore !

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,

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,
Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave!

CAMPBELL.

TRAFALGAR.

'TWAS at the close of that dark morn
On which our hero, conquering, died,
That every seaman's heart was torn
By stripe of sorrow and of pride:

Of pride that one short day should show
Deeds of eternal splendour done-
Full twenty hostile ensigns low,
And twenty glorious victories won:

Of grief, the deepest tenderest grief
That he on every sea and shore-
Their brave, belov'd, unconquer'd chief-
Should fly his master-flag no more.

U

Sad was the eve of that great day;
But sadder and more dire the night,
When human passion clos'd the fray,
And elements maintain'd the fight.

All shaken in the conflict past,

The navies fear'd the tempest loud—. The gale that shook the groaning mast, The wave that struck the straining shroud.

By passing gleams of sullen light

The worn and weary seamen view'd Their blood-gain'd prizes of the fight Go foundering from the awful feud.

And oft, as drown'd men's screams were heard,
And oft, as sank the ships around,
Some British vessel lost they fear'd,

And mourn'd some British seamen drown'd.

And oft they cried-as memory told
Of him, so late their darling pride,
But now a bloody corse and cold-
"Was it for this our Nelson died?"

Through three short days and three long nights, They struggl'd 'gainst the gale's stern force, And sank the trophies of their fights,

And thought of that dear hero's corse.

But when the fairer morn arose,

Bright o'er the still tumultuous main; They saw no wrecks 'cept those of foes, No ruin but of France and Spain.

And, victors now of winds and seas,
Behold thy British vessels brave

Breasting the ocean at their ease,
Like sea-birds on their native wave.

And now they cried because they found
Their conquering fleet in all its pride,
With Spain's and France's hopes aground—
"It was for this our Nelson died!".

He died with many a hundred bold
And sterling hearts as ever beat:
But where's the British heart so cold
That would not die for such a feat?

Yes, by their memories !-by all

The honours which their tomb surround,
Theirs was the greatest, noblest fall
That ever mortal courage crown'd!

Then give them each a hero's grave,

With no weak tears, no woman's sighs; Theirs was the death-bed of the brave, And heroic be their obsequies.

Haul not your colours from on high,
Still let your flags of victory soar;
Give every pennant to the sky,

And let your conquering cannon roar—

That every kindling soul may learn
How to resign its patriot-breath,
And from an honouring country earn
The triumphs of a hero's death.

ANONYMOUS.

THE SHANNON AND THE CHESAPEAKE.

On board the Shannon frigate,1

In the merry month of May,
To watch those bold Americans,
Off Boston lights we lay.
The Chesapeake was in harbour,
A frigate stout and fine-

Four hundred and forty men had she,
Her guns were forty-nine.

1 Of thirty-eight guns.

'Twas Captain Broke1 commanded us,-
A challenge he did write

To the captain 2 of the Chesapeake,
To bring her out to fight:

Our captain says "Brave Lawrence,
'Tis not from enmity;

But 'tis to prove to all the world
That we do rule the sea.

"Don't think, my noble captain,
Because you have had success,
That British tars are humbled-
Not even in distress.

No! we will fight like heroes,
Our glory to maintain,
In defiance of your greater size
And the number of your men.

That challenge was accepted;
The Americans came down,-
A finer frigate ne'er belonged
Unto the British crown.
They brought her into action,3
On our true English plan;
Nor fired a shot till within hail-
And then the hell began.

Broadside for broadside quick
Set up a murderous roar;
Like thunder it resounded

From echoing shore to shore.

This dreadful duel lasted

Near a quarter-of-an-hour;

Then the Chesapeake drove right aboard,

And put her in our power.

Our captain went to their ship's side
To see how she did lie,

When he beheld the enemy's men,

Who from their guns did fly.

1 Sir Philip Bowes Vere Broke; he came of an old Suffolk family, was made a baronet, then a Rear-Admiral and a K. C. B. for this action. 2 James Lawrence, who had previously commanded the Hornet, with which he had sunk the Peacock and done other damage to British ships. 3 June 1, 1813.