'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Ah! few shall part where many meet! YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. A NAVAL ODE. I. YE Mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe! And sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow; And the stormy tempests blow. Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave: Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages loud and long; And the stormy tempests blow. III. Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below As they roar on the shore, When the stormy tempests blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy tempests blow. IV. The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean warriors! Our song and feast shall flow When the storm has ceased to blow; GLENARA. O HEARD ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, "And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse, "I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud," O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn: I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief: On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem; Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!" In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert revealed where his lady was found; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne, Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn! BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. I. Or Nelson and the North, 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, II. Lay their bulwarks on the brine; On the lofty British line: It was ten of April morn by the chime, There was silence deep as death; For a time. III. But the might of England flushed To anticipate the scene; And her van the fleeter rushed O'er the deadly space between. "Hearts of oak," our captains cried; when each gr From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. IV. Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane Their shots along the deep slowly boom:→→ Then ceased-and all is wail, Light the gloom.— V. Outspoke the victor then, As he hailed them o'er the wave, With the crews, at England's feet. To our king." VI. Then Denmark blest our chief, That he gave her wounds repose; And the sounds of joy and grief, As death withdrew his shades from the day. While the sun looked smiling bright O'er a wide and woful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away. |