* SONG LXXXII. BY THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ.* Ye mariners of England, That guard our native seas, Your glorious standard raise again, To match another foe; And sweep through the deep, : While the stormy tempests blow The spirits of your fathers Shall start from ev'ry wave . For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave! Where Blake, the boast of freedom, fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, : When the stormy tempests blow :· Britannia needs no bulwark, No towers along the steep; [Author of The Pleasures of Hope,' 'Gertrude of Wyoming, and other deservedly celebrated productions. The present fine alteration of Song XXXVII. (see p. 146.) is well deemed by Dr. Aikin 'the most poetical specimen of a naval song that our language affords.' Her march is o'er the mountain-wayes, 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! The meteor-flag of England Till Danger's troubled night depart, When the tempests cease to blow :When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the tempests cease to blow ! SONG LXXXIII, ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. BY WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. TOLL for the brave! The brave, that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore. Eight hundred of the brave, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds, Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought; His work of glory done. It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; His sword was in its sheath; When Kempenfelt went down, With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full charg'd with England's thunder, And plough the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he, and his eight hundred, SONG LXXXIV. ON THE DEATH OF LORD NELSON. (Adapted from the preceding.) BY M. C. PARK. TOLL for the brave! The brave, that are no more! Toll for the brave! Yet glorious did he fall, Toll for the brave! Once dreaded by their foes; That tear will grace his urn SONG LXXXV. BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ.* O FOR the death of those Who for their country die, How beautiful in death The warrior's corse appears, And bathed in woman's tears! In the dear land that gave them birth They find their tranquil grave. [From an Ode to the Volunteers of Great Britain,' by this truly pathetic, patriotic, and energetic poet: printed in his works.] |