A stormy midnight watch, he thought, Than this sojourn would have been dearer, If but the storm his vessel brought To England nearer. At last, when care had banished sleep, He saw one morning-dreaming—doating, An empty hogshead from the deep Come shoreward floating; He hid it in a cave, and wrought By mighty working. Heaven help us! 'twas a thing beyond For ploughing in the salt-sea field, It would have made the boldest shudder; From neighb'ring woods he interlaced But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, Till tidings of him chanced to reach Napoleon's hearing. With folded arms Napoleon stood, 'Rash man, that wouldst yon Channel pass 'I have no sweetheart,' said the lad; 'And so thou shalt,' Napoleon said, He gave the tar a piece of gold, And, with a flag of truce, commanded He should be shipped to England Old, And safely landed. Our sailor oft could scantly shift To find a dinner, plain and hearty; But never changed the coin and gift Of Bonaparté. LXVI 'YE MARINERS' YE Mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved a thousand years Your glorious standard launch again And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, The spirits of your fathers 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, While the stormy winds do blow; Britannia needs no bulwarks, 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 winds do blow; The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, Our song and feast shall flow When the storm has ceased to blow; LXVII THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 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 It was ten of April morn by the chime: There was silence deep as death; But the might of England flushed And her van the fleeter rushed 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, 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 cease-and all is wail, As they strike the shattered sail; Or, in conflagration pale Light the gloom. Now joy, Old England, raise For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; |