YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 183 YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. YE mariners of England, That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved a thousand years To match another foe; While the stormy winds do blow; The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave; While the stormy winds do blow; Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, 184 THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. With thunders from her native oak When the stormy winds do blow; The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart When the storm has ceased to blow; And the storm has ceased to blow. T. Campbell. 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 185 THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. It was ten of April morn by the chime: As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death; But the might of England flush'd And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between. "Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a dead-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Their shots along the deep slowly boom: Then ceased-and all is wail, As they 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, To our King." 186 THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. Then Denmark blest our chief As death withdrew his shades from the day: O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Now joy, old England, raise! Brave hearts! to Britain's pride Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave! And the mermaid's song condoles, Of the brave! T. Campbell. THE COMING OF CHARLEMAGNE. 187 THE COMING OF CHARLEMAGNE. To Oggier spake king Didier: Some token show, that we may know Then to the king made answer |