The fight was long;--and deep in blood
Britain’s triumphant warriors stood:
High o’er the wave, untorn, unstain’d,
The ensigns of her glory reign’d:
Around, the wreck’d and vanquish’d pride
Of hostile navies strew’d the tide;
Or scatter’d, as the tempest bore,
Their ruins on the affrighted shore.
The haughty hopes of France and Spain,
Had dream’d of conquest’s laurel crown--
O! vision, arrogant and vain!--
NELSON has swept them from the main,
And dash’d their airy trophies down:
Their fancied wreaths his brow adorn,
Won by his valour, in his triumph worn.
But, hark! amidst the joyous shout,
For Spain’s defeat, and France’s rout:
But, hark! amidst the glad acclaim
Of England’s honour, NELSON’S fame,
What deep and sullen sounds arise?
Are these, alas! victorious cries?
Bode they a widow’d nation’s woe;
The triumph vain, and NELSON low?--
In his full glory’s brightest blaze,
On the high summit of his deeds,
(While Victory’s saintly halo plays,
With living fire,--immortal rays,--
Around his head,) the Hero bleeds;
In pomp of death, to mortal eyes
Never before revealed, the Hero dies.
He dies! but while on Egypt’s strand
The Ptolomean tower shall stand;--
Stain’d with the turbid streams of Nile,
While seas shall beat Aboukir’s isle;--
While the white ocean breaks and roars
On Trafalgar’s immortal shores;--
While high St. Vincent’s towery steep
And, giant of the Atlantic deep,
Dark Teneriffe, like beacons, guide
The wanderers of the western wave;
Sublime shall stand, amid the tide
Of baffled Time,--his country’s pride--
The sacred memory of the brave;
And NELSON’S emulated name
Shine the proud sea-mark to the ports of Fame!