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But Linden saw another sight,

When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed

To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven;
Then rushed the steed, to battle driven;
And louder than the bolts of heaven
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stainèd snow;
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun

Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye Brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,

And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part, where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

Thomas Campbell [1777-1844]

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

[APRIL 2, 1801]

OF Nelson and the North,

Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

Battle of the Baltic

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
On the lofty British line;

It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.-

But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rushed

O'er the deadly space between.

2375

"Hearts of oak!" our captain 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 ceased-and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail;

Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

Outspoke the victor then,

As he hailed 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,
And make submission meet
To our King."-

Then Denmark blessed our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief,
From her people wildly rose,

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.

Now joy, Old England, raise!
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;

And yet, amidst that joy and uproar,

Let us think of them that sleep,

Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore!-

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride

Once so faithful and so true,

On the deck of fame that died;→→

With the gallant good Riou:

Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave!

While the billow mournful rolls,

And the mermaid's song condoles,

Singing glory to the souls.

Of the brave!

Thomas Campbell [1777-1844]

The Fighting Téméraire

2377

THE FIGHTING TÉMÉRAIRE

[OCTOBER 21, 1805]

It was eight bells ringing,

For the morning watch was done,
And the gunner's lads were singing
As they polished every gun.
It was eight bells ringing,

And the gunner's lads were singing,
For the ship she rode a-swinging,
As they polished every gun.

Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
Téméraire ! Téméraire !
Oh! to hear the round shot biting,
Téméraire ! Téméraire !

Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
And to hear the round shot biting,
For we're all in love with fighting
On the Fighting Téméraire.

It was noontide ringing,

And the battle just begun,

When the ship her way was winging,
As they loaded every gun,

It was noontide ringing,

When the ship her way was winging,
And the gunner's lads were singing,
As they loaded every gun.

There'll be many grim and gory, Téméraire ! Téméraire ! There'll be few to tell the story, Téméraire ! Téméraire ! There'll be many grim and gory, There'll be few to tell the story, But we'll all be one in glory With the Fighting Téméraire.

There's a far bell ringing
At the setting of the sun,
And a phantom voice is singing
Of the great days done,
There's a far bell ringing,
And a phantom Voice is singing
Of renown for ever clinging
To the great days done.

Now the sunset breezes shiver,
Téméraire ! Téméraire !
And she's fading down the river,
Téméraire ! Téméraire !

Now the sunset breezes shiver,
And she's fading down the river,
But in England's song for ever
She's the Fighting Téméraire.

Henry Newbolt [1862

SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE

[1808]

Of all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme,—
On Apuleius's Golden Ass,

Or one-eyed Calender's horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human back,
Islam's prophet on Al-Borák,-

The strangest ride that ever was sped
Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead!

Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead!

Body of turkey, head of fowl,

Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,
Feathered and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.
Scores of women, old and young,
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,

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