YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. A NAVAL ODE Ye Mariners of England That guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe, And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do1 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, Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; Britannia needs no bulwark, 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 As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, The earlier editions have while the stormy tempests blow' throughout. The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart When the storm has ceased to blow; BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. Of Nelson and the North All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand In a bold determin'd hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. Like leviathans afloat Lay their bulwarks on the brine, 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, For a time. 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: As they strike the shattered sail, Light the gloom. Out spoke 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 blest 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 woeful 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, While the wine cup shines in light; And yet amidst that joy and uproar, By thy wild and stormy steep, Brave hearts! to Britain's pride On the deck of fame that died,— With the gallant good Riou, Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave! And the mermaid's song condoles, Of the brave! THE ONEYDA'S DEATH-SONG. [From Gertrude of Wyoming, Part III.] Hushed were his Gertrude's lips, but still their bland With love that could not die; and still his hand She presses to the heart no more that felt. Ah heart! where once each fond affection dwelt, Mute, gazing, agonizing as he knelt, Of them that stood encircling his despair, He heard some friendly words ;-but knew not what they were. For now, to mourn their judge and child, arrives Then mournfully the parting bugle bid Its farewell, o'er the grave of worth and truth; His face on earth;-him watched in gloomy ruth He watch'd, beneath its folds, each burst that came 'And I could weep ;'-th' Oneyda chief 'But that I may not stain with grief The death-song of my father's son, Or bow this head in woe; For by my wrongs and by my wrath To-morrow Areouski's breath (That fires yon heav'n with storms of death) Shall light us to the foe; And we shall share, my Christian boy, The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy! 'But thee, my flower, whose breath was given By milder genii o'er the deep, The spirits of the white man's heaven Forbid not thee to weep; Nor will the Christian host, Nor will thy father's spirit grieve To see thee, on the battle's eve, 'To-morrow let us do or die! But when the bolt of death is hurled, Shall Outalissi roam the world? |