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When in the storm on Albion's coast,
The night-watch guards his wary post.
From thoughts of danger free,
He marks some vessel's dusky form,
And hears, amid the howling storm,
The minute gun at sea.
Swift on the shore a hardy few
The life-boat man with gallant crew
And dare the dangerous wave:
Through the wild surf they cleave their way,
Lost in the foam, nor know dismay,
For they go the crew to save.
But, oh! what rapture fills each breast
Of the hopeless crew of the ship distress'd!
Then, landed safe, what joy to tell
Of all the dangers that befell!
Then heard is no more,
By the watch on shore,
The minute gun at sea.
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
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 flush'd,
To anticipate the scene ;
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 death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.
Again ! again ! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feebler 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 shatter'd sail ;
Or, in conflagration pale,
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 bless'd 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 look'd smiling bright
O'er a wide and woeful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
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,
Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride,
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died ;
With the gallant good Riou :1
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!
John O'KEEFFE. Music by Dr. Arnold.
In May fifteen hundred and eighty and eight,
Cries Philip, “ The English I'll humble ; I've taken it into my Majesty's pate,
And their lion, O, down he shall tumble! They lords of the sea !"—then his sceptre he shook, — “I'll
prove it an arrant bravado. By Neptune! I'll sweep 'em all into a nook,
With the invincible Spanish Armada!"
This fleet then sail'd out, and the winds they did blow,
Their guns made a terrible clatter ;
Our noble Queen Bess, 'cause she wanted to know,
Quill’d her ruff and cried, “Pray, what's the matter ?”' * They say, my good Queen,” replied Howard so stout,
The Spaniard has drawn his toledo ;
Cock sure that he'll thump us, and kick us about,
With th’ invincible Spanish Armada.”
The Lord Mayor of London, a very wise man,
What to do in this case vastly wonder'd ;
Says the Queen, “ Send in fifty good ships if you can.”
Says my Lord, Ma'am, I'll send in a hundred." Our fire-ships they soon struck their cannons all dumb,
For the Dons run to ave and credo.
Great Medina roars out, “Sure the devil is come,
For th' invincible Spanish Armada.”
On Effingham's squadron, though all in a breast,
Like open-mouth curs they came bowling :
His sugar-plums, finding they could not digest,
Away home they ran yelping and howling. Whene'er Britain's foes shall, with envy agog,
In our Channel make such a bravadoHuzza, my brave boys! we're still able to flog
An invincible Spanish Armada !
THE Sea, the sea, the open sea,
The blue, the fresh, the ever free:
Without a mark, without a bound,
It runneth the earth's wide regions round :
It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,
Or like a cradled creature lies.
I'm on the sea, I'm on the sea,
I am where I would ever be,
With the blue above and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe'er I go.
If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.
I love, O how I love to ride
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,
Where every mad wave drowns the moon,
And whistles aloft its tempest tune:
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the south-west wind doth blow.
I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the deep sea more and more,
And backward tlew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest-
And a mother she was and is to me,
For I was born on the open sea.
The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
The whale it whistled, the porpoise rolld,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild,
As welcom'd to life the ocean child.
I have lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a rover's life,
With wealth to spend, and a power to range,
But never have sought or sighed for change;
And death, whenever he comes to me,
Shall come on the wide unbounded sea!
EDWARD RUSHTON, of Liverpool, born 1756, died 1814.
I sing the British seaman's praise,
A theme renown'd in story:
It well deserves more polish'd lays,
O'tis your boast and glory;
When mad-brained war spreads death around
By them you are protected,
But when in peace the nation's found,
These bulwarks are neglected.
Then 0 protect the bardy tar,
Be mindful of his merit,
And when again you're plung'd in war,
He'll show his daring spirit,