BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.1

Or 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.

1 Copenhagen was bombarded by the English fleet, under Lord Nelson and Admiral Parker, in April, 1801, and the Danish fleet was almost totally destroyed in the engagement.

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 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,
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 look'd 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,

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: 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!

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

I.

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 tempests blow;

While the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy tempests blow.

1 Captain Riou, justly entitled the gallant and the good by Lord Nelson, when he wrote home his dispatches.

II.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave:

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

III.

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,

She quells the floods below,

As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy tempests blow.

IV.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;

Till danger's troubled night depart,

And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow

To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,

And the storm has ceased to blow.

THOMAS CAMPBELL

BORDER BALLAD.

MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,

Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,

All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border
Many a banner spread

Flutters above your head,

Many a crest that is famous in story.
Mount and make ready then,

Sons of the mountain glen,

Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.

Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding,

War-steeds are bounding,

Stand to your arms, then, and march in good order, England shall many a day

Tell of the bloody fray,

When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

The Monastery.

THE FORAY.

THE last of our steers on the board has been spread,
And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red;
Up! up, my brave kinsmen! belt swords and begone,
There are dangers to dare, and there 's spoil to be won.