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 shattered sail; Or, in conflagration pale, Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then, As he hailed them o'er the wave: 'Ye are brothers! we 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 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, 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.

NAPOLEON AND THE SAILOR

Napoleon's banners at Boulogne Arm'd in our island every freeman, His navy chanced to capture one Poor British seaman.

They suffer'd him--I know not how-- Unprison'd on the sh.o.r.e to roam; And aye was bent his longing brow On England's home.

His eye, methinks, pursued the flight Of birds to Britain half-way over; With envy they could reach the white Dear cliffs of Dover.

A stormy midnight watch, he thought, Than this sojourn would have been dearer, If but the storm his vessel brought To England nearer.

At last, when care had banish'd sleep, He saw one morning--dreaming--doating, An empty hogshead from the deep Come sh.o.r.eward floating;

He hid it in a cave, and wrought The livelong day laborious; lurking Until he launch'd a tiny boat By mighty working.

Heaven help us! 'twas a thing beyond Description wretched: such a wherry Perhaps ne'er ventur'd on a pond, Or cross'd a ferry.

For ploughing in the salt sea-field, It would have made the boldest shudder; Untarr'd, uncompa.s.s'd, and unkeel'd, No sail--no rudder.

From neighbouring woods he interlaced His sorry skiff with wattled willows; And thus equipp'd he would have pa.s.s'd The foaming billows--

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, His little Argo sorely jeering; Till tidings of him chanced to reach Napoleon's hearing.

With folded arms Napoleon stood, Serene alike in peace and danger; And in his wonted att.i.tude, Address'd the stranger:--

'Rash man that wouldst yon channel pa.s.s On twigs and staves so rudely fashion'd; Thy heart with some sweet British la.s.s Must be impa.s.sion'd.'

'I have no sweetheart,' said the lad; 'But--absent long from one another-- Great was the longing that I had To see my mother!'

'And so thou shalt,' Napoleon said, 'Ye've both my favour fairly won; A n.o.ble mother must have bred So brave a son.'

He gave the tar a piece of gold, And with a flag of truce commanded He should be shipp'd to England Old, And safely landed.

Our sailor oft could scantly shift To find a dinner plain and hearty; But never changed the coin and gift Of Bonaparte.

THE PARROT

A parrot, from the Spanish main, Full young and early caged came o'er, With bright wings, to the bleak domain Of Mullah's sh.o.r.e.

To spicy groves where he had won His plumage of resplendent hue, His native fruits, and skies, and sun, He bade adieu.

For these he changed the smoke of turf, A heathery land and misty sky, And turned on rocks and raging surf His golden eye.

But petted in our climate cold, He lived and chattered many a day: Until with age, from green and gold His wings grew grey.

At last when blind, and seeming dumb, He scolded, laugh'd, and spoke no more, A Spanish stranger chanced to come To Mullah's sh.o.r.e;

He hail'd the bird in Spanish speech, The bird in Spanish speech replied; Flapp'd round the cage with joyous screech, Dropt down, and died.

HOHENLINDEN

On Linden when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser rolling rapidly.

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 hill, 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 stained 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 sulph'rous 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.

MEN OF ENGLAND

Men of England! who inherit Rights that cost your sires their blood Men whose undegenerate spirit Has been proved on land and flood:

Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory, Sidney's matchless shade is yours,-- Martyrs in heroic story, Worth a thousand Agincourts!