Around the world he drove his game, And ran his glorious race; Nor rested till he hunted them From off the ocean's face; Like that old wardog who, till death, Clung to the vessel's side Till hands were lopped, then with his teeth He held on till he died.

Ay, he could do the deeds that set Old fighters' hearts afire; The edge of every spirit whet, And every arm inspire.

Yet I have seen upon his face The tears that, as they roll, Show what a light of saintly grace May clothe a sailor's soul.

And when our darling went to meet Trafalgar's judgment day, The people knelt down in the street To bless him on his way.

He felt the country of his love Watching him from afar; It saw him through the battle move; His heaven was in that star.

Magnificently glorious sight It was in that great dawn!

Like one vast sapphire flashing light, The sea, just breathing shone.

Their ships, fresh-painted, stood up tall And stately; ours were grim And weatherworn, but one and all In rare good fighting trim.

Our spirits were all flying light, And into battle sped, Straining for it on wings of might, With feet of springy tread; The light of battle on each face, Its l.u.s.t in every eye; Our sailor blood at swiftest pace To catch the victory nigh.

His proudly wasted face, wave worn, Was loftily serene; I saw the brave bright spirit burn There, all too plainly seen; As though the sword this time was drawn Forever from the sheath; And when its work to-day was done, All would be dark in death.

His eye shone like a lamp of night Set in the porch of power; The deed unborn was burning bright Within him at that hour!

His purpose, welded to white heat, Cried like some visible fate, "To-day we must not merely _beat_, We must _annihilate_."

He smiled to see the Frenchman show His reckoning for retreat, With Cadiz port on his lee bow, And held him then half beat.

They flew no colours till we drew Them out to strike with there!

Old _Victory_ for a prize or two Had flags enough to spare.

Mast-high the famous signal ran; Breathless we caught each word: "_England expects that every man Will do his duty_." Lord, You should have seen our faces! heard Us cheering, row on row; Like men before some furnace stirred To a fiery fearful glow!

'Twas Collingwood our lee line led, And cut their centre through.

"_See how he goes in!_" Nelson said, As his first broadside flew, And near four hundred foemen fall.

Up went another cheer.

"Ah! what would Nelson give," said Coll, "But to be with us here!"

We grimly kept our vanward path; Over us hummed their shot; But, silently, we reined our wrath, Held on and answered not, Till we could grip them face to face, And pound them for our own, Or hug them in a war-embrace, Till we or both went down.

How calm he was! when first he felt The sharp edge of that fight.

Cabined with G.o.d alone he knelt; The prayer still lay in light Upon his face, that used to shine In battle--flash with life, As though the glorious blood ran wine, Dancing with that wild strife.

"Fight for us, Thou Almighty one!

Give victory once again!

And if I fall, Thy will be done.

Amen, Amen, Amen!"

With such a voice he bade good-bye; The mournfullest old smile wore: "Farewell! G.o.d bless you, Blackwood, I Shall never see you more."

And four hours after, he had done With winds and troubled foam: The Reaper was borne dead upon Our load of Harvest home-- Not till he knew the Old Flag flew Alone on all the deep; Then said he, "Hardy, is that you?

Kiss me." And fell asleep.

Well, 'twas his chosen death below The deck in triumph trod; 'Tis well. A sailor's soul should go From his good ship to G.o.d.

He would have chosen death aboard, From all the crowns of rest; And burial with the Patriot sword Upon the Victor's breast.

"_Not a great sinner_." No, dear heart, G.o.d grant in our death pain, We may have played as well our part, And feel as free from stain.

We see the spots on such a star, Because it burned so bright; But on the other side they are All lost in greater light.

And so he went upon his way, A higher deck to walk, Or sit in some eternal day And of the old time talk With sailors old, who, on that coast, Welcome the homeward bound, Where many a gallant soul we've lost And Franklin will be found.

Where amidst London's roar and moil That cross of peace upstands, Like Martyr with his heavenward smile, And flame-lit, lifted hands, There lies the dark and moulder'd dust; But that magnanimous And manly Seaman's soul, I trust, Lives on in some of us.

CAMPERDOWN.

(October 11, 1797.)

BY ALFRED H. MILES.

We were lying calm and peaceful as an infant lies asleep, Rocked in the mighty cradle of the ever-restless deep, Or like a lion resting ere he rises to the fray, With eyes half closed in slumber and half open for the prey.

We had waited long, and restless was the spirit of the fleet, For the long-expected conquest and the long-delayed defeat, When, uprose the mists of morning, as a curtain rolls away, For the high heroic action of some old chivalric play.

And athwart the sea to starboard waved the colours high and free Of the famous fighting squadron that usurped the loyal sea.

Quick the signal came for action, quick replied we with a cheer, For the friends at home behind us, and the foes before so near; Three times three the cheering sounded, and 'mid deafening hurrahs We sprang into position--five hundred l.u.s.ty tars.

And the cannons joined our shouting with a burly, booming cheer That aroused the hero's action, and awoke the coward's fear; And the lightning and the thunder gleamed and pealed athwart the scene, Till the noontide mist was greater than the morning mist had been, And the foeman and the stranger and the brother and the friend Were mingled in one seething ma.s.s the battle's end to end.

With broken spars and splintered bulks the decks were strewn anon, While the rigging, torn and tangled, hung the shattered yards upon; Like a cataract of fire outpoured the steady cannonade, Till the strongest almost wavered and the bravest were dismayed.

Like an endless swarm of locusts sprang they up our vessel's side, And scaled her burning bulwarks or fell backward in the tide, 'Twas a fearful day of carnage, such as none had known before, In the fiercest naval battles of those gallant days of yore.

We had battled all the morning, 'mid the never-ceasing hail Of grape and spark and splinter, of cable shred, and sail; We had thrice received their onslaught, which we thrice had driven back, And were waiting, calm and ready, for the last forlorn attack; When a shout of exultation from out their ranks arose, A frenzied shout of triumph o'er their yet unconquered foes; For the stainless flag of England, that has braved a thousand years, Had been shot clean from the masthead; and they gave three hearty cheers, "A prize! a prize!" they shouted, from end to end the host, Till a broadside gave them answer, and for ever stilled their boast.

Then a fearful struggle followed, as, to desperation spurred, They sought in deed the triumph so falsely claimed in word.

'Twas the purpose of a moment, and the bravest of our tars Plunged headlong in the boiling surf, amid the broken spars; He s.n.a.t.c.hed the shot-torn colours, and wound them round his arm, Then climbed upon the deck again, and there stood safe and calm; He paused but for a moment--it was no time to stay-- Then he leaped into the rigging that had yet survived the fray; Higher yet he climbed and higher, till he gained a dizzy height, Then turned and paused a moment to look down upon the fight.

Whistled wild the shots around him, as a curling, smoky wreath Formed a cloudy shroud to hide him from the enemy beneath.

Beat his heart with proud elation as he firmly fixed his stand, And again the colours floated as he held them in his hand.

Then a pistol deftly wielded, 'mid the battle's ceaseless blast, Fastened there the colours firmly, as he nailed them to that mast; Then as if to yield him glory--the smoke-clouds cleared away-- And we sent him up the loudest cheer that reach'd his ear that day, With new-born zeal and courage, dashing fiercely to the fight, To crown the day of battle with the triumph of the night.

'Tis a story oft repeated, 'tis a triumph often won, How a thousand hearts are strengthened by the bravery of one There was never dauntless courage of the loyal and the true That did not inspirit others unto deeds of daring too; There was never bright example, be the struggle what it might, That did not inflame the ardour of the others in the fight.

Up, then, ye who would be heroes, and, before the strife is past, For the sake of those about you, "_nail the colours to the mast!_"

For the flag is ever flying, and it floats above the free, On island and on continent, and up and down the sea; And the conflict ever rages--there are many foes to fight-- There are many ills to conquer, there are many wrongs to right, For the glory of the moment, for the triumph by-and-bye; For the love of truth and duty, up and dare, and do or die, And though fire and shot and whirlwind join to tear the standard down, Up and nail it to the masthead, as we did at Camperdown.

THE ARMADA.

BY LORD MACAULAY.

Attend, all ye who list to hear our n.o.ble England's praise, I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, When that great Fleet Invincible against her bore, in vain, The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts in Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay; The crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves, lie heaving many a mile.

At sunrise she escaped their van, by G.o.d's especial grace; And the tall _Pinta_, till the noon, had held her close in chase.