II

The spirit 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 winds do blow;

While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

III

Britannia needs no bulwarks,
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 winds do blow;

When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do 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.

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

I

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,

II

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. -

III

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 captain cried; when each gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.

IV

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.

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

Died away.

VII

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 !

VIII

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!

EXILE OF ERIN

THERE came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill:
For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill:
But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion,
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion,
He sang the bold anthem of Erin go bragh.

Sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger;
The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee,
But I have no refuge from famine and danger,
A home and a country remain not to me.
Never again, in the green sunny bowers,

Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours,
Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers,
And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh!

Erin, my country! though sad and forsaken,
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore;

But, alas! in a far foreign land I awaken,

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more.

Oh cruel fate! wilt thou never replace me

In a mansion of peace - where no perils can chase me? Never again shall my brothers embrace me?

They died to defend me, or live to deplore!

Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood?
Sisters and sire! did ye weep for its fall?
Where is the mother that look'd on my childhood?
And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all?
Oh! my sad heart! long abandon'd by pleasure,
Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure?
Tears, like the rain-drop, may fall without measure,
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall.

Yet all its sad recollections suppressing,

One dying wish my lone bosom can draw: Erin! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing! Land of my forefathers! Erin go bragh!

Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion,
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean!
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion, —
Erin mavournin - Erin go bragh!

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?"
"O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

"And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride

When they have slain her lover?"