When the pale desert mark'd his proud array,
And desolation hop'd an ampler sway;
What hero then triumphant Gaul dismay'd?
What arm repell'd the victor renegade ?
Britannia's champion! bath'd in hostile blood,
High on the beach the dauntless seaman1 stood;
Admiring Asia saw th' unequal fight,--

E'en the pale crescent2 bless'd the Christian's might.
O day of death! O thirst, beyond control,
Of crimson conquest in th' invader's soul!
The slain, yet warm, by social 3 footsteps trod,
O'er the red moat supplied a panting road,
O'er the red moat our conquering thunders flew,
And loftier still the grisly rampire1 grew ;
While proudly glow'd, above the rescued tower,
The wavy cross that mark'd Britannia's power.
BISHOP HEBER.

THE BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR.

1805.

THE Spanish flag, all red and gold,

Flies out in Cadiz Bay;

King George's ships are off the coast,

Close watching night and day.

1 Sir Sidney Smith. Napoleon always said, “That man made me

miss my destiny."

2 The Turkish standard.

3 From socius = an alley. Hence, the footsteps of the allies.

Rampire, a rampart,

T

"Come forth, Gravina! Villeneuve !
Before the British might;

St. George for Merry England, lads,
And God defend the right!"

Come forth, O Spanish red and gold!
Forth, French blue-red-and-white
Behold the British hearts of oak

With Red Cross Banner bright!

Sail out, ye stately men of war,
Ye gallant thirty-three,

And carry nigh three thousand guns
Out to the open sea!

The French and Spanish men-of-war

Sail out of Cadiz Bay—

The Trinidad, the Bucentaur,

That bright October day.

All three and thirty stately ships,

Black castles on the main;

Crowd, crowd all sail, King George's FleetShall they go back again?

Beneath the bright October skies,
Away the white sails go,
To where Gibraltar's lion' bides,
Close watching friend and foe.

1 The rock of Gibraltar has the outline of a lion.

But, lo! St. George's ensign floats,

Borne on the western breeze.

A chase! a chase! Turn, Spain and France,
And face the Northern seas!

Tack, Villeneuve ! Tack, Gravina!

Run back to Cadiz Bay;

The great black ships plough through the foam, White sails throw back the spray!

Press on, O British hearts of oak,

Steer north! cut off their van!
Clear, clear the decks, load every gun,
And stand firm every man!

Out roll the Victory's signal flags,
And words of high-souled beauty
Fly forth aloft, "England expects
Each man to do his duty!"

Three ringing cheers sound through the fleet
To hail that watchward glorious;

And every man already feels

Himself, his ship, victorious!

Outsails the Royal Sovereign far
The swiftest sailing ones;
Plunges into the crescent line

With double-shotted guns,

Rake, rake the Santa Anna, lads,
Leave her a shattered wreck;
Hurrah! four hundred men lie dead
Upon the Spanish deck!

Starboard the helm and grapple close,
Lay ship alongside ship:

Soon shall the Spanish red and gold
Before the Red Cross dip.
Muzzle to muzzle every gun,

And face to face each man.

Brave Collingwood hath led the lee,

And pushed into the van!

The white smoke fills the great calm sky,
The battle thunders roar;
Those mighty hulls will never see,
Unwrecked, the Spanish shore:
For Nelson, in the Victory,

Is bearing down full sail,

While shot and shell the Bucentaur
Sends o'er him thick as hail!

Bear down, O gallant Victory,
Subdue the dark blue sea:
For Nelson leads the windward line,
And Collingwood the lee!
The Téméraire is close astern,
Ready each gun and man;
Northesk in the Britannia comes,-
Bear down and break the van!

Bear down, O gallant Victory,
Lead on the windward line!

On where the sunlight strikes the hulls
And makes them flash and shine!

Thy spars and ropes are crashing down,
Thy wheel is shot away,

And fifty officers and men

Fall on thy deck to-day!

Nigh twenty noble Spanish ships
Hold Nelson's line at bay;
Fourteen are grappling with the best
Of Collingwood's array!

The cheers, the crash of falling masts,
The great guns' deafening roar—
Can ye not hear it, Englishmen,
On England's rocky shore?

Close up! close up! in desperate fight,

Red Cross and Tricolor,

The great Redoubtable sails in

To save the Bucentaur !

The Bucentaur and Victory,

Hard fighting face to face,

Their anchors locked, their great hulls rocked In terrible embrace!

Woe to the dark Redoubtable!

Woe to the Frenchman's ball!

We heard it hiss across the deck-
We saw our Nelson fall!

We had no time to sigh or weep,
We bore him down below,

Then rushed to show by British shot
The depth of British woe!