460. Battle of the Baltic

Thomas Campbell (1777—1844)

  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

  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.

  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 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.

  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!