  1805 III.’Twas at the close of that dark morn On which our Hero, conquering, died, That every seaman’s heart was torn By strife of sorrow and of pride;— Of pride, that one short day would show Deeds of eternal splendour done, Full twenty hostile ensigns low, And twenty glorious victories won Of grief, of deepest, tenderest grief, That He, on every sea and shore, Their brave, beloved, unconquer’d Chief, Should wave his victor-flag no more. Sad was the eve of that dire day: But direr, sadder was the night; When human rage had ceased the fray, And elements maintain’d the fight. All shaken in the conflict past The navies fear’d the tempest loud— The gale, that shook the groaning mast— The wave, that climb’d the tatter’d shroud. By passing gleams of sullen light, The worn and weary seamen view’d The hard-earn’d prizes of the fight Sink, found’ring, in the midnight flood: And oft, as drowning screams they heard, And oft, as sank the ships around, Some British vessel lost they fear’d, And mourn’d some British brethren drown’d. And oft they cried, (as memory roll’d On Him, so late their hope and guide But now a bloody corse and cold,) ‘Was it for this, that Nelson died? For three short days, and three long nights, They wrestled with the tempest’s force; And sank the trophies of their fights,— And thought upon that bloody corse!— But when the fairer morn arose Bright o’er the yet-tumultuous main, They saw no wreck but that of foes, No ruin but of France and Spain: And, victors now of winds and seas, Beheld the British vessels brave Breasting the ocean at their ease, Like sea-birds on their native wave: And now they cried, (because they found Old England’s fleet in all its pride, While Spain’s and France’s hopes were drown’d,) ‘It was for this that Nelson died!’ He died, with many an hundred bold And honest hearts as ever beat!— But where’s the British heart so cold That would not die in such a feat? Yes! by their memories! by all The honours which their tomb surround! Theirs was the noblest, happiest fall Which ever mortal courage crown’d. Then bear them to their glorious grave With no weak tears, no woman’s sighs; Theirs was the death-bed of the brave, And manly be their obsequies! Haul not your colours from on high, Nor down the flags of victory lower:— Give every streamer to the sky, Let all your conq’ring cannon roar; That every kindling soul may learn How to resign its patriot breath; And from a grateful country, earn The triumphs of a trophied death. IV.Rear high the monumental stone!— To other days, as to his own, Belong the Hero’s deathless deeds, Who greatly lives, who bravely bleeds. Not to a petty point of time Or space, but wide to every clime And age, his glorious fall bequeaths Valour’s sword, and victory’s wreaths. The rude but pious care of yore Heap’d o’er the brave the mounded shore; And still that mounded shore can tell Where Hector and Pelides fell. There, over glory’s earthly bed, When many a wasting age had fled, The world’s Great Victor pour’d his pray’rs For fame, and monuments like theirs. Happy the brave! whose sacred tomb Itself averts the oblivious doom, Bears on its breast unfading bays, And gives eternity of praise! High, then, the monumental pile Erect, for Nelson of the Nile! Of Trafalgar, and Vincent’s heights, For Nelson of the hundred fights— For Him, alike on shore and surge, Of proud Iberia’s power the scourge; And half around the sea-girt ball, The hunter of the recreant Gaul. Rear the tall shaft on some bold steep Whose base is buried in the deep; But whose bright summit shines afar O’er the blue ocean, like a star. Such let it be, as o’er the bed Of Nilus rears its lonely head; Which never shook at mortal might, Till Nelson lanced the bolts of fight. (What time the Orient, wrapt in fire Blazed, its own seamen’s funeral pyre, And, with explosive fury riven, Sprang thundering to the midnight heaven.) Around it, when the raven night Shades ocean, fire the beacon-light; And let it, thro’ the tempest, flame The star of safety as of fame. Thither, as o’er the deep below The seaman seeks his country’s foe, His emulative eye shall roll, And Nelson’s spirit fill his soul. Thither, shall youthful heroes climb, The Nelsons of an after-time, And, round that sacred altar, swear Such glory and such graves to share. Raise then, imperial Britain, raise The trophied pillar of his praise; And worthy be its towering pride, Of those that live, of HIM that died! Worthy of Nelson of the Nile! Of Nelson of the cloud-capp’d Isle, Of Trafalgar and Vincent’s heights, Of Nelson of the hundred fights! |
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