VIII
COPENHAGEN
Of Nelson and the North,
Sing the day,
When, their haughty powers to vex,
He engaged the Danish decks;
And with twenty floating wrecks
Crowned the fray.
All bright, in April's sun,
Shone the day,
When a British fleet came down
Through the island of the Crown,
And by Copenhagen town
Took their stay.
In arms the Danish shore
Proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.
For Denmark here had drawn
All her might;
From her battle-ships so vast
She had hewn away the mast,
And at anchor, to the last
Bade them fight.
Another noble fleet
Of their line
Rode out; but these were nought
To the batteries which they brought,
Like Leviathans afloat
In the brine.
It was ten of Thursday morn
By the chime;
As they drifted on their path
There was silence deep as death,
And the noblest held his breath
For a time—
Ere a first and fatal round
Shook the flood.
Every Dane looked out that day.
Like the red wolf on his prey,
And he swore his flag to sway
O'er our blood.
Not such a mind possessed
England's tar;
'Twas the love of noble game
Set his oaken heart on flame,
For to him 'twas all the same,
Sport and war.