In his full glory’s brightest blaze,
On the high summit of his deeds,
(While Victory’s saintly halo plays,
With living fire,—immortal rays,—
Around his head,) the Hero bleeds;
In pomp of death, to mortal eyes
Never before revealed, the Hero dies.
He dies! but while on Egypt’s strand
The Ptolomean tower shall stand;—
Stain’d with the turbid streams of Nile,
While seas shall beat Aboukir’s isle;—
While the white ocean breaks and roars
On Trafalgar’s immortal shores;—
While high St. Vincent’s towery steep
And, giant of the Atlantic deep,
Dark Teneriffe, like beacons, guide
The wanderers of the western wave;
Sublime shall stand, amid the tide
Of baffled Time,—his country’s pride—
The sacred memory of the brave;
And Nelson’s emulated name
Shine the proud sea-mark to the ports of Fame!
TRAFALGAR.
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.