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!