VI
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,50 While the sun looked smiling bright O'er a wide and woful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away.
VII
Now joy, Old England, raise!55 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,60 Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore!
VIII
Brave hearts! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true;65 On the deck of fame that died;— With the gallant good Riou[105]; Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave While the billow mournful rolls, And the mermaid's song condoles,70 Singing glory to the souls Of the brave.