Never a word, and never a light,
—This for England, that love of mine!
Look! a gleam on the starboard bow,
(Here's to the Fighting Téméraire!)
Quartermaster, be ready now,
Two points over, and keep her there.
Ghostly ships—let the foemen grieve.
Yon's the Admiral tight and trim,
And one more—with an empty sleeve—
Standing a little aft of him!