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He call'd aloud :-“Say, father! say

If yet my task is done?"
He knew not that the chieftain lay

Unconscious of his son.
“ Speak, father!" once again he cried,

“If I may yet be gone!
And”--but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,
And look'd from that lone post of death

In still yet brave despair
And shouted but once more aloud,

“My father, must I stay?”
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way;
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,

They caught the flag on high
And streamed above the gallant child,

Like banners in the sky.
Then came a burst of thunder sound

The boy-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far around

With fragments strewed the sea,
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,

That well had borne their part-
But the noblest thing which perished there

Was that young faithful heart !-HEMANS.


Of Nelson and the North
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand
In a bold determined hand,
And the prince of all the land
Led them on.
Like leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:

* Gained 1801.

It was ten of April morn by the chime;
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest, held his breath
For a time.

But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rush'd
O'er the deadly space between !
“ Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun!

Again ! again ! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back:-
Their shots along the deep slowly boom ;-
Then ceased--and all is wail,
As they strike the shatter'd sail;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom !

Out spoke the victor then,
As he hail'd them o'er the wave,
“Ye are brothers ! ye are men!
And we conquer but to save !
So peace, instead of death, let us bring :
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our king."

Then Denmark bless'd our chief,
Then 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:
While the sun look'd smiling bright
O’er a wide and woeful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Died away!

Now joy, old England raise !
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities blaze,
While the wine-cup shines in light-

And yet, amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !

Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,
With the gallant--good Riou !
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave!



He fell with his face upon the

deck. Hardy turned round as some men were raising him. They have done for me at last, Hardy,' said he. Soon after he had been carried to the cock-pit, his wound was discovered to be mortal; he felt this himself, and insisted that the surgeon should leave him, to attend those whom he might yet save. He was in great pain, and intensely anxious to know how the battle went. Will no one bring Hardy to me?' he asked : 'he must be killed ! he is surely dead !" At length Hardy came, and the two friends shook hands in silence. After a pause, the dying man faintly uttered, 'Well, Hardy, how goes the

day?" "Very well; ten ships have already struck. Finding that all was well, and that no British ship had yielded, he turned to speak of himself—' I am a dead man, Hardy! I am going fast. "It will soon be all over with me!' Hardy hoped that there was yet a chance of recovery. 'O no! it is impossible. I feel something rising in my breast that tells me so.' Captain Hardy, having been again on deck, returned at the end of an hour, to his dying friend. He could not tell, in the confusion, the exact number of allies that had surrendered; but there were at least fifteen; for the other ships had followed their admiral's into action, breaking the enemy's line and engaging closely to leeward, in the same gallant style as the Victory and Sovereign. Nelson answered, that is well, but I bargained for twenty. And his wish was prophetic; he had not miscalculated the superiority of his followers; twenty actually surrendered. Having ordered the fleet to anchor, he again spoke of himself. “Don't throw me overboard. Kiss me, Hardy! Hardy knelt down, and obeyed in silence Now I am satisfied; I thank God I have done my duty.' Hardy kissed him again, received his blessing, and then took leave of him for ever."

“The most triumphant death is that of the martyr; the most awful, that of the martyred patriot; the most splendid, that of the hero in the hour of victory; and if the chariot and the horses of fire had been vouchsafed for Nelson's translation, he could scarcely have departed in a brighter blaze of glory. He has left us, not indeed his mantle of inspiration, but a name and an example, which are at this hour inspiring thousands of the youth of England: a name which is our pride, and an example which will continue to be our shield and our strength.”-SOUTHEY's Life of Nelson.

Well hast thou done thy duty, gallant son ;

What truer fame can greet a mortal's ear
Than duty's task heroically done ?-
So are they hailed, who better crowns have won :

Thou, to the patriot's soul, art truly dear!

O let us blot thy failings with a tear,
And read alone the record of thy worth.

Man without pride, or hate, or fraud, or fear;
Who banished discord, and gave peace to earth;

Thine was the generous heart, though gentle, brave,
The will to bless, the godlike power to save :
What nobler pæan can the poet raise ?

A glorious life, an honourable grave,
Trafalgar, Nile and Baltic, be thy praise !

TUPPER’s Ballads and Poems. Trafalgar is noted for the complete defeat of the combined French and Spanish fleets, on the 21st October, 1805. This is considered the greatest naval victory which the British have ever gained. In it the gallant Nelson fell, on board the Victory.


Not a drum was heard, not a funeral-note,

As his corse to the rampart we hurried ;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot

O’er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly at dead of night,

The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,

And the lantern dimly burning.
No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,

With his martial cloak around him.
Few and short were the prayers we said,

And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,

And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

* Killed in 1809, while repulsing the French at Corunna.

We thought-as we hollowed his narrow bed,

And smoothed down his lonely pillow-
How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,

While we were far on the billow !

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,

Ando'er his cold ashes upbraid him,
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on,

In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun

That the foe was suddenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone-

But we left him alone with his glory.-WOLFE.


Magnificence of ruin! what has time
In all it ever gazed upon of war,
Of the wild rage of storm, or deadly clime,
Seen, with that battle's vengeance to compare ?
How glorious shone the invader's pomp afar !
Like pampered lions from the spoil they came;
The land before them silence and despair,

The land behind them massacre and flame;
Blood will have tenfold blood. What are they now? A name.

Homeward by hundred thousands, column-deep,
Broad square, loose squadron, rolling like the food
When mighty torrents from their channels leap,
Rushed through the land the haughty multitude,
Billow on endless billow ; on through wood,
O’er rugged hill, down sunless, marshy vale,
The death-devoted moved, to clangour rude

Of drum and horn, and dissonant clash of mail,
Glancing disastrous light before that sunbeam pale.

* At the close of 1812. In this invasion the French lost nearly 500,000 men-either killed, taken prisoners, or through excessive cold and hard. ships.

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