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Thomas Campbell

The Battle of the Baltic

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:

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 flushed

To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rushed

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 cease—and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail,

Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

Now joy, old England, raise

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

Full many a fathom deep

By thy wild and stormy steep,