CAMPBELL
Ye Mariners of England!That guard our native seas;Whose flag has braved a thousand yearsThe battle and the breeze!Your glorious standard launch againTo match another foe!And sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.The spirits of your fathersShall start from every wave!For the deck it was their field of fame,And Ocean was their grave:Where Blake and mighty Nelson fellYour manly hearts shall glow,As ye sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.Britannia needs no bulwarks,No towers along the steep;Her march is o’er the mountain-waves,Her home is on the deep.With thunders from her native oakShe quells the floods below,As they roar on the shore,When the stormy winds do blow;When the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.The meteor flag of EnglandShall yet terrific burn;Till danger’s troubled night depart,And the star of peace return.Then, then, ye ocean warriors!Our song and feast shall flowTo the fame of your name,When the storm has ceased to blow;When the fiery fight is heard no more,And the storm has ceased to blow.Thomas Campbell.
Ye Mariners of England!That guard our native seas;Whose flag has braved a thousand yearsThe battle and the breeze!Your glorious standard launch againTo match another foe!And sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.The spirits of your fathersShall start from every wave!For the deck it was their field of fame,And Ocean was their grave:Where Blake and mighty Nelson fellYour manly hearts shall glow,As ye sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.Britannia needs no bulwarks,No towers along the steep;Her march is o’er the mountain-waves,Her home is on the deep.With thunders from her native oakShe quells the floods below,As they roar on the shore,When the stormy winds do blow;When the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.The meteor flag of EnglandShall yet terrific burn;Till danger’s troubled night depart,And the star of peace return.Then, then, ye ocean warriors!Our song and feast shall flowTo the fame of your name,When the storm has ceased to blow;When the fiery fight is heard no more,And the storm has ceased to blow.Thomas Campbell.
Ye Mariners of England!That guard our native seas;Whose flag has braved a thousand yearsThe battle and the breeze!Your glorious standard launch againTo match another foe!And sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.
The spirits of your fathersShall start from every wave!For the deck it was their field of fame,And Ocean was their grave:Where Blake and mighty Nelson fellYour manly hearts shall glow,As ye sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.
Britannia needs no bulwarks,No towers along the steep;Her march is o’er the mountain-waves,Her home is on the deep.With thunders from her native oakShe quells the floods below,As they roar on the shore,When the stormy winds do blow;When the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.
The meteor flag of EnglandShall yet terrific burn;Till danger’s troubled night depart,And the star of peace return.Then, then, ye ocean warriors!Our song and feast shall flowTo the fame of your name,When the storm has ceased to blow;When the fiery fight is heard no more,And the storm has ceased to blow.
Thomas Campbell.
Of Nelson and the NorthSing the glorious day’s renown,When to battle fierce came forthAll the might of Denmark’s crown,And her arms along the deep proudly shone;By each gun the lighted brandIn a bold determined hand,And the Prince of all the landLed them on.Like leviathans afloat,Lay their bulwarks on the brine;While the sign of battle flewOn 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 flushedTo anticipate the scene;And her van the fleeter rushedO’er the deadly space between.‘Hearts of oak!’ our captains cried; when each gunFrom its adamantine lipsSpread a death-shade round the ships,Like the hurricane eclipseOf the sun.Again! again! again!And the havoc did not slack,Till a feebler 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 shattered sail;Or, in conflagration paleLight the goom.Now joy, Old England, raiseFor 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 sleepFull many a fathom deepBy thy wild and stormy steep,Elsinore!Thomas Campbell.
Of Nelson and the NorthSing the glorious day’s renown,When to battle fierce came forthAll the might of Denmark’s crown,And her arms along the deep proudly shone;By each gun the lighted brandIn a bold determined hand,And the Prince of all the landLed them on.Like leviathans afloat,Lay their bulwarks on the brine;While the sign of battle flewOn 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 flushedTo anticipate the scene;And her van the fleeter rushedO’er the deadly space between.‘Hearts of oak!’ our captains cried; when each gunFrom its adamantine lipsSpread a death-shade round the ships,Like the hurricane eclipseOf the sun.Again! again! again!And the havoc did not slack,Till a feebler 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 shattered sail;Or, in conflagration paleLight the goom.Now joy, Old England, raiseFor 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 sleepFull many a fathom deepBy thy wild and stormy steep,Elsinore!Thomas Campbell.
Of Nelson and the NorthSing the glorious day’s renown,When to battle fierce came forthAll the might of Denmark’s crown,And her arms along the deep proudly shone;By each gun the lighted brandIn a bold determined hand,And the Prince of all the landLed them on.
Like leviathans afloat,Lay their bulwarks on the brine;While the sign of battle flewOn 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 flushedTo anticipate the scene;And her van the fleeter rushedO’er the deadly space between.‘Hearts of oak!’ our captains cried; when each gunFrom its adamantine lipsSpread a death-shade round the ships,Like the hurricane eclipseOf the sun.
Again! again! again!And the havoc did not slack,Till a feebler 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 shattered sail;Or, in conflagration paleLight the goom.
Now joy, Old England, raiseFor 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 sleepFull many a fathom deepBy thy wild and stormy steep,Elsinore!
Thomas Campbell.
Men of England! who inheritRights that cost your sires their blood!Men whose undegenerate spiritHas been proved on field and flood:—By the foes you’ve fought uncounted,By the glorious deeds you’ve done,Trophies captured—breaches mounted,Navies conquered—kingdoms won!Yet, remember, England gathersHence but fruitless wreaths of fame,If the freedom of your fathersGlow not in your hearts the same.What are monuments of bravery,Where no public virtues bloom?What avails in lands of slavery,Trophied temples, arch, and tomb?Pageants!—Let the world revere usFor our people’s rights and laws,And the breasts of civic heroesBared in Freedom’s holy cause.Yours are Hampden’s, Russell’s glory,Sidney’s matchless shade is yours,—Martyrs in heroic story,Worth a hundred Agincourts!We’re the sons of sires that baffledCrown’d and mitred tyranny;—They defied the field and scaffoldFor their birthrights—so will we!Thomas Campbell.
Men of England! who inheritRights that cost your sires their blood!Men whose undegenerate spiritHas been proved on field and flood:—By the foes you’ve fought uncounted,By the glorious deeds you’ve done,Trophies captured—breaches mounted,Navies conquered—kingdoms won!Yet, remember, England gathersHence but fruitless wreaths of fame,If the freedom of your fathersGlow not in your hearts the same.What are monuments of bravery,Where no public virtues bloom?What avails in lands of slavery,Trophied temples, arch, and tomb?Pageants!—Let the world revere usFor our people’s rights and laws,And the breasts of civic heroesBared in Freedom’s holy cause.Yours are Hampden’s, Russell’s glory,Sidney’s matchless shade is yours,—Martyrs in heroic story,Worth a hundred Agincourts!We’re the sons of sires that baffledCrown’d and mitred tyranny;—They defied the field and scaffoldFor their birthrights—so will we!Thomas Campbell.
Men of England! who inheritRights that cost your sires their blood!Men whose undegenerate spiritHas been proved on field and flood:—
By the foes you’ve fought uncounted,By the glorious deeds you’ve done,Trophies captured—breaches mounted,Navies conquered—kingdoms won!
Yet, remember, England gathersHence but fruitless wreaths of fame,If the freedom of your fathersGlow not in your hearts the same.
What are monuments of bravery,Where no public virtues bloom?What avails in lands of slavery,Trophied temples, arch, and tomb?
Pageants!—Let the world revere usFor our people’s rights and laws,And the breasts of civic heroesBared in Freedom’s holy cause.
Yours are Hampden’s, Russell’s glory,Sidney’s matchless shade is yours,—Martyrs in heroic story,Worth a hundred Agincourts!
We’re the sons of sires that baffledCrown’d and mitred tyranny;—They defied the field and scaffoldFor their birthrights—so will we!
Thomas Campbell.