They rose in dark and evil days
To right their native land;
They kindled here a living blaze
That nothing shall withstand.

Alas! that might can vanquish right—
They fell and pass'd away;

But true men, like you, men,

Are plenty here to-day.

Then here's their memory! may it be

For us a guiding light,

To cheer our strife for liberty,

And teach us to unite.

Through good and ill, be Ireland's still,

Though sad as theirs your fate,

And true men, be you, men,

Like those of Ninety-Eight!

J. K. Ingram.

The Battle of the Baltic

(1801)

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 ceased-and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail,

Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.—

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hailed 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 blessed 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;
While the sun looked 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,

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,
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!

Campbell.

The Fighting Téméraire

T was eight bells ringing,

For the morning watch was done,
And the gunner's lads were singing,
As they polished every gun.

It was eight bells ringing,
And the gunner's lads were singing,
For the ship she rode a-swinging,
As they polished every gun.

Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
Téméraire! Téméraire!

Oh! to hear the round-shot biting,
Téméraire! Téméraire!

Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
And to hear the round-shot biting,
For we're all in love with fighting
On the Fighting Téméraire.

It was noontide ringing,

And the battle just begun,

When the ship her way was winging,
As they loaded every gun.

It was noontide ringing

When the ship her way was winging,
And the gunner's lads were singing
As they loaded every gun.

There'll be many grim and gory,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
There'll be few to tell the story,

Téméraire! Téméraire!

There'll be many grim and gory,
There'll be few to tell the story,
But we'll all be one in glory

With the Fighting Téméraire.

There's a far bell ringing
At the setting of the sun,
And a phantom voice is singing
Of the great days done.
There's a far bell ringing,
And a phantom voice is singing
Of renown for ever clinging
To the great days done.

Now the sunset breezes shiver,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
And she's fading down the river,
Téméraire! Téméraire!

Now the sunset breezes shiver,
And she's fading down the river,
But in England's song for ever
She's the Fighting Téméraire.

Henry Newbolt.

The Last Three from Trafalgar

N grappled ships around The Victory,

Three boys did England's Duty with stout cheer,

"While one dread truth was kept from every

ear,

More dire than deafening fire that churned the sea:
For in the flag-ship's weltering cockpit, he

Who was the Battle's Heart without a peer,
He who had seen all fearful sights save Fear,
Was passing from all life save Victory.

And round the old memorial board to-day,

Three greybeards-each a warworn British Tar-
View through the mist of years that hour afar: