THOMAS CAMPBELL

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 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 shattered sail,

Or in conflagration pale

Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then As he hail'd them o'er the wave: 4 Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! And we conquer but to save:

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