Obrazy na stronie

Dark in its funeral fold.

Let the bell be toll’d:

And a deeper knell in the heart be knoll'd; And the sound of the sorrowing anthem roll'd

Thro' the dome of the golden cross ;

And the volleying cannon thunder his loss;

He knew their voices of old.

For many a time in many a clime
His captain's-ear has heard them boom

Bellowing victory, bellowing doom;
When he with those deep voices wrought,
Guarding realms and kings from shame;
With those deep voices our dead captain taught
The tyrant, and asserts his claim

In that dread sound to the great name,

Which he has worn so pure of blame,
In praise and in dispraise the same,

A man of well-attemper'd frame.

O civic muse, to such a name,
To such a name for ages long,

To such a name,

Preserve a broad approach of fame,
And ever-ringing avenues of song.


Who is he that cometh, like an honour'd guest,

With banner and with music, with soldier and

with priest, With a nation weeping, and breaking on my rest ? Mighty seaman, this is he Was great by land as thou by sea. Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man,

The greatest sailor since our world began.
Now, to the roll of muffled drums,

To thee the greatest soldier comes;

For this is he

Was great by land as thou by sea ;
His foes were thine; he kept us free;
O give him welcome, this is he,

Worthy of our gorgeous rites,
And worthy to be laid by thee;
For this is England's greatest son,
He that gain'd a hundred fights,
Nor ever lost an English gun;

This is he that far


Against the myriads of Assaye
Clash'd with his fiery few and won ;
And underneath another sun,
Warring on a later day,
Round affrighted Lisbon drew
The treble works, the vast designs
Of his labour'd rampart-lines,
Where he greatly stood at bay,
Whence he issued forth anew,

And ever great and greater grew,

Beating from the wasted vines

Back to France her banded swarms,

Back to France with countless blows,

Till o'er the hills her eagles flew

Past the Pyrenean pines,
Follow'd up in valley and glen
With blare of bugle, clamour of men,

Roll of cannon and clash of arms,

And England pouring on her foes.

Such a war had such a close.

Again their ravening eagle rose
In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing wings,
And barking for the thrones of kings;
Till one that sought but Duty's iron crown
On that loud sabbath shook the spoiler down;
A day of onsets of despair!
Dash'd on every rocky square
Their surging charges foam'd themselves away ;
Last, the Prussian trumpet blew ;

Thro' the long-tormented air

Heaven flash'd a sudden jubilant ray,

And down we swept and charged and overthrew.
So great a soldier taught us there,
What long-enduring hearts could do

In that world's-earthquake, Waterloo !
Mighty seaman, tender and true,
And pure as he from taint of craven guile,
O saviour of the silver-coasted isle,

O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile,

If aught of things that here befall
Touch a spirit among things divine,
If love of country move thee there at all,
Be glad, because his bones are laid by thine !
And thro' the centuries let a people's voice

In full acclaim,

A people's voice,
The proof and echo of all human fame,
A people's voice, when they rejoice

At civic revel and pomp



Attest their great commander's claim
With honour, honour, honour, honour to him,

Eternal honour to his name.


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