University of Virginia Library

[Battle of the Baltic]

The Battle of Copenhagen

First Draft

[_]

(As sent to Scott, March 27, 1805)

Of Nelson and the North
Sing the day,
When their haughty powers to vex
He engaged the Danish decks,
And with twenty floating wrecks
Crowned the fray.
All bright in April's sun
Shone the day,
When a British fleet came down
Through the islands of the crown,
And by Copenhagen town
Took their stay.
In arms the Danish shore
Proudly shone,—
By each gun the lighted brand
In a bold determined hand;
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.
For Denmark here had drawn
All her might:
From her battleships so rash
She had hewn away the mast,
And at anchor to the last
Bade them fight.

193

Another noble fleet
Of their line
Rode out, but these were naught
To the batteries which they brought
Like leviathans afloat
In the brine.
It was ten of Thursday 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.
Ere a first and fatal round
Shook the flood,
Every Dane looked out that day
Like the red wolf on his prey,
And he swore his flag to sway
O'er our blood.
Not such a mind possessed
England's tar;
'Twas the love of noble game
Set his oaken heart on flame,
For to him 'twas all the same—
Sport and war.
All hands and eyes on watch
As they keep,
By their motion, light as wings,
By each step that haughty springs,
You might know them for the kings
Of the deep!
'Twas the Edgar first that smote
Denmark's line;
As her flag the foremost soared
Murray stamped his foot on board,
And a hundred cannons roared
At the sign!
Three cheers of all the fleet
Sung huzza!
Thus from centre, rear, and van,
Every captain, every man,
With a lion's heart began
To the fray.

194

Oh, dark grew soon the heavens,
For each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships
Like a hurricane eclipse
Of the sun!
Three hours the raging fire
Did not slack;
But the fourth their signals drear
Of distress and wreck appear,
And the Dane a feeble cheer
Sent us back.
The voice decayed: their shots
Slowly boom:
They ceased,—and all is wail
As they strike the shattered sail,
Or in conflagration pale
Light the gloom.
Oh, death! it was a sight
Filled our eyes!
But we rescued many a crew
From the waves of scarlet hue,
Ere the cross of England flew
O'er her prize.
Why ceased not here the strife,
O ye brave?
Why bleeds Old England's band
By the fire of Danish land
That smites the very hand
Stretched to save?
But the Britons sent to warn
Denmark's town—
Proud foes, let vengeance sleep!
If another chain-shot sweep
All your navy in the deep
Shall go down!
Then Peace instead of Death
Let us bring!
If you'll yield your conquered fleet
With the crews at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our King!

195

Then death withdrew his pall
From the day,
And the sun looked smiling bright
On a wide and woeful sight.
Where the fires of funeral light
Died away.
Yet all amidst her wrecks
And her gore,
Proud Denmark blessed our Chief
That he gave her wounds relief;
And the sounds of joy and grief
Filled her shore.
All round outlandish cries
Loudly broke;
But a nobler note was rung
When the British, old and young,
To their bands of music sung
‘Hearts of oak!’
Cheer! cheer from park and tower,
London town!
When the King shall ride in state
From St. James's royal gate,
And to all his Peers relate
Our renown!
The bells shall ring! the day
Shall not close
But a blaze of cities bright
Shall illuminate the night,
And the wine-cup shine in light
As it flows!
Yet, yet amid the joy
And uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep
Full many a fathom deep
All beside thy rocky steep,
Elsinore!
Brave hearts! to Britain's need
Once so true!
Tho' death has quenched your flame,
Yet immortal be your name,
For ye died the death of fame
With Riou!

196

Soft sigh the winds of heaven
O'er your grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave!