University of Virginia Library

But nobler crowns than those that earth has wreathed around thy brow,
From every sea that knows thy sails and owns thy rule, hast thou;
What oceans have not given thee fame, lent to thy heroes, graves,
Thy mighty, caught to them whilst thou didst thundercalm their waves,
Thy sea-kings who from age to age have shown the heart of Drake,
Have matched the deeds of Frobisher, and lived the days of Blake;
Through all the centuries, through our veins has leapt the salt sea-spray;
They who joy not to front the storm, no sons of thine are they:
Thou, throned upon the subject isles, what triumphs, land, to thee,
What spoils and rules, thy brave have borne from every wind-swept sea!
How have they joyed as through the thundering lines they cleft their way,
As gun to gun, for fiery hours, amid the foe they lay,
As their fierce broadsides, crash on crash, through side and port-hole roared,
And shroud and sail and splintering mast went over by the board!
Thunder, thou sea, the mighty fames that made our glory sure,
How Edward smote crushed France at Sluys, and Bedford at Harfleur;
Fitly, how Spain's Armada came and was not, must be sung,
O Earth, to thee in ocean-bursts by tempests to thee flung.
O savage tongues of storms and seas, wild voices of the deep,
Chant ye the world-known deeds of Blake, ye sang to death's own sleep,
Repeat, with savage love, the days, with you, that Russell knew,
The deeds that Rooke and Shovel dared in ocean's sight to do,
How Anson streamed our conquering flag in triumph round the world,
How Vernon its consuming fire to Darien's winds unfurled,
How through the shoals of Quiberon, through its white breakers' roar,
In storm and fire, our fearless Hawke, brave Conflans, clutched and tore;
Nor yet forget how, one to ten, bold Benbow struck Du Casse,
Nor how keen Rodney and stout Hood in thunder crushed De Grasse,
How, on that day that brightens still June with its far renown,
Our Howe from many a crashing mast the Tricolor tore down.
Still in your dash, O wind-swept waves, these glories England hears,
Still swells to catch St. Vincent's roar and Camperdown's fierce cheers,
Still hearkens, with lit eyes, to all told by the billows' roar
Of Exmouth, Cochrane, and Napier, and fames unnumbered more.

But one great name, O mighty land, dearer than all to thee,
With countless memories to thine ear is thundered by the sea;
No other, with an equal love, can bid thee throb the while
Thou tak'st his to thy mother-heart with all exultant smile;
Unto thy lips, O sceptered land, what other glories are
As dear as his whose broadsides stilled the Nile and Trafalgar,
Who, from a hundred battle-days, for thee, red conquest, tore,
And gave to thee thy ocean-rule and glory evermore?