 | A Tribute To The Memory of Lord Nelson |  |
Ωγαλ[] σεμνη Νικη μη ληαεις στ[]αν[]σα.
Sophoc.
------ His saltem accumulem donis.
Virgil.
Virgil.
[When ev'ry Briton feels his country's cost]
When ev'ry Briton feels his country's cost,
Protector, Patriot, Friend, in Nelson lost—
When mingled sounds discordant rend the sky,
The sighs of grief, and shouts of victory—
Where can the Muse take up her broken song?
Should strains of triumph grace the funeral throng,
Sweet Gratitude shall strike the trembling lyre,
And faithful Memory the fair theme inspire,
Wake, with recording touch, the grateful lays,
And sooth her sorrows by the debt she pays.
Protector, Patriot, Friend, in Nelson lost—
When mingled sounds discordant rend the sky,
The sighs of grief, and shouts of victory—
Where can the Muse take up her broken song?
Should strains of triumph grace the funeral throng,
Sweet Gratitude shall strike the trembling lyre,
And faithful Memory the fair theme inspire,
Wake, with recording touch, the grateful lays,
And sooth her sorrows by the debt she pays.
6
Let gorgeous marble, deck'd with venal verse,
The empty titles of a name rehearse,
Proclaim the praises which no readers feel,
And unknown worth to listless ears reveal;
Sound Nelson's name, from ev'ry Briton's eyes
Admiring gratitude and wonder rise—
From the same eyes that view his passing bier
Spontaneous starts the tributary tear.
His soul's great aim was excellence alone,
Yet ever striving to surpass its own:
Whose brave associates with his ardour glow'd,
While from esteem their large obedience flow'd;
Whose piercing eye did so outstrip command,
That the prompt heart could not fore-run the hand.
Judgment might thence experienc'd lessons read,
And youthful courage learn its temper'd heed.
Nor youth alone: let hoary veterans tell,
They lost their guiding-star when Nelson fell.
Then let a nation's tears his worth embalm,
And twine the cypress round the victor's palm.
Nor can we less than ev'ry tribute give
To thee, by whom ourselves and country live.
'Twas not enough, to glut her rav'nous bands,
The empty titles of a name rehearse,
Proclaim the praises which no readers feel,
And unknown worth to listless ears reveal;
Sound Nelson's name, from ev'ry Briton's eyes
Admiring gratitude and wonder rise—
From the same eyes that view his passing bier
Spontaneous starts the tributary tear.
His soul's great aim was excellence alone,
Yet ever striving to surpass its own:
Whose brave associates with his ardour glow'd,
While from esteem their large obedience flow'd;
Whose piercing eye did so outstrip command,
That the prompt heart could not fore-run the hand.
Judgment might thence experienc'd lessons read,
And youthful courage learn its temper'd heed.
Nor youth alone: let hoary veterans tell,
They lost their guiding-star when Nelson fell.
Then let a nation's tears his worth embalm,
And twine the cypress round the victor's palm.
7
To thee, by whom ourselves and country live.
That Gallia threatened these devoted lands,
But stretch'd, with giant strides, her murd'rous lines
From fallen Belgium to the Apennines;
O'er Libyan sands, by Nile's uncertain way,
Had forc'd the wand'ring Arab to obey;
Thence the pale Crescent's banners would defy,
“Till all were hers 'neath India's azure sky .”
Who check'd the scourge of Europe's mad career,
And conq'ring legions aw'd by British fear?
Let pale Aboukir's night of horror tell
How Gallia's crest by Nelson's thunders fell.
Like Ætna's angry brow, proud l'Orient sir'd,
Beneath the blazing firmament expir'd,
'Midst crashing masts on flaming timbers hurl'd,
The red horizon gleam'd, a burning world!
8
When servile Memphis saw how freemen fought;
The Prophet's self had bow'd to Nelson's name,
And blush'd for Amrou's now-diminish'd fame.
Offers no incence to the cruel mind;
The blemish'd palm, which bootless slaughters stain,
She shuns, nor measures praise by millions slain:
The dauntless hero is her chosen theme,
Whom yet Compassion guides with sway supreme.
With wreaths for ever fresh she decks his brows,
Who, flush'd with victory, still to Pity bows.
Such praise best sounds, great Nelson, (for 'tis thine,)
'Midst thousands rescued from the Danish brine,
When the same hand that conquer'd could uprear,
And godlike pity clos'd the work of fear.
Lo! vic'try again! now, when the leagued North,
To join the tyrant pour'd her legions forth,
9
(So Thracia's sons of old throng'd round their idol's car,)
Bright Vict'ry call'd Britannia to her side:
Abash'd Britannia, thron'd again to ride
In Vict'ry's seat, to favour'd Nelson's share
Blushing the chaplet gave, for him again to wear.
That glorious day what Muse can duly praise,
Or sing immortal deeds in mortal lays?
So fought they, as if through the northern stood
Odin had rang'd, insatiate still for blood ,
When regal Denmark's court, in deep dismay
Supended, saw the swerving battle's fray:
Fearful Spectatrix! for what hand could check
The sweeping carnage of each sinking deck?
Yet Nelson's could!—Great soul! 'twas left for thee
To soften rig'rous war by charity;
10
His peaceful streamers seek the hostile shore;
What Pity crav'd the generous victor gave;
'Midst glory won, 'twas glory higher to save.
The dread of Odin corrupted the religion of the North. He made himself feared by his conquests, and became afterwards an object of superstition. Souls of the slain were dedicated to him. —Vide Mallett's Northern Antiquities, c. v. and vi.
Unrivall'd strains of victory pursues.
Iberia's humbled; yet the deathful blow
Returns the mingled shrieks of mighty woe.
Was it too much for one bright soul t'outlive
Feats which collected annals could not give?
Ah! wherefore thus? for rival tongues could tell
He bore his earthly honours meek and well .
Was it, when vigilant Heav'n saw Envy rise,
That angels snatch'd their charge from mortal eyes?
Cease, Muse, thy search, thankful for blessings giv'n,
Nor wish to scan th'unerring ways of Heav'n;
Weep not, but rather from our Nelson's mind,
Do thou thy lesson learn, and be resign'd:
11
And dated thence the valour of his crew;
In his great acts still own'd a higher sway,
The warrior fell—the Christian could obey:
That Sov'reign Pow'r hath now but ta'en its own,
Nor would our Hero's stage, this world alone.
The circling crescent of Iberia's fleet;
Loud thunders from the fearless van provoke
The work of death: th'appalling line is broke.
Ah, surely then, (if spirits departed know
Aught of what once engaged their cares below,)
'Twas then thy Moorish Sons, Iberia, driv'n
From seats, which erst thy sordid love had giv'n;
12
(Oh, thankless meed of meritorious toil,)
Unfetter'd now, yet true to Nature's law,
In Nelson's arm their own Avenger saw:
Then too, (what veils the ken of spirits unseen,
Tho' mountains rise, and oceans heave between?)
Then murder'd Incas (unappeas'd their blood)
Hied them in vengeance to the redd'ning flood;
From either continent many an airy host
Clash'd their dread pinions o'er Trafalgar's coast;
So from the Libyan crags, or Andes' height,
The famish'd vultures eye some marshall'd fight,
Now hover near, now wheel their circling way,
And scream impatient for their falling prey:
In the beginning of the Seventeenth Century Spain expelled near a million of her Moorish Subjects (Morescoes), in the industrious supporters of her internal wealth, chiefly, it is supposed, at the instigation of the Inquisition, because they were suspected of being sincere Mahometans! This makes an Infidel heard.
Tantum Relligio potruit suadere malorum Lucret.
Geddes on the Moriscoes.
“In honour's cause, in patriot conflicts tried!
“Prosper, great soul! may Heav'n its succours lend
“To Freedom's champion and the captive's friend!
13
“Could wealth, could honours tempt unsullied worth,
“Peru for thee should all her gems display,
“And Atahualpa's sons their homage pay;
“For thee should willing hands still trace the mine.
“Lima's bright ores and Cusco's vales be thine,
“And Chili's gums should bleed their rich perfume,
“And gales obedient waft thy treasures home:
“But vain's our wish; thee higher glories wait,
“Recording praises of a grateful state;
“Embalm'd in these thy matchless fame shall live,
“And beam with lustre which no gems can give.
“E'en now heroic spirits, long gone before,
“Expectant, call thee to their peaceful shore;
“Congenial souls! that crave thy upward flight,
“Whilst Heav'n invites thee to the Realms of Light.”
Ye gen'rous souls, Britannia's guardian hosts,
Who rear our commerce and protect our coasts,
14
Nor scorching suns, nor skies inclement fear,
Remember mighty Nelson's great bequest—
“A patriot spirit in a dauntless breast!”
Still may the spirit of that illustrious soul
Pervade, direct, and animate the whole!
Inspire your councils, and your hearts unite,
Till vict'ry brightens through the blended fight!
So shall your crowded barks from distant shores,
Rich with their spicy freight and precious ores,
Securely seek Britannia's favour'd coast,
While her fall'n foes shall to their mighty cost,
(Their laurels blasted, and their efforts lost,)
Reluctant own that Britons can outdo
Increasing hosts, and their past prowess too;
By combat better'd, brighter still in fame,
Time shall enroll the British Seaman's name;
And ages hence, to ocean's utmost verge,
Proclaim him victor o'er the foaming surge.
15
Blest guardian of fair Albion's liberty,
Though shatt'ring blasts and wintry storms assail,
Draws health and vigour from the threatening gale,
Beneath his shelt'ring boughs and spreading crest,
While now the fatt'ning herds securely rest,
Lo, from his giant trunk's resistless side
Triumphant navies stem the yielding tide.
THE END.
| A Tribute To The Memory of Lord Nelson | |