 | The Vow of the Peacock, and Other Poems |  |
324
ADMIRAL COLLINGWOOD.
Methinks it is a glorious thing
To sail upon the deep;
A thousand sailors under you,
Their watch and ward to keep:
To see your gallant battle-flag
So scornfully unrolled,
As scarcely did the wild wind dare
To stir one crimson fold:
To sail upon the deep;
A thousand sailors under you,
Their watch and ward to keep:
To see your gallant battle-flag
So scornfully unrolled,
As scarcely did the wild wind dare
To stir one crimson fold:
To watch the frigates scattered round,
Like birds upon the wing;
Yet know they only wait your will—
It is a glorious thing.
Our admiral stood on the deck,
And looked upon the sea;
He held the glass in his right hand,
And far and near looked he:
Like birds upon the wing;
Yet know they only wait your will—
It is a glorious thing.
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And looked upon the sea;
He held the glass in his right hand,
And far and near looked he:
He could not see one hostile ship
Abroad upon the main;
From east to west, from north to south,
It was his own domain.
“Good news for England this, good news,”
Forth may her merchants fare;
Thick o'er the sea, no enemy
Will cross the pathway there.
Abroad upon the main;
From east to west, from north to south,
It was his own domain.
“Good news for England this, good news,”
Forth may her merchants fare;
Thick o'er the sea, no enemy
Will cross the pathway there.
A paleness came upon his cheek,
A shadow to his brow;
Alas! our good Lord Collingwood,
What is it ails him now?
Tears stand within the brave man's eyes,
Each softer pulse is stirred:
It is the sickness of the heart,
Of hope too long deferred.
A shadow to his brow;
326
What is it ails him now?
Tears stand within the brave man's eyes,
Each softer pulse is stirred:
It is the sickness of the heart,
Of hope too long deferred.
He's pining for his native seas,
And for his native shore;
All but his honour he would give,
To be at home once more.
He does not know his children's fare;
His wife might pass him by,
He is so altered, did they meet,
With an unconscious eye:
And for his native shore;
All but his honour he would give,
To be at home once more.
He does not know his children's fare;
His wife might pass him by,
He is so altered, did they meet,
With an unconscious eye:
327
He has been many years at sea,
He's worn with wind and wave;
He asks a little breathing space
Between it and his grave:
He feels his breath come heavily,
His keen eye faint and dim;
It was a weary sacrifice
That England asked of him.
He's worn with wind and wave;
He asks a little breathing space
Between it and his grave:
He feels his breath come heavily,
His keen eye faint and dim;
It was a weary sacrifice
That England asked of him.
He never saw his home again—
The deep voice of the gun,
The lowering of his battle-flag,
Told when his life was done.
His sailors walked the deck and wept;
Around them howled the gale;
And far away two orphans knelt—
A widow's cheek grew pale.
The deep voice of the gun,
The lowering of his battle-flag,
Told when his life was done.
His sailors walked the deck and wept;
Around them howled the gale;
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A widow's cheek grew pale.
Amid the many names that light
Our history's blazoned line,
I know not one, brave Collingwood,
That touches me like thine.
Our history's blazoned line,
I know not one, brave Collingwood,
That touches me like thine.
| The Vow of the Peacock, and Other Poems | |