The bard, and minor poems By John Walker Ord ... Collected and edited by John Lodge |
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BOMBARDMENT OF ST JEAN D'ACRE. |
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 | The bard, and minor poems |  |
BOMBARDMENT OF ST JEAN D'ACRE.
Like oak trees of the rock
Our giant vessels stood,
Defied the battle's shock
Of massacre and blood:
Whilst Napier, gallant tar,
Led foremost in the war,
Nor fear'd that hostile star
Could them mock.
Our giant vessels stood,
Defied the battle's shock
Of massacre and blood:
Whilst Napier, gallant tar,
Led foremost in the war,
Nor fear'd that hostile star
Could them mock.
217
It was a glorious sight,
Those bulwarks of the sea—
The sails all snowy white,
The banners floating free:
And every iron throat
In fiery thunders smote
Each fortress—did they not?—
On the lea!
Those bulwarks of the sea—
The sails all snowy white,
The banners floating free:
And every iron throat
In fiery thunders smote
Each fortress—did they not?—
On the lea!
And, faster now each sheet
Of ruddy lightning glows;
More hot the molten sleet
On flag and crescent flows:
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!
Be your thunders heard this day,
O'er each continent and bay
Of your foes.
Of ruddy lightning glows;
More hot the molten sleet
On flag and crescent flows:
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!
Be your thunders heard this day,
O'er each continent and bay
Of your foes.
Again the dreadful shell
Of Death ascends on high;
Again, like gleams of hell,
The rockets fiercely fly:
But, hark! that horrid roar,
Like an earthquake-riven shore,
Or Etna's lava-shower,
Rends the sky!
Of Death ascends on high;
Again, like gleams of hell,
The rockets fiercely fly:
But, hark! that horrid roar,
Like an earthquake-riven shore,
Or Etna's lava-shower,
Rends the sky!
One moment did the fire
And the brand in circle play—
The next, a funeral pyre
On twelve hundred warriors lay;
The heavens were shook with dread,
And the smoke hung overhead,
Like mourners for the dead,
On that day.
And the brand in circle play—
218
On twelve hundred warriors lay;
The heavens were shook with dread,
And the smoke hung overhead,
Like mourners for the dead,
On that day.
Then weep for them who died
In the battle's fearful strife;
For the widow and the bride,
For the daughter and the wife:
Yes! one bitter tear of woe
Can our heroes spare a foe,
Even to them that struggled so
For their life!
In the battle's fearful strife;
For the widow and the bride,
For the daughter and the wife:
Yes! one bitter tear of woe
Can our heroes spare a foe,
Even to them that struggled so
For their life!
And now, the requiem o'er,
Let the joyous wine-cup blaze,
Your high libations pour
To the victor and his bays:—
Three cheers for England's tars
Triumphant from the wars,
Who shall boast of honoured scars
All their days.
Let the joyous wine-cup blaze,
Your high libations pour
To the victor and his bays:—
Three cheers for England's tars
Triumphant from the wars,
Who shall boast of honoured scars
All their days.
| The bard, and minor poems | |