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is now upon the seas, The silent seas of yore; The thunder of the cannonade Awakes the wave no more.

The battle-flag droops o’er the mast, There quiet let it sleep; For it hath won in wilder hours Its empire o’er the deep.

Now let it wave above their home, Of those who fought afar; The victors of the Baltic sea, The brave of Trafalgar.

Upon a terrace by the Thames, I saw the Admiral stand; He who received the latest clasp* Of Nelson’s dying hand.

Age, toil, and care had somewhat bowed His bearing proud and high; But yet resolve was on his lip, And fire was in his eye.

I felt no wonder England holds Dominion o’er the seas; Still the red cross will face the world, While she hath men like these.

And gathered there beneath the sun Were loitering veterans old; As if of former victories And former days they told.

No prouder trophy hath our isle, Though proud her trophies be, Than that old palace where are housed The veterans of the sea.

Her other domes—her wealth, her pride, Her science may declare; But Greenwich hath the noblest claim, Her gratitude is there.


 * His favourite captain:—Nelson died in Sir Thomas Hardy’s arms. Too long for extract here, the account of that battle and death is at once the most exciting and yet touching record I know in English history.