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 While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line :

It was ten of April morn by the chime :

As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;

And the boldest held his breath,

For a time.

But the might of England flushed

To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rushed

O'er the deadly space between.

'Hearts of oak! ' our captains cried; when each

gun

From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun.

Again! again! again!

And the havoc did not slack,

Till a feeble cheer the Dane,

To our cheering sent us back;

Their shots along the deep slowly boom:

Then cease and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail;

Or, in conflagration pale

Light the gloom.

Now joy, Old Kngland, raise For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, Whilst the wine-cup .shines in light;

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