PART I.

Nine years the good ship's gallant mast
Encountered storm and battle,
Stood firm and fast against the blast,
And grape-shots' iron rattle:

And still, though lightning, ball, and pike,
Had stricken oft, and scored her,
The Victory could never strike —
For Nelson was aboard her!

High in the air waved proudly there
Old England's flag of glory —
While, see! below the broad decks flow,
With streaming slaughter gory;

Each thundering gun is robed in dun,
That broadside was a beauty —
Hip, hip, hurrah! the battle's won,
Hip, hip hurrah! each man has done
This day a sailor's duty.

But, wosome lot! a coward shot
Struck Nelson as he vanquish'd,
And Britain in her griefs forgot
Her glories, where her son was not —
Her lion heart was anguish'd.

For, hit at last, against that mast
The hero faintly lying,
Felt the cold breath of nearing death,
And knew that he was dying.

PART II.

A ND passed is many a weary day,
Since that dark glorious hour,
And half the mast was stow'd away
In Windsor's royal tower;

But three feet good of that old wood
So scarr'd in war, and rotten,
Was thrown aside, unknown its pride,
Its honours all forgotten:

When, as in shade the block was laid,
Two robins, perching on it,
Thought that place best to build a nest,
They plann'd it, and have done it;

The splintered spot which lodged a shot
Is lined with moss and feather,
And chirping loud a callow brood
Are nestling up together;

How full of bliss — how peaceful is
That spot the soft nest caging,
Where war's alarms, and blood-stained arms
Were once around it raging!

And so in sooth it is a truth
That where the heart is stricken,
Sweeter at last for perils past
That used the soul to sicken,

Comes a soft calm, with healing balm,
Where sorrow deeply smarted,
And peace with strength is sent at length
To bless the broken-hearted.