Part 22

England and France they will pull down The Eagle and Imperial Crown, And his Bear-like growls we soon will drown, With, Let us give it him, Charley. For while England and France go hand in hand They conquer must by sea and land, For no Russian foe can e'er withstand, So brave a man as Charley. Our gallant tars, etc.

Despotic Nick, you've been too fast, To get Turkey within your grasp, But a Tartar you have caught at last, In the shape of our tars and Charley. Then here's success with three times three, To all true hearts by land or sea, And this the watchword it shall be, Mind, and give it to them, Charley.

Our gallant tars led by Napier, May bid defiance to the Bear. While hearty shouts will rend the air, With, Mind, and give it to him, Charley.

VII

THE ARETHUSA

Come all ye jolly sailors bold, Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould, While England's glory I unfold, Huzza to the Arethusa. She is a frigate tight and brave, As ever stemmed the dashing wave; Her men are staunch To their fav'rite launch, And when the foe shall meet our fire, Sooner than strike we'll all expire, On board of the Arethusa.

'Twas with the spring-fleet she went out, The English Channel to cruise about, When four French sail, in show so stout, Bore down on the Arethusa. The fam'd Belle Poule straight ahead did lie, The Arethusa seem'd to fly, Not a sheet, or a tack, Or a brace did she slack, Tho' the Frenchman laugh'd, and thought it stuff, But they knew not the handful of men, so tough, On board of the Arethusa.

On deck five hundred men did dance, The stoutest they could find in France, We, with two hundred, did advance On board of the Arethusa. Our captain hail'd the Frenchman, ho! The Frenchman then cried out, hallo! "Bear down, d'ye see To our Admiral's lee." "No, no," said the Frenchman, "that can't be"; "Then I must lug you along with me," Says the saucy Arethusa.

The fight was off the Frenchman's land, We forc'd them back upon their strand; For we fought till not a stick would stand Of the gallant Arethusa. And now we've driven the foe ashore, Never to fight with Britons more, Let each fill a glass To his favourite lass! A health to our captain, and officers true, And all that belong to the jovial crew, On board of the Arethusa.

VIII

COPENHAGEN

Of Nelson and the North, Sing the day, When, their haughty powers to vex, He engaged the Danish decks; And with twenty floating wrecks Crowned the fray.

All bright, in April's sun, Shone the day, When a British fleet came down Through the island of the Crown, And by Copenhagen town Took their stay.

In arms the Danish shore Proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on.

For Denmark here had drawn All her might; From her battleships so vast She had hewn away the mast, And at anchor, to the last Bade them fight.

Another noble fleet Of their line Rode out; but these were nought To the batteries which they brought, Like Leviathans afloat In the brine.

It was ten of Thursday morn By the chime; As they drifted on their path There was silence deep as death, And the noblest held his breath For a time--

Ere a first and fatal round Shook the flood. Every Dane looked out that day. Like the red wolf on his prey, And he swore his flag to sway O'er our blood.

Not such a mind possessed England's tar; 'Twas the love of noble game Set his oaken heart on flame, For to him 'twas all the same, Sport and war.

All hands and eyes on watch As they keep; By their motion light as wings, By each step that haughty springs, You might know them for the kings Of the deep.

'Twas the Edgar first that smote Denmark's line As her flag the foremost soared, Murray stamped his foot on board, And an hundred cannons roared At the sign.

Three cheers of all the fleet Sung Huzza! Then from centre, rear, and van, Every captain, every man, With a lion's heart began To the fray.

Oh, dark grew soon the heavens-- For each gun, From its adamantine lips, Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like a hurricane eclipse Of the sun.

Three hours the raging fire Did not slack; But the fourth, their signals drear Of distress and wreck appear, And the Dane a feeble cheer Sent us back.

The voice decayed; their shots Slowly boom. They ceased--and all is wail, As they strike the shattered sail, Or in conflagration pale Light the gloom.

Oh, death--it was a sight Filled our eyes! But we rescued many a crew From the waves of scarlet hue, Ere the cross of England flew O'er her prize.

Why ceased not here the strife, Oh, ye brave? Why bleeds old England's band By the fire of Danish land, That smites the very hand Stretched to save?

But the Britons sent to warn Denmark's town: Proud foes, let vengeance sleep! If another chain-shot sweep-- All your navy in the deep Shall go down.