Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; It was not in the battle; His sword was in its sheath; Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And plough the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone; His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. |