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And her van the fleeter rushed
O'er the deadly space between.
"Hearts of oak!" our captain cried; when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Of the sun.
Again! again! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
To our cheering sent us back;
As they strike the shattered sail,
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.
Out spoke the victor then,
As he hailed them o'er the wave: "Ye are brothers! ye are men!
And we conquer but to save;
To our king."
Then Denmark blessed our chief,
And the sounds of joy and grief
As Death withdrew his shades from the day--
Now joy, Old England, raise!
Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
With the gallant, good Riou
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!
Of the brave!
VALEDICTORY STANZAS TO JOHN PHILIP KEMBle.
PRIDE of the British stage,
A long and last adieu!
Whose image brought the heroic age
That wine or music need not swell,
As high we lift the festal cup
To Kemble! fare thee well!
His was the spell o'er hearts
Which only acting lends,-
For ill can poetry express
Full many a tone of thought sublime,
Steals but a glance of time.
Illusion's perfect triumphs come
Time may again revive,
But ne'er eclipse the charm,
What soul was not resigned entire
His transport's most impetuous tone,
High were the task-too high,
Ye conscious bosoms here!
In words to paint your memory
Of Kemble and of Lear;
But who forgets that white, discrowned head,
Those bursts of reason's half-extinguished glare
Those tears upon Cordelia's bosom shed,
In doubt more touching than despair,
Had Shakespeare's self amidst you been,
And there was many an hour
And sister magic came.
And undivided favour ran
From heart to heart in their applause,
Save for the gallantry of man
Fair as some classic dome,
And tell its height in heaven.
His mind surveyed the tragic page, And what the actor could effect,
The scholar could presage.
These were his traits of worth :-
And shall the scene no more show forth His sternly pleasing brow!
Alas, the moral brings a tear !
'Tis all a transient hour below; And we that would detain thee here, Ourselves as fleetly go!
Yet shall our latest age
This parting scene review:-