Nelson. An Old Man-o’-War’s-Man’s Yarn. Ay, ay, good neighbours, I have seen Him ! sure as God’s my life ; One of his chosen crew I’ve been ; Haven’t I, old goodwife ? God bless your dear eyes ! didn’t you vow To marry me any weather, If I came back with limbs enow To keep my soul together ? Brave as a lion was our Nel, And gentle as a lamb : Tell you it warms my blood to tell The tale—grey as I am— It makes the old life in me climb, It sets my soul a-swim ; I live twice over every time That I can talk of him. Our best beloved of all the brave That ever for freedom fought ; And all his wonders of the wave For fatherland were wrought ! He was the manner of man to show How victories may be won ; So swift, you scarcely saw the blow ; You look’d—the deed was done. You should have seen him as he trod The deck, our joy, and pride ! You should have seen him, like a god Of storm, his war-horse ride ! You should have seen him as he stood Fighting for his good land, With all the iron of soul and blood Turned to a sword in hand. He sailed his ships for work; he bore His sword for battle-wear; His creed was “ Best man to the fore!” And he was always there. Up any peak of peril where There was but room for one: The only thing he did not dare Was any death to shun. The Nelson touch his men he taught, And his great stride to keep ; His faithful fellows round him fought A thousand heroes deep. With a red pride of life, and hot For him, their blood ran free ; They “ minded not the showers of shot, No more than peas,” said he. The tyrant saw our sea-king thwart His landing on our isle ; He gnashed his teeth, he gnawed his heart, At Nelson of the Nile, Who set his fleet in flames, to light The lion to his prey, And lead destruction through the night Upon his dreadful way. Around the world he drove his game, And ran his glorious race, Nor rested till he hunted them From off the ocean’s face ; Like that old war-dog, who, till death, Hung to the vessel’s side Till hands were lopped, and then with teeth He held on till he died. Oh, he could do the deeds that set Old fighters’ hearts a-fire; The edge of every spirit whet, And every arm inspire. Yet I have seen upon his face The tears that, as they roll, Show what a light of saintly grace May clothe a sailor’s soul. And when our darling went to meet Trafalgar’s Judgment-day, The people knelt down in the street To bless him on his way. He felt the country of his love Watching him from afar ; It saw him through the battle move : His heaven was in that star ! Magnificently glorious sight It was in that great dawn ! Like one vast sapphire flashing light, The sea, just breathing, shone ! Their ships, fresh painted, stood up tall And stately : ours were grim And weatherworn, but one and all In rare good fighting trim. Our spirits all were flying light, And into battle sped, Straining for it on wings of might, With feet of springy tread ; The battle shone on every face ; Its fire in every eye ; Our sailor blood at swiftest pace To catch the victory nigh. His proudly-wasted face, wave-worn, Was beaming and serene ; I felt the brave, bright spirit burn There, all too plainly seen ; As though the sword this time was drawn For ever from the sheath, And when its work to-day was done All would be dark in death. His deep eyes glowed like lamps of night Set in the porch of power ; The deed unborn was kindled bright Within them at that hour ! The purpose, welded at white heat, Cried, like some visible Fate, “ To-day, we must not merely beat ; We must annihilate.” He smiled to see the Frenchman show His reckoning for retreat, With Cadiz port on his lee-bow ; And held him then half-beat. They showed no colours, till we drew Them out to strike with there ! Old Victory, for a prize or two, Had flags enough to spare. Mast-high the famous signal ran ; Breathless we caught each word : “ England expects that every man Will do his duty.” Lord, You should have seen our faces ! heard Us cheering, row on row, Like men before some furnace stirred To a fiery fearful glow ! Good Collingwood our Iee-line led, And cut their centre through. “ See how he goes in!” Nelson said, As his first broadside flew, And near four hundred foemen fell. Up went another cheer. “Ah, what would Nelson give,” said Coll, “But to be with us here !” We grimly kept our vanward path ; Over us hummed their shot ; But, silently, we reined our wrath, Held on, and answered not, Till we could grip them face to face, And pound them for our own, Or hug them in a war embrace, Till they or we went down. How calm he was ! when first he felt The sharp edge of that fight. Cabined with God alone he knelt ; The prayer still lay in light Upon his face, that used to shine In battle—flash with life, As though the glorious blood ran wine, Dancing with that wild strife. “ Fight for us, thou Almighty One ! Give victory once again ! And if I fall, thy will be done. Amen, Amen, Amen !” With such a voice he bade good-by, The mournfullest old smile wore : “ Farewell! God bless you, Blackwood, I Shall never see you more.” And four hours after, he had done With winds and troubled foam. The Reaper was borne dead upon Our load of harvest home. Not till he knew the old flag flew Alone on all the deep ; Then said he, “ Hardy, is that you ? Kiss me.” And fell asleep. Well, ’twas his chosen death below The deck in triumph trod ; ’Tis well. A sailor’s soul should go From his good ship to God. He would have chosen death aboard, From all the crowns of rest ; And burial with the patriot sword Upon the victor’s breast. “ Not a great sinner.” No, dear heart, God grant in our death-pain, We may have 1 as well our part, And feel as free from stain. We see the spots on such a star, Because it burned so bright ; But on the side next God they are All lost in greater light. And so he went upon his way, A higher deck to walk, Or sit in some eternal day, And of the old time talk With sailors old, who, on that coast, Welcome the homeward bound ; Where many a gallant soul we’ve lost, And Franklin will be found. Where amidst London’s roar and moil That Cross of Peace upstands, Like martyr with his heavenward smile, And flame-lit, lifted hands, There lies the dark and mouldered dust ; But that magnanimous And mighty seaman’s soul, I trust, Is living yet with us.