Classic Poem

TO THE MEMORY OF LORD NELSON .

While shouts of victory reach the lofty skies,
What groan is there? — alas! our Nelson dies.
Ev'n the rough seaman gives a sigh sincere,
The vet'ran mourns, and Britain drops a tear.
With tend'rest grief (tho' conquest is confest)
She clasps her dying hero to her breast,
And bids in glowing strains, her history tell,
How nobly, how resign'd her Nelson fell;
She bids it tell, how bright Religion's pow'r
Hush'd the wild tumult ev'n of victory's hour;
And bid him ever own the hand divine,
Which crown'd his hopes, and made his glory shine,
Tho' savage war had seiz'd his shatter'd frame,
The valiant warrior ever glow'd the same! —
Thus the proud castle still majestic stands,
Resisting long the rage of hostile bands —
Tho' outrage has defac'd its princely form,
And its high tow'rs have felt the angry storm;
Our gen'rous pity dreads the fatal blow,
Which comes at last to lay the fabric low.

Alas! 'tis felt — no common muse can tell,
When Nelson died how bold a fabric fell! —
Too brave for envy, may the soldier mourn
And twine the laurels round his kindred urn,
Like those unchang'd by time, which proudly wave
In rich luxuriance, o'er our Marlborough's grave;
Whilst patriot oak its favour'd leaves shall spread
To deck the honour'd tomb of Nelson dead! —
Methinks, old ocean, in respect to join,
Calls forth his heroes round the hallow'd shrine!
Their forms ethereal (once a nation's theme)
Through the " dim arches " cast a solemn gleam!
O'er the cold bier they mildly seem to bend,
And greet the spirit of their warlike friend! —
A Cloudsley's noble shade adorns the gloom,
Whose fame not ev'n the billows cou'd entomb,
A valiant Drake who fought imperious Spain,
And grasp'd in thought the ocean's wide domain;
And Rooke, whose fame Gibraltar's Rock may tell,
Where princely Hesse once toil'd, and heroes fell.
With many a gallant chief by England blest,
And stately Duncan, sunk to glorious rest. —
Gliding majestic thro the awful scene,
Pale fancy marks their venerable mien;
And sees with deep respect, and wond'ring eyes,
The royal shade of pious Alfred rise! —
Intrepid, faithful, gen'rous and sublime,
Bold as our waves, and gentle as our clime;
Religion shone upon his tow'ring plan,
And conquest crown'd, what wisdom first began.
With look serene he views the sacred place,
And owns his heroes with a monarch's grace.
Respect be their's, — those laurels ne'er can fade,
By valour won, and grateful duty paid;
But oh! where fame their brightest deeds shall tell,
The Nile's brave hero may conspicuous dwell! —
That wond'rous chief, who kept the world in awe,
Trafalgar's bloody scene unconquer'd saw;
And death who came, commission'd from above,
To snatch him, conq'ring, from a nation's love —
Ev'n death's keen dart a fatal witness bore
To nobler fame than ere he gain'd before!
Alas! — how vain is all this world supplies!
Still danger lurks beneath the fairest prize;
Ev'n those rich honours 'twas his lot to win,
Betray'd the valiant heart that glow'd within:
Thus do we learn, tho' grandeur may allure,
One hope alone is firm — alone is sure!
The dazzling blaze of life is quickly past,
And ev'n its brightest scenes must fade at last. —

O thou proud vessel! whose affecting claim
Was prov'd so well to victory's splendid name; —
Sad is the welcome thy arrival gains,
To bring our noble hero's last remains! —
Tho' crown'd with glory, still a manly grief
Among the gallant crew deplores their chief;
Thy solemn flag the loyal heart reveres,
And patriot zeal salutes thee with its tears!
Perhaps — some gen'rous deed, remember'd well
By truth and gratitude, remains to tell!
Unvarnish'd eloquence must still relate
Somewhat untold of gen'rous Nelson'S fate! —
And shou'd some spot on that fair orb appear,
Which shone so bright in glory's radiant sphere;
Still should some shade of error intervene
To cloud the lustre of the social scene,
Let friendship mourn that failing — not defend —
Virtuous, and true shou'd be the hero's friend;
And scorn by flatt'ry, or by fashion's claim
To stamp perfection, even on Nelson'S name.
Our country's champion needs not pompous art —
His virtues live in every British heart.

Yet, must we yield! — one heartfelt sigh sincere
May not be treason, even in victory's ear!
But Heaven forbids the long protracted moan;
It claims (supreme) the hero for its own! —
Fair gratitude, with soft seraphic gaze,
Still tunes her golden harp to songs of praise;
Points to the conquer'd foe — a num'rous heap!
Their shatter'd vessels sinking in the deep!
Enraptur'd gratitude with ardent claim,
Points to the banners of triumphant fame!
She marks the great, the gallant and the brave,
Still rescued from the wild the foaming wave —
What tho' her tears may grace the victor's tomb,
Her fires shall kindle and her wreaths shall bloom;
From Alexandria's shore her voice shall sound.
And echo shall repeat to nation's round! —
Our bleeding Nelson , in his dying hour,
Still felt her energy — her soothing power;
His gen'rous care, his latest breath was given,
To Britain's cause, to gratitude and Heaven.
Oh! may we own like him, th' Almighty's sway,
In what he grants and what he takes away!
With noble C OLLINGWOOD , let valour's flame
Soar to the mighty source from whence it came! —
Whilst seraph mercy, with an angel's wing
Flies to the widow'd heart — relief to bring,
And meekly shews 'tis Heaven's vicegerent here
To help the maim'd and dry the orphan's tear,