Such was he whom we deplore.

The long self-sacrifice of life is o'er.

The great World-victor's victor will be seen no

more.

5.

All is over and done :

Render thanks to the Giver,

England, for thy son.

Let the bell be toll'd.

Render thanks to the Giver,

And render him to the mould.

Under the cross of gold

That shines over city and river,

There he shall rest for ever

Among the wise and the bold.

Let the bell be toll'd :

And a reverent people behold

The towering car, the sable steeds:

Bright let it be with its blazon'd deeds,

Dark in its funeral fold.

Let the bell be toll'd:

And a deeper knell in the heart be knoll'd ;

And the sound of the sorrowing anthem roll'd Thro' the dome of the golden cross;

And the volleying cannon thunder his loss;

He knew their voices of old.

For many a time in many a clime

His captain's-ear has heard them boom

Bellowing victory, bellowing doom;

When he with those deep voices wrought,

Guarding realms and kings from shame;

With those deep voices our dead captain taught
The tyrant, and asserts his claim

In that dread sound to the great name,
Which he has won so pure of blame,

In praise and in dispraise the same,

A man of well-attemper'd frame.
O civic muse, to such a name,
To such a name for ages long,

To such a name,

Preserve a broad approach of fame,

And ever-ringing avenues of song.

6.

Who is he that cometh, like an honour'd guest,

With banner and with music, with soldier and

with priest,

With a nation weeping, and breaking on my rest?

Mighty seaman, this is he

Was great by land as thou by sea.

Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man,

The greatest sailor since our world began.

Now, to the roll of muffled drums,

To thee the greatest soldier comes;

For this is he

Was great by land as thou by sea;
His foes were thine; he kept us free;

O give him welcome, this is he,

Worthy of our gorgeous rites,
And worthy to be laid by thee;
For this is England's greatest son,

He that gain'd a hundred fights,

Against the myriads of Assaye

Clash'd with his fiery few and won ;

And underneath another sun,

Warring on a later day,

Round affrighted Lisbon drew

The treble works, the vast designs

Of his labour'd rampart-lines,

Where he greatly stood at bay,
Whence he issued forth anew,

And ever great and greater grew,
Beating from the wasted vines

Back to France her banded swarms,

Back to France with countless blows,

Till o'er the hills her eagles flew

Past the Pyrenean pines,

Follow'd up in valley and glen

With blare of bugle, clamour of men,

Roll of cannon and clash of arms,

And England pouring on her foes,

Such a war had such a close.

Again their ravening eagle rose

In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing wings,

And barking for the thrones of kings ;

Till one that sought but Duty's iron crown

On that loud sabbath shook the spoiler down;

A day of onsets of despair!

Dash'd on every rocky square

Their surging charges foam'd themselves away;

Last, the Prussian trumpet blew ;

Thro' the long-tormented air

Heaven flash'd a sudden jubilant ray,

And down we swept and charged and overthrew.

So great a soldier taught us there,

What long-enduring hearts could do