A clipper was Drake and a devil was Blake,
Stout Duncan, Mynheer knew well;

Of Rodney and Hawke your Frenchmen don't talk,
And of Howe's deeds we're proud to tell.

Of Cochrane the bold you've often been told,
Of Jervis's pluck all know;

But Nelson himself should be laid on the shelf
As soon as old bold Benbow.

He couldn't boast birth, but you'll see he was worth
A score of the dons who could,

Fine fair-weather men, they were nowhere when Ben
Alone through the Frenchmen stood.

They may make a fine fuss of their high blood to us,
But we know that it's often so,

That our boldest have passed from before the mast
To glory like old Benbow.

He was left in the lurch; he was out in search
Of Du Casse, whom he long had sought;

Through the West Indy Isles he had chased them for miles,

And the skulkers at last he'd caught.

His turn-it was come; they were big ones some,

Ten sail, and says he, 'We'll show

Mounseer the way to Spithead to-day;

Won't we, lads?' says old bold Benbow.

So he flung out the sign to bear down on their line,
But we'd only six sail, d'you see;

And our captains were nobs, and hot work such fine snobs

Thought with them wouldn't quite agree;

They funked; when they found he'd fight, they wore round;

How he swore when he saw them go!

'But we don't go, my men, though we're but one to

ten;

No, we'll fight them!' said bold Benbow.

So he left all behind, and before the wind

Right into the ten he went ;

Then one Captain took shame, and after him came;
Real work, lads, the old dog meant.

At their Admiral's side hard to board he tried ;

At a first-rate he then let go,

And no more heard that day of her; 'twas his way;
So he served them, did old Benbow.

The work was too warm to last long; one arm
Was gone; a shot tore his head;

A cannon-ball then took his right leg, 'My men,
Bring a cradle on deck,' he said.

While life was in him, and his ship would but swim,
He scorned, lads, to go below;

6

'If I die, boys,' says he, never mind, d'you see; Fight it out!' says our bold Benbow.

To his four ships in sight he still signalled on 'fight,'
But they weren't of the fighting stuff;

So they left Ben alone to swear and to groan,
Till Mounseer found they'd had enough.

And so struck was he with old Ben, d'you see,

That a letter he sent; 'twas so :

'Had your Captains but fought as the cursed cowards ought,

You'd have took me; Mounseer Benbow.

'You'll hang them, I hope; they deserve well the rope,' And Du Casse's hint wasn't forgot;

He thought 'twas but right, so in all the fleet's sight, On his deck they were tried and shot.

'I've but one leg; by heaven, but,' says he, 'I'd have given That to save us this shame, I know;

Oh he'd all Nelson's pluck, though he hadn't his luck,
So here's glory to old Benbow.

Well, old walls of oak have become just a joke,
And in tea-kettles we're to fight;

It seems a queer dream, all this iron and steam,
But I daresay, my lads, it's right.

But whether we float in ship or in boat

In iron or oak, we know,

For old England's right we've hearts that will fight As of old did the brave Benbow.

O HOLY Peace, thrice-blessing
The lands in which you dwell,
Let us, your gifts possessing,
Still love your presence well!
Enough our island story

Has gathered of renown
In many a day of glory

That struck our foemen down.
O Reason, all wrongs righting,
Make war from earth to cease!
Still, earth with bliss delighting,
Dwell with us, holy Peace!

Yet war too shall be holy

If we must show our might,
If we its might use solely

For freedom and the right;
No fear of war shall fright us

To crouch, or pale, or sue;
We are, if arms must right us,
To all our greatness true.
Our grand old island story
In grandeur must increase;
If it be shame or glory?

Our choice shall not be peace.

No, no; we will not dwindle,
Old deeds our souls shall stir,
Old fames our hearts shall kindle
To be the men we were.

Our land each century gathers
New harvests of renown;
These to our sons their fathers

Shall hand unlessened down;
No coward fears are sighing

That war's dread days may cease; If safety we are buying

With shame, farewell to Peace.

Peace dwells not with the weakly;
With those she lives not long
Who bear injustice meekly,
And swordless front the strong.
With heroes is she dwelling,
She but consorts with such
Of whom renown is telling,

Whom War dares not to touch. Their fame, their homes defending, They know from war release; With them, in bliss unending, Dwells ever holy Peace.

TRAFALGAR.

OCTOBER 21st, 1805.

Tune The Bay of Biscay.'

NORTH-WEST the wind was blowing, Our good ships running free; Seven leagues lay Cape Trafalgar Away upon our lee.

'Twas then, as broke the morning,

The Frenchmen we descried;

East away, there they lay,

That day that Nelson died.

That was a sight to see, boys,
On which that morning shone!
We counted three-and-thirty,
Mounseer and stately Don;
And plain their great three-deckers
Amongst them we descried—
'Safe,' we said, 'for Spithead,'
That day that Nelson died.

Then Nelson spoke to Hardy,
Upon his face the smile,
The very look he wore when
We beat them at the Nile !
'We must have twenty, Hardy,'
'Twas thus the hero cried;
And we had twenty, lad,
That day that Nelson died.

Up went his latest signal;
Ay, well, my boys, he knew,
That not a man among us
But would his duty do!
And as the signal flew, boys,
With shouts each crew replied;
How we cheered as we neared
The foe, when Nelson died!

We led the weather column,
But Collingwood, ahead,
A mile from all, the lee line
Right through the Frenchmen led;
'And what would Nelson give to
Be here with us!' he cried,
As he bore through their roar
That day that Nelson died.

Well, on the Victory stood, boys,
With every sail full spread;
And as we neared them slowly,
There was but little said.