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Come from deep glen, and

From mountain so rocky ;
The war-pipe and pennon

Are at Inverlocky.
Come every hill-plaid, and

True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade, and

Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter ;
Leave the corpse uninterr'd,

The bride at the altar;
Leave the deer, leave the steer,

Leave nets and barges :
Come with your fighting gear,

Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come, when

Forests are rended,
Come as the waves come, when

Navies are stranded :
Faster come, faster come,

Faster and faster,
Chief, vassal, page and groom,

Tenant and master.

Fast they come, fast they come ;

See how they gather ! Wide waves the eagle plume

Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set !

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
Knell for the onset !

Sir W. Scott

CCV

A"

WET sheet and a flowing sea,

A wind that follows fast
And fills the white and rustling sail

And bends the gallant mast;
And bends the gallant mast, my boys,

While like the eagle free
Away the good ship flies, and leaves

Old England on the lee.

O for a soft and gentle wind !

I heard a fair one cry ;
But give to me the snoring breeze

And white waves heaving high ;
And white waves heaving high, my lads,

The good ship tight and free – The world of waters is our home,

And merry men are we.

There 's tempest in yon hornéd moon,

And lightning in yon cloud ;
But hark the music, mariners !

The wind is piping loud ;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,

The lightning flashes free —
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

A. Cunningham

CCVI

YE

TE Mariners of England
That guard our

native seas !
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe :
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long
And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave —
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave :
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks
No towers along the steep ;
Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak
She quells the floods below
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors !
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

T. Campbell

CCVII

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

OF

F Nelson and the North

Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; By each gun the lighted brand In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat
Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line :
It was ten of April morn by the chime :
As they drifted on their path
There was silence deep as death ;
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.

But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rush'd
O'er the deadly space between.
• Hearts of oak !' our captains cried, when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.

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Again ! again ! again !
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back ;
Their shots along the deep slowly boom :-
Then ceased and all is wail,
As they strike the shatter'd sail ;
Or in conflagration pale
Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then
As he hail'd them o'er the wave,

Ye are brothers ! ye are men !
And we conquer but to save :-
So
peace

instead of death let us bring :
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our King.'

Then Denmark blest our chief
That he gave her wounds repose ;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,

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