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In victory's arms thus Abercrombie died?
Thus Nelson bled, our sorrow and our pride;
Still Britain mourns stern fate's relentless doom,
And 'twines the hero's laurels round his tomb.
Thus Nelson bled, our sorrow and our pride;
Still Britain mourns stern fate's relentless doom,
And 'twines the hero's laurels round his tomb.
Lamented chieftain! thy well-skill'd command
From sure destruction sav'd thy faithful band;
'Twas thine with them each painful toil to share,
'Twas thine alone the mental pangs to bear,
When warring elements against thee rose,
Before thee treach'rous friends—behind thee foes.
And when at length Corunna's tow'rs appear'd,
And English vessels their proud ensigns rear'd,
Twas thine to see thy bold pursuers fly—
Nobly to conquer—undismay'd to die.
Thy parting words to filial duty giv'n;
And thy last thought to England and to Heav'n.
From sure destruction sav'd thy faithful band;
'Twas thine with them each painful toil to share,
'Twas thine alone the mental pangs to bear,
When warring elements against thee rose,
Before thee treach'rous friends—behind thee foes.
And when at length Corunna's tow'rs appear'd,
And English vessels their proud ensigns rear'd,
Twas thine to see thy bold pursuers fly—
Nobly to conquer—undismay'd to die.
Thy parting words to filial duty giv'n;
And thy last thought to England and to Heav'n.
No tawdry scutcheons hang around thy tomb,
No venal mourners wave the sable plume;
No venal mourners wave the sable plume;
