326
ADMIRAL COLLINGWOOD.
Alas! our good Lord Collingwood,
What is it ails him now?
Tears stand within the brave man's eyes,
Each softer pulse is stirred:
It is the sickness of the heart,
Of hope too long deferred.
He's pining for his native seas,
And for his native shore;
All but his honour he would give,
To be at home once more.
He does not know his children's fare;
His wife might pass him by,
He is so altered, did they meet,
With an unconscious eye:
