The Vow of the Peacock and Other Poems/Admiral Collingwood

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ADMIRAL COLLINGWOOD.


Methinks it is a glorious thing
    To sail upon the deep;
A thousand sailors under you,
    Their watch and ward to keep:
To see your gallant battle-flag
    So scornfully unrolled,
As scarcely did the wild wind dare
    To stir one crimson fold:

To watch the frigates scattered round,
    Like birds upon the wing;
Yet know they only wait your will—
    It is a glorious thing.

Our admiral stood on the deck,
    And looked upon the sea;
He held the glass in his right hand,
    And far and near looked he:

He could not see one hostile ship
    Abroad upon the main;
From east to west, from north to south,
    It was his own domain.
"Good news for England this, good news,"
    Forth may her merchants fare;
Thick o'er the sea, no enemy
    Will cross the pathway there.

A paleness came upon his cheek,
    A shadow to his brow;

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:


He has been many years at sea,
    He's worn with wind and wave;
He asks a little breathing space
    Between it and his grave:
He feels his breath come heavily,
    His keen eye faint and dim;
It was a weary sacrifice
    That England asked of him.

He never saw his home again—
    The deep voice of the gun,
The lowering of his battle-flag,
    Told when his life was done.
His sailors walked the deck and wept;
    Around them howled the gale;

And far away two orphans knelt—
    A widow's cheek grew pale.

Amid the many names that light
    Our history's blazoned line,
I know not one, brave Collingwood,
    That touches me like thine.