THOMAS CAMPBELL 1777-1844 THOMAS CAMPBELL, a Scotch poet belonging to the literary circle of Sir Walter Scott, became famous at the age of twentyone by his didactic poem, The Pleasures of Hope. He wrote several other long poems, one of them, Gertrude of Wyoming, on the massacre which took place at the Pennsylvania village of that name during the Revolutionary War. He is best known, however, as the author of three of the most stirring war-songs in the English language. Hohenlinden is found in nearly every reader or book of declamations; the other two, here printed, are perhaps even finer. YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND YE 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, 5 Shall start from every wave, For the deck it was their field of fame, Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell As ye sweep through the deep, Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep: 15 20 When the battle rages loud and long, 30 The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, When the fiery fight is heard no more, 40 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC OF 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 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 flushed. And her van the fleeter rushed 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. Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane 10 15 20 25 30 5 To our cheering sent us back; Their shots along the deep slowly boom: Then ceased—and all is wail, As they strike the shattered sail, By the festal cities' blaze, While the wine cup shines in light; Full many a fathom deep, 60 |