ADMIRAL LORD COLLINGWOOD.
ETHINKS 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 is this for Old England,"
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 at the heart,
Of hope too long deferred.
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