Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV. 1876–79.
Trafalgar
By William Cox Bennett (1820–1895)N
Our good ships running free;
Seven leagues lay Cape Trafalgar
Away upon our lee;
’T was then, as broke the morning,
The Frenchmen we descried,
East away, there they lay,
That day that Nelson died.
On which that morning shone!
We counted three-and-thirty,
Mounseer and stately Don;
And plain their great three-deckers
Amongst them we descried,—
“Safe,” we said, “for Spithead,”
That day that Nelson died.
Upon his face the smile,
The very look he wore when
We beat them at the Nile!
“We must have twenty, Hardy,”
’T was thus the hero cried;
And we had twenty, lad,
That day that Nelson died.
Ay, well, my boys, he knew
That not a man among us
But would his duty do!
And as the signal flew, boys,
With shouts each crew replied;
How we cheered as we neared
The foe, when Nelson died!
But Collingwood, ahead,
A mile from all, the lee line
Right through the Frenchmen led;
“And what would Nelson give to
Be here with us!” he cried,
As he bore through their roar
That day that Nelson died.
With every sail full spread;
And as we neared them slowly
There was but little said.
There were thoughts of home amongst us,
And as their line we eyed,
Here and there, perhaps, a prayer,
That day that Nelson died.
Began with us the game;
Another,—then their broadsides
From all sides through us came;
With men fast falling round us,
While not a gun replied,
With sails rent, on we went,
That day that Nelson died.
But where it flew none knew;
“Then make for that four-decker,”
Said Nelson, “men, she ’ll do!”
So, at their “Trinidada,”
To get we straightway tried,
As we broke through their smoke,
That day that Nelson died.
That through their line we broke,
And to their “Bucentaure” first
Our thundering broadside spoke.
We shaved her;—as our shot, boys,
Crashed through her shattered side;
She could feel how to heel
That day that Nelson died.
Our larboard broadsides pour,
Though all we well could spare her
Went to the “Bucentaure.”
Locked to another Frenchman,
Our starboard fire we plied,
Gun to gun till we won,
That day that Nelson died.
A curse upon her name!
’T was from her tops the bullet
That killed our hero came.
As from the deck, with Hardy,
The bloody fight he eyed,
And could hear cheer on cheer,
As they struck, that day he died.
’T was thus they heard him say,
“But I die as I would die, boys,
Upon this glorious day;
I ’ve done my duty, Hardy,”
He cried, and still he cried,—
As below, sad and slow,
We bore him as he died.
The cockpit’s lamp shone dim;
But many a groan we heard, lads,
Less for themselves than him:
And many a one among them
Had given, and scarcely sighed,
A limb to save him
Who there in glory died.
His thoughts were still the same;
“How many have we now, boys?”
Still faint and fainter came.
As ship on ship struck to us,
His glazing eyes with pride,
As it seemed, flashed and gleamed,
As he knew he conquering died.
Yet many an eye was dim;
And when we talked of triumph,
We only thought of him.
And still, though fifty years, boys,
Have gone, who, without pride,
Names his name,—tells his fame,
Who at Trafalgar died!