himself from the bed; 'do you anchor.' His previous order for preparing to anchor had shown how clearly he foresaw the necessity of this. Presently, calling Hardy back, he said to him in a low voice, 'Don't throw me overboard;' and he desired that he might be buried beside his parents, unless it should please the king to order otherwise. Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek, and Nelson said, 'Now I am satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty!' over him in silence for a moment or two, then knelt again and kissed his forehead. 'Who is that?' said Nelson; and being informed, he replied, 'God bless you, Hardy.' And Hardy then left him, for ever.

Hardy stood

Nelson now desired to be turned upon his right side, and said, 'I wish I had not left the deck; for I shall soon be gone.' Death was indeed rapidly approaching. His articulation became difficult; but he was distinctly heard to say, 'Thank God, I have done my duty!' These words he repeatedly pronounced; and they were the last words which he uttered. He expired at thirty minutes after four, three hours and a quarter after he had received his wound.

The death of Nelson was felt in England as something more than a public calamity; men started at the intelligence, and turned pale, as if they had heard of the loss of a dear friend. An object of our admiration and affection, of our pride and of our hopes, was suddenly taken from us; and it seemed as if we had never till then known how deeply we loved and reverenced him. What the country had lost in its great naval hero-the greatest of our own and of all former times-was scarcely taken into the account of grief. So perfectly, indeed, had he performed his part, that the maritime. war after the battle of Trafalgar was considered at an end: the fleets of the enemy were not merely defeated, but destroyed: new navies must be built, and a new race of seamen reared for them, before the possibility of their invading our shores could again be contemplated. It was not, therefore, from any selfish reflection upon the magnitude of our loss that

we mourned for him; the general sorrow was of a higher character. The people of England grieved that funeral ceremonies, and public monuments, and posthumous rewards were all that they could now bestow upon him whom the king, the legislature, and the nation would have alike delighted to honour, whom every tongue would have blessed, whose presence in every village through which he might have passed would have wakened the church bells, have given schoolboys a holiday, have drawn children from their sports to gaze upon him, and 'old men from their chimney corner,' to look upon Nelson ere they died. The victory of Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed, with the usual forms of rejoicing, but they were without joy; for such already was the glory of the British navy, through Nelson's surpassing genius, that it scarcely seemed to receive any addition from the most signal victory that ever was achieved upon the seas: and the destruction of this mighty fleet, by which all the maritime schemes of France were totally frustrated, hardly appeared to add to our security or strength; for while Nelson was living to watch the combined squadrons of the enemy, we felt ourselves as secure as now, when they were no longer in existence.

There was reason to suppose, from the appearances upon opening the body, that in the course of nature he might have attained, like his father, to a good old age. Yet he cannot be said to have fallen prematurely whose work was done; nor ought he to be lamented, who died so full of honours and at the height of human fame. The most triumphant death is that of the martyr; the most awful, that of the martyred patriot; the most splendid, that of the hero in the hour of victory; and if the chariot and the horses of fire had been vouchsafed for Nelson's translation, he could scarcely have departed in a brighter blaze of glory. He had left us, not indeed his mantle of inspiration, but a name and an example which are at this hour inspiring thousands of the youth of England: a name which is our pride, and an example which

will continue to be our shield and our strength. Thus it is that the spirits of the great and the wise continue to live and to act after them.

R. SOUTHEY.

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.

FAIR stood the wind for France

When we our sails advance,

Nor now to prove our chance

Longer will tarry ;

But putting to the main,

At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnish'd in warlike sort,
Marcheth towards Agincourt
In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day

With those that stopped his way,
Where the French general lay

With all his power.

Which in his height of pride,

King Henry to deride,

His ransom to provide

To the king sending ;
Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,

Yet with an angry smile,

Their fall portending.

And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then,
"Though they be one to ten,
Be not amazed!

Yet have ye well begun,
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun
By fame been raised.

'And, for myself,' quoth he,
'This my full rest shall be;
England, ne'er mourn for me,
Nor more esteem me :--
Victor I will remain,

Or on this earth lie slain;
Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

'Poictiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell :

No less our skill is

Than when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat,

By many a warlike feat

Lopped the French lilies.'

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;

With the main Henry sped,
Amongst his henchmen.
Exeter had the rear,

A braver man not there;

Heavens! how hot they were

On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone :
Armour on armour shone,
Drum now to drum did groan ;
To hear was wonder;
That with the cries they make
The very earth did shake;
Trumpet to trumpet spake ;
Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham,
Which did the signal aim
To our hid forces;
When from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly,

The English archery

Stuck the French horses,

With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,

But playing manly parts,

And like true English hearts,

Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw,

And forth their bilbows drew,

And on the French they flew ;
Not one was tardy;

Arms were from shoulders sent;

Scalps to the teeth were rent;
Down the French peasants went ;
Our men were hardy.