The fight was off the Frenchman's land;
We forced them back upon the strand ;
For we fought till not a stick would stand
Of the gallant Arethusa.

And now we've driven the foe ashore,
Never to fight with Britons more,
Let each fill a glass

To his fav'rite lass,

A health to the captains and officers true,
And all that belong to the jovial crew
On board of the Arethusa.

THE MINUTE GUN.

R. S. SHARPE. Duet by M. P. KING, in Arnold's "Up all Night."

WHEN in the storm on Albion's coast,
The night-watch guards his wary post,
From thoughts of danger free,
He marks some vessel's dusky form,
And hears, amid the howling storm,
The minute gun at sea.

Swift on the shore a hardy few
The life-boat man with gallant crew,

And dare the dangerous wave:
Through the wild surf they cleave their way,
Lost in the foam, nor know dismay,
For they go the crew to save.

But, O, what rapture fills each breast,
Of the hopeless crew of the ship distress'd?

Then, landed safe, what joy to tell

Of all the dangers that befell!

Then is heard no more,

By the watch on the shore,

The minute gun at sea.

THE ORIGIN OF GUNPOWDER.

THOMAS DIBDIN. From the "English Fleet." The music by JOHN BRAHAM.

WHEN Vulcan forged the bolts of Jove,

In Etna's roaring glow,
Neptune petition'd he might prove
Their use and power below;
But finding in the boundless deep
Their thunders did but idly sleep,
He with them arm'd Britannia's hand,
To guard from foes her native land.

Long may she hold the glorious right;
And when through circling flame
She darts her thunder in the fight,
May justice guide her aim!
And when opposed in future wars,
Her soldiers brave, and gallant tars,
Shall launch her fires from every
hand
On every foe to Britain's land.

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

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 thy land

Led them on.

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 flush'd,

To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

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 feebler cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back;

Their shots along the deep slowly boom :

Then cease, and all is wail,

As they strike the shatter'd sail;

Or, in conflagration pale,

Like the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hail'd them o'er the wave:

Ye are brothers! ye are men!

And we conquer but to save:

So peace instead of death let us bring;

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,

With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet

To our king."

Then Denmark bless'd our chief, That he her wounds repose; gave

And the sounds of joy and grief

From her people wildly rose,

As death withdrew his shades from the day;

While the sun look'd smiling bright

O'er a wide and woful sight,

Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

Now joy, Old England raise,
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,

By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore.

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,

With the gallant good Riou:*

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave;
While the billow mournful rolls,

And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave.

THE SPANISH ARMADA.

JOHN O'KEEFE. The music by DR. ARNOLD.

IN May fifteen hundred and eighty and eight,
Cries Philip, "The English I'll humble;
I've taken it into my majesty's pate,

And their lion, oh, down he shall tumble!

They lords of the sea!"-then his sceptre he shook,"I'll prove it an arrant bravado.

By Neptune! I'll sweep them all into a nook

With the invincible Spanish Armada!”

This fleet then sail'd out, and the winds they did blow, Their guns made a terrible clatter;

Our noble Queen Bess, 'cause she wanted to know,

66

Quill'd her ruff, and cried, " Pray, what's the matter?”
They say, my good queen," replied Howard so stout,
"The Spaniard has drawn his toledo,

Cock sure that he'll thump us, and kick us about,
With th' invincible Spanish Armada."

* A captain in the fleet "justly entitled the gallant and the good" by Lord Nelson.

The lord mayor of London, a very wise man,
What to do in this case vastly wonder'd:

Says the queen, "Send in fifty good ships if you can."
Says my lord, "Ma'am, I'll send in a hundred."

Our fire ships they soon struck their cannons all dumb, For the dons run to Ave and Credo.

Great Medina roars out,

66

Sure the devil is come

For th' invincible Spanish Armada.”

On Effingham's squadron, though all in a breast,
Like open-mouth curs they came bowling:
His sugar-plums finding they could not digest,
Away home they ran yelping and howling.
When'er Britain's foes shall, with envy agog,
In our Channel make such a bravado-
Huzza, my brave boys! we're still able to flog
An invincible Spanish Armada!

THE SEA.

B. W. PROCTER [BARRY CORNWALL]. The music by the CHEVALIER NEUKOMM.

THE sea, the sea, the open sea,

The blue, the fresh, the ever free:
Without a mark, without a bound;

It runneth the earth's wide regions round;
It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,

Or like a cradled creature lies.

I'm on the sea, I'm on the sea;

I am where I would ever be,

With the blue above and the blue below,
And silence whereso'er I go.

If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love, O, how I love to ride

On the fierce, the foaming, bursting tide,
Where every mad wave drowns the moon,
And whistles aloft its tempest tune;
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the south-west wind doth blow.