| |
| SHOUT! for the Lord hath triumphed gloriously! | |
| Upon the shores of that renownéd land, | |
| Where erst his mighty arm and outstretched hand | |
| He lifted high, | |
| And dashed, in pieces dashed the enemy;— | 5 |
| Upon that ancient coast, | |
| Where Pharaoh’s chariot and his host | |
| He cast into the deep, | |
| Whilst o’er their silent pomp he bid the swollen sea to sweep; | |
| Upon that eastern shore, | 10 |
| That saw his awful arm revealed of yore, | |
| Again hath he arisen, and opposed | |
| His foes’ defying vaunt: o’er them the deep hath closed! | |
| |
| Shades of mighty chiefs of yore, | |
| Who triumphed on the selfsame shore: | 15 |
| Ammon, who first o’er ocean’s empire wide | |
| Didst bid the bold bark stem the roaring tide; | |
| Sesac, who from the east to farthest west | |
| Didst rear thy pillars over realms subdued; | |
| And thou, whose bones do rest | 20 |
| In the huge pyramid’s dim solitude, | |
| Beneath the uncouth stone, | |
| Thy name and deeds unknown; | |
| And Philip’s glorious son, | |
| With conquest flushed, for fields and cities won; | 25 |
| And thou, imperial Cæsar, whose sole sway | |
| The long-disputed world at length confessed, | |
| When on these shores thy bleeding rival lay! | |
| |
| O, could ye, starting from your long, cold rest, | |
| Burst Death’s oblivious trance, | 30 |
| And once again with pluméd pride advance, | |
| How would ye own your fame surpassed, | |
| And on the sand your trophies cast, | |
| When, the storm of conflict o’er, | |
| And ceased the burning battle’s roar, | 35 |
| Beneath the morning’s orient light, | |
| Ye saw, with sails all swelling white, | |
| Britain’s proud fleet, to many a joyful cry, | |
| Ride o’er the rolling surge in awful sovereignty! * * * * * | |
| Calm breathed the airs along the evening bay, | 40 |
| Where, all in warlike pride, | |
| The Gallic squadron stretched its long array; | |
| And o’er the tranquil tide | |
| With beauteous bend the streamers waved on high. | |
| But, ah! how changed the scene ere night descends! | 45 |
| Hark to the shout that heaven’s high concave rends! | |
| Hark to that dying cry! | |
| Whilst, louder yet, the cannon’s roar | |
| Resounds along the Nile’s affrighted shore, | |
| Where from his oozy bed, | 50 |
| The cowering crocodile hath raised his head! | |
| What bursting flame | |
| Lightens the long track of the gleaming brine! | |
| From yon proud ship it came, | |
| That towered the leader of the hostile line! | 55 |
| Now loud explosion rends the midnight air! | |
| Heard ye the last deep groaning of despair? | |
| Heaven’s fiery cope unwonted thunders fill, | |
| Then, with one dreadful pause, earth, air, and seas are still! | |
| |
| But now the mingled fight | 60 |
| Begins its awful strife again! | |
| Through the dun shades of night | |
| Along the darkly heaving main | |
| Is seen the frequent flash; | |
| And many a towering mast with dreadful crash | 65 |
| Rings falling. Is the scene of slaughter o’er? | |
| Is the death-cry heard no more? | |
| Lo! where the east a glimmering freckle streaks, | |
| Slow o’er the shadowy wave the gray dawn breaks. | |
| Behold, O sun, the flood | 70 |
| Strewed with the dead, and dark with blood! | |
| Behold, all scattered on the rocking tide, | |
| The wrecks of haughty Gallia’s pride! | |
| But Britain’s floating bulwarks, with serene | |
| And silent pomp, amid the deathful scene | 75 |
| Move glorious, and more beautiful display | |
| Their ensigns streaming to thy orient ray. | |
| |
| Awful Genius of the land! | |
| Who (thy reign of glory closed) | |
| By marble wrecks, half hid in sand, | 80 |
| Hast mournfully reposed; | |
| Who long, amid the wasteful desert wide, | |
| Hast loved with deathlike stillness to abide; | |
| Or wrapped in tenfold gloom, | |
| From noise of human things for ages hid, | 85 |
| Hast sat upon the shapeless tomb | |
| In the forlorn and dripping pyramid; | |
| Awake! Arise! | |
| Though thou behold the day no more | |
| That saw thy pride and pomp of yore; | 90 |
| Though, like the sounds that in the morning ray | |
| Trembled and died away | |
| From Memnon’s statue; though, like these, the voice | |
| That bade thy vernal plains rejoice, | |
| The voice of Science, is no longer heard; | 95 |
| And all thy gorgeous state hath disappeared: | |
| Yet hear, with triumph, and with hope again, | |
| The shouts of joy that swell from thy forsaken main! * * * * * | |
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