And next, with most unwilling strain, We sing of war proclaim'd with Spain. A sail appears, a flag of truce From France, which proves of little use; Our answer, surely just and wise, Refused to treat without allies. 1805. Two ships from Spain Sir ROBERT CALDER wins: Soar boldly to that blaze of endless day, At At hope deferr❜d while NELSON sicken'd, His heart's desire-the wary chief Of ceaseless watching day and night, Little they fathom'd that capacious soul, Which heav'n foredoom'd from pole to pole To lure the enemy from port, the gallant Admiral kept his fleet out of sight, but established a chain of communication by frigates. Admiral Villeneuve at length ventured out, with 33 sail of the line, 7 frigates, and 8 corvettes, and sustained a most memorable discomfiture from a British fleet of only 26 sail of the line, with a proportionate number of frigates. Nineteen ships of the line and three flag officers were taken by the British our ever-regretted Admiral fell by a musquet ball in the middle of the action; a public funeral was decreed his remains; his brother created a Viscount and Earl of the United Kingdoms, and suitable estates purchased for the support of that dignity; £2000 per annum was voted to Lady Nelson; Admiral Collingwood was elevated to the Peerage, with a pension of £2000; and an ample contribution was raised for those who were wounded in the action, and for the surviving relatives of those who had fallen. The The cautious foe first scans the vacant wave, Fate answer'd him in thunder, "THEY ARE But first the patriot signal proudly flew, "ENGLAND EXPECTS HIS DUTY EACH WILL DO." And did they? Witness for them, bounteous heaven, If ever signal more appropriate given Could better be obeyed." Now," loudly cried Around the laurel'd chieftain's head; Round his, who with his latest sigh Bless'd the great God of VICTORY ; And, And, in his last expiring prayer, His country was the hero's care. NELSON'S FUNERAL. Who shall describe what Britain felt, O'er him whose victory cost so dear: Behold a mighty nation throng, And see the sad procession slowly moves along; To paint it, wou'd it were my lot To hold the pen of Wizard ScOTT, So might I sing each plaided chief The coronach's impressive sound, Recals the Bards "Och Hone a Rie !"* * Vide the Poem of Glenfinlass, in the Minstrelsy of the Sict ti h border. So So might I sing each gallant band, Who erst in many a well-fought field. And now in battle's dread array,* Next, speaking closely to the heart, Whose iron sinews to its destin'd aim Had dragg'd each mouth which dealt the dreadful flame Of Britain's indignation.-I have said Whose iron sinews, but whose manly hearts, Wept, with no common tears, their father slain. The whole Procession of Infantry, Cavalry, and Artillery, marched in Order of battle. Preceded, |