The fight was off the Frenchman's land; And now we've driven the foe ashore, To his fav'rite lass, A health to the captains and officers true, 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, Swift on the shore a hardy few And dare the dangerous wave: But, O, what rapture fills each breast, 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, Long may she hold the glorious right; 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, It was ten of April morn by the chime, 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, 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, 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, By thy wild and stormy steep, Brave hearts! to Britain's pride With the gallant good Riou:* Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave; And the mermaid's song condoles, Of the brave. THE SPANISH ARMADA. JOHN O'KEEFE. The music by DR. ARNOLD. IN May fifteen hundred and eighty and eight, 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?” Cock sure that he'll thump us, and kick us about, * A captain in the fleet "justly entitled the gallant and the good" by Lord Nelson. The lord mayor of London, a very wise man, Says the queen, "Send in fifty good ships if you can." 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, 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: It runneth the earth's wide regions round; 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, If a storm should come and awake the deep, I love, O, how I love to ride On the fierce, the foaming, bursting tide, |