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 flushed
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rushed
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 feeble 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 shattered sail;
Or, in conflagration pale
Light the gloom.
Now joy, Old Kngland, raise For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, Whilst the wine-cup .shines in light;
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