You should have seen him as he trod
The deck, our joy, and pride!
You should have seen him, like a god
Of storm, his war-horse ride!
You should bare seen him as he stood
Fighting for his good land,
With all the iron of soul and blood
Turned to a sword in hand.

He sailed his ships for work; he bore
His sword for batle-wear;
His creed was "Best man to the fore!"
And he was always there.
Up any peak of peril where
There was but room for one:
The only thing he did not dare
Was any death to shun.

The Nelson touch his men he taught,
And his great stride to keep;
His faithful fellows round him fought
A thousand heroes deep.
With a red pride of life, and hot
For him, their blood ran free;
They "minded not the showers of shot,
No more than peas," said he.

The tyrant saw our sea-king thwart
His landing on our isle;
He gnashed his teeth, he gnawed his heart,
At Nelson of the Nile,
Who set his fleet in flames, to light
The lion to his prey,
And lead destruction through the night
Upon his dreadful way.

Around the world he drove his game,
And ran his glorious race,
Nor rested till he hunted them
From off the ocean's face;
Like that old war-dog, who, till death,
Hung to the vessel's side
Till hands were lopped, and then with teeth
He held on till he died.
Oh, he could do the deeds that set
Old fighters' hearts a-fire;
The edge of every spirit whet,
And every arm inspire.
Yet I have seen upon his face
The tears that, as they roll,
Show what a light of saintly grace
May clothe a sailor's soul.

And when our darling went to meet
Trafalgar's Judgment-day,
The people knelt down in the street
To bless him on his way.
He felt the country of his love
Watching him from afar;
It saw him through the battle move:
High heaven was in that star!

Magnificently glorious sight
It was in that great dawn!
Like one vast sapphire flashing light,
The sea, just breathing, shone!
Their ships, fresh painted, stood up tall
And stately: ours were grim
And weatherworn, but one and all
In rare good fighting trim.

Our spirits all were flying light,
And into battle sped,
Straining for it on wings of might,
With feet of springy tread;
The battle shone on every face;
Its fire in every eye ;
Our sailor blood at swiftest pace
To catch the victory nigh.

His proudly-wasted face, wave-worn,
Was beaming and serene;
I felt the brave, bright spirit burn
There, all too plainly seen;
As though the sword this time was drawn
For ever from the sheath,
And when its work to-day was done
All would be dark in death.

His deep eyes glowed like lamps of night
Set in the porch of power;
The deed unborn was kindled bright
Within them at that hour!
The purpose, welded at white heat,
Cried, like some visible Fate,
"To-day, we must not merely beat;
We must annihilate."

He smiled to see the Frenchman show
His reckoning for retreat,
With Cadiz port on his lee-bow;
And held him then half-beat.
They showed no colours, till we drew
Them out to strike with there!
Old Victory, for a prize or two,
Had flags enough to spare.

Mast-high the famous signal ran;
Breathless we caught each word:
"England expects that every man
Will do his duty." Lord,
You should have seen our faces! heard
Us cheering, row on row,
Like men before some furnace stirred
To a fiery fearful glow!

Good Collingwood our lee-line led,
And cut their centre through.
" See how he goes in!" Nelson said;
As his first broadside flew,
And near four hundred foemen fell.
Up went another cheer.
" Ah, what would Nelson give," said Coll,
" But to be with us here!"

We grimly kept our vanward path;
Over us hummed their shot;
But, silently, we reined our wrath,
Held on, and answered not,
Till we could grip them face to face,
And pound them for our own,
Or hug them in a war embrace,
Till they or we went down.

How calm he was! when first he felt
The sharp edge of that fight.
Cabined with God alone he knelt;
The prayer still lay in light
Upon his face, that used to shine
In battle flash with life,
As though the glorious blood ran wine,
Dancing with that wild strife.

"Fight for us, thou Almighty One!
Give victory once again!
And if I fall, thy will be done.
Amen, Amen, Amen!"
With such a voice he bade good-by,
The mournfullest old smile wore:
" Farewell! God bless you, Blackwood, I
Shall never see you more."

And four hours after, he had done
With winds and troubled foam.
The Reaper was borne dead upon
Our load of harvest home.