The fleets of haughty France and Spain,
No more will triumph on the main,
Though Nelson is no more:
Our hero’s blood was dearly bought;
To conquer them he bravely fought,
And died in vict’ry’s arms.

‘We’ll avenge his death,’ the seamen cry,
‘We’ll fight, we’ll conquer, or we’ll die,
And will their force deride:
Our little ones shall lisp his name,
And to acquire a Nelson’s fame,
Will ever be their pride.’

Before cold death had closed his eyes,
Cover’d with wounds, the hero cries,
‘Is victory our own?’
‘We’ve conquer’d,’ cried the valiant crew,
He smiling bade them all adieu,
And died without a groan.

Yet, ere he flew, he did enquire,
How many ships were then on fire,
And others that had struck:
Well pleased the hero then was seen,
When told the number was fifteen;
For England was his care.

Then with a bright benignant smile,
Inploring blessings on our isle,
Bade Collingwood adieu:
Oh, gracious God! my soul receive,
From troubles England quick relieve,
And peace again renew.

Oh death! thy keen unwelcome blow,
Laid England’s darling bleeding low,
The hour he gain’d the day;
Soon as thy hand, had clos’d his eyes,
A beautious angel from the skies;
Flew with his soul away.

To taste sweet joys beyond the grave,
That are allotted for the brave,
Who fall in victory’s arms:
Many a tar we hope to find,
Will prove he has the hero’s mind,
When signals raise alarms.

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