And, louder than the tempest,
From man, the insect, came,
Beneath the frown of Trafalgar,
His deadly voice of flame.

But, ere it rent the blackness

Which God's stern brow cast wide,

"Now, Victory or Westminster!" Said Nelson, in his pride.

"My comrades, do your duty!

Or what will England say?"*

"They shall!" cried accents from the deep, Where dead men weltering lay.

Red Horror tore the tempest;

Down stoop'd both sea and sky; And, like a flood on Collingwood, The clouds rush'd from on high.

Life pledged for life, arm'd thousands
Join'd then in horrid strife.

O Life, thou art an awful thing !——
For what is God but Life?

Shouts, groans, and man's dread thunder,

Made up one dismal cry:

The affrighted storm ask'd what it meant,

And Death made no reply.

England expects every man to do his duty."

But, on the grave of thousands,

A silent spirit trod ;

He clasp'd them in th' embrace of Death

And what is Death but God?

He cared not for their glory,

He ask'd not of their cause;

While, right or wrong, the weak and strong
Obeyed alike his laws.

One tyrant lost his war-ships;

Worse tyrants summ'd their gains; And toil-worn nations sang and danced, (As maniacs dance,) in chains!

How like an empty bubble

The turmoil pass'd away!

"Where are the weak ?" said sun and cloud

"The mighty!-where are they?"

And birds of light and calmness—

Where dolphins gamboll'd free,

And heroes in their glory lay-
Flew over the smooth sea.

And, from his throne of silence,
The God of Peace look'd down,
Though sternly, on their bed of death,
With pity in his frown.

For Spaniard, Frank, and Briton,
All peaceful in one grave,

Like babies in their nurses' arms,
Slept under the green wave.

Image of God! through horrors
"That make the angels weep,"
Why seek the gift that comes unsought-
His boon of dreadful sleep?

HYMN.

NURSE of the Pilgrim Sires, who sought, Beyond the Atlantic foam,

For fearless truth and honest thought,

A refuge and a home!

Who would not be of them or thee

A not unworthy son,

That hears, amid the chain'd or free,

The name of Washington?

Cradle of Shakspeare, Milton, Knox !

King-shaming Cromwell's throne!

Home of the Russells, Watts, and Lockes! Earth's greatest are thine own:

And shall thy children forge base chains
For men that would be free?

No! by thy ELLIOTS, HAMPDENS, VANES,
PYMS, SYDNEYS, yet to be!

No for the blood which kings have gorged
Hath made their victims wise,

While every lie that Fraud hath forged
Veils wisdom from his eyes:

But time shall change the despot's mood:
And Mind is mightiest then,

When turning evil into good,
And monsters into men.

If round the soul the chains are bound
That hold the world in thrall-

If tyrants laugh when men are found
In brutal fray to fall-

Lord! let not Britain arm her hands,

Her sister states to ban;

But bless through her all other lands,
Thy family of Man.

For freedom if thy HAMPDEN fought,
For peace if FALKLAND fell;

For peace and love if BENTHAM wrote,
And BURNS sang wildly well-

Let Knowledge, strongest of the strong,
Bid hate and discord cease;
Be this the burden of her song :

"Love, Liberty, and Peace!"

Then, Father, will the nations all,
As with the sound of seas,
In universal festival,

Sing words of joy, like these:-
Let each love all, and all be free,

Receiving as they give;

Lord

Jesus died for Love and Thee!

So let thy children live!

LINES.

WRITTEN FOR THE SHEFFIELD MECHANICS' FIRST EXHIBITION.

SPRING, Summer, Autumn, Winter,

Come duly, as of old;

Winds blow, suns set, and morning saith,

"Ye hills, put on your gold!"

Gray Stanage and his mountain'd sea

Roll, granite-billow'd, ever;

And Loxley, Sheaf, and Ewden, leave
Their dewy valleys never.