THE STOUT OLD BRITISH SHIP.
Hurrah! for the stout old British ship,
The monarch of the sea!
That bounds like a greyhound from the slip,
When the sails are loosened free!
That, spite of the storm and deadly gun,
Ne'er yet its course gave o'er;
And never knew what 'twas to run
A hostile flag before!
It long has the bulwark been of our rights,
Of our freedom still the stay;
Then give to the brave old British ship,
Three British cheers—hurrah!
When Nelson trode its quarter-deck,
Its glory was in its prime;
Victory he had at his finger-beck,
As proved in every clime:
Then England was honoured and feared by all,
And nations sung her praise;
But that is a tale we may not recall
In these degenerate days:
For the stout old ship lies idly ashore,
Laid up like a useless tree;
Its battles and cruises now are o'er,
Though it still is fit for sea!
The vaunting foreigner long has felt
Its thunders on the main,
And he smiles when he thinks the blows it dealt
Shall ne'er be dealt again.
But the spirit of Nelson is not dead,
It bounds in a hundred hearts,
And his story of fame is remembered and read,
And studied with our charts!
For cherished with care is the glory it won,
The meed of a thousand years;
And its foes will fly as they often have done,
When the stout old ship appears!
When the brave old ship, as bright as morn,
Hoists high its well-known flag;
The flag that has still been unsullied borne,
Since the days of Drake and Sprague.
Let's see who'll dare dispute its right,
To the empire of the main,
'Twill prove its title clear and bright,
Against the world again!
Then give to the stout old British ship,
Of our freedom still the stay,
That long has the bulwark been of our rights,
Three British cheers—hurrah!