She was clear of Monte Cristo, she was heading for the land, When she spied a pennant red and white and blue; They were foemen, and they knew it, and they'd half a league in hand, But she flung aloft her royals, and she flew. She was nearer, nearer, nearer, they were caught beyond a doubt, But they slipped her into Orbetello Bay, And the lubbers gave a shout as they paid their cables out, With the guns grinning round them where they lay. Now, Sir Peter was a captain of a famous fighting race, Son and grandson of an admiral was he; And he looked upon the batteries, he looked upon the chase, And he heard the shout that echoed out to sea. And he called across the decks, "Ay! the cheering might be late If they kept it till the _Menelaus_ runs; Bid the master and his mate heave the lead and lay her straight For the prize lying yonder by the guns!" When the summer moon was setting, into Orbetello Bay Came the _Menelaus_ gliding like a ghost; And her boats were manned in silence, and in silence pulled away, And in silence every gunner took his post. With a volley from her broadside the citadel she woke, And they hammered back like heroes all the night; But before the morning broke she had vanished through the smoke With her prize upon her quarter grappled tight. It was evening at St. Helen's in the great and gallant time, And the sky behind the down was flushing far; And the flags were all a-flutter, and the bells were all a-chime, When the frigate cast her anchor off the bar. She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more, Nine and forty guns in tackle running free; And they cheered her from the shore for the colours at the fore, When the bold _Menelaus_ came from the sea. She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more, Nine and forty guns in tackle running free; And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore, When the bold _Menelaus_ came from the sea. Hawke In seventeen hundred and fifty-nine, When Hawke came swooping from the West, The French King's Admiral with twenty of the line, Was sailing forth to sack us, out of Brest. The ports of France were crowded, the quays of France a-hum With thirty thousand soldiers marching to the drum, For bragging time was over and fighting time was come When Hawke came swooping from the West. 'Twas long past noon of a wild November day When Hawke came swooping from the West; He heard the breakers thundering in Quiberon Bay, But he flew the flag for battle, line abreast. Down upon the quicksands roaring out of sight Fiercely beat the storm-wind, darkly fell the night, But they took the foe for pilot and the cannon's glare for light When Hawke came swooping from the West.