Trafalgar I will mention, if you will give attention, It long has been recorded where brave Nelson fell and bled, The officers around him, all human aid was found, But were affected to the heart to find that he was dead. The gallant tars were grieved sore to find Lord Nelson was no more, All was in confusion in the ’midst of dying woes, In rum they put him, it is said, and then to England him conveyed, This grand conversation on brave Nelson arose. Now in mem’ry of that hero’s loss, we understand at Charing Cross, A monument of Nelson has been erected there; An ancient building was pulled down, and an open space of ground To commemorate the battle, it is call’d Trafalgar Square. You British tars as do pass by, look up aloft and you will spy, The visage of that hero respected as it shows, Tho’ his remains are in decay, grim Death in action won the day, This grand conversation on brave Nelson arose. BATTLE _OF_ WATERLOO. ’Twas on the 18th day of June Napoleon did advance, The choicest troops that he could raise within the bounds of France; Their glittering eagles shone around and proudly looked the foe, But Briton’s lion tore their wings on the plains of Waterloo. With Wellington we’ll go, with Wellington we’ll go, For Wellington commanded us on the Plains of Waterloo, The fight did last from ten o’clock until the dawn of day, While blood and limbs and cannon balls in thick profusion lay; Their Cuirassieurs did quickly charge our squares to overthrow, But Britons firm, undaunted stood, on the Plains of Waterloo. The number of the French that at Waterloo were slain, Was near sixty thousand all laid upon the plain; Near forty thousand of them fell upon that fatal day, Of our brave British heroes who their prowess did display. It’s now the dreadful night comes on, how dismal is the plain, When the Prussians and the English found above ten thousand slain, Brave Wellington and Blucher bold most nobly drove their foes, And Buonaparte’s Imperial crown was taken at Waterloo. We followed up the rear till the middle of the night, We gave them three cheers as they were on their flight, Says Bony, d--m those Englishmen, they do bear such a name, They beat me here at Waterloo, at Portugal and Spain. Now peace be to their honoured souls who fell that glorious day, May the plough ne’er raise their bones nor cut the sacred clay, But let the place remain a waste, a terror to the foe, And when trembling Frenchmen pass that way they’ll think of Waterloo. London:--H. Such, Printer and Publisher, 117, Union Street, Borough.--S.E. A NEW SONG ON THE TIMES.