All hands and eyes on watch, As they keep; By their motion light as wings, By each step that haughty springs, You might know them for the kings Of the deep! 'Twas the Edgar first that smote Denmark's line; As her flag the foremost soared, Murray stamped his foot on board, And an hundred cannons roared At the sign! Three cheers of all the fleet Sung huzza! Then, from centre, rear, and van, Every captain, every man, With a lion's heart began To the fray. Oh, dark grew soon the heavens-- For each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like a hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Three hours the raging fire Did not slack; But the fourth, their signals drear Of distress and wreck appear, And the Dane a feeble cheer Sent us back. The voice decayed, their shots Slowly boom. They ceased--and all is wail, As they strike the shattered sail, Or in conflagration pale Light the gloom. Oh death!--it was a sight Filled our eyes! But we rescued many a crew From the waves of scarlet hue, Ere the cross of England flew O'er her prize. Why ceased not here the strife, O ye brave? Why bleeds old England's band, By the fire of Danish land, That smites the very hand Stretched to save? But the Britons sent to warn Denmark's town; Proud foes, let vengeance sleep; If another chain-shot sweep, All your navy in the deep Shall go down! Then, peace instead of death Let us bring! If you'll yield your conquered fleet, With the crews, at England's feet, And make submission meet To our king! Then death withdrew his pall From the day; And the sun looked smiling bright On a wide and woful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away. Yet all amidst her wrecks, And her gore, Proud Denmark blest our chief That he gave her wounds relief; And the sounds of joy and grief Filled her shore. All round, outlandish cries Loudly broke; But a nobler note was rung, When the British, old and young. To their bands of music sung 'Hearts of Oak!' Cheer! cheer! from park and tower, London town! When the King shall ride in state From St. James's royal gate, And to all his peers relate Our renown! The bells shall ring! the day Shall not close, But a blaze of cities bright Shall illuminate the night, And the wine-cup shine in light As it flows! Yet--yet--amid the joy And uproar, Let us think of them that sleep Full many a fathom deep All beside thy rocky steep, Elsinore!