Few the bright days, and brief the fruitful rest, As summer-clouds that o’er the valley flit:-- To other tasks his genius he must fit; The Dane is in the land, uneasy guest!--O sacred Athelney, from pagan quest Secure, sole haven for the faithful boy Waiting God’s issue with heroic joy And unrelaxing purpose in the breast! The Dragon and the Raven, inch by inch, For England fight; nor Dane nor Saxon flinch; Then Alfred strikes his blow; the realm is free:-- He, changing at the font his foe to friend, Yields for the time, to gain the far-off end, By moderation doubling victory. O much-vex’d life, for us too short, too dear! The laggard body lame behind the soul; Pain, that ne’er marr’d the mind’s serene control; Breathing on earth heaven’s æther atmosphere, God with thee, and the love that casts out fear! O soul in life’s salt ocean guarding sure The freshness of youth’s fountain sweet and pure, And to all natural impulse crystal-clear:-- To service or command, to low and high Equal at once in magnanimity, The Great by right divine thou only art! Fair star, that crowns the front of England’s morn, Royal with Nature’s royalty inborn, And English to the very heart of heart! _Francis Turner Palgrave._ LXXXII TRAFALGAR _Heard ye the thunder of battle Low in the South and afar? Saw ye the flash of the death-cloud Crimson o’er Trafalgar? Such another day never England will look on again, When the battle fought was the hottest, And the hero of heroes was slain!_ For the fleet of France and the force of Spain were gather’d for fight, A greater than Philip their lord, a new Armada in might:-- And the sails were aloft once more in the deep Gaditanian bay, Where _Redoubtable_ and _Bucentaure_ and great _Trinidada_ lay; Eager-reluctant to close; for across the bloodshed to be Two navies beheld one prize in its glory,--the throne of the sea! Which were bravest, who should tell? for both were gallant and true; But the greatest seaman was ours, of all that sail’d o’er the blue. From Cadiz the enemy sallied: they knew not Nelson was there; His name a navy to us, but to them a flag of despair; ’Twixt Algeziras and Aquamonte he guarded the coast, Till he bore from Tavira south; and they now must fight or be lost;-- Vainly they steered for the Rock and the mid-land sheltering sea, For he headed the Admirals round, constraining them under his lee, Villeneuve of France, and Gravina of Spain; so they shifted their ground, They could choose,--they were more than we;--and they faced at Trafalgar round; Rampart-like ranged in line, a sea-fortress angrily towered! In the midst, four-storied with guns, the dark _Trinidada_ lower’d.