“Where, where is Nelson?” questions every tongue;-- “How views he so unparalleled a scheme?” Their slow uncertain apprehensions ask. “When Villeneuve puts to sea with all his force, What may he not achieve, if swift his course!” SPIRIT OF THE YEARS I'll call in Nelson, who has stepped ashore For the first time these thrice twelvemonths and more, And with him one whose insight has alone Pierced the real project of Napoleon. [Enter NELSON and COLLINGWOOD, who pace up and down.] SPIRIT OF THE PITIES Note Nelson's worn-out features. Much has he Suffered from ghoulish ghast anxiety! NELSON In short, dear Coll, the letter which you wrote me Had so much pith that I was fain to see you; For I am sure that you indeed divine The true intent and compass of a plot Which I have spelled in vain. COLLINGWOOD I weighed it thus: Their flight to the Indies being to draw us off, That and no more, and clear these coasts of us-- The standing obstacle to his device-- He cared not what was done at Martinique, Or where, provided that the general end Should not be jeopardized--that is to say, The full-united squadron's quick return.-- Gravina and Villeneuve, once back to Europe, Can straight make Ferrol, raise there the blockade, Then haste to Brest, there to relieve Ganteaume, And next with four-or five-and fifty sail Bear down upon our coast as they see fit.-- I read they aim to strike at Ireland still, As formerly, and as I wrote to you. NELSON So far your thoughtful and sagacious words Have hit the facts. But 'tis no Irish bay The villains aim to drop their anchors in; My word for it: they make the Wessex shore, And this vast squadron handled by Villeneuve Is meant to cloak the passage of their strength, Massed on those transports--we being kept elsewhere By feigning forces.--Good God, Collingwood, I must be gone! Yet two more days remain Ere I can get away.--I must be gone! COLLINGWOOD Wherever you may go to, my dear lord, You carry victory with you. Let them launch, Your name will blow them back, as sou'west gales The gulls that beat against them from the shore. NELSON Good Collingwood, I know you trust in me; But ships are ships, and do not kindly come Out of the slow docks of the Admiralty Like wharfside pigeons when they are whistled for:-- And there's a damned disparity of force, Which means tough work awhile for you and me! [The Spirit of the Years whispers to NELSON.] And I have warnings, warnings, Collingwood, That my effective hours are shortening here; Strange warnings now and then, as 'twere within me, Which, though I fear them not, I recognize!... However, by God's help, I'll live to meet These foreign boasters; yea, I'll finish them; And then--well, Gunner Death may finish me! COLLINGWOOD