On The Death Of Lord Nelson.

A poem by Thomas Gent

Swift through the land while Fame transported flies,
And shouts triumphant shake the illumin'd skies;
Britannia, bending o'er her dauntless prows,
With laurels thickening round her blazon'd brows,
In joy dejected, sees her triumph crost,
Exults in Victory won, but mourns the Victor lost.
Immortal Nelson! still with fond amaze,
Thy glorious deeds each British eye surveys,
Beholds thee still, on conquer'd floods afar:
Fate's flaming shaft! the thunderbolt of war!
Hurl'd from thy hands, Britannia's vengeance roars,
And bloody billows stain the hostile shores;
Thy sacred ire Confed'rate Kingdoms braves
And 'whelms their Navies in Sepulchral waves!

--Graced with each attribute which Heaven supplies
To Godlike Chiefs: humane, intrepid, wise;
His Nation's bulwark, and all Nature's pride,
The Hero liv'd, and as he liv'd--he died--
Transcendent Destiny! how blest the brave
Whose fall his Country's tears attend, shower'd on his trophied grave!

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