The British Sailor's Song

Away with bayonet and with lance 
With corslet, casque and sword; 
Our island-king no war-horse needs, 
For on the sea he's lord. 
His throne's the war-ship's lofty deck, 
His sceptre is the mast; 
His kingdom is the rolling wave, 
His servant is the blast. 
His anchor's up, fair Freedom's flag 
Proud to the mast he nails; 
Tyrants and conquerors bow your heads, 
For there your terror sails. 

I saw fierce Prussia's chargers stand,
Her children's sharp swords out; — 
Proud Austria's bright spurs streaming red,
When rose the closing shout. 
But soon the steeds rush'd masterless,
By tower and town and wood; 
For lordly France her fiery youth 
Poured o'er them like a flood. 
Go, hew the gold spurs from your heels, 
And let your steeds run free; 
Then come to our unconquer'd decks,
And learn to reign at sea. 

Behold yon black and batter'd hulk 
That slumbers on the tide, 
There is no sound from stem to stern, 
For peace has pluck'd her pride. 
The masts are down, the cannon mute,
She shows nor sheet nor sail, 
Nor starts forth with the seaward breeze,
Nor answers shout nor hail.
Her merry men, with all their mirth, 
Have sought some other shore; 
And she with all her glory on, 
Shall rule the sea no more. 

So landsmen speak. Lo! her top-masts 
Are quivering in the sky; 
Her sails are spread, her anchor's raised, 
There sweeps she gallant by. 
A thousand warriors fill her decks; 
Within her painted side 
The thunder sleeps — man's might has nought 
Can match or mar her pride. 
In victor glory goes she forth; 
Her stainless flag flies free; 
Kings of the earth, come and behold 
How Britain reigns on sea! 

When on your necks the armed foot 
Of fierce Napoleon trod, 
And all was his, save the wide sea,
Where we triumphant rode, 
He launched his terror and his strength, 
Our sea-born pride to tame; 
They came — they got the Nelson-touch,
And vanish'd as they came. 
Go, hang your bridles in your halls,
And set your war-steeds free: 
The world has one unconquer'd king,
And he reigns on the sea!