Song Of The Sea-Fight, In Amboyna.

Who ever saw a noble sight,
That never view'd a brave sea-fight!
Hang up your bloody colours in the air,
Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare;
Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold spright.
Now each man his brindace, and then to the fight.
St George, St George, we cry,
The shouting Turks reply.
Oh, now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot,
Ply it with culverin and with small shot;

Hark, does it not thunder? no, 'tis the guns' roar,
The neighbouring billows are turn'd into gore;
Now each man must resolve to die,
For here the coward cannot fly.
Drums and trumpets toll the knell,
And culverins the passing bell.
Now, now they grapple, and now board amain;
Blow up the hatches, they're off all again:
Give them a broadside, the dice run at all,
Down comes the mast and yard, and tacklings fall;
She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel,
She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel.
Who ever beheld so noble a sight,
As this so brave, so bloody sea-fight!

John Dryden

John Dryden was an influential English poet, literary critic, translator, and playwright who was made England’s first Poet Laureate in 1668. His work dominated the literary life of Restoration England and he is seen as a major figure in the literary history of the period. Dryden's notable works include the satirical poem 'Absalom and Achitophel' and the mock-heroic 'Mac Flecknoe.'

John Dryden

Prologue To The Rival Ladies.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

Song In The "Maiden Queen."

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

To My Honoured Kinsman, John Dryden,[1] Of Chesterton, In The County Of Huntingdon, Esq.

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

To My Friend Mr Motteux,[1] On His Tragedy Called "Beauty In Distress."

John Dryden, Simple Poetry

English

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Battle Of The Baltic

Of Nelson and the North
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat
Lay their bulwarks on the brine,
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:
It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.

But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rush'd
O'er the deadly space between:
'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried, when each gun
From its adamantine lips

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Songs of the Fleet - The Song of the Sou' Wester

    The sun was lost in a leaden sky,
        And the shore lay under our lee;
    When a great Sou' Wester hurricane high
        Came rollicking up the sea.
    He played with the fleet as a boy with boats
        Till out for the Downs we ran,
    And he laugh'd with the roar of a thousand throats
        At the militant ways of man:

            Oh!    I am the enemy most of might,
            The other be who you please!
            Gunner and guns may all be right,
            Flags a-flying and armour tight,
            But I am the fellow you've first to fight--
            The giant that swings the seas.

    A dozen of middies were down below
        Chasing the X they love,
    While the table curtseyed long and slow
        An...

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San Stefano. A Ballad of the Bold Menelaus

It was morning at St. Helen's, in the great and gallant days,
    And the sea beneath the sun glittered wide,
When the frigate set her courses, all a-shimmer in the haze
    And she hauled her cable home and took the tide.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
    Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore,
    When the bold Menelaus put to sea.

        She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
            Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
        And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore,
            When the bold Menelaus put to sea.

She was clear of Monte Cristo, she was heading for the land,
    When she spied ...

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Songs of the Fleet - Sailing at Dawn

    One by one the pale stars die before the day now,
        One by one the great ships are stirring from their sleep,
    Cables all are rumbling, anchors all a-weigh now,
        Now the fleet's a fleet again, gliding towards the deep.

            Now the fleet's a fleet again, bound upon the old ways,
                Splendour of the past comes shining in the spray;
            Admirals of old time, bring us on the bold ways!
                Souls of all the sea-dogs, lead the line to-day!

    Far away behind us town and tower are dwindling,
        Home becomes a fair dream faded long ago;
    Infinitely glorious the height of heaven is kindling,
        Infinitely desolate the shoreless sea below.

            Now the fleet's a fleet again, bound ...

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The Sailing Of The Long-Ships
(October, 1899)

They saw the cables loosened, they saw the gangways cleared,
They heard the women weeping, they heard the men that cheered;
Far off, far off, the tumult faded and died away,
And all alone the sea-wind came singing up the Bay.

"I came by Cape St. Vincent, I came by Trafalgar,
I swept from Torres Vedras to golden Vigo Bar,
I saw the beacons blazing that fired the world with light
When down their ancient highway your fathers passed to fight.

"O race of tireless fighters, flushed with a youth renewed,
Right well the wars of Freedom befit the Sea-kings' brood;
Yet as ye go forget not the fame of yonder shore,
The fame ye owe your fathers and the old time before.

"Long-suffering were the Sea-kings, they were not swift to kill,
But when ...
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The Revenge
A Ballad of the Fleet

1878

I

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,
And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away:
Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!
Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: Fore God I am no coward;
But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear,
And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.
We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?

II

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: I know you are no coward;
You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.
But Ive ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.
I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,
To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.
Alfred Lord Tennyson