Public Domain Poetry And Stories - The Victory. by Robert Southey
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The Victory.

    By Robert Southey



        Hark--how the church-bells thundering harmony
        Stuns the glad ear! tidings of joy have come,
        Good tidings of great joy! two gallant ships
        Met on the element,--they met, they fought
        A desperate fight!--good tidings of great joy!
        Old England triumphed! yet another day
        Of glory for the ruler of the waves!
        For those who fell, 'twas in their country's cause,
        They have their passing paragraphs of praise
        And are forgotten.
        There was one who died
        In that day's glory, whose obscurer name
        No proud historian's page will chronicle.
        Peace to his honest soul! I read his name,
        'Twas in the list of slaughter, and blest God
        The sound was not familiar to mine ear.
        But it was told me after that this man
        Was one whom lawful violence [1] had forced
        From his own home and wife and little ones,
        Who by his labour lived; that he was one
        Whose uncorrupted heart could keenly feel
        A husband's love, a father's anxiousness,
        That from the wages of his toil he fed
        The distant dear ones, and would talk of them
        At midnight when he trod the silent deck
        With him he valued, talk of them, of joys
        That he had known--oh God! and of the hour
        When they should meet again, till his full heart
        His manly heart at last would overflow
        Even like a child's with very tenderness.
        Peace to his honest spirit! suddenly
        It came, and merciful the ball of death,
        For it came suddenly and shattered him,
        And left no moment's agonizing thought
        On those he loved so well.
                    He ocean deep
        Now lies at rest. Be Thou her comforter
        Who art the widow's friend! Man does not know
        What a cold sickness made her blood run back
        When first she heard the tidings of the fight;
        Man does not know with what a dreadful hope
        She listened to the names of those who died,
        Man does not know, or knowing will not heed,
        With what an agony of tenderness
        She gazed upon her children, and beheld
        His image who was gone. Oh God! be thou
        Her comforter who art the widow's friend!



Extra Info:
1: The person alluded to was pressed into the service.


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