Poem by Thomas Campbell

Ye Mariners of England

Ye Mariners of England  
      That guard our native seas!  
Whose flag has braved a thousand years  
      The battle and the breeze!  
Your glorious standard launch again 
      To match another foe;  
And sweep through the deep, 
      While the stormy winds do blow!  
While the battle rages loud and long 
      And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
The spirits of your fathers 
      Shall start from every wave —  
For the deck it was their field of fame, 
      And Ocean was their grave:  
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 
      Your manly hearts shall glow,  
As ye sweep through the deep, 
      While the stormy winds do blow!  
While the battle rages loud and long 
      And the stormy winds do blow.  
 
Britannia needs no bulwarks,  
      No towers along the steep;  
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, 
      Her home is on the deep.  
With thunders from her native oak 
      She quells the floods below,  
As they roar on the shore, 
      When the stormy winds do blow!  
When the battle rages loud and long,  
      And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
The meteor flag of England 
      Shall yet terrific burn;  
Till danger's troubled night depart 
      And the star of peace return.  
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors! 
      Our song and feast shall flow  
To the fame of your name,      
      When the storm has ceased to blow!  
When the fiery fight is heard no more, 
      And the storm has ceased to blow. 

1. Lines on the Camp Hill, near Hastings
2. Napoleon and the British Sailor
3. The Exile of Erin
4. Gilderoy
5. O’Connor’s Child; Or, the Flower of Love Lies Bleeding

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