The Victory.

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!