sail;
We had thrice received their onslaught, which we thrice had driven
back,
And were waiting, calm and ready, for the last forlorn attack;
When a shout of exultation from out their ranks arose,
A frenzied shout of triumph o'er their yet unconquered foes;
For the stainless flag of England, that has braved a thousand years,
Had been shot clean from the masthead; and they gave three hearty
cheers,
"A prize! a prize!" they shouted, from end to end the host,
Till a broadside gave them answer, and for ever stilled their boast.

Then a fearful struggle followed, as, to desperation spurred,
They sought in deed the triumph so falsely claimed in word.
'Twas the purpose of a moment, and the bravest of our tars
Plunged headlong in the boiling surf, amid the broken spars;
He snatched the shot-torn colours, and wound them round his arm,
Then climbed upon the deck again, and there stood safe and calm;
He paused but for a moment--it was no time to stay--
Then he leaped into the rigging that had yet survived the fray;
Higher yet he climbed and higher, till he gained a dizzy height,
Then turned and paused a moment to look down upon the fight.

Whistled wild the shots around him, as a curling, smoky wreath
Formed a cloudy shroud to hide him from the enemy beneath.
Beat his heart with proud elation as he firmly fixed his stand,
And again the colours floated as he held them in his hand.
Then a pistol deftly wielded, 'mid the battle's ceaseless blast,
Fastened there the colours firmly, as he nailed them to that mast;
Then as if to yield him glory--the smoke-clouds cleared away--
And we sent him up the loudest cheer that reach'd his ear that day,
With new-born zeal and courage, dashing fiercely to the fight,
To crown the day of battle with the triumph of the night.

'Tis a story oft repeated, 'tis a triumph often won,
How a thousand hearts are strengthened by the bravery of one
There was never dauntless courage of the loyal and the true
That did not inspirit others unto deeds of daring too;
There was never bright example, be the struggle what it might,
That did not inflame the ardour of the others in the fight.
Up, then, ye who would be heroes, and, before the strife is past,
For the sake of those about you, "_nail the colours to the mast!_"

For the flag is ever flying, and it floats above the free,
On island and on continent, and up and down the sea;
And the conflict ever rages--there are many foes to fight--
Th