White soul of England’s glory, sovereign star! <br />Ne’er shall disaster beat her down, nor shame, <br />While still she sees thee by the leaping flame <br />That kindled o’er Aboukir, near and far, <br />Or feels thee quivering through the onset’s jar <br />That filled the North with fear of England’s name, <br />Or trembles with the joy of all the fame <br />That died and cast out death at Trafalgar. <br /> <br />Thy name was lightning, and like lightning ay <br />Thine onset shivered, far and swift and fell: <br />Ever thy watchword holds us, and whene’er <br />The fierce Dawn breaks, and far along the sky <br />Roars the last battle, yet with us ’tis well— <br />We keep the touch, thy hand and soul are there.<br /><br />Archibald Thomas Strong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnets-of-the-empire-nelson/
