University of California • Berkeley ^LYZ^ T^t^f'U/ /'/ , GOD SAVE THE MEN OF DENMARK! BY W. J. BLEW. *Facit indignatio versum." LONDON; DORRELL & SON, 15, CHARING CROSS. 1864. Prirp Six1)^nce, " SUUM CUIQUE ! " " TO EVERY MAN HIS OWN I " Legend of the Order of the Black Eagle of Prussia ! ! " Nay I HARK YE, Sirrah ! these be rogues outright, " That bid their knightships, for the nonce, good-night." The Lanzknechts, or Jack's Levanters. ■m PREFACE. HAD rather be an Englishman, as m fact I am, than belong to any other race under heaven." Thus wrote, but a very short while ago, one of the master minds and hearts of England, who might, perhaps, have been very fairly excused had he rebuked rather than eulogized his countrymen ; and manifested a taint of prejudice, instead of a deep touch of love. One cannot, how- ever, help doubting whether that warm gush of patriot- ism would have ever risen up from within the writer's heart, or those few good words have flowed from his pen, had he deferred writing until now. At least men, far less sensitive to right and wrong than Dr. Newman, are at present constrained, against their heart's strong wishes, to think otherwise, to blush for a time at the name of Briton. But governed as we now are governed, what could be looked for by any land, what expected by ours, but a depth of depression, and the very dregs of disgrace ? Is policy, an honest policy, required for the well-being of England ? Surely B 2 PREFACE. none would look to our present Government for either -, for either an honesty of purpose or policy of manner — in a word, for either candour or courtesy. Is a straight- forward line of action required ? Surely not " Levia- " than, that crooked serpent," goes more sinuously to work, nor Cancer more wittingly oblique ; not a rib of the whole body politic that is more " Crooked by nature, bent as now appears " More to the part sinister — " than the little body of the Foreign Office ; and this too, with every vain show of plain dealing, and even an affectation of bluff ill-tempered downrightness and up- rightness of heart and will. Heart, indeed ! let Sir James Hudson tell his tale ; let Denmark, schooled, cajoled, and abandoned, register in tears of her own blood its impossible downrightness as a Government, and, be it added in all grief and shame, the more than possible dishonour of England. How highly France, while marching in triumph on the Rhine, may think of our tact and thank our tactics, it may be left for Prussia to interpret. What Austria may feel when cowering within the Quadrilateral from the rising tempest, or crouching behind the Tyrol from insulted and self-liberated Venice, will be of as little account to others as her pitiable thinkings and doings have been for the last half-century to herself GOD SAVE THE MEN OF DENMARK! OD save our gallant brethren ! God save the noble Danes ! Though evil birds are gathering O'er the dead on Jutland's plains ; For only God can save them In this their hour of need, But God will save the true, the brave, That help themselves in deed. Then pray for brave old Denmark, Pray for her noble sons ; Shout for the host, when all is lost, Where not a soldier runs ; God save the Men of Denmark i Where all is lost save honour, And all is gain'd save right ; While Denmark hath upon her The miscreant twins of might, Link'd in a lawless leaguer. Clutching foul hand in hand ; The Herod and the Pilate Of Denmark's royal land. Ah ! coward thieves, though crown'd ones ; Quailers at your own mob ; Too mean to 'suage your people's rage, Yet not too proud to rob : Burners of barn and homestead , Slayers of wife and child ; By Prince and knave, against the brave. For plunder rank'd and filed ; Gallants ! go forth and prosper, And smother right with wrong ; Your vengeance wreak upon the weak ; Ye dare not touch the strong. God save the Men of Denmark ! Squat down, thou tailor-Prussian, And thread the needle gun ; Ply point and stitch, in hole and ditch ; Safe work may there be done ! Old Denmark's trusty cable Is chafed to its last strand ; Bid Austria's peers bring up their shears And try their prentice-hand. Ye have received your orders. With store of Saxon wool ; Then off pare Denmark's borders. And your tale of work is full : Bavaria's beer your hearts will cheer. Nor let your heads grow cool. Work quick, for time is precious, The end may come ere long ; Though rogues run swift, the race may shift, And battle leave the strong. Ev'n now the war-hosts muster Along the banks of Rhine ; I see, where corpses cluster. The fierce French eagles shine ! God save the Men of Denmarti i From Lombardy and Venice The growl of tempest comes. That, driving down amain, shall drown The tuck of Austria's drums. And Hungary and Poland, Flush'd and no longer pale Through knavery and slavery. Shall war instead of wail. And the eagle black of Prussia, And Austria's eagle black. Shall cower to feel the unarm'd heel Of freemen on their back. But England hath no stomach For holding back the wrong ; Her joints are jarr'd, her might is marr'd. Although her heart be strong. Her helmsmen all are dreaming. She dreams but of herself; Her toys she locks within her docks. Or lays them on the shelf. God save the Men of Denniark i She heeds not that strong nations On earth are God's police. The hordes to check whose greed would wreck The sanctities of peace. She heeds not the stern warning, '* Who eyes God's work askant, " All faith and fealty scorning, " Is weigh'd, and found to want." Hence England's arm no longer Gives purpose to her word ; Now pleads she with the stronger For the weak, but pleads unheard : Her voice is dead ; her words, like lead. Fall — but her heart is stirr'd ; Stirr'd — by each breeze from Denmark That o'er the North-Sea blows, With a nation's anguish freighted. Fraught with a people's woes : Stirr'd — by her kinsmen's sorrows In this their trial-hour ; Stirr'd— by the thought of Her she brought In joyaunce to her bower : There in cold state, half desolate. To leave that pale sweet Flower ! lo God save the Men of Denmark ! From her father's stem she brought her, From her loving mother's side ; To leave the orphan'd daughter, A sad and sorrowing Bride ; To weep, — -with one to soothe her. But with none her heart to cheer, — For her own old home, beyond the foam ; And not a champion near : With one indeed to love her — But with no champion near. Time was in brave old England, From a thousand sheaths had leapt A thousand swords, of Knights and Lords, At sight of her who wept ; So beautiful, so dutiful : — And not an eye had slept Through England's realm, from prow to helm. Alow, aloft, till all Had sworn to seek and save the weak From Prussia's felon-thrall ; And her father-land from Austria's hand Wrench, or avenge her fall. God save the Men of Denmark ! 1 1 Ere John set free Vienna The fierce Turk warr'd not thus ; Shame ! on the coward Austrian ; Death ! to the cruel Pruss : And a double shame to her, and hers. The Mistress of the seas, '' Whose flag has braved a thousand years " The battle and the breeze," If now she dread that flag to spread The fence of Denmark's shore. On the waters of the Baltic, By the walls of Elsinore — Forgetful of the loves, new link'd, With many a merry chime ; Forgetful of the kinship Born in an olden time ; Forgetful that *^ Who palters " With oppression shares the crime ;" Forgetful much of duty. Yet not forgetting all The deeds, the men, of sword and pen, That come at memory's call : Hamlet the Dane, the Kingly Thane, The Bard of Avon's Hall— 12 God save the Men of Denmark ! She loves them still, she loves and laughs At Bottom, Snug, and Quince ; A health to Ancient Pistol quaffs ; And, though court crawlers wince, While drinking falls a-thinking Of Prussia's Half-Crown Prince. But hush ! no word of lightness,— For on a nation's face. When mourning o'er a kinsman, Nor smirk nor smile hath place. The very fool that thrusts him Where knaves would scarce intrude For their own sake — no laugh must wake To mar that mourner's mood : Albeit a wrangling bully To the stout is pleasant food. Save when he breaks brave hearts, and slakes His craven thirst in blood. But in silence o'er the dying Hang till the soul be past ; O'er those in Jutland lying The skirt of glory cast ; And for those who stand defying. Breathe one prayer, though the last : God save the Men of Denmark ! 13 " God save the Men of Denmark ! '' Whose faith in Him stands fast ; " Who blazon'd their soul on their bannerolle, " And nail'd it to the mast." And still let Tower and Steeple Toll out o'er wood and wave, While a shamed but noble people Are weeping for the brave, Whom kings refuse to succour, And princes dare not save ; Toll out from mitred city. Toll out from minster town, Toll out o'er street, where thousands meet. Toll out o'er weald and down — Toll out thy strong strokes one by one, Thou great Cathedral Bell ; Fire, fort and fleet, your minute gun ; Ring thus the Danes' death-knell. 14 God save the Men of Denmark! And on a great oak tablet Their meet memorial write — "The Brothers of old England, " Who stood for Denmark's right, " By Austria's fear lie murdered here, " And Prussia's baffled spite." No ! Denmark dies not yet ; Her heart's throb still is strong: And tight-built frigate and trim corvette Shall sing the foe a song. For the snufF of the salt sea water Hath freshened the Danesman's soul. And again o'er the Northern billow. Her dauntless seaman's pillow. The bolts of Denmark roll. And the stem of Austria's frigate Hath caught that ho me- salute. And off to the strand of Heligoland Hath sheer'd with flying foot. God save the Men of Denmark ! 1 5 Afire in the fore, she flies ; — For the Dane hath made his mark. With the iron brand of his strong right hand, On the face of that fated bark. Afire in the fore, she flies ; — The flame by her headway fann'd ; A pennon of mingled fire and cloud. That leaping aloft by stay and by shroud. The foremast wreathes with its rings of smoke. As ivy-leaves run round a forest oak. While the flakes and the flashes are streaming aft. Red and black at the fore is the flag of the cnift, Red and black is the dye of each hand, Black and red at the fore — till the spar topples o'er In the roadstead of Heligoland. And there in English water. She shrinks, and shuns the wrath Of the foe that chanced to thwart her On ocean's highway path. And her the flag of England Saves from the Dane's good sword. Her and her brood of wry-neck'd birds, Type of her wry-neck Lord, Whose man of words at England girds. And mocks her council-board. 1 6 God save the Men of Denmark! Poor England ! tool of Prussia, Butt of the Austrian's craft ; Whom Saxons use and laugh at, As they ever have used and laugh'd. Rule then once more Britannia, Britannia rule the waves \ Shall freemen, hail'd by Nelson As brothers, sink as slaves — Slaves to a recreant Kaisar — Serfs to a Serf of Knaves ? NOTE. " 4 o'clock p.m. " The Danes have won the action. One Austrian frigate is in flames, and she, together with the other Austrian frigate and gun- boats, is making for Heligoland. They are almost in English water. The Aurora is here. « GOVERNOR." The late Naval Action. — In the action off Heligoland, in which the Danes proved victorious, the vessels engaged were, on the side of the Germans, Austrian — the Schwarzenberg, 50 guns, and the Radetzky, 39 guns ; Prussian — the Adler, 26 guns, and two gun- boats, 3 guns each : total, 121 guns. On the side of the Danes — the Niels Juel, 42 guns; the Heimdal, 16 guns; and the Dagmar, 16 guns : total, 74 guns. — Globe. Vienna, May ii. The following official announcement has been made : — " Post-Captain Tegetthof, who commanded the Austrian squadron, has been appointed Vice-Admiral by the Emperor, in recognitjpn of his brave exploit off Heligoland." ! I Well done Tug-it-off, to-get-ofF so well ! Long live Vice-Admiral Tegetthof ! LONDON : PRINTED BY DORRELL AND SON, 15, CHARING CROSS.