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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 22:21:33 -0800 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c237ef2 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52133 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52133) diff --git a/old/52133-0.txt b/old/52133-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 32618d6..0000000 --- a/old/52133-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15979 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Patriotic Song, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Patriotic Song - A book of English verse, being an anthology of the patriotic - poetry of the British Empire, from the defeat of the Spanish - Armada till the death of Queen Victoria - -Author: Various - -Release Date: May 22, 2016 [EBook #52133] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATRIOTIC SONG *** - - - - -Produced by Brian Coe, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - - - -PATRIOTIC SONG - - - - - PATRIOTIC SONG - - A Book of English Verse - - BEING AN ANTHOLOGY OF THE PATRIOTIC POETRY OF THE - BRITISH EMPIRE, FROM THE DEFEAT OF THE SPANISH - ARMADA TILL THE DEATH OF QUEEN VICTORIA - - SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY - ARTHUR STANLEY - - WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY - THE RIGHT REVEREND J. E. C. WELLDON - Lord Bishop of Calcutta; late Head-Master of Harrow School - - TORONTO - WILLIAM BRIGGS - 1901 - - - - - THIS BOOK - IS - Sacred to the Memory - OF - THAT GLORIOUS COMPANY OF MEN - WOMEN AND CHILDREN - WHO HAVE GIVEN THEIR LIVES - FOR ENGLAND’S SAKE - - - - -EDITOR’S PREFACE - - -This book is intended to be a representative collection of the -patriotic poetry of the British Empire. I have taken a wide view of the -term “patriotic”--wide enough, indeed, to include the Jacobite Songs of -Scotland and the National Songs of Ireland. - -Many of my numbers breathe the spirit of war; for the national instinct -is most deeply stirred in times of great national emotion. But I have -aimed at making this volume something more than a book of war-songs, -holding that a man may prove his patriotism as well at home in the -pursuit of his daily business as on the battlefield in the presence of -his country’s enemies. Love of country is the root of the matter; and, -after all, it is harder to live for one’s country than to die for it. - -I gratefully acknowledge the debt I owe to authors and owners of -copyright poems. I am equally grateful to all who, whether at home or -in the Colonies, have given me encouragement, assistance, or advice. -My obligations to Professor Dowden, Mr. W. E. Henley, and Mr. A. T. -Quiller-Couch are very great. - -My scheme, as originally conceived, provided for the inclusion -of a section representing the patriotism of America; but, on -reconsideration, I have decided not to go beyond the limits of the -British Empire. - - A. S. - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -The present collection of patriotic songs will, I think, accord with -the imperial spirit of the day; for they are representative of the -whole British Empire. - -It is needless to dwell upon the inspiring energy of song. Since -the age of Tyrtæus it has everywhere been recognised as a powerful -incentive to valour. A nation can scarcely exist without a national -anthem. How characteristic are the anthems of the nations! It may -almost be said that the difference of the English and the French -nations is expressed by the contrast between _God Save the King_ and -the _Marseillaise_. What an influence songs have exercised upon the -life of nations! The debt of Scotland to Burns, the debt of Ireland to -Moore, is greater than words can tell. Fletcher of Saltoun was perhaps -not wrong in his estimate of the songs, as compared with the laws, of a -nation. - -I am not responsible for the present collection; perhaps, if I had made -it, I should have left out some few songs which find a place in it, and -should have inserted some few others which do not, but the purpose of -it I heartily approve. To consolidate the Empire, and to animate it as -a whole with noble ideas, is one of the greatest needs and duties of -the present day; and an empire, like an individual, lives not by bread -alone, but by its sentiments, its ambitions, its ideals. - - J. E. C. CALCUTTA. - - _October 1901._ - - - - -ERRATUM - - -Page xii, line 6, _for_ ‘an admiral’ _read_ ‘an individual.’ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I.--ENGLAND - PAGE - ANONYMOUS (_c._ 1580). - I. SONG OF THE ENGLISH BOWMEN 3 - - GEORGE PEELE (1558?-1592?). - II. FAREWELL TO DRAKE AND NORRIS 4 - - MICHAEL DRAYTON (1563-1631). - III. BALLAD OF AGINCOURT 5 - IV. THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE 8 - - WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616). - V. A PICTURE OF ENGLAND 11 - VI. ENGLAND INVINCIBLE 11 - VII. ENGLAND AT WAR 12 - VIII. WOLSEY TO CROMWELL 17 - - BALLADS. - IX. BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY (_c._ 1590) 18 - X. THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL (_c._ 1626) 21 - - JOHN MILTON (1608-1674). - XI. TO THE LORD GENERAL 24 - XII. DELIVERANCE 24 - - ANDREW MARVELL (1620-1678). - XIII. HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL’S RETURN FROM IRELAND 25 - XIV. SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA 28 - - MARTIN PARKER (_ob._ 1656?). - XV. THE KING’S EXILE 30 - - ANONYMOUS (_c._ 1667). - XVI. HERE’S A HEALTH UNTO HIS MAJESTY 31 - - JOHN DRYDEN (1631-1701). - XVII. A SONG OF KING ARTHUR 31 - XVIII. LONDON IN 1666 32 - - JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748). - XIX. RULE BRITANNIA 33 - - JOHN DYER (_c._ 1708). - XX. DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN 34 - - ANONYMOUS (_c._ 1740). - XXI. GOD SAVE THE KING 34 - - DAVID GARRICK (1717-1779). - XXII. HEARTS OF OAK 35 - - WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759). - XXIII. THE SLEEP OF THE BRAVE 36 - - WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800). - XXIV. BOADICEA 36 - XXV. THE _ROYAL GEORGE_ 38 - - CHARLES DIBDIN (1745-1814). - XXVI. TOM BOWLING 39 - XXVII. THE TRUE ENGLISH SAILOR 40 - XXVIII. TOM TOUGH 41 - - ANONYMOUS (_c._ 1750). - XXIX. THE BRITISH GRENADIERS 42 - - ANONYMOUS (_c._ 1758). - XXX. THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME 43 - - PRINCE HOARE (1755-1834). - XXXI. THE _ARETHUSA_ 44 - - WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1827). - XXXII. JERUSALEM IN ENGLAND 45 - - WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1770-1850). - XXXIII. ON LANDING IN ENGLAND 46 - XXXIV. DESTINY 47 - XXXV. THE MOTHERLAND 47 - XXXVI. TO THE MEN OF KENT 48 - XXXVII. THE HAPPY WARRIOR 48 - XXXVIII. AFTER WATERLOO 50 - XXXIX. MERRY ENGLAND 50 - XL. HOPE 51 - - SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832). - XLI. IN MEMORIAM 51 - - THOMAS DIBDIN (1771-1841). - XLII. THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND 55 - XLIII. THE MERRY SOLDIER 57 - - ROBERT SOUTHEY (1774-1843). - XLIV. THE STANDARD-BEARER OF THE BUFFS 58 - - THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777-1844). - XLV. YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND 59 - XLVI. THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 60 - XLVII. MEN OF ENGLAND 62 - - ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1785-1842). - XLVIII. THE BRITISH SAILOR’S SONG 63 - - GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON (1788-1824). - XLIX. ON LEAVING ENGLAND 64 - L. THE ISLES OF GREECE 65 - LI. THE EVE OF WATERLOO 67 - - CHARLES WOLFE (1791-1823). - LII. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 69 - - FELICIA HEMANS (1793-1835). - LIII. THE BENDED BOW 71 - LIV. ENGLAND’S DEAD 72 - - THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY (1800-1859). - LV. THE ARMADA 74 - LVI. A JACOBITE’S EPITAPH 77 - - RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH (1807-1886). - LVII. THE TASK 78 - LVIII. THE UNFORGOTTEN 78 - - ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING (1809-1861). - LIX. THE FORCED RECRUIT 80 - - ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON (1809-1892). - LX. THE ANSWER 81 - LXI. FREEDOM 82 - LXII. BATTLE SONG 83 - LXIII. VICTORIA’S REIGN 83 - LXIV. HANDS ALL ROUND 84 - LXV. BRITONS, HOLD YOUR OWN! 85 - LXVI. WELLINGTON AT ST. PAUL’S 85 - LXVII. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 87 - LXVIII. THE USE OF WAR 89 - - SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE (1810-1888). - LXIX. THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS 90 - - ROBERT BROWNING (1812-1889). - LXX. HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD 91 - LXXI. HOME THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA 92 - - CHARLES MACKAY (1814-1889). - LXXII. A SONG OF ENGLAND 92 - - ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH (1819-1861). - LXXIII. GREEN FIELDS OF ENGLAND 93 - LXXIV. THE RALLY 94 - - CHARLES KINGSLEY (1819-1875). - LXXV. ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND 94 - - SIR HENRY YULE (1820-1889). - LXXVI. THE _BIRKENHEAD_ 96 - - WILLIAM CORY (1823-1892). - LXXVII. SCHOOL FENCIBLES 97 - - WILLIAM WALSHAM HOW (1823-1897). - LXXVIII. A NATIONAL HYMN 99 - - JOHN KELLS INGRAM (_b._ 1823). - LXXIX. A NATION’S WEALTH 99 - - SIR FRANKLIN LUSHINGTON (_b._ 1823). - LXXX. THE MUSTER OF THE GUARDS 100 - - FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE (1824-1897). - LXXXI. ALFRED THE GREAT 103 - LXXXII. TRAFALGAR 104 - - SYDNEY DOBELL (1824-1874). - LXXXIII. A SEA ADVENTURE 108 - - WILLIAM ALEXANDER, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH (_b._ 1824). - LXXXIV. WAR 109 - - ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER (1825-1864). - LXXXV. THE LESSON OF THE WAR 112 - - GERALD MASSEY (_b._ 1828). - LXXXVI. SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE’S LAST FIGHT 113 - - THOMAS EDWARD BROWN (1830-1897). - LXXXVII. LAND, HO! 117 - - BENN WILKES JONES TREVALDWYN (_b._ 1830). - LXXXVIII. THE _GEORGE_ OF LOOE 118 - - SIR EDWIN ARNOLD (_b._ 1832). - LXXXIX. THE FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF THE VICTORIA CROSS 120 - - RICHARD GARNETT (_b._ 1835). - XC. ABROAD 121 - - WILLIAM SCHWENK GILBERT (_b._ 1836). - XCI. THE ENGLISH GIRL 122 - - THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON (_b._ 1836). - XCII. THE BREATH OF AVON 123 - XCIII. ENGLAND STANDS ALONE 124 - - ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE (_b._ 1837). - XCIV. ENGLAND 125 - XCV. A JACOBITE’S EXILE 126 - XCVI. NEW YEAR’S DAY 129 - XCVII. TO WILLIAM MORRIS 129 - - THOMAS HARDY (_b._ 1840). - XCVIII. THE GOING OF THE BATTERY 131 - - AUSTIN DOBSON (_b._ 1840). - XCIX. BALLAD OF THE ARMADA 132 - C. RANK AND FILE 133 - - ROBERT BRIDGES (_b._ 1844). - CI. THE FAIR BRASS 133 - - JOHN HUNTLEY SKRINE (_b._ 1848). - CII. THE GENTLE 134 - CIII. THE MOTHER AND THE SONS 136 - - WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY (_b._ 1849). - CIV. ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND 137 - - ERIC MACKAY (1851-1898). - CV. A SONG OF THE SEA 139 - - WILLIAM SHARP (_b._ 1856). - CVI. THE BALLAD OF THE RAM 141 - - SIR RENNELL RODD (_b._ 1858). - CVII. SPRING THOUGHTS 141 - - WILLIAM WATSON (_b._ 1858). - CVIII. ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES 143 - - ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE (_b._ 1859). - CIX. THE SONG OF THE BOW 143 - CX. A BALLAD OF THE RANKS 144 - - BARRY PAIN (_b._ 1860). - CXI. OUR DEAD 147 - - HENRY NEWBOLT (_b._ 1862). - CXII. ADMIRALS ALL 147 - CXIII. DRAKE’S DRUM 149 - CXIV. A TOAST 150 - - RUDYARD KIPLING (_b._ 1865). - CXV. THE FLAG OF ENGLAND 150 - CXVI. RECESSIONAL 154 - - LAUCHLAN MACLEAN WATT (_b._ 1867). - CXVII. THE GREY MOTHER 155 - - GEORGE FREDERIC STEWART BOWLES (_b._ 1877). - CXVIII. THE SONG OF THE SNOTTIES 157 - - - II.--WALES - - THOMAS GRAY (1716-1771). - CXIX. THE BARD 161 - - JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT (1784-1859). - CXX. BODRYDDAN 165 - - FELICIA HEMANS (1793-1835). - CXXI. THE HARP OF WALES 166 - CXXII. PRINCE MADOG’S FAREWELL 166 - - JOHN JONES (1810-1869). - CXXIII. THE MARCH OF THE MEN OF HARLECH 167 - - SIR LEWIS MORRIS (_b._ 1833). - CXXIV. LLEWELYN AP GRUFFYDD 168 - - RICHARD BELLIS JONES (1837-1900). - CXXV. RHUDDLAN MARSH 171 - - EDMUND OSBORNE JONES (_b._ 1858). - CXXVI. LIBERTY 172 - CXXVII. THE POETS OF WALES 173 - - - III.--SCOTLAND - - ALLAN RAMSAY (1686-1758). - CXXVIII. FAREWELL TO LOCHABER 177 - - JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805). - CXXIX. THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST 177 - - ANNE MACIVAR GRANT (1755-1838). - CXXX. THE HIGHLAND LADDIE 178 - - ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796). - CXXXI. MY HEART’S IN THE HIGHLANDS 180 - CXXXII. BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBUR 180 - CXXXIII. THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS 181 - CXXXIV. THEIR GROVES O’ SWEET MYRTLE 182 - - SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832). - CXXXV. THE OUTCAST 183 - CXXXVI. FLODDEN FIELD 183 - CXXXVII. GATHERING-SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK 185 - CXXXVIII. OVER THE BORDER 186 - CXXXIX. BONNIE DUNDEE 187 - CXL. WAR-SONG 189 - - JOHN LEYDEN (1775-1811). - CXLI. ODE ON VISITING FLODDEN 190 - - ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1785-1842). - CXLII. LOYALTY 193 - - ANONYMOUS (_c._ 1790). - CXLIII. THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMIN’ 193 - - ROBERT GILFILLAN (1798-1850). - CXLIV. MY AIN COUNTRIE 194 - - ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON (1850-1894). - CXLV. IN THE HIGHLANDS 195 - CXLVI. EXILED 196 - - NEIL MUNRO (_b._ 1864). - CXLVII. TO EXILES 196 - - - JACOBITE SONGS - - ANONYMOUS. - CXLVIII. THE KING OVER THE WATER 198 - CXLIX. WELCOME, ROYAL CHARLIE! 199 - CL. CAM’ YE BY ATHOL? 199 - CLI. LADY KEITH’S LAMENT 200 - - ROBERT BURNS (1759-1796). - CLII. O’ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE 201 - CLIII. A SONG OF EXILE 202 - CLIV. KENMURE’S MARCH 202 - CLV. A JACOBITE’S FAREWELL 203 - - CAROLINA, BARONESS NAIRN (1766-1845). - CLVI. CHARLIE IS MY DARLING 204 - CLVII. WHA’LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE? 205 - - WILLIAM GLEN (1789-1826). - CLVIII. WAE’S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE 205 - - HAROLD BOULTON (_b._ 1859). - CLIX. SKYE BOAT-SONG 207 - - SARAH ROBERTSON MATHESON. - CLX. A KISS OF THE KING’S HAND 207 - - - IV.--IRELAND - - OLIVER GOLDSMITH (1725-1774). - CLXI. HOME 211 - - ANONYMOUS (_c._ 1798). - CLXII. THE WEARIN’ O’ THE GREEN 211 - - THOMAS MOORE (1779-1852). - CLXIII. THE MINSTREL BOY 212 - CLXIV. A SONG OF THE IRISH 213 - CLXV. DEPARTED GLORY 213 - CLXVI. THE CHOICE 214 - CLXVII. A SONG OF TRUE LOVE 215 - CLXVIII. TO ERIN 215 - CLXIX. THE MINSTREL TO HIS HARP 216 - - CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH TONNA (1790-1846). - CLXX. THE MAIDEN CITY 216 - - JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN (1803-1849). - CLXXI. KINCORA 218 - CLXXII. DARK ROSALEEN 219 - - HELEN, LADY DUFFERIN (1807-1867). - CLXXIII. THE BAY OF DUBLIN 222 - CLXXIV. LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT 222 - - SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON (1810-1886). - CLXXV. O’BYRNE’S BARD TO THE CLANS OF WICKLOW 224 - CLXXVI. THE HILLS OF IRELAND 225 - - THOMAS DAVIS (1814-1845). - CLXXVII. MY LAND 226 - CLXXVIII. THE DEAD CHIEF 227 - - AUBREY DE VERE (_b._ 1814). - CLXXIX. THE LITTLE BLACK ROSE 229 - - JOHN KELLS INGRAM (_b._ 1823). - CLXXX. THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD 229 - CLXXXI. NATIONAL PRESAGE 231 - - GEORGE SIGERSON (_b._ 1839). - CLXXXII. THE FLIGHT OF THE EARLS 231 - CLXXXIII. LAMENT FOR EOGHAN RUA O’NEILL 232 - - GEORGE FRANCIS SAVAGE-ARMSTRONG (_b._ 1845). - CLXXXIV. THE OLD COUNTRY 233 - - ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES (_b._ 1846). - CLXXXV. THE SONGS OF ERIN 234 - - JOHN KEEGAN CASEY (1846-1870). - CLXXXVI. THE RISING OF THE MOON 235 - - THOMAS WILLIAM ROLLESTON (_b._ 1857). - CLXXXVII. THE DEAD AT CLONMACNOIS 236 - - KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON (_b._ 1861). - CLXXXVIII. SHAMROCK SONG 237 - - LIONEL JOHNSON (_b._ 1867). - CLXXXIX. WAYS OF WAR 239 - - - V.--CANADA - - WILLIAM WYE SMITH (_b._ 1827). - CXC. THE CANADIANS ON THE NILE 243 - - DUNCAN ANDERSON (_b._ 1828). - CXCI. THE DEATH OF WOLFE 244 - - SARAH ANNE CURZON (1833-1898). - CXCII. THE LOYALISTS 246 - - THEODORE HARDING RAND (1835-1900). - CXCIII. THE WHITETHROAT 247 - - ANNIE ROTHWELL CHRISTIE (_b._ 1837). - CXCIV. WELCOME HOME 248 - - CLIVE PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY (_b._ 1855). - CXCV. THEIR TESTAMENT 249 - - CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS (_b._ 1860). - CXCVI. CANADA 250 - - WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL (_b._ 1861). - CXCVII. ENGLAND 252 - CXCVIII. THE WORLD-MOTHER 254 - - FREDERICK GEORGE SCOTT (_b._ 1861). - CXCIX. QUEBEC 258 - CC. IN MEMORIAM 258 - - FRANCIS SHERMAN (_b._ 1871). - CCI. A WORD FROM CANADA 260 - - ARTHUR STRINGER (_b._ 1874). - CCII. CANADA TO ENGLAND 262 - - STUART LIVINGSTON (_b._ 1876). - CCIII. THE CANADIAN VOLUNTEERS 262 - - - VI.--INDIA - - SHOSHEE CHUNDER DUTT (1824-1883). - CCIV. THE HINDU’S ADDRESS TO THE GANGES 267 - - SIR ALFRED LYALL (_b._ 1835). - CCV. THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS 268 - - WILLIAM TREGO WEBB (_b._ 1847). - CCVI. THE RESIDENCY CHURCHYARD 272 - CCVII. THE MEMORIAL WELL 273 - CCVIII. SPRING IN CALCUTTA 274 - - JOHN RENTON DENNING (_b._ 1858). - CCIX. THE LUCKNOW GARRISON 275 - CCX. SOLDIERS OF IND 276 - CCXI. SARANSAR 278 - - RUDYARD KIPLING (_b._ 1865). - CCXII. THE GALLEY-SLAVE 280 - - - VII.--SOUTH AFRICA - - THOMAS PRINGLE (1789-1834). - CCXIII. THE DESOLATE VALLEY 285 - - WILLIAM JOHN COURTHOPE (_b._ 1842). - CCXIV. ENGLAND IN SOUTH AFRICA 286 - - WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY (_b._ 1849). - CCXV. FOR A GRAVE IN SOUTH AFRICA 286 - - ARTHUR VINE HALL (_b._ 1862). - CCXVI. ON LEAVING TABLE BAY 286 - - HILDA MARY AGNES COOK (_b._ 1865). - CCXVII. THE RELIEF OF MAFEKING 287 - - ROBERT RUSSELL (_b._ 1867). - CCXVIII. THE VANGUARD 288 - - - VIII.--AUSTRALIA - - GERALD HENRY SUPPLE (1822-1898). - CCXIX. DAMPIER’S DREAM 293 - - ADAM LINDSAY GORDON (1833-1870). - CCXX. BY FLOOD AND FIELD 295 - - JAMES BRUNTON STEPHENS (_b._ 1835). - CCXXI. FULFILMENT 297 - - PERCY RUSSELL (_b._ 1847). - CCXXII. THE BIRTH OF AUSTRALIA 299 - - HENRY LAWSON (_b._ 1867). - CCXXIII. THE WAR OF THE FUTURE 300 - - ARTHUR MAQUARIE (_b._ 1876). - CCXXIV. A FAMILY MATTER 302 - - ARTHUR ADAMS. - CCXXV. THE DWELLINGS OF OUR DEAD 303 - - WILLIAM OGILVIE. - CCXXVI. THE BUSH, MY LOVER 305 - - GEORGE ESSEX EVANS. - CCXXVII. A FEDERAL SONG 307 - - JOHN BERNARD O’HARA. - CCXXVIII. FLINDERS 308 - CCXXIX. THE AUSTRALIAN COMMONWEALTH 309 - - - IX.--NEW ZEALAND - - THOMAS BRACKEN (_b._ 1843). - CCXXX. NEW ZEALAND HYMN 315 - - ALEXANDER BATHGATE (_b._ 1845). - CCXXXI. OUR HERITAGE 316 - - ELEANOR ELIZABETH MONTGOMERY. - CCXXXII. TO ONE IN ENGLAND 317 - CCXXXIII. A VOICE FROM NEW ZEALAND 318 - - - NOTES 323 - - INDEX OF FIRST LINES 357 - - - - -I - -ENGLAND - - - - -ANONYMOUS - - -I - -SONG OF THE ENGLISH BOWMEN - - Agincourt, Agincourt! - Know ye not Agincourt, - Where English slew and hurt - All their French foemen? - With their pikes and bills brown, - How the French were beat down, - Shot by our Bowmen! - - Agincourt, Agincourt! - Know ye not Agincourt, - Never to be forgot, - Or known to no men? - Where English cloth-yard arrows - Killed the French like tame sparrows, - Slain by our Bowmen! - - Agincourt, Agincourt! - Know ye not Agincourt? - English of every sort, - High men and low men, - Fought that day wondrous well, - All our old stories tell, - Thanks to our Bowmen! - - Agincourt, Agincourt! - Know ye not Agincourt? - Where our fifth Harry taught - Frenchmen to know men: - And, when the day was done, - Thousands there fell to one - Good English Bowman! - - Agincourt, Agincourt! - Know ye not Agincourt? - Dear was the vict’ry bought - By fifty yeomen. - Ask any English wench, - They were worth all the French: - Rare English Bowmen! - - _Anonymous._ - - - - -PEELE - - -II - -FAREWELL TO DRAKE AND NORRIS - - Have done with care, my hearts! aboard amain, - With stretching sails to plough the swelling waves: - Now vail your bonnets to your friends at home: - Bid all the lovely British dames adieu! - To arms, my fellow-soldiers! Sea and land - Lie open to the voyage you intend. - To arms, to arms, to honourable arms! - Hoist sails; weigh anchors up; plough up the seas - With flying keels; plough up the land with swords! - You follow them whose swords successful are: - You follow Drake, by sea the scourge of Spain, - The dreadful dragon, terror to your foes, - Victorious in his return from Inde, - In all his high attempts unvanquishèd; - You follow noble Norris whose renown, - Won in the fertile fields of Belgia, - Spreads by the gates of Europe to the courts - Of Christian kings and heathen potentates. - You fight for Christ and England’s peerless Queen, - Elizabeth, the wonder of the world, - Over whose throne the enemies of God - Have thunder’d erst their vain successless braves, - O ten-times-treble happy men, that fight - Under the cross of Christ and England’s Queen, - And follow such as Drake and Norris are! - All honours do this cause accompany; - All glory on these endless honours waits; - These honours and this glory shall He send, - Whose honour and Whose glory you defend. - - _George Peele._ - - - - -DRAYTON - - -III - -BALLAD OF AGINCOURT - - Fair stood the wind for France, - When we our sails advance, - Nor now to prove our chance - Longer will tarry; - But putting to the main, - At Caux, the mouth of Seine, - With all his martial train, - Landed King Harry. - - And taking many a fort, - Furnished in warlike sort, - Marched towards Agincourt - In happy hour, - Skirmishing day by day - With those that stopped his way - Where the French gen’ral lay - With all his power: - - Which, in his height of pride, - King Henry to deride, - His ransom to provide - To the king sending; - Which he neglects the while - As from a nation vile, - Yet with an angry smile - Their fall portending. - - And turning to his men, - Quoth our brave Henry then, - ’Though they to one be ten, - Be not amazèd. - Yet have we well begun, - Battles so bravely won - Have ever to the sun - By fame been raisèd.’ - - ‘And for myself,’ quoth he, - ‘This my full rest shall be: - England ne’er mourn for me, - Nor more esteem me; - Victor I will remain - Or on this earth lie slain; - Never shall she sustain - Loss to redeem me.’ - - ‘Poitiers and Cressy tell, - When most their pride did swell, - Under our swords they fell; - No less our skill is - Than when our grandsire great, - Claiming the regal seat, - By many a warlike feat - Lopped the French lilies.’ - - The Duke of York so dread - The eager vaward led; - With the main Henry sped, - Amongst his henchmen; - Excester had the rear, - A braver man not there: - O Lord, how hot they were - On the false Frenchmen! - - They now to fight are gone, - Armour on armour shone, - Drum now to drum did groan, - To hear was wonder; - That with the cries they make, - The very earth did shake, - Trumpet to trumpet spake, - Thunder to thunder. - - Well it thine age became, - O noble Erpingham, - Which did the single aim - To our hid forces! - When from a meadow by, - Like a storm suddenly, - The English archery - Struck the French horses. - - With Spanish yew so strong, - Arrows a cloth-yard long, - That like to serpents stung, - Piercing the weather; - None from his fellow starts, - But playing manly parts, - And like true English hearts - Stuck close together. - - When down their bows they threw, - And forth their bilbos drew, - And on the French they flew, - Not one was tardy; - Arms were from shoulders sent, - Scalps to the teeth were rent, - Down the French peasants went; - Our men were hardy. - - This while our noble king, - His broadsword brandishing, - Down the French host did ding - As to o’erwhelm it, - And many a deep wound lent, - His arms with blood besprent, - And many a cruel dent - Bruisèd his helmet. - - Glo’ster, that duke so good, - Next of the royal blood, - For famous England stood, - With his brave brother; - Clarence, in steel so bright, - Though but a maiden knight, - Yet in that furious fight - Scarce such another! - - Warwick in blood did wade, - Oxford the foe invade, - And cruel slaughter made, - Still as they ran up; - Suffolk his axe did ply, - Beaumont and Willoughby - Bare them right doughtily - Ferrers and Fanhope. - - Upon St. Crispin’s Day - Fought was this noble fray, - Which fame did not delay, - To England to carry. - O, when shall Englishmen - With such acts fill a pen, - Or England breed again - Such a King Harry? - - _Michael Drayton._ - - -IV - -THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE - - You brave heroic minds - Worthy your country’s name, - That honour still pursue; - Go and subdue! - Whilst loitering hinds - Lurk here at home with shame. - - Britons, you stay too long: - Quickly aboard bestow you, - And with a merry gale - Swell your stretch’d sail - With vows as strong - As the winds that blow you. - - Your course securely steer - West and by south forth keep, - Rocks, lee-shores, nor shoals - When Æolus scowls - You need not fear, - So absolute the deep. - - And cheerfully at sea - Success you shall entice - To get the pearl and gold, - And ours to hold - Virginia - Earth’s only paradise. - - Where nature hath in store - Fowl, venison, and fish, - And the fruitfull’st soil - Without your toil - Three harvests more, - All greater than your wish. - - And the ambitious vine - Crowns with his purple mass - The cedar reaching high - To kiss the sky, - The cypress, pine - And useful sassafras. - - To whom the golden age - Still nature’s laws doth give, - Nor other cares attend - But them to defend - From winter’s rage, - That long there doth not live. - - When as the luscious smell - Of that delicious land - Above the seas that flows - The clear wind throws - Your hearts to swell - Approaching the dear strand. - - In kenning of the shore - (Thanks to God first given) - O you the happiest men, - Be frolic then! - Let cannons roar, - Frighting the wide heaven. - - And in regions far, - Such heroes bring ye forth - As those from whom we came; - And plant our name - Under that star - Not known unto our north. - - And as there plenty grows - Of laurel everywhere,-- - Apollo’s sacred tree,-- - You it may see - A poet’s brows - To crown that may sing there. - - Thy voyages attend - Industrious Hackluit - Whose reading shall inflame - Men to seek fame, - And much commend - To after times thy wit. - - _Michael Drayton._ - - - - -SHAKESPEARE - - -V - -A PICTURE OF ENGLAND - - This royal throne of kings, this sceptr’d isle, - This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, - This other Eden, demi-paradise, - This fortress built by Nature for herself - Against infection and the hand of war, - This happy breed of men, this little world, - This precious stone set in the silver sea, - Which serves it in the office of a wall - Or as a moat defensive to a house, - Against the envy of less happier lands, - This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, - This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, - Fear’d by their breed, and famous by their birth, - Renowned for their deeds as far from home, - For Christian service and true chivalry, - As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry - Of the world’s ransom, blessed Mary’s Son, - This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land. - - _William Shakespeare._ - - -VI - -ENGLAND INVINCIBLE - - This England never did, nor never shall, - Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, - But when it first did help to wound itself, - Come the three corners of the world in arms, - And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue, - If England to itself do rest but true. - - _William Shakespeare._ - - -VII - -ENGLAND AT WAR - - -THE PREPARATION - - Now all the youth of England are on fire, - And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies: - Now thrive the armourers, and honour’s thought - Reigns solely in the breast of every man: - They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, - Following the mirror of all Christian kings, - With wingèd heels, as English Mercuries. - For now sits Expectation in the air, - And hides a sword from hilts unto the point - With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, - Promised to Harry and his followers. - The French, advised by good intelligence - Of this most dreadful preparation, - Shake in their fear and with pale policy - Seek to divert the English purposes. - O England! model to thy inward greatness, - Like little body with a mighty heart, - What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, - Were all thy children kind and natural! - - -AT SEA - - Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies - In motion of no less celerity - Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen - The well-appointed king at Hampton Pier - Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet - With silken streamers the young Phœbus fanning: - Play with your fancies, and in them behold - Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; - Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give - To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails, - Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, - Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow’d sea, - Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think - You stand upon the rivage and behold - A city on the inconstant billows dancing; - For so appears this fleet majestical, - Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow: - Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, - And leave your England, as dead midnight still, - Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women, - Either passed or not arrived to pith and puissance; - For who is he, whose chin is but enrich’d - With one appearing hair, that will not follow - These cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? - - -KING HARRY TO HIS SOLDIERS - -(_At the Siege of Harfleur_) - - ‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; - Or close the wall up with our English dead. - In peace, there’s nothing so becomes a man - As modest stillness and humility: - But when the blast of war blows in our ears, - Then imitate the action of the tiger; - Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, - Disguise fair nature with hard favour’d rage; - Then lend the eye a terrible aspèct; - Let it pry through the portage of the head - Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it, - As fearfully as doth a galled rock - O’er hang and jutty his confounded base, - Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean. - Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, - Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit - To his full height. On, on, you noblest English, - Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! - Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, - Have in these parts from morn till even fought - And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: - Dishonour not your mothers; now attest - That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you. - Be copy now to men of grosser blood, - And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, - Whose limbs were made in England, show us here - The mettle of your pasture; let us swear - That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; - For there is none of you so mean and base, - That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. - I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, - Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot; - Follow your spirit, and upon this charge - Cry “God for Harry, England, and Saint George!”’ - - -THE EVE OF BATTLE - - Now entertain conjecture of a time - When creeping murmur and the poring dark - Fills the wide vessel of the universe. - From camp to camp through the foul womb of night - The hum of either army stilly sounds, - That the fix’d sentinels almost receive - The secret whispers of each other’s watch: - Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames - Each battle sees the other’s umbered face; - Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs - Piercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents - The armourers, accomplishing the knights, - With busy hammers closing rivets up, - Give dreadful note of preparation: - The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, - And the third hour of drowsy morning name. - Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, - The confident and over-lusty French - Do the low-rated English play at dice; - And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night - Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp - So tediously away. The poor condemned English, - Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires - Sit patiently and inly ruminate - The morning’s danger, and their gesture sad - Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats, - Presenteth them unto the gazing moon - So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold - The royal captain of this ruin’d band - Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, - Let him cry ‘Praise and glory on his head!’ - For forth he goes and visits all his host, - Bids them good morrow with a modest smile - And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen. - Upon his royal face there is no note - How dread an army hath enrounded him; - Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour - Unto the weary and all-watched night, - But freshly looks and over-bears attaint - With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; - That every wretch, pining and pale before, - Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks: - A largess universal like the sun - His liberal eye doth give to everyone, - Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all - Behold, as may unworthiness define, - A little touch of Harry in the night. - And so our scene must to the battle fly. - - -KING HARRY’S PRAYER - - ‘O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts; - Possess them not with fear; take from them now - The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers - Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O Lord, - O, not to-day, think not upon the fault - My father made in compassing the crown! - I Richard’s body have interred new; - And on it have bestow’d more contrite tears - Than from it issued forced drops of blood: - Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, - Who twice a-day their wither’d hands hold up - Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built - Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests - Sing still for Richard’s soul. More will I do; - Though all that I can do is nothing worth, - Since that my penitence comes after all, - Imploring pardon.’ - - -St. Crispin’s Day at Agincourt - -(_King Harry to his Soldiers_) - - ‘This day is called the feast of Crispian: - He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, - Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, - And rouse him at the name of Crispian. - He that shall live this day, and see old age, - Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, - And say ‘To-morrow is saint Crispian:’ - Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, - And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’ - Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, - But he’ll remember with advantages - What feats he did that day: then shall our names, - Familiar in his mouth as household words, - Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, - Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, - Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d. - This story shall the good man teach his son; - And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by, - From this day to the ending of the world, - But we in it shall be remembered; - And gentlemen in England now abed, - Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, - And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks - That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.’ - - -THE WELCOME HOME - - Now we bear the king - Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen, - Heave him away upon your winged thoughts - Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach - Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys, - Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth’d sea, - Which like a mighty whiffler ’fore the king - Seems to prepare his way: so let him land, - And solemnly see him set on to London. - So swift a pace hath thought that even now - You may imagine him upon Blackheath, - Where that his lords desire him to have borne - His bruisèd helmet and his bended sword - Before him through the city: he forbids it, - Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride, - Giving full trophy, signal and ostent - Quite from himself to God. But now behold, - In the quick forge and working-house of thought, - How London doth pour out her citizens! - The mayor and all his brethren in best sort, - Like to the senators of the antique Rome, - With the plebeians swarming at their heels, - Go forth and fetch their conquering Cæsar in. - - _William Shakespeare._ - - -VIII - -WOLSEY TO CROMWELL - - ‘Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear - In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me - Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. - Let’s dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; - And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be, - And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention - Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee, - Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, - And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, - Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; - A sure and safe one, though thy master miss’d it. - Mark but my fall, and that that ruin’d me. - Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: - By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, - The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; - Corruption wins not more than honesty. - Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, - To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: - Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s, - Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st, O Cromwell, - Thou fall’st a blessed martyr! Serve the king; - And,--Prithee, lead me in: - There take an inventory of all I have, - To the last penny; ’tis the king’s: my robe, - And my integrity to heaven, is all - I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! - Had I but served my God with half the zeal - I served my king, he would not in mine age - Have left me naked to mine enemies.’ - - _William Shakespeare._ - - - - -ANONYMOUS - - -IX - -BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY - - The fifteenth day of July, - With glistering spear and shield, - A famous fight in Flanders - Was foughten in the field: - The most conspicuous officers - Were English captains three, - But the bravest man in battel - Was brave Lord Willoughby. - - The next was Captain Norris, - A valiant man was he: - The other, Captain Turner, - From field would never flee. - With fifteen hundred fighting men, - Alas! there were no more, - They fought with forty thousand then - Upon the bloody shore. - - ‘Stand to it, noble pikemen, - And look you round about: - And shoot you right, you bowmen, - And we will keep them out: - You musket and cailìver men, - Do you prove true to me, - I’ll be the bravest man in fight,’ - Says brave Lord Willoughby. - - And then the bloody enemy - They fiercely did assail, - And fought it out most valiantly - Not doubting to prevail: - The wounded men on both sides fell - Most piteous for to see, - Yet nothing could the courage quell - Of brave Lord Willoughby. - - For seven hours to all men’s view - This fight endurèd sore, - Until our men so feeble grew - That they could fight no more; - And then upon dead horses - Full savourly they eat, - And drank the puddle water, - They could no better get. - - When they had fed so freely, - They kneelèd on the ground, - And praisèd God devoutly - For the favour they had found; - And bearing up their colours, - The fight they did renew, - And cutting tow’rds the Spaniard, - Five thousand more they slew. - - The sharp steel-pointed arrows - And bullets thick did fly, - Then did our valiant soldiers - Charge on most furiously: - Which made the Spaniards waver, - They thought it best to flee: - They feared the stout behaviour - Of brave Lord Willoughby. - - Then quoth the Spanish general, - ‘Come let us march away, - I fear we shall be spoilèd all - If that we longer stay: - For yonder comes Lord Willoughby - With courage fierce and fell, - He will not give one inch of ground - For all the devils in hell.’ - - And when the fearful enemy - Was quickly put to flight, - Our men pursued courageously - To rout his forces quite; - And at last they gave a shout - Which echoed through the sky: - ‘God and Saint George for England!’ - The conquerors did cry. - - This news was brought to England - With all the speed might be, - And soon our gracious Queen was told - Of this same victory. - ‘O! this is brave Lord Willoughby - My love that ever won: - Of all the lords of honour - ’Tis he great deeds hath done!’ - - To the soldiers that were maimèd, - And wounded in the fray, - The Queen allowed a pension - Of eighteen pence a day, - And from all costs and charges - She quit and set them free; - And this she did all for the sake - Of brave Lord Willoughby. - - Then courage, noble Englishmen, - And never be dismayed! - If that we be but one to ten, - We will not be afraid - To fight with foreign enemies, - And set our country free, - And thus I end the bloody bout - Of brave Lord Willoughby. - - _Anonymous._ - - -X - -THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL - - Attend you, and give ear awhile, - And you shall understand - Of a battle fought upon the seas - By a ship of brave command. - The fight it was so glorious - Men’s hearts it did fulfil, - And it made them cry, ‘To sea, to sea, - With the _Angel Gabriel_!’ - - This lusty ship of Bristol, - Sailed out adventurously - Against the foes of England, - Her strength with them to try; - Well victualled, rigged, and manned she was, - With good provision still, - Which made them cry, ‘To sea, to sea, - With the _Angel Gabriel_!’ - - The Captain, famous Netherway - (That was his noble name); - The Master--he was called John Mines-- - A mariner of fame: - The Gunner, Thomas Watson, - A man of perfect skill: - With many another valiant heart - In the _Angel Gabriel_. - - They waving up and down the seas - Upon the ocean main, - ‘It is not long ago,’ quoth they, - ‘That England fought with Spain: - O would the Spaniard we might meet - Our stomachs to fulfil! - We would play him fair a noble bout - With our _Angel Gabriel_!’ - - They had no sooner spoken - But straight appeared in sight - Three lusty Spanish vessels - Of warlike trim and might; - With bloody resolution - They thought our men to spill, - And vowed that they would make a prize - Of our _Angel Gabriel_. - - Our gallant ship had in her - Full forty fighting men; - With twenty piece of ordnance - We played about them then, - With powder, shot, and bullets - Right well we worked our will, - And hot and bloody grew the fight - With our _Angel Gabriel_. - - Our Captain to our Master said, - ‘Take courage, Master bold!’ - Our Master to the seamen said, - ‘Stand fast, my hearts of gold!’ - Our Gunner unto all the rest, - ‘Brave hearts, be valiant still! - Fight on, fight on in the defence - Of our _Angel Gabriel_!’ - - We gave them such a broadside - It smote their mast asunder, - And tore the bowsprit off their ship, - Which made the Spaniards wonder, - And causèd them in fear to cry, - With voices loud and shrill, - ‘Help, help, or sunken we shall be - By the _Angel Gabriel_!’ - - So desperately they boarded us - For all our valiant shot, - Threescore of their best fighting men - Upon our decks were got; - And lo! at their first entrances - Full thirty did we kill, - And thus with speed we cleared the deck - Of our _Angel Gabriel_. - - With that their three ships boarded us - Again with might and main, - But still our noble Englishmen - Cried out ‘A fig for Spain!’ - Though seven times they boarded us - At last we showed our skill, - And made them feel what men we were - On the _Angel Gabriel_. - - Seven hours this fight continued: - So many men lay dead, - With Spanish blood for fathoms round - The sea was coloured red. - Five hundred of their fighting men - We there outright did kill, - And many more were hurt and maimed - By our _Angel Gabriel_. - - Then seeing of these bloody spoils, - The rest made haste away: - For why, they said, it was no boot - The longer there to stay. - Then they fled into Calès, - Where lie they must and will - For fear lest they should meet again - With our _Angel Gabriel_. - - We had within our English ship - But only three men slain, - And five men hurt, the which I hope - Will soon be well again. - At Bristol we were landed, - And let us praise God still, - That thus hath blest our lusty hearts - And our _Angel Gabriel_. - - _Anonymous._ - - - - -MILTON - - -XI - -TO THE LORD GENERAL - - Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud, - Not of war only, but detractions rude, - Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, - To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, - And on the neck of crownèd Fortune proud - Hast reared God’s trophies, and His work pursued, - While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, - And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, - And Worcester’s laureate wreath: yet much remains - To conquer still; peace hath her victories - No less renowned than war: new foes arise, - Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains. - Help us to save free conscience from the paw - Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw. - - _John Milton._ - - -XII - -DELIVERANCE - - O how comely it is, and how reviving - To the spirits of just men long oppress’d! - When God into the hands of their deliverer - Puts invincible might - To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor, - The brute and boisterous force of violent men, - Hardy and industrious to support - Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue - The righteous and all such as honour truth; - He all their ammunition - And feats of war defeats, - With plain heroic magnitude of mind - And celestial vigour arm’d; - Their armouries and magazines contemns, - Renders them useless; while - With winged expedition, - Swift as the lightning glance, he executes - His errand on the wicked, who, surprised, - Lose their defence, distracted and amazed. - - _John Milton._ - - - - -MARVELL - - -XIII - -HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL’S RETURN FROM IRELAND - - The forward youth that would appear, - Must now forsake his Muses dear, - Nor in the shadows sing - His numbers languishing. - - ’Tis time to leave the books in dust, - And oil the unusèd armour’s rust, - Removing from the wall - The corselet of the hall. - - So restless Cromwell could not cease - In the inglorious arts of peace, - But through adventurous war - Urgèd his active star: - - And, like the three-fork’d lightning, first - Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, - Did thorough his own side - His fiery way divide: - - For ’tis all one to courage high, - The emulous, or enemy; - And with such to inclose - Is more than to oppose; - - Then burning through the air he went - And palaces and temples rent; - And Cæsar’s head at last - Did through his laurels blast. - - ’Tis madness to resist or blame - The face of angry Heaven’s flame; - And if we would speak true, - Much to the man is due - - Who, from his private gardens, where - He lived reservèd and austere - (As if his highest plot - To plant the bergamot), - - Could by industrious valour climb - To ruin the great work of Time, - And cast the kingdoms old - Into another mould; - - Though Justice against Fate complain, - And plead the ancient rights in vain-- - (But those do hold or break - As men are strong or weak), - - Nature, that hateth emptiness, - Allows of penetration less, - And therefore must make room - Where greater spirits come. - - What field of all the civil war - Where his were not the deepest scar? - And Hampton shows what part - He had of wiser art, - - Where, twining subtile fears with hope, - He wove a net of such a scope - That Charles himself might chase - To Carisbrook’s narrow case, - - That thence the royal actor borne - The tragic scaffold might adorn: - While round the armèd bands - Did clap their bloody hands. - - He nothing common did or mean - Upon that memorable scene, - But with his keener eye - The axe’s edge did try; - - Nor call’d the gods, with vulgar spite, - To vindicate his helpless right; - But bow’d his comely head - Down, as upon a bed. - - This was that memorable hour - Which first assured the forcèd power: - So, when they did design - The Capitol’s first line, - - A bleeding head, where they begun, - Did fright the architects to run; - And yet in that the State - Foresaw its happy fate! - - And now the Irish are ashamed - To see themselves in one year tamed: - So much one man can do - That doth both act and know. - - They can affirm his praises best, - And have, though overcome, confest - How good he is, how just, - And fit for highest trust; - - Nor yet grown stiffer with command, - But still in the Republic’s hand - (How fit he is to sway, - That can so well obey!), - - He to the Commons’ feet presents - A Kingdom for his first year’s rents, - And (what he may) forbears - His fame, to make it theirs: - - And has his sword and spoils ungirt - To lay them at the Public’s skirt - So when the falcon high - Falls heavy from the sky, - - She, having killed, no more doth search - But on the next green bough to perch, - Where, when he first does lure, - The falconer has her sure. - - What may not then our Isle presume - While victory his crest does plume? - What may not others fear - If thus he crowns each year? - - As Cæsar he, ere long, to Gaul, - To Italy an Hannibal, - And to all states not free - Shall climacteric be. - - The Pict no shelter now shall find - Within his parti-coloured mind, - But from this valour sad - Shrink underneath the plaid. - - Happy, if in the tufted brake - The English hunter him mistake, - Nor lay his hounds in near - The Caledonian deer. - - But thou, the war’s and fortune’s son, - March indefatigably on, - And for the last effect - Still keep the sword erect: - - Besides the force it has to fright - The spirits of the shady night, - The same arts that did gain - A power, must it maintain. - - _Andrew Marvell._ - - -XIV - -SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA - - Where the remote Bermudas ride - In the Ocean’s bosom unespied, - From a small boat that rowed along - The listening winds received this song. - ‘What should we do but sing His praise - That led us through the watery maze, - Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks - That lift the deep upon their backs, - Unto an isle so long unknown, - And yet far kinder than our own? - He lands us on a grassy stage, - Safe from the storms and prelates’ rage: - He gave us this eternal spring - Which here enamels everything, - And sends the fowls to us in care - On daily visits through the air. - He hangs in shades the orange bright - Like golden lamps in a green night, - And does in the pomegranates close - Jewels more rich than Ormus shows: - He makes the figs our mouths to meet, - And throws the melons at our feet; - But apples plants of such a price, - No tree could ever bear them twice. - With cedars chosen by His hand - From Lebanon He stores the land, - And makes the hollow seas that roar - Proclaim the ambergrease on shore. - He cast (of which we rather boast) - The Gospel’s pearl upon our coast, - And in these rocks for us did frame - A temple where to sound His name. - O let our voice His praise exalt - Till it arrive at Heaven’s vault, - Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may - Echo beyond the Mexique Bay!’ - Thus sang they in the English boat - A holy and a cheerful note: - And all the way, to guide their chime, - With falling oars they kept the time. - - _Andrew Marvell._ - - - - -PARKER - - -XV - -THE KING’S EXILE - - Let rogues and cheats prognosticate - Concerning kings’ or kingdoms’ fate, - I think myself to be as wise - As he that gazeth on the skies, - Whose sight goes beyond - The depth of a pond - Or rivers in the greatest rain; - For I can tell - All will be well, - When the King enjoys his own again! - - Though for a time we see Whitehall - With cobwebs hanging on the wall, - Instead of gold and silver brave, - Which formerly ’twas wont to have, - With rich perfume - In every room, - Delightful to that princely train,-- - Yet the old again shall be - When the happy time you see - That the King enjoys his own again. - - Full forty years this royal crown - Hath been his father’s and his own; - And is there any one but he - That in the same should sharer be? - For who better may - The sceptre sway - Than he that hath such right to reign? - Then let’s hope for a peace, - For the wars will not cease - Till the King enjoys his own again. - - _Martin Parker._ - - - - -ANONYMOUS - - -XVI - -HERE’S A HEALTH - - Here’s a health unto His Majesty, - _With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la!_ - Confusion to his enemies, - _With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la!_ - And he that will not drink his health, - I wish him neither wit nor wealth, - Nor yet a rope to hang himself, - _With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la!_ - - _Anonymous._ - - - - -DRYDEN - - -XVII - -A SONG OF KING ARTHUR - - Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound; - Come, if you dare, the foes rebound: - We come, we come, we come, we come, - Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum. - - Now they charge on amain, - Now they rally again: - The gods from above the mad labour behold, - And pity mankind, that will perish for gold. - - The fainting Saxons quit their ground, - Their trumpets languish in the sound: - They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly; - Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry. - - Now the victory’s won, - To the plunder we run: - We return to our lasses like fortunate traders, - Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish’d invaders. - - _John Dryden._ - - -XVIII - -LONDON IN 1666 - - Methinks already from this chymic flame - I see a city of more precious mould, - Rich as the town which gives the Indies name, - With silver paved, and all divine with gold. - - Already, labouring with a mighty fate, - She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow, - And seems to have renewed her charter’s date - Which Heaven will to the death of time allow. - - More great than human now and more august, - New deified she from her fires does rise: - Her widening streets on new foundations trust, - And, opening, into larger parts she flies. - - Before, she like some shepherdess did show - Who sate to bathe her by a river’s side, - Not answering to her fame, but rude and low, - Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride. - - Now like a maiden queen she will behold - From her high turrets hourly suitors come; - The East with incense and the West with gold - Will stand like suppliants to receive her dome. - - The silver Thames, her own domestic flood, - Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train, - And often wind, as of his mistress proud, - With longing eyes to meet her face again. - - The wealthy Tagus and the wealthier Rhine - The glory of their towns no more shall boast, - The Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join, - Shall find her lustre stained and traffic lost. - - The venturous merchant, who designed more far, - And touches on our hospitable shore, - Charmed with the splendour of this northern star - Shall here unlade him and depart no more. - - Our powerful navy shall no longer meet - The wealth of France or Holland to invade; - The beauty of this town without a fleet - From all the world shall vindicate her trade. - - And while this famed emporium we prepare, - The British ocean shall such triumphs boast, - That those who now disdain our trade to share - Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast. - - Already we have conquered half the war, - And the less dangerous part is left behind; - Our trouble now is but to make them dare - And not so great to vanquish as to find. - - Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go, - And now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more! - A constant trade-wind will securely blow - And gently lay us on the spicy shore. - - _John Dryden._ - - - - -THOMSON - - -XIX - -RULE BRITANNIA - - When Britain first at Heaven’s command - Arose from out the azure main, - This was the charter of her land, - And guardian angels sang the strain: - _Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! - Britons never shall be slaves_. - - The nations not so blest as thee - Must in their turn to tyrants fall, - Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free-- - The dread and envy of them all! - - Still more majestic shalt thou rise, - More dreadful from each foreign stroke; - As the last blast which tears the skies - Serves but to root thy native oak. - - Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame; - All their attempts to bend thee down - Will but arouse thy generous flame, - And work their woe and thy renown. - - To thee belongs the rural reign; - Thy cities shall with commerce shine; - All thine shall be the subject main, - And every shore it circles thine! - - The Muses, still with Freedom found, - Shall to thy happy coast repair; - Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown’d, - And manly hearts to guard the fair:-- - _Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! - Britons never shall be slaves!_ - - _James Thomson._ - - - - -DYER - - -XX - -DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN - - Here’s a health to the King and a lasting peace, - To faction an end, to wealth increase! - Come, let’s drink it while we have breath, - For there’s no drinking after death;-- - And he that will this health deny, - _Down among the dead men-- - Down among the dead men-- - Down, down, down, down, - Down among the dead men let him lie!_ - - _John Dyer._ - - - - -ANONYMOUS - - -XXI - -GOD SAVE THE KING - - God save our lord, the King, - Long live our noble King,-- - God save the King! - Send him victorious, - Happy and glorious, - Long to reign over us,-- - God save the King! - - O Lord, our God, arise, - Scatter his enemies, - And make them fall! - Confound their politics, - Frustrate their knavish tricks! - On Thee our hopes we fix,-- - God save us all! - - Thy choicest gifts in store - On him be pleased to pour,-- - Long may he reign! - May he defend our laws, - And ever give us cause - To sing with heart and voice - God save the King! - - _Anonymous._ - - - - -GARRICK - - -XXII - -HEARTS OF OAK - - Come, cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer, - To add something more to this wonderful year, - To honour we call you, not press you like slaves, - For who are so free as the sons of the waves? - Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, - We always are ready, - Steady, boys, steady, - We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again. - - We ne’er see our foes but we wish them to stay, - They never see us but they wish us away; - If they run, why, we follow, and run them ashore, - For if they won’t fight us, we cannot do more. - Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, - We always are ready, - Steady, boys, steady, - We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again. - - Still Britain shall triumph, her ships plough the sea, - Her standard be justice, her watchword ‘Be free’; - Then, cheer up, my lads, with one heart let us sing - Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our king. - Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, - We always are ready, - Steady, boys, steady, - We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again. - - _David Garrick._ - - - - -COLLINS - - -XXIII - -THE SLEEP OF THE BRAVE - - How sleep the brave who sink to rest - By all their country’s wishes blest! - When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, - Returns to deck their hallow’d mould, - She there shall dress a sweeter sod - Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod. - - By fairy hands their knell is rung, - By forms unseen their dirge is sung; - There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, - To bless the turf that wraps their clay; - And Freedom shall a while repair - To dwell a weeping hermit there. - - _William Collins._ - - - - -COWPER - - -XXIV - -BOADICEA - - When the British warrior queen, - Bleeding from the Roman rods, - Sought with an indignant mien - Counsel of her country’s gods, - - Sage beneath the spreading oak - Sat the Druid, hoary chief, - Every burning word he spoke - Full of rage, and full of grief: - - ‘Princess! if our aged eyes - Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, - ’Tis because resentment ties - All the terrors of our tongues. - - ‘Rome shall perish,--write that word - In the blood that she has spilt; - Perish hopeless and abhorred, - Deep in ruin as in guilt. - - ‘Rome, for empire far renowned, - Tramples on a thousand states; - Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,-- - Hark! the Gaul is at her gates! - - ‘Other Romans shall arise - Heedless of a soldier’s name; - Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, - Harmony the path to fame. - - ‘Then the progeny that springs - From the forests of our land, - Armed with thunder, clad with wings, - Shall a wider world command. - - ‘Regions Cæsar never knew - Thy posterity shall sway; - Where his eagles never flew, - None invincible as they.’ - - Such the bard’s prophetic words, - Pregnant with celestial fire, - Bending as he swept the chords - Of his sweet but awful lyre. - - She with all a monarch’s pride - Felt them in her bosom glow, - Rushed to battle, fought, and died, - Dying, hurled them at the foe: - - ‘Ruffians, pitiless as proud, - Heaven awards the vengeance due; - Empire is on us bestowed, - Shame and ruin wait for you!’ - - _William Cowper._ - - -XXV - -THE _ROYAL GEORGE_ - - Toll for the Brave! - The brave that are no more! - All sunk beneath the wave - Fast by their native shore! - - Eight hundred of the brave, - Whose courage well was tried, - Had made the vessel heel - And laid her on her side. - - A land-breeze shook the shrouds - And she was overset; - Down went the _Royal George_ - With all her crew complete. - - Toll for the brave! - Brave Kempenfelt is gone; - His last sea-fight is fought, - His work of glory done. - - It was not in the battle; - No tempest gave the shock, - She sprang no fatal leak, - She ran upon no rock. - - His sword was in its sheath, - His fingers held the pen, - When Kempenfelt went down - With twice four hundred men. - - Weigh the vessel up, - Once dreaded by our foes! - And mingle with our cup - The tear that England owes. - - Her timbers yet are sound, - And she may float again - Full charged with England’s thunder, - And plough the distant main: - - But Kempenfelt is gone, - His victories are o’er; - And he and his eight hundred - Shall plough the wave no more. - - _William Cowper._ - - - - -DIBDIN - - -XXVI - -TOM BOWLING - - Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, - The darling of our crew; - No more he’ll hear the tempest howling, - For death has broached him to. - His form was of the manliest beauty, - His heart was kind and soft, - Faithful below he did his duty, - And now he’s gone aloft. - - Tom never from his word departed, - His virtues were so rare, - His friends were many, and true-hearted, - His Poll was kind and fair; - And then he’d sing so blithe and jolly, - Ah, many’s the time and oft! - But mirth is turned to melancholy, - For Tom is gone aloft. - - Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather - When He, who all commands, - Shall give, to call life’s crew together, - The word to pipe all hands. - Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, - In vain Tom’s life has doffed, - For though his body’s under hatches, - His soul is gone aloft. - - _Charles Dibdin._ - - -XXVII - -THE TRUE ENGLISH SAILOR - - Jack dances and sings, and is always content, - In his vows to his lass he’ll ne’er fail her; - His anchor’s a-trip when his money’s all spent-- - And this is the life of a sailor. - - Alert in his duty, he readily flies - Where winds the tir’d vessel are flinging; - Though sunk to the sea-gods, or toss’d to the skies, - Still Jack is found working and singing. - - ‘Long-side of an enemy, boldly and brave, - He’ll with broadside on broadside regale her; - Yet he’ll sigh from his soul o’er that enemy’s grave: - So noble’s the mind of a sailor. - - Let cannons road loud, burst their sides let the bombs, - Let the winds a dead hurricane rattle; - The rough and the pleasant he takes as it comes, - And laughs at the storm and the battle. - - In a Fostering Power while Jack puts his trust, - As Fortune comes, smiling he’ll hail her; - Resign’d still, and manly, since what must be must, - And this is the mind of a sailor. - - Though careless and headlong, if danger should press, - And rank’d ’mongst the free list of rovers, - Yet he’ll melt into tears at a tale of distress, - And prove the most constant of lovers. - - To rancour unknown, to no passion a slave, - Nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer, - He’s gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave, - And this is a true English sailor. - - _Charles Dibdin._ - - -XXVIII - -TOM TOUGH - - My name, d’ye see, ’s Tom Tough, I’ve seed a little sarvice, - Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow; - I’ve sailed with valiant Howe, I’ve sailed with noble Jarvis, - And in gallant Duncan’s fleet I’ve sung out ‘Yo heave ho!’ - Yet more shall ye be knowing,-- - I was coxon to Boscawen, - And even with brave Hawke have I nobly faced the foe. - Then put round the grog,-- - So we’ve that and our prog, - We’ll laugh in Care’s face, and sing ‘Yo heave ho!’ - - When from my love to part I first weigh’d anchor, - And she was sniv’ling seed on the beach below, - I’d like to cotch’d my eyes sniv’ling too, d’ye see, to thank her, - But I brought my sorrows up with a ‘Yo heave ho!’ - For sailors, though they have their jokes, - And love and feel like other folks, - Their duty to neglect must not come for to go; - So I seized the capstern bar, - Like a true honest tar, - And, in spite of tears and sighs, sang out ‘Yo heave ho!’ - - But the worst on’t was that time when the little ones were sickly, - And if they’d live or die the doctor did not know; - The word was gov’d to weigh so sudden and so quickly, - I thought my heart would break as I sung ‘Yo heave ho!’ - For Poll’s so like her mother, - And as for Jack, her brother, - The boy, when he grows up will nobly fight the foe; - But in Providence I trust, - For you see what must be must, - So my sighs I gave the winds and sung out ‘Yo heave ho!’ - - And now at last laid up in a decentish condition, - For I’ve only lost an eye, and got a timber toe; - But old ships must expect in time to be out of commission, - Nor again the anchor weigh with ‘Yo heave ho!’ - So I smoke my pipe and sing old songs,-- - For my boy shall well revenge my wrongs, - And my girl shall breed young sailors, nobly for to face the foe;-- - Then to Country and King, - Fate no danger can bring, - While the tars of Old England sing out ‘Yo heave ho!’ - - _Charles Dibdin._ - - - - -ANONYMOUS - - -XXIX - -THE BRITISH GRENADIERS - - Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules, - Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these, - But of all the world’s great heroes, there’s none that can compare, - With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadier! - - Those heroes of antiquity ne’er saw a cannon ball, - Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal; - But our brave boys do know it, and banish all their fears, - Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers! - - Whene’er we are commanded to storm the palisades, - Our leaders march with fuses, and we with hand grenades, - We throw them from the glacis, about the enemies’ ears, - Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers! - - And when the siege is over, we to the town repair, - The townsmen cry, ‘Hurrah, boys, here comes a Grenadier! - ‘Here come the Grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears!’ - Then sing, tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers! - - Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those - Who carry caps and pouches, and wear the loupèd clothes, - May they and their commanders live happy all their years, - With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers! - - _Anonymous._ - - - - -ANONYMOUS - - -XXX - -THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME - - I’m lonesome since I cross’d the hill, - And o’er the moor and valley; - Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill, - Since parting with my Sally. - I seek no more the fine or gay, - For each does but remind me - How swift the hours did pass away, - With the girl I’ve left behind me. - - Oh, ne’er shall I forget the night, - The stars were bright above me, - And gently lent their silv’ry light - When first she vowed to love me. - But now I’m bound to Brighton camp, - Kind Heaven, then, pray guide me, - And send me safely back again - To the girl I’ve left behind me. - - My mind her form shall still retain, - In sleeping, or in waking, - Until I see my love again, - For whom my heart is breaking. - If ever I return that way, - And she should not decline me, - I evermore will live and stay - With the girl I’ve left behind me. - - _Anonymous._ - - - - -HOARE - - -XXXI - -THE _ARETHUSA_ - - Come, all ye jolly sailors bold, - Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould, - While English glory I unfold, - Huzza for the _Arethusa_! - She is a frigate tight and brave, - As ever stemmed the dashing wave; - Her men are staunch - To their fav’rite launch, - And when the foe shall meet our fire, - Sooner than strike, we’ll all expire - On board of the _Arethusa_. - - ’Twas with the spring fleet she went out - The English Channel to cruise about, - When four French sail, in show so stout - Bore down on the _Arethusa_. - The famed _Belle Poule_ straight ahead did lie, - The _Arethusa_ seemed to fly, - Not a sheet, or a tack, - Or a brace, did she slack; - Though the Frenchmen laughed and thought it stuff, - But they knew not the handful of men, how tough, - On board of the _Arethusa_. - - On deck five hundred men did dance, - The stoutest they could find in France; - We with two hundred did advance - On board of the _Arethusa_. - Our captain hailed the Frenchman, ‘Ho!’ - The Frenchman then cried out ‘Hallo!’ - ‘Bear down, d’ye see, - To our admiral’s lee!’ - ‘No, no,’ says the Frenchman, ‘that can’t be!’ - ‘Then I must lug you along with me,’ - Says the saucy _Arethusa_. - - The fight was off the Frenchman’s land, - We forced them back upon their strand, - For we fought till not a stick could stand - Of the gallant _Arethusa_. - And now we’ve driven the foe ashore - Never to fight with the Britons more, - Let each fill his glass - To his fav’rite lass; - A health to our captain and officers true, - And all that belong to the jovial crew - On board of the _Arethusa_. - - _Prince Hoare._ - - - - -BLAKE - - -XXXII - -JERUSALEM IN ENGLAND - - England, awake! awake! awake! - Jerusalem thy sister calls! - Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death, - And close her from thy ancient walls? - - Thy hills and valleys felt her feet - Gently upon their bosoms move: - Thy gates beheld sweet Zion’s ways; - Then was a time of joy and love. - - And now the time returns again: - Our souls exult; and London’s towers - Receive the Lamb of God to dwell - In England’s green and pleasant bowers. - - And did those feet in ancient time - Walk upon England’s mountain green? - And was the holy Lamb of God - On England’s pleasant pastures seen? - - And did the Countenance Divine - Shine forth upon our clouded hills? - And was Jerusalem builded here - Among these dark satanic mills? - - Bring me my bow of burning gold! - Bring me my arrows of desire! - Bring me my spear: O clouds, unfold! - Bring me my chariot of fire! - - I will not cease from mental fight, - Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, - Till we have built Jerusalem - In England’s green and pleasant land. - - _William Blake._ - - - - -WORDSWORTH - - -XXXIII - -ON LANDING IN ENGLAND - - Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more. - The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound - Of bells; those boys who in yon meadow-ground - In white-sleeved shirts are playing; and the roar - Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore;-- - All, all are English. Oft have I looked round - With joy in Kent’s green vales; but never found - Myself so satisfied in heart before. - Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass, - Thought for another moment. Thou art free, - My Country! and ’tis joy enough and pride - For one hour’s perfect bliss, to tread the grass - Of England once again, and hear and see, - With such a dear Companion at my side. - - _William Wordsworth._ - - -XXXIV - -DESTINY - - It is not to be thought of that the Flood - Of British freedom, which, to the open sea - Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity - Hath flowed, ‘with pomp of waters, unwithstood!’ - Roused though it be full often to a mood - Which spurns the check of salutary bands, - That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands - Should perish; and to evil and to good - Be lost for ever--In our halls is hung - Armoury of the invincible Knights of old: - We must be free or die, who speak the tongue - That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold - Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung - Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold. - - _William Wordsworth._ - - -XXXV - -THE MOTHERLAND - - When I have borne in memory what has tamed - Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart - When men change swords for ledgers, and desert - The student’s bower for gold, some fears unnamed - I had, my Country!--am I to be blamed? - Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, - Verily, in the bottom of my heart, - Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. - For dearly must we prize thee; we who find - In thee a bulwark for the cause of men: - And I, by my affection was beguiled: - What wonder if a Poet now and then, - Among the many movements of his mind, - Felt for thee as a lover or a child! - - _William Wordsworth._ - - -XXXVI - -TO THE MEN OF KENT - -(_October, 1803_) - - Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent, - Ye children of a soil that doth advance - Her haughty bow against the coast of France, - Now is the time to prove your hardiment! - To France be words of invitation sent! - They from their fields can see the countenance - Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance - And hear you shouting forth your brave intent. - Left single, in bold parley, ye, of yore, - Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath; - Confirmed the charters that were yours before;-- - No parleying now! In Britain is one breath; - We all are with you now from shore to shore;-- - Ye men of Kent, ’tis victory or death! - - _William Wordsworth._ - - -XXXVII - -THE HAPPY WARRIOR - - Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he - That every man in arms should wish to be? - --It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought - Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought - Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought: - Whose high endeavours are an inward light - That makes the path before him always bright: - --Who, if he rise to station of command, - Rises by open means; and there will stand - On honourable terms, or else retire, - And in himself possess his own desire; - Who comprehends his trust, and to the same - Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; - And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait - For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state; - Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall, - Like showers of manna, if they come at all: - Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, - Or mild concerns of ordinary life, - A constant influence, a peculiar grace; - But who, if he be called upon to face - Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined - Great issues, good or bad for human kind, - Is happy as a Lover; and attired - With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired; - And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law - In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw; - Or if an unexpected call succeed, - Come when it will, is equal to the need: - --He who, though thus endued as with a sense - And faculty for storm and turbulence, - Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans - To home-felt pleasures and to gentle scenes; - Sweet images! which, wheresoe’er he be, - Are at his heart; and such fidelity - It is his darling passion to approve; - More brave for this, that he hath much to love:-- - ’Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted high, - Conspicuous object in a Nation’s eye, - Or left unthought-of in obscurity,-- - Who, with a toward or untoward lot, - Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not-- - Plays, in the many games of life, that one - Where what he most doth value must be won: - Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, - Nor thought of tender happiness betray; - Who, not content that former worth stand fast, - Looks forward, persevering to the last, - From well to better, daily self-surpast: - Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth - For ever, and to noble deeds give birth, - Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame, - And leave a dead unprofitable name-- - Finds comfort in himself and in his cause; - And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws - His breath in confidence of Heaven’s applause: - This is the happy Warrior; this is He - That every Man in arms should wish to be. - - _William Wordsworth._ - - -XXXVIII - -AFTER WATERLOO - - Who to the murmurs of an earthly string - Of Britain’s acts would sing, - He with enraptured voice will tell - Of One whose spirit no reverse could quell: - Of One that, ’mid the failing, never failed-- - Who paints how Britain struggled and prevailed - Shall represent her labouring with an eye - Of circumspect humanity; - Shall show her clothed with strength and skill, - All martial duties to fulfill; - Firm as a rock in stationary fight; - In motion rapid as the lightning’s gleam; - Fierce as a flood-gate bursting in the night - To rouse the wicked from their giddy dream-- - Woe, woe to all that face her in the field! - Appalled she may not be, and cannot yield. - - _William Wordsworth._ - - -XXXIX - -MERRY ENGLAND - - They called Thee MERRY ENGLAND in old time, - A happy people won for thee that name - With envy heard in many a distant clime, - And, spite of change, for me thou keep’st the same - Endearing title, a responsive chime - To the heart’s fond belief: though some there are - Whose sterner judgments deem that word a snare - For inattentive Fancy, like the lime - Which foolish birds are caught with. Can, I ask, - This face of rural beauty be a mask - For discontent, and poverty, and crime; - These spreading towns a cloak for lawless will? - Forbid it, Heaven!--and MERRY ENGLAND still - Shall be thy rightful name, in prose and rhyme! - - _William Wordsworth._ - - -XL - -HOPE - - Despond who will--_I_ heard a voice exclaim, - ‘Though fierce the assault, and shattered the defence, - It cannot be that Britain’s social frame, - The glorious work of time and providence, - Before a flying season’s rash pretence, - Should fall; that She, whose virtue put to shame, - When Europe prostrate lay, the Conqueror’s aim, - Should perish, self-subverted. Black and dense - The cloud is; but brings that a day of doom - To Liberty? Her sun is up the while, - That orb whose beams round Saxon Alfred shone: - Then laugh, ye innocent Vales! ye Streams, sweep on, - Nor let one billow of our heaven-blest Isle - Toss in the fanning wind a humbler plume.’ - - _William Wordsworth._ - - - - -SCOTT - - -XLI - -IN MEMORIAM - -(NELSON: PITT: FOX) - - To mute and to material things - New life revolving summer brings; - The genial call dead Nature hears, - And in her glory reappears. - But O my Country’s wintry state - What second spring shall renovate? - What powerful call shall bid arise - The buried warlike and the wise; - The mind that thought for Britain’s weal, - The hand that grasped the victor steel? - The vernal sun new life bestows - Even on the meanest flower that blows; - But vainly, vainly may he shine, - Where glory weeps o’er NELSON’S shrine; - And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, - That shrouds, O PITT, thy hallowed tomb! - - Deep graved in every British heart, - O never let those names depart! - Say to your sons,--Lo, here his grave, - Who victor died on Gadite wave; - To him, as to the burning levin, - Short, bright, resistless course was given. - Where’er his country’s foes were found - Was heard the fated thunder’s sound, - Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, - Rolled, blazed, destroyed,--and was no more. - - Nor mourn ye less his perished worth, - Who bade the conqueror go forth, - And launched that thunderbolt of war - On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar; - Who, born to guide such high emprise, - For Britain’s weal was early wise; - Alas! to whom the Almighty gave, - For Britain’s sins, an early grave! - His worth, who in his mightiest hour - A bauble held the pride of power, - Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf, - And served his Albion for herself; - Who, from the frantic crowd amain - Strained at subjection’s bursting rein, - O’er their wild mood full conquest gained, - The pride he would not crush restrained, - Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause, - And brought the freeman’s arm to aid the freeman’s laws. - - Hadst thou but lived, though stripped of power, - A watchman on the lonely tower, - Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, - When fraud or danger were at hand; - By thee, as by the beacon-light, - Our pilots had kept course aright; - As some proud column, though alone, - Thy strength had propped the tottering throne: - Now is the stately column broke, - The beacon-light is quenched in smoke, - The trumpet’s silver sound is still, - The warder silent on the hill! - - O think, how to his latest day, - When death, just hovering, claimed his prey, - With Palinure’s unaltered mood - Firm at his dangerous post he stood; - Each call for needful rest repelled, - With dying hand the rudder held, - Till in his fall with fateful sway, - The steerage of the realm gave way! - Then, while on Britain’s thousand plains - One unpolluted church remains, - Whose peaceful bells ne’er sent around - The bloody tocsin’s maddening sound, - But still, upon the hallowed day, - Convoke the swains to praise and pray; - While faith and civil peace are dear, - Grace this cold marble with a tear,-- - He, who preserved them, PITT, lies here! - - Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, - Because his rival slumbers nigh; - Nor be thy _requiescat_ dumb, - Lest it be said o’er FOX’S tomb. - For talents mourn, untimely lost, - When best employed, and wanted most; - Mourn genius high, and lore profound, - And wit that loved to play, not wound; - And all the reasoning powers divine, - To penetrate, resolve, combine; - And feelings keen, and fancy’s glow,-- - They sleep with him who sleeps below: - And, if thou mourn’st they could not save - From error him who owns this grave, - Be ever harsher thought suppressed, - And sacred be the long last rest. - _Here_, where the end of earthly things - Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings; - Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue, - Of those who fought, and spoke and sung; - _Here_, where the fretted aisles prolong - The distant notes of holy song, - As if some angel spoke agen, - ‘All peace on earth, good-will to men’; - If ever from an English heart, - O, _here_ let prejudice depart, - And, partial feeling cast aside, - Record, that FOX a Briton died! - When Europe crouched to France’s yoke, - And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, - And the firm Russian’s purpose brave - Was bartered by a timorous slave, - Even then dishonour’s peace he spurned, - The sullied olive-branch returned, - Stood for his country’s glory fast, - And nailed her colours to the mast! - Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave - A portion in this honoured grave, - And ne’er held marble in its trust - Of two such wondrous men the dust. - With more than mortal powers endowed, - How high they soared above the crowd! - Theirs was no common party race, - Jostling by dark intrigue for place; - Like fabled Gods, their mighty war - Shook realms and nations in its jar; - Beneath each banner proud to stand, - Looked up the noblest of the land, - Till through the British world were known - The names of PITT and FOX alone. - Spells of such force no wizard grave - E’er framed in dark Thessalian cave, - Though his could drain the ocean dry, - And force the planets from the sky. - These spells are spent, and, spent with these - The wine of life is on the lees. - Genius, and taste, and talent gone, - For ever tombed beneath the stone, - Where--taming thought to human pride!-- - The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. - Drop upon FOX’S grave the tear, - ’Twill trickle to his rival’s bier; - O’er PITT’S the mournful requiem sound, - And FOX’S shall the notes rebound. - The solemn echo seems to cry,-- - ‘Here let their discord with them die. - Speak not for those a separate doom - Whom fate made Brothers in the tomb; - But search the land of living men, - Where wilt thou find their like agen?’ - - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - - - -DIBDIN - - -XLII - -THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND - - Daddy Neptune one day to Freedom did say, - ‘If ever I live upon dry land, - The spot I should hit on would be little Britain!’ - Says Freedom, ‘Why that’s my own island!’ - O, it’s a snug little island! - A right little, tight little island, - Search the globe round, none can be found - So happy as this little island. - - Julius Cæsar, the Roman, who yielded to no man, - Came by water,--he couldn’t come _by_ land; - And Dane, Pict, and Saxon, their homes turn’d their backs on, - And all for the sake of our island. - O, what a snug little island! - They’d all have a touch at the island! - Some were shot dead, some of them fled, - And some staid to live on the island. - - Then a very great war-man, called Billy the Norman, - Cried ‘D--n it, I never liked my land; - It would be much more handy to leave this Nor_man_dy, - And live on yon beautiful island.’ - Says he, ‘’Tis a snug little island: - Sha’n’t us go visit the island?’ - Hop, skip, and jump, there he was plump, - And he kick’d up a dust in the island. - - But party-deceit help’d the Normans to beat; - Of traitors they managed to buy land, - By Dane, Saxon, or Pict, Britons ne’er had been lick’d, - Had they stuck to the King of their island. - Poor Harold, the King of the island! - He lost both his life and his island. - That’s very true; what more could he do? - Like a Briton he died for his island! - - The Spanish Armada set out to invade-a, - Quite sure, if they ever came nigh land, - They couldn’t do less than tuck up Queen Bess, - And take their full swing in the island. - O, the poor Queen of the island! - The Dons came to plunder the island; - But, snug in the hive, the Queen was alive, - And buz was the word in the island. - - Those proud puff’d-up cakes thought to make ducks and drakes - Of our wealth; but they hardly could spy land, - When our Drake had the luck to make their pride duck - And stoop to the lads of the island. - Huzza for the lads of the island! - The good wooden walls of the island; - Devil or Don, let ’em come on; - But how would they come _off_ at the island? - - Since Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept tune, - In each saying, ‘This shall be my land’; - Should the ‘Army of England,’ or all they could bring, land, - We’d show ’em some play for the island. - We’ll fight for our right to the island; - We’ll give them enough of the island; - Invaders should just--bite at the dust, - But not a bit more of the island! - - _Thomas Dibdin._ - - -XLIII - -THE MERRY SOLDIER - - ‘Who’ll serve the King?’ cried the sergeant aloud: - Roll went the drum, and the fife played sweetly; - ‘Here, master sergeant,’ said I, from the crowd, - ‘Is a lad who will answer your purpose completely.’ - My father was a corporal, and well he knew his trade, - Of women, wine, and gunpowder, he never was afraid: - He’d march, fight--left, right, - Front flank--centre rank, - Storm the trenches--court the wenches, - Loved the rattle of a battle, - Died with glory--lives in story! - And, like him, I found a soldier’s life, if taken smooth and rough, - A very merry, hey down derry, sort of life enough. - - ‘Hold up your head,’ said the sergeant at drill: - Roll went the drum, and the fife played loudly; - ‘Turn out your toes, sir!’ Says I, ‘Sir, I will,’ - For a nimble-wristed round rattan the sergeant flourished proudly. - My father died when corporal, but I ne’er turned my back, - Till, promoted to the halberd, I was sergeant in a crack. - In sword and sash cut a dash, - Spurr’d and booted, next recruited - Hob and Clod--awkward squad, - Then began my rattan, - When boys unwilling came to drilling; - Till, made the colonel’s orderly, then who but I so bluff, - Led a very merry, hey down derry, sort of life enough. - - ‘Homeward, my lads!’ cried the general.--‘Huzza!’ - Roll went the drum, and the fife played cheer’ly, - To quick time we footed, and sung all the way - ‘Hey for the pretty girls we love so dearly!’ - My father lived with jolly boys in bustle, jars, and strife, - And, like him, being fond of noise, I mean to take a wife - Soon as miss blushes ‘_y-i-s!_’ - Rings, gloves, dears, loves, - Bells ringing, comrades singing, - Honeymoon finished soon, - Scolding, sighing, children crying! - Yet still a wedded life may prove, if taken smooth and rough, - A very merry, hey down derry, sort of life enough. - - _Thomas Dibdin._ - - - - -SOUTHEY - - -XLIV - -THE STANDARD-BEARER OF THE BUFFS - - Steep is the soldier’s path; nor are the heights - Of glory to be won without long toil - And arduous efforts of enduring hope; - Save when Death takes the aspirant by the hand, - And cutting short the work of years, at once - Lifts him to that conspicuous eminence. - Such fate was mine.--The standard of the Buffs - I bore at Albuera, on that day - When, covered by a shower, and fatally - For friends misdeem’d, the Polish lancers fell - Upon our rear. Surrounding me, they claim’d - My precious charge.--‘Not but with life!’ I cried, - And life was given for immortality. - The flag which to my heart I held, when wet - With that heart’s blood, was soon victoriously - Regain’d on that great day. In former times, - Marlborough beheld it borne at Ramilies; - For Brunswick and for liberty it waved - Triumphant at Culloden; and hath seen - The lilies on the Caribbean shores - Abased before it. Then too in the front - Of battle did it flap exultingly, - When Douro, with its wide stream interposed, - Saved not the French invaders from attack, - Discomfiture, and ignominious rout. - My name is Thomas: undisgraced have I - Transmitted it. He who in days to come - May bear the honour’d banner to the field, - Will think of Albuera, and of me. - - _Robert Southey._ - - - - -CAMPBELL - - -XLV - -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. - - _Thomas Campbell._ - - -XLVI - -THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC - - Of Nelson and the North - Sing the glorious day’s renown, - When to battle fierce came forth - All the might of Denmark’s crown, - And her arms along the deep proudly shone; - By each gun the lighted brand - In a bold determined hand, - And the Prince of all the land - Led them on. - - Like leviathans afloat, - Lay their bulwarks on the brine; - While the sign of battle flew - On the lofty British line: - It was ten of April morn by the chime: - As they drifted on their path, - There was silence deep as death; - And the boldest held his breath, - For a time. - - But the might of England flushed - To anticipate the scene; - And her van the fleeter rushed - O’er the deadly space between. - ‘Hearts of oak!’ our captains cried; when each gun - From its adamantine lips - Spread a death-shade round the ships, - Like the hurricane eclipse - Of the sun. - - Again! again! again! - And the havoc did not slack, - Till a feebler cheer the Dane, - To our cheering sent us back;-- - Their shots along the deep slowly boom:-- - Then ceased--and all is wail, - As they strike the shattered sail; - Or, in conflagration pale - Light the goom. - - Now joy, Old England, raise - For the tidings of thy might, - By the festal cities’ blaze, - Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; - And yet amidst that joy and uproar, - Let us think of them that sleep - Full many a fathom deep - By thy wild and stormy steep, - Elsinore! - - _Thomas Campbell._ - - -XLVII - -MEN OF ENGLAND - - Men of England! who inherit - Rights that cost your sires their blood! - Men whose undegenerate spirit - Has been proved on field and flood:-- - - By the foes you’ve fought uncounted, - By the glorious deeds you’ve done, - Trophies captured--breaches mounted, - Navies conquered--kingdoms won! - - Yet, remember, England gathers - Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame, - If the freedom of your fathers - Glow not in your hearts the same. - - What are monuments of bravery, - Where no public virtues bloom? - What avails in lands of slavery, - Trophied temples, arch, and tomb? - - Pageants!--Let the world revere us - For our people’s rights and laws, - And the breasts of civic heroes - Bared in Freedom’s holy cause. - - Yours are Hampden’s, Russell’s glory, - Sidney’s matchless shade is yours,-- - Martyrs in heroic story, - Worth a hundred Agincourts! - - We’re the sons of sires that baffled - Crown’d and mitred tyranny;-- - They defied the field and scaffold - For their birthrights--so will we! - - _Thomas Campbell._ - - - - -CUNNINGHAM - - -XLVIII - -THE BRITISH SAILOR’S SONG - - Away with bayonet and with lance, - With corselet, casque, and sword; - Our island-king no war-horse needs, - For on the sea he’s lord. - His throne’s the war-ship’s lofty deck, - His sceptre is the mast; - His kingdom is the rolling wave, - His servant is the blast. - His anchor’s up, fair Freedom’s flag - Proud to the mast he nails; - Tyrants and conquerors bow your heads, - For there your terror sails. - - I saw fierce Prussia’s chargers stand, - Her children’s sharp swords out;-- - Proud Austria’s bright spurs streaming red - When rose the closing shout; - But soon the steeds rush’d masterless, - By tower, and town, and wood; - For lordly France her fiery youth - Poured o’er them like a flood. - Go, hew the gold spurs from your heels, - And let your steeds run free; - Then come to our unconquered decks, - And learn to reign at sea. - - Behold yon black and batter’d hulk - That slumbers on the tide, - There is no sound from stem to stern, - For peace has pluck’d her pride; - The masts are down, the cannon mute - She shows nor sheet nor sail, - Nor starts forth with the seaward breeze, - Nor answers shout nor hail; - Her merry men, with all their mirth, - Have sought some other shore; - And she with all her glory on, - Shall rule the sea no more. - - So landsmen speak. Lo! her top-masts - Are quivering in the sky; - Her sails are spread, her anchor’s raised, - There sweeps she gallant by. - A thousand warriors fill her decks; - Within her painted side - The thunder sleeps--man’s might has nought - Can match or mar her pride. - In victor glory goes she forth; - Her stainless flag flies free; - Kings of the earth, come and behold - How Britain reigns on sea! - - When on your necks the armèd foot - Of fierce Napoleon trod, - And all was his, save the wide sea, - Where we triumphant rode, - He launched his terror and his strength, - Our sea-born pride to tame; - They came--they got the Nelson-touch, - And vanish’d as they came. - Go, hang your bridles in your halls, - And set your war-steeds free; - The world has one unconquer’d king, - And he reigns on the sea! - - _Allan Cunningham._ - - - - -BYRON - - -XLIX - -ON LEAVING ENGLAND - - Once more upon the waters! Yet once more! - And the waves bound beneath me as a steed - That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar! - Swift be their guidance, wheresoe’er it lead! - Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed, - And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, - Still must I on; for I am as a weed, - Flung from the rock, on Ocean’s foam to sail - Where’er the surge may sweep, the tempest’s breath prevail. - - I’ve taught me other tongues--and in strange eyes - Have made me not a stranger; to the mind - Which is itself, no changes bring surprise; - Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find - A country with--aye, or without mankind; - Yet was I born where men are proud to be,-- - Not without cause; and should I leave behind - The inviolate Island of the sage and free, - And seek me out a home by a remoter sea, - - Perhaps I loved it well; and should I lay - My ashes in a soil which is not mine, - My Spirit shall resume it--if we may - Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine - My hopes of being remembered in my line - With my land’s language: if too fond and far - These aspirations in their scope incline,-- - If my Fame should be, as my fortunes are, - Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar - - My name from out the temple where the dead - Are honoured by the Nations--let it be-- - And light the Laurels on a loftier head! - And be the Spartan’s epitaph on me-- - ‘Sparta hath many a worthier son than he.’ - Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need-- - The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree - I planted,--they have torn me,--and I bleed: - I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. - - _Byron._ - - -L - -THE ISLES OF GREECE - - The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece! - Where burning Sappho loved and sung, - Where grew the arts of war and peace,-- - Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! - Eternal summer gilds them yet, - But all, except their sun, is set. - - The Scian and the Teian muse, - The hero’s harp, the lover’s lute, - Have found the fame your shores refuse; - Their place of birth alone is mute. - To sounds which echo further west - Than your sires’ ‘Islands of the Blest.’ - - The mountains look on Marathon-- - And Marathon looks on the sea; - And musing there an hour alone, - I dream’d that Greece might still be free, - For standing on the Persians’ grave - I could not deem myself a slave. - - A king sate on the rocky brow - Which looks o’er sea-born Salamis; - And ships, by thousands, lay below, - And men in nations;--all were his! - He counted them at break of day-- - And when the sun set where were they? - - And where are they? And where art thou, - My country? On thy voiceless shore - The heroic lay is tuneless now, - The heroic bosom beats no more! - And must thy lyre, so long divine, - Degenerate into hands like mine? - - ’Tis something in the dearth of fame, - Though linked among a fettered race, - To feel at least a patriot’s shame, - Even as I sing, suffuse my face; - For what is left the poet here? - For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear! - - Must _we_ but weep o’er days more blest? - Must _we_ but blush? Our fathers bled. - Earth! render back from out thy breast - A remnant of our Spartan dead! - Of the three hundred grant but three, - To make a new Thermopylæ! - - What, silent still? and silent all? - Ah! no;--the voices of the dead - Sound like a distant torrent’s fall, - And answer, ‘Let one living head, - But one arise,--we come, we come!’ - ’Tis but the living who are dumb. - - In vain--in vain: strike other chords; - Fill high the cup with Samian wine! - Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, - And shed the blood of Scio’s vine! - Hark! rising to the ignoble call-- - How answers each bold Bacchanal! - - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! - Our virgins dance beneath the shade-- - I see their glorious black eyes shine; - But gazing on each glowing maid, - My own the burning tear-drop laves, - To think such breasts must suckle slaves. - - Place me on Sunium’s marbled steep, - Where nothing, save the waves and I - May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; - There, swan-like, let me sing and die: - A land of slaves shall ne’er be mine-- - Dash down yon cup of Samian wine! - - _Byron._ - - -LI - -THE EVE OF WATERLOO - - There was a sound of revelry by night, - And Belgium’s capital had gathered then - Her Beauty and her Chivalry--and bright - The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men; - A thousand hearts beat happily; and when - Music arose with its voluptuous swell, - Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, - And all went merry as a marriage bell; - But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! - - Did ye not hear it?--No--’twas but the wind, - Or the car rattling o’er the stony street; - On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined; - No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet - To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet-- - But, hark!--that heavy sound breaks in once more, - As if the clouds its echo would repeat; - And nearer--clearer--deadlier than before! - Arm! Arm! it is--it is--the cannon’s opening roar! - - Within a windowed niche of that high hall - Sate Brunswick’s fated Chieftain; he did hear - That sound the first amidst the festival, - And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear; - And when they smiled because he deemed it near, - His heart more truly knew that peal too well - Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, - And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; - He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. - - Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro-- - And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, - And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago - Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness-- - And there were sudden partings, such as press - The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs - Which ne’er might be repeated; who could guess - If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, - Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! - - And there was mounting in hot haste--the steed, - The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, - Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, - And swiftly forming in the ranks of war,-- - And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; - And near, the beat of the alarming drum - Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; - While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, - Or whispering, with white lips--‘The foe! They come! they come!’ - - And wild and high the ‘Camerons’ Gathering’ rose! - The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills - Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:-- - How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, - Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills - Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers - With the fierce native daring which instils - The stirring memory of a thousand years, - And Evan’s--Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears! - - And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, - Dewy with Nature’s tear-drops, as they pass-- - Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, - Over the unreturning brave,--alas! - Ere evening to be trodden like the grass - Which now beneath them, but above shall grow - In its next verdure, when this fiery mass - Of living valour rolling on the foe, - And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. - - Last noon beheld them full of lusty life;-- - Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay; - The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, - The morn the marshalling in arms,--the day - Battle’s magnificently-stern array! - The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent - The earth is covered thick with other clay, - Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, - Rider and horse,--friend--foe,--in one red burial blent! - - _Lord Byron._ - - - - -WOLFE - - -LII - -THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE - - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, - As his corse to the ramparts we hurried; - Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot - O’er the grave where our hero we buried. - - We buried him darkly at dead of night, - The sods with our bayonets turning, - By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light, - And the lantern dimly burning. - - No useless coffin enclosed his breast, - Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; - But he lay like a warrior taking his rest - With his martial cloak around him. - - Few and short were the prayers we said, - And we spoke not a word of sorrow; - But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, - And we bitterly thought of the morrow. - - We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed - And smoothed down his lonely pillow, - How the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head, - And we far away on the billow! - - Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone, - And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him, - But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on - In the grave where a Briton has laid him. - - But half of our heavy task was done, - When the clock struck the hour for retiring; - And we heard the distant and random gun - That the foe was sullenly firing. - - Slowly and sadly we laid him down, - From the field of his fame fresh and gory; - We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone-- - But we left him alone with his glory. - - _Charles Wolfe._ - - - - -HEMANS - - -LIII - -THE BENDED BOW - - There was heard the sound of a coming foe, - There was sent through Britain a bended bow; - And a voice was pour’d on the free winds far, - As the land rose up at the sign of war. - - ‘Heard you not the battle horn?-- - Reaper! leave thy golden corn! - Leave it for the birds of heaven, - Swords must flash, and spears be riven! - Leave it for the winds to shed-- - Arm! ere Britain’s turf grow red!’ - - And the reaper arm’d, like a freeman’s son; - And the bended bow and the voice passed on. - - ‘Hunter! leave the mountain-chase! - Take the falchion from its place! - Let the wolf go free to-day, - Leave him for a nobler prey! - Let the deer ungall’d sweep by,-- - Arm thee! Britain’s foes are nigh!’ - - And the hunter arm’d ere the chase was done; - And the bended bow and the voice passed on. - - ‘Chieftain! quit the joyous feast! - Stay not till the song hath ceased: - Though the mead be foaming bright, - Though the fires give ruddy light, - Leave the hearth, and leave the hall-- - Arm thee! Britain’s foes must fall.’ - - And the chieftain arm’d, and the horn was blown; - And the bended bow and the voice passed on. - - ‘Prince! thy father’s deeds are told, - In the bower, and in the hold! - Where the goatherd’s lay is sung, - Where the minstrel’s harp is strung, - Foes are on thy native sea-- - Give our bards a tale of thee!’ - - And the prince came arm’d, like a leader’s son; - And the bended bow and the voice passed on. - - ‘Mother! stay not thou thy boy! - He must learn the battle’s joy, - Sister bring the sword and spear, - Give thy brother words of cheer! - Maiden! bid thy lover part, - Britain calls the strong in heart!’ - - And the bended bow and the voice passed on; - And the bards made song for a battle won. - - _Felicia Hemans._ - - -LIV - -ENGLAND’S DEAD - - Son of the Ocean Isle! - Where sleep your mighty dead? - Show me what high and stately pile - Is reared o’er Glory’s bed. - - Go, stranger! track the deep-- - Free, free the white sail spread! - Wave may not foam, not wild wind sweep, - Where rest not England’s dead. - - On Egypt’s burning plains, - By the pyramid o’erswayed, - With fearful power the noonday reigns, - And the palm trees yield no shade; - - But let the angry sun - From heaven look fiercely red, - Unfelt by those whose task is done!-- - There slumber England’s dead. - - The hurricane hath might - Along the Indian shore, - And far by Ganges’ banks at night - Is heard the tiger’s roar;-- - - But let the sound roll on! - It hath no tone of dread - For those that from their toils are gone,-- - There slumber England’s dead. - - Loud rush the torrent floods - The western wilds among, - And free in green Columbia’s woods - The hunter’s bow is strung;-- - - But let the floods rush on! - Let the arrow’s flight be sped! - Why should they reck whose task is done?-- - There slumber England’s dead. - - The mountain-storms rise high - In the snowy Pyrenees, - And toss the pine-boughs through the sky - Like rose-leaves on the breeze;-- - - But let the storm rage on! - Let the fresh wreaths be shed! - For the Roncesvalles’ field is won,-- - There slumber England’s dead. - - On the frozen deep’s repose - ’Tis a dark and dreadful hour, - When round the ship the ice-fields close, - And the northern night-clouds lour;-- - - But let the ice drift on! - Let the cold-blue desert spread! - Their course with mast and flag is done,-- - Even there sleep England’s dead. - - The war-like of the isles, - The men of field and wave! - Are not the rocks their funeral piles, - The seas and shores their grave? - - Go, stranger! track the deep-- - Free, free the white sail spread! - Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, - Where rest not England’s dead. - - _Felicia Hemans._ - - - - -MACAULAY - - -LV - -THE ARMADA - - Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England’s praise; - I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, - When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain - The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain. - It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, - There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay; - Her crew hath seen Castile’s black fleet, beyond Aurigny’s isle, - At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. - At sunrise she escaped their van, by God’s especial grace; - And the tall _Pinta_, till the noon, had held her close in chase. - Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall; - The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe’s lofty hall; - Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast, - And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post. - With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes; - Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums; - His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space; - For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace. - And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, - As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells. - Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, - And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down! - So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field, - Bohemia’s plume, and Genoa’s bow, and Cæsar’s eagle shield. - So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay, - And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay. - Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight: ho! scatter flowers, - fair maids: - Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your blades: - Thou sun, shine on her joyously: ye breezes, waft her wide; - Our glorious SEMPER EADEM, the banner of our pride. - - The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner’s massy fold; - The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold; - Night sank upon the dusky beach and on the purple sea, - Such night in England ne’er had been, nor e’er again shall be. - From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay, - That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; - For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread, - High on St. Michael’s Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head. - Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, - Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire. - The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar’s glittering waves: - The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip’s sunless caves! - O’er Longleat’s towers, o’er Cranbourne’s oaks, the fiery - herald flew: - He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu. - Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town, - And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down; - The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night; - And saw o’erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light: - Then bugle’s note and cannon’s roar the death-like silence broke, - And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke. - At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires; - At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires; - From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear; - And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer; - And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet, - And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each - roaring street; - And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, - As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in. - And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went, - And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent. - Southward from Surrey’s pleasant hills flew those bright couriers - forth; - High on bleak Hampstead’s swarthy moor they started for the north; - And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still: - All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from - hill to hill: - Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o’er Darwin’s rocky dales, - Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales, - Till twelve fair Counties saw the blaze on Malvern’s lonely height, - Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin’s crest of light, - Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely’s stately fane, - And tower and hamlet rose in arms o’er all the boundless plain; - Till Belvoir’s lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, - And Lincoln sped the message on o’er the wide vale of Trent; - Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt’s embattled pile, - And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle. - - _Macaulay._ - - -LVI - -A JACOBITE’S EPITAPH - - To my true king I offered free from stain - Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain. - For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth, away, - And one dear hope, that was more prized than they. - For him I languished in a foreign clime, - Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood’s prime; - Heard on Lavernia Scargill’s whispering trees, - And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees; - Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep, - Each morning started from the dream to weep; - Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave - The resting-place I asked--an early grave. - O thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone, - From that proud country which was once mine own, - By those white cliffs I never more must see, - By that dear language which I speak like thee, - Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear - O’er English dust. A broken heart lies here. - - _Lord Macaulay._ - - - - -TRENCH - - -LVII - -THE TASK - - Yes, let us own it in confession free, - That when we girt ourselves to quell the wrong, - We deemed it not so giant-like and strong, - But it with our slight effort thought to see - Pushed from its base; yea, almost deemed that we, - Champions of right, might be excused the price - Of pain, and loss, and large self-sacrifice, - Set ever on high things by Heav’n’s decree. - What if this work’s great hardness was concealed - From us, until so far upon our way - That no escape remained us, no retreat,-- - Lest, being at an earlier hour revealed, - We might have shrunk too weakly from the heat, - And shunned the burden of this fiery day? - - _Richard Chenevix Trench._ - - -LVIII - -THE UNFORGOTTEN - - Whom for thy race of heroes wilt thou own, - And, England, who shall be thy joy, thy pride? - As thou art just, oh then not those alone - Who nobly conquering lived, or conquering died. - - Then also in thy roll of heroes write, - For well they earned what best thou canst bestow, - Who being girt and armèd for the fight, - Yielded their arms, but to no mortal foe. - - Far off they pined on fever-stricken coast, - Or sank in sudden arms of painful death; - And faces which their eyes desired the most, - They saw not, as they drew their parting breath. - - Sad doom, to know a mighty work in hand, - Which shall from all the ages honour win; - Upon the threshold of this work to stand, - Arrested there, while others enter in. - - And this was theirs; they saw their fellows bound - To fields of fame which they might never share; - And all the while within their own hearts found - A strength that was not less, to do and dare: - - But knew that never, never with their peers, - They should salute some grand day’s glorious close, - The shout of triumph ringing in their ears, - The light of battle shining on their brows. - - Sad doom;--yet say not Heaven to them assigned - A lot from all of glory quite estranged: - Albeit the laurel which they hoped to bind - About their brows for cypress wreath was changed. - - Heaven gave to them a glory stern, austere, - A glory of all earthly glory shorn; - With firm heart to accept fate’s gift severe, - Bravely to bear the thing that must be borne; - - To see such visions fade and turn to nought, - And in this saddest issue to consent; - If only the great work were duly wrought, - That others should accomplish it, content. - - Then as thou wouldst thyself continue great, - Keep a true eye for what is great indeed; - Nor know it only in its lofty state - And victor’s robes, but in its lowliest weed. - - And now, and when this dreadful work is done, - England, be these too thy delight and pride; - Wear them as near thy heart as any one - Of all who conquering lived, or conquering died. - - _Richard Chenevix Trench._ - - - - -BROWNING - - -LIX - -THE FORCED RECRUIT - -(_Solferino, 1859_) - - In the ranks of the Austrian you found him, - He died with his face to you all; - Yet bury him here where around him - You honour your bravest that fall. - - Venetian, fair-featured and slender, - He lies shot to death in his youth, - With a smile on his lips over-tender - For any mere soldier’s dead mouth. - - No stranger, and yet not a traitor, - Though alien the cloth on his breast, - Underneath it how seldom a greater - Young heart has a shot sent to rest! - - By your enemy tortured and goaded - To march with them, stand in their file, - His musket (see) never was loaded, - He facing your guns with that smile! - - As orphans yearn on to their mothers, - He yearned to your patriot bands;-- - Let me die for our Italy, brothers, - If not in your ranks, by your hands! - - ‘Aim straightly, fire steadily! spare me - A ball in the body which may - Deliver my heart here, and tear me - This badge of the Austrian away!’ - - So thought he, so died he this morning. - What then? Many others have died. - Ay, but easy for men to die scorning - The death-stroke, who fought side by side-- - - One tricolor floating above them; - Struck down ’mid triumphant acclaims - Of an Italy rescued to love them - And blazen the brass with their names. - - But he,--without witness or honour, - Mixed, shamed in his country’s regard, - With the tyrants who march in upon her, - Died faithful and passive: ’twas hard. - - ’Twas sublime. In a cruel restriction - Cut off from the guerdon of sons, - With most filial obedience, conviction, - His soul kissed the lips of her guns. - - That moves you? Nay, grudge not to show it, - While digging a grave for him here: - The others who died, says your poet, - Have glory,--let _him_ have a tear. - - _Elizabeth Barrett Browning._ - - - - -TENNYSON - - -LX - -THE ANSWER - - You ask me, why, tho’ ill at ease, - Within this region I subsist, - Whose spirits falter in the mist, - And languish for the purple seas. - - It is the land that freemen till, - That sober-suited Freedom chose, - The land, where girt with friends or foes - A man may speak the thing he will; - - A land of settled government, - A land of just and old renown, - Where Freedom slowly broadens down - From precedent to precedent: - - Where faction seldom gathers head, - But by degrees to fulness wrought, - The strength of some diffusive thought - Hath time and space to work and spread. - - Should banded unions persecute - Opinion, and induce a time - When single thought is civil crime, - And individual freedom mute; - - Tho’ Power should make from land to land - The name of Britain trebly great-- - Tho’ every channel of the State - Should fill and choke with golden sand-- - - Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth, - Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky, - And I will see before I die - The palms and temples of the South. - - _Tennyson._ - - -LXI - -FREEDOM - - Of old sat Freedom on the heights, - The thunders breaking at her feet: - Above her shook the starry lights: - She heard the torrents meet. - - There in her place she did rejoice, - Self-gather’d in her prophet mind, - But fragments of her mighty voice - Came rolling on the wind. - - Then stept she down thro’ town and field - To mingle with the human race, - And part by part to men reveal’d - The fullness of her face-- - - Grave mother of majestic works, - From her isle-altar gazing down, - Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks, - And, King-like, wears the crown: - - Her open eyes desire the truth. - The wisdom of a thousand years - Is in them. May perpetual youth - Keep dry their light from tears; - - That her fair form may stand and shine, - Make bright our days and light our dreams, - Turning to scorn with lips divine - The falsehood of extremes! - - _Tennyson._ - - -LXII - -BATTLE SONG - - Thy voice is heard thro’ rolling drums, - That beat to battle where he stands; - Thy face across his fancy comes, - And gives the battle to his hands: - A moment, while the trumpets blow, - He sees his brood about thy knee; - The next, like fire he meets the foe, - And strikes him dead for thine and thee. - - _Tennyson._ - - -LXIII - -VICTORIA’S REIGN - - Her court was pure; her life serene; - God gave her peace; her land reposed; - A thousand claims to reverence closed - In her as Mother, Wife, and Queen; - - And statesmen at her council met - Who knew the seasons when to take - Occasion by the hand, and make - The bounds of freedom wider yet - - By shaping some august decree, - Which kept her throne unshaken still, - Broad-based upon her people’s will, - And compass’d by the inviolate sea. - - _Tennyson._ - - -LXIV - -HANDS ALL ROUND - - First pledge our Queen this solemn night, - Then drink to England, every guest; - That man’s the best Cosmopolite - Who loves his native country best. - May freedom’s oak for ever live - With stronger life from day to day; - That man’s the true Conservative - Who lops the mouldered branch away. - Hands all round! - God the traitor’s hope confound! - To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends, - And the great name of England, round and round. - - To all the loyal hearts who long - To keep our English Empire whole! - To all our noble sons, the strong - New England of the Southern Pole! - To England under Indian skies, - To those dark millions of her realm! - To Canada whom we love and prize, - Whatever statesman hold the helm. - Hands all round! - God the traitor’s hope confound! - To this great name of England drink, my friends, - And all her glorious Empire round and round. - - To all our statesmen so they be - True leaders of the land’s desire! - To both our Houses, may they see - Beyond the borough and the shire! - We sail’d wherever ship could sail, - We founded many a mighty state; - Pray God our greatness may not fail - Thro’ craven fears of being great. - Hands all round! - God the traitor’s hope confound! - To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends, - And the great name of England, round and round. - - _Tennyson._ - - -LXV - -BRITONS, HOLD YOUR OWN! - - Britain fought her sons of yore-- - Britain fail’d; and never more, - Careless of our growing kin, - Shall we sin our fathers’ sin, - Men that in a narrower day-- - Unprophetic rulers they-- - Drove from out the mother’s nest - That young eagle of the West - To forage for herself alone; - Britons, hold your own! - - Sharers of our glorious past, - Brothers, must we part at last? - Shall we not thro’ good and ill - Cleave to one another still? - Britain’s myriad voices call, - ‘Sons, be wedded each and all, - Into one imperial whole, - One with Britain, heart and soul! - One life, one flag, one fleet, one Throne! - Britons, hold your own!’ - - _Tennyson._ - - -LXVI - -WELLINGTON AT ST. PAUL’S - - Who is he that cometh, like an honour’d guest, - With banner and with music, with soldier and with priest, - With a nation weeping, and breaking on my rest? - Mighty Seaman, this is he - Was great by land as thou by sea. - Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man, - The greatest sailor since our world began. - Now to the roll of muffled drums, - To thee the greatest soldier comes; - For this is he - Was great by land as thou by sea; - His foes were thine; he kept us free; - O give him welcome, this is he - Worthy of our gorgeous rites, - And worthy to be laid by thee; - For this is England’s greatest son, - He that gained a hundred fights, - Nor ever lost an English gun. - - Mighty Seaman, tender and true, - And pure as he from taint of craven guile, - O saviour of the silver-coasted isle, - O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile, - If aught of things that here befall - Touch a spirit among things divine, - If love of country move thee there at all, - Be glad, because his bones are laid by thine! - And thro’ the centuries let a people’s voice - In full acclaim, - A people’s voice, - The proof and echo of all human fame, - A people’s voice, when they rejoice - At civic revel and pomp and game, - Attest their great commander’s claim - With honour, honour, honour, honour to him, - Eternal honour to his name. - - A people’s voice! we are a people yet. - Tho’ all men else their nobler dreams forget, - Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers; - Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set - His Briton in blown seas and storming showers, - We have a voice, with which to pay the debt - Of boundless love and reverence and regret - To those great men who fought, and kept it ours. - And keep it ours, O God, from brute control; - O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul - Of Europe, keep our noble England whole, - And save the one true seed of freedom sown, - Betwixt a people and their ancient throne, - That sober freedom out of which there springs - Our loyal passion for our temperate kings; - For, saving that, ye help to save mankind - Till public wrong be crumbled into dust, - And drill the raw world for the march of mind, - Till crowds at length be sane and crowns be just. - - Not once or twice in our fair island-story, - The path of duty was the way to glory: - He that ever following her commands, - On with toil of heart and knees and hands, - Thro’ the long gorge to the far light has won - His path upward, and prevail’d, - Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled - Are close upon the shining table-lands - To which our God Himself is moon and sun. - - Hush! the Dead March wails in the people’s ears: - The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears: - The black earth yawns: the mortal disappears; - Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; - He is gone who seem’d so great.-- - Gone; but nothing can bereave him - Of the force he made his own - Being here, and we believe him - Something far advanced in State, - And that he wears a truer crown - Than any wreath that man can weave him. - - Speak no more of his renown, - Lay your earthly fancies down, - And in the vast cathedral leave him! - God accept him, Christ receive him! - - _Tennyson._ - - -LXVII - -THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE - - Half a league, half a league, - Half a league onward, - All in the valley of Death - Rode the six hundred. - ‘Forward, the Light Brigade! - Charge for the guns!’ he said: - Into the valley of Death - Rode the six hundred. - - ‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’ - Was there a man dismay’d? - Not tho’ the soldier knew - Some one had blunder’d: - Their’s not to make reply, - Their’s not to reason why, - Their’s but to do and die: - Into the valley of Death - Rode the six hundred. - - Cannon to right of them, - Cannon to left of them, - Cannon in front of them - Volley’d and thunder’d; - Storm’d at with shot and shell, - Boldly they rode and well, - Into the jaws of Death, - Into the mouth of Hell - Rode the six hundred. - - Flash’d all their sabres bare, - Flash’d as they turn’d in air - Sabring the gunners there, - Charging an army, while - All the world wonder’d: - Plunged in the battery-smoke - Right thro’ the line they broke; - Cossack and Russian - Reel’d from the sabre-stroke - Shatter’d and sunder’d. - Then they rode back, but not - Not the six hundred. - - Cannon to right of them, - Cannon to left of them, - Cannon behind them - Volley’d and thunder’d; - Storm’d at with shot and shell, - While horse and hero fell, - They that had fought so well - Came thro’ the jaws of Death, - Back from the mouth of Hell, - All that was left of them, - Left of six hundred. - - When can their glory fade? - O the wild charge they made! - All the world wonder’d. - Honour the charge they made! - Honour the Light Brigade, - Noble six hundred! - - _Tennyson._ - - -LXVIII - -THE USE OF WAR - - Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? We have made - them a curse, - Pickpockets, each hand lusting for all that is not its own; - And lust of gain, in the spirit of Cain, is it better or worse - Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on his own - hearthstone? - - Peace sitting under her olive, and slurring the days gone by, - When the poor are hovell’d and hustled together, each sex, - like swine, - When only the ledger lives, and when only not all men lie; - Peace in her vineyard--yes!--but a company forges the wine. - - And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian’s head, - And the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife, - And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for bread, - And the spirit of murder works in the very means of life, - When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee, - And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children’s bones, - Is it peace or war? better, war! loud war by land and sea, - War with a thousand battles, and shaking a hundred thrones. - - For I trust if an enemy’s fleet came yonder round by the hill - And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out - of the foam, - That the smooth-faced snub-nosed rogue would leap from his - counter and till, - And strike, if he could, were it but with his cheating yard-wand, - home! - - _Lord Tennyson._ - - - - -DOYLE - - -LXIX - -THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS - - Last night, among his fellow roughs, - He jested, quaffed, and swore; - A drunken private of the Buffs, - Who never looked before. - To-day, beneath the foeman’s frown, - He stands in Elgin’s place, - Ambassador from Britain’s crown, - And type of all her race. - - Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught, - Bewildered, and alone, - A heart, with English instinct fraught, - He yet can call his own. - Ay, tear his body limb from limb, - Bring cord, or axe, or flame: - He only knows, that not through _him_ - Shall England come to shame. - - Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed, - Like dreams, to come and go; - Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed, - One sheet of living snow; - The smoke, above his father’s door, - In grey soft eddyings hung: - Must he then watch it rise no more, - Doomed by himself, so young? - - Yes, honour calls!--with strength like steel - He put the vision by. - Let dusky Indians whine and kneel; - An English lad must die. - And thus, with eyes that would not shrink, - With knee to man unbent, - Unfaltering on its dreadful brink, - To his red grave he went. - - Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed; - Vain, those all-shattering guns; - Unless proud England keep, untamed, - The strong heart of her sons. - So, let his name through Europe ring-- - A man of mean estate, - Who died, as firm as Sparta’s king, - Because his soul was great. - - _Sir Francis Hastings Doyle._ - - - - -BROWNING - - -LXX - -HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD - - O, to be in England, - Now that April’s there, - And whoever wakes in England - Sees, some morning, unaware, - That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf, - Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, - While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough - In England--now! - And after April, when May follows, - And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows-- - Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge - Leans to the field and scatters on the clover - Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray’s edge-- - That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, - Lest you should think he never could recapture - The first fine careless rapture! - And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, - All will be gay when noontide wakes anew - The buttercups, the little children’s dower, - --Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! - - _Robert Browning._ - - -LXXI - -HOME THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA - - Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-West died away; - Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; - Bluish ’mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; - In the dimmest North-East distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey; - ‘Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?’--say, - Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, - While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. - - _Robert Browning._ - - - - -MACKAY - - -LXXII - -A SONG OF ENGLAND - - There’s a land, a dear land, where the rights of the free, - Though firm as the earth are as wide as the sea; - Where the primroses bloom, and the nightingales sing, - And the honest poor man is as good as a king. - Showery! Flowery! - Tearful! Cheerful! - England, wave-guarded and green to the shore! - West Land! Best Land! - Thy Land! My Land! - Glory be with her, and Peace evermore! - - There’s a land, a dear land, where our vigour of soul, - Is fed by the tempests that blow from the Pole; - Where a slave cannot breathe, or invader presume, - To ask for more earth than will cover his tomb. - Sea Land! Free Land! - Fairest! Rarest! - Home of brave men, and the girls they adore! - Fearless! Peerless! - Thy Land! My Land! - Glory be with her, and Peace evermore! - - _Charles Mackay._ - - - - -CLOUGH - - -LXXIII - -GREEN FIELDS OF ENGLAND - - Green fields of England! wheresoe’er - Across this watery waste we fare, - One image at our hearts we bear, - Green fields of England everywhere. - - Sweet eyes in England, I must flee - Past where the waves’ last confines be, - Ere your loved smile I cease to see, - Sweet eyes in England, dear to me! - - Dear home in England, safe and fast - If but in thee my lot lie cast, - The past shall seem a nothing past - To thee, dear home, if won at last; - Dear home in England, won at last! - - _Arthur Hugh Clough._ - - -LXXIV - -THE RALLY - - Say not the struggle naught availeth, - The labour and the wounds are vain, - The enemy faints not, nor faileth, - And as things have been they remain. - - If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; - It may be, in yon smoke conceal’d, - Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers, - And, but for you, possess the field. - - For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, - Seem here no painful inch to gain, - Far back, through creeks and inlets making, - Comes silent, flooding in, the main. - - And not by eastern windows only, - When daylight comes, comes in the light; - In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly! - But westward, look, the land is bright! - - _Arthur Hugh Clough._ - - - - -KINGSLEY - - -LXXV - -ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND - - Welcome, wild North-Easter! - Shame it is to see - Odes to every zephyr; - Ne’er a verse to thee. - Welcome, black North-Easter! - O’er the German foam; - O’er the Danish moorlands, - From thy frozen home. - Tired we are of summer, - Tired of gaudy glare, - Showers soft and steaming, - Hot and breathless air. - Tired of listless dreaming, - Through the lazy day: - Jovial wind of winter, - Turn us out to play! - Sweep the golden reed-beds; - Crisp the lazy dyke; - Hunger into madness - Every plunging pike. - Fill the lake with wild-fowl; - Fill the marsh with snipe; - While on dreary moorlands - Lonely curlew pipe. - Through the black fir-forest - Thunder harsh and dry, - Shattering down the snow-flakes - Off the curdled sky. - Hark! the brave North-Easter! - Breast-high lies the scent, - On by holt and headland, - Over heath and bent! - Chime, ye dappled darlings, - Through the sleet and snow. - Who can override you? - Let the horses go! - Chime, ye dappled darlings, - Down the roaring blast; - You shall see a fox die - Ere an hour be past. - Go! and rest to-morrow, - Hunting in your dreams, - While our skates are ringing - O’er the frozen streams. - Let the luscious South-wind - Breathe in lovers’ sighs, - While the lazy gallants - Bask in ladies’ eyes. - What does he but soften - Heart alike and pen? - ’Tis the hard grey weather - Breeds hard Englishmen. - What’s the soft South-Wester? - ’Tis the ladies’ breeze, - Bringing home their true loves - Out of all the seas: - But the black North-Easter, - Through the snow-storms hurled, - Drives our English hearts of oak - Seaward round the world. - Come, as came our fathers, - Heralded by thee, - Conquering from the eastward, - Lords by land and sea. - Come; and strong within us - Stir the Vikings’ blood; - Bracing brain and sinew; - Blow, thou wind of God! - - _Charles Kingsley._ - - - - -YULE - - -LXXVI - -THE _BIRKENHEAD_ - - Amid the loud ebriety of War, - With shouts of ‘La République’ and ‘La Gloire,’ - The _Vengeur’s_ crew, ’twas said, with flying flag - And broadside blazing level with the wave - Went down erect, defiant, to their grave - Beneath the sea! ’Twas but a Frenchman’s brag, - Yet Europe rang with it for many a year. - Now we recount no fable; Europe, hear! - And when they tell thee ‘England is a fen - ‘Corrupt, a kingdom tottering to decay, - ‘Her nerveless burghers lying an easy prey - ‘For the first comer,’ tell how the other day - A crew of half a thousand Englishmen - Went down into the deep in Simon’s Bay! - - Not with the cheer of battle in the throat, - Or cannon-glare and din to stir their blood, - But, roused from dreams of home to find their boat - Fast sinking, mustered on the deck they stood, - Biding God’s pleasure and their chief’s command. - Calm was the sea, but not less calm that band - Close ranged upon the poop, with bated breath - But flinching not though eye to eye with Death! - - Heroes! Who were those heroes? Veterans steeled - To face the King of Terrors ’mid the scaith - Of many a hurricane and trenchèd field? - Far other: weavers from the stocking-frame; - Boys from the plough; cornets with beardless chin, - But steeped in honour and in discipline! - - Weep, Britain, for the Cape whose ill-starred name, - Long since divorced from Hope suggests but shame, - Disaster, and thy captains held at bay - By naked hordes; but as thou weepest, thank - Heaven for those undegenerate sons who sank - Aboard the _Birkenhead_ in Simon’s Bay! - - _Sir Henry Yule._ - - - - -CORY - - -LXXVII - -SCHOOL FENCIBLES - - We come in arms, we stand ten score, - Embattled on the Castle green; - We grasp our firelocks tight, for war - Is threatening, and we see our Queen. - And ‘Will the churls last out till we - Have duly hardened bones and thews - For scouring leagues of swamp and sea - Of braggart mobs and corsair crews?’ - We ask; we fear not scoff or smile - At meek attire of blue and grey, - For the proud wrath that thrills our isle - Gives faith and force to this array. - So great a charm is England’s right, - That hearts enlarged together flow, - And each man rises up a knight - To work the evil-thinker’s woe. - And, girt with ancient truth and grace, - We do our service and our suit, - And each can be, whate’er his race, - A Chandos or a Montacute. - Thou, Mistress, whom we serve to-day, - Bless the real swords that we shall wield, - Repeat the call we now obey - In sunset lands, on some fair field. - Thy flag shall make some Huron rock - As dear to us as Windsor’s keep, - And arms thy Thames hath nerved shall mock - The surgings of th’ Ontarian deep. - The stately music of thy Guards, - Which times our march beneath thy ken, - Shall sound, with spells of sacred bards, - From heart to heart, when we are men. - And when we bleed on alien earth, - We’ll call to mind how cheers of ours - Proclaimed a loud uncourtly mirth - Amongst thy glowing orange bowers. - And if for England’s sake we fall, - So be it, so thy cross be won, - Fixed by kind hands on silvered pall, - And worn in death, for duty done. - Ah! thus we fondle Death, the soldier’s mate, - Blending his image with the hopes of youth - To hallow all; meanwhile the hidden fate - Chills not our fancies with the iron truth. - Death from afar we call, and Death is here, - To choose out him who wears the loftiest mien; - And Grief, the cruel lord who knows no peer, - Breaks through the shield of love to pierce our Queen. - - _William Cory._ - - - - -HOW - - -LXXVIII - -A NATIONAL HYMN - - To Thee, our God, we fly - For mercy and for grace; - O hear our lowly cry, - And hide not Thou Thy face! - O Lord, stretch forth Thy mighty hand, - And guard and bless our Fatherland! - - Arise, O Lord of Hosts! - Be jealous for Thy Name, - And drive from out our coasts - The sins that put to shame! - O Lord, stretch forth Thy mighty hand, - And guard and bless our Fatherland! - - The powers ordained by Thee - With heavenly wisdom bless, - May they Thy servants be, - And rule in righteousness! - O Lord, stretch forth Thy mighty hand, - And guard and bless our Fatherland! - - Though vile and worthless, still, - Thy people, Lord, are we; - And for our God we will - None other have but Thee. - O Lord, stretch forth Thy mighty hand, - And guard and bless our Fatherland! - - _William Walsham How._ - - - - - INGRAM - - - LXXIX - - A NATION’S WEALTH - - O England, thou hast many a precious dower; - But of all treasures it is thine to claim, - Prize most the memory of each sainted name, - That in thy realm, in field or hall or bower - Hath wrought high deeds or utter’d words of power-- - Unselfish warrior, without fear or blame-- - Statesman, with sleepless watch and steadfast aim - Holding his country’s helm in perilous hour-- - Poet, whose heart is with us to this day - Embalm’d in song--or Priest, who by the ark - Of faith stood firm in troublous times and dark. - Call them not dead, my England! such as they - Not _were_ but _are_; within us each survives, - And lives an endless life in others’ lives. - - _John Kells Ingram._ - - - - -LUSHINGTON - - -LXXX - -THE MUSTER OF THE GUARDS - -(1854) - - Lying here awake, I hear the watchman’s warning-- - ‘Past four o’clock’--on this February morning; - Hark! what is that?--there swells a joyous shiver - Borne down the wind o’er the voices of the river; - O’er the lordly waters flowing, ’tis the martial trumpets blowing, - ’Tis the Grenadier Guards a-going--marching to the war. - - Yes--there they go, through the February morning, - To where the engine whistles its shrill and solemn warning; - And the dull hoarse roar of the multitudes that cheer - Falls ever and anon with a faint crash on the ear; - ’Mid the tears of wives and mothers, and the prayers of many others, - And the cheers of their brothers, they are marching to the war. - - Cheer, boys, cheer! till you crack a thousand throats; - Cheer, boys, cheer! to the merry music’s notes; - Let the girls they leave behind them wave handkerchiefs and scarfs, - Let the hearty farewell ring through the echoing streets - and wharfs; - Come--volley out your holloas--come, cheer the gallant fellows, - The gallant and good fellows, marching to the war. - - Bridge of Waterloo!--let the span of each proud arch - Spring to the feet of the soldiers as they march; - For the last time they went forth, your glorious name was borne - Where the bullets rained like hail among the summer corn: - Ah! we’ll not forget too soon the great Eighteenth of June, - While the British Grenadier’s tune strikes up gaily for the war. - - Bridge of Waterloo!--accept the happy omen, - For the staunchest friends are wrought out of the bravest foemen: - Guards of Waterloo!--the troops whose brunt you bore - Shall stand at your right hand upon the Danube’s shore; - And Trafalgar’s flags shall ride on the tall masts, side by side, - O’er the Black Sea and the Baltic, to sweep the waves of war. - - Die, die away, o’er the bridge and up the street, - Shiver of their music, echo of their feet: - Dawn upon the darkness, chilly day and pale; - Steady rolling engine, flash along the rail; - For the good ship waits in port, with her tackle trim and taut, - And her ready funnels snort, till she bear them to the war. - - Far, far away, they are bound across the billow, - Where the Russian sleeps uneasy on his last plundered pillow; - Where the Cross is stained with fraud by the giant evil-doer, - And the pale Crescent shines with a steady light and pure; - And their coats will be dim with dust, and their bayonets - brown with rust, - Ere they conquer, as we trust, in the mighty game of war. - - Peace, peace, peace, with the vain and silly song, - That we do no sin ourselves, if we wink at others’ wrong; - That to turn the second cheek is _the_ lesson of the Cross, - To be proved by calculation of the profit and the loss: - Go home, you idle teachers! you miserable creatures! - The cannons are God’s preachers, when the time is ripe for war. - - Peace is no peace, if it lets the ill grow stronger, - Merely cheating destiny a very little longer; - War, with its agonies, its horrors, and its crimes; - Is cheaper if discounted and taken up betimes: - When the weeds of wrath are rank, you must plough the poisoned bank, - Sow and reap the crop of Peace with the implements of war. - - God, defend the right, and those that dare to claim it! - God, cleanse the earth from the many wrongs that shame it! - Give peace in our time, but not the peace of trembling, - Won by true strength, not cowardly dissembling; - Let us see in pride returning, as we send them forth in yearning, - Our Grenadier Guards from earning the trophies of the war. - - _Sir Franklin Lushington._ - - - - -PALGRAVE - - -LXXXI - -ALFRED THE GREAT - - The Isle of Roses in her Lindian shrine, - Athena’s dwelling, gleam’d with golden song - Of Pindar, set in gold the walls along, - Blazoning the praise of Héraclés divine. - --O Poets, who for us have wrought the mine - Of old Romance, illusive pearl and gold, - Its star-fair maids, knights of heroic mould, - Ye lend the rays that on their features shine, - - Ideal strength and beauty:--But O thou - Fair Truth!--to thee with deeper faith we bow; - Knowing thy genuine heroes bring with them - Their more than poetry. From these we learn - What men can be. By their own light they burn - As in far heavens the Pleiad diadem. - - The fair-hair’d boy is at his mother’s knee, - A many-colour’d page before them spread, - Gay summer harvest-field of gold and red, - With lines and staves of ancient minstrelsy. - But through her eyes alone the child can see, - From her sweet lips partake the words of song, - And looks as one who feels a hidden wrong, - Or gazes on some feat of gramarye. - - ‘When thou canst use it, thine the book!’ she cried: - He blush’d, and clasp’d it to his breast with pride:-- - ‘Unkingly task!’ his comrades cry; in vain; - All work ennobles nobleness, all art, - He sees; head governs hand; and in his heart - All knowledge for his province he has ta’en. - - Few the bright days, and brief the fruitful rest, - As summer-clouds that o’er the valley flit:-- - To other tasks his genius he must fit; - The Dane is in the land, uneasy guest!--O - sacred Athelney, from pagan quest - Secure, sole haven for the faithful boy - Waiting God’s issue with heroic joy - And unrelaxing purpose in the breast! - - The Dragon and the Raven, inch by inch, - For England fight; nor Dane nor Saxon flinch; - Then Alfred strikes his blow; the realm is free:-- - He, changing at the font his foe to friend, - Yields for the time, to gain the far-off end, - By moderation doubling victory. - - O much-vex’d life, for us too short, too dear! - The laggard body lame behind the soul; - Pain, that ne’er marr’d the mind’s serene control; - Breathing on earth heaven’s æther atmosphere, - God with thee, and the love that casts out fear! - O soul in life’s salt ocean guarding sure - The freshness of youth’s fountain sweet and pure, - And to all natural impulse crystal-clear:-- - - To service or command, to low and high - Equal at once in magnanimity, - The Great by right divine thou only art! - Fair star, that crowns the front of England’s morn, - Royal with Nature’s royalty inborn, - And English to the very heart of heart! - - _Francis Turner Palgrave._ - - -LXXXII - -TRAFALGAR - - _Heard ye the thunder of battle - Low in the South and afar? - Saw ye the flash of the death-cloud - Crimson o’er Trafalgar? - Such another day never - England will look on again, - When the battle fought was the hottest, - And the hero of heroes was slain!_ - - For the fleet of France and the force of Spain were gather’d - for fight, - A greater than Philip their lord, a new Armada in might:-- - And the sails were aloft once more in the deep Gaditanian bay, - Where _Redoubtable_ and _Bucentaure_ and great _Trinidada_ lay; - - Eager-reluctant to close; for across the bloodshed to be - Two navies beheld one prize in its glory,--the throne of the sea! - Which were bravest, who should tell? for both were gallant and true; - But the greatest seaman was ours, of all that sail’d o’er the blue. - - From Cadiz the enemy sallied: they knew not Nelson was there; - His name a navy to us, but to them a flag of despair; - ’Twixt Algeziras and Aquamonte he guarded the coast, - Till he bore from Tavira south; and they now must fight or be lost;-- - Vainly they steered for the Rock and the mid-land sheltering sea, - For he headed the Admirals round, constraining them under his lee, - Villeneuve of France, and Gravina of Spain; so they shifted - their ground, - They could choose,--they were more than we;--and they faced at - Trafalgar round; - Rampart-like ranged in line, a sea-fortress angrily towered! - In the midst, four-storied with guns, the dark _Trinidada_ lower’d. - - So with those--But, meanwhile, as against some dyke that men - massively rear, - From on high the torrent surges, to drive through the dyke - as a spear, - Eagle-eyed e’en in his blindness, our chief sets his double array, - Making the fleet two spears, to thrust at the foe any way, ... - ‘Anyhow!--without orders, each captain his Frenchman may grapple - perforce; - Collingwood first’ (yet the _Victory_ ne’er a whit slacken’d - her course) - ‘Signal for action! Farewell! we shall win, but we meet not again!’ - --Then a low thunder of readiness ran from the decks o’er the main, - And on,--as the message from masthead to masthead flew out - like a flame, - ENGLAND EXPECTS EVERY MAN WILL DO HIS DUTY,--they came. - - --Silent they come:--While the thirty black forts of the foeman’s - array - Clothe them in billowy snow, tier speaking o’er tier as they lay; - Flashes that thrust and drew in, as swords when the battle is rife;-- - But ours stood frowningly smiling, and ready for death as for life. - --O in that interval grim, ere the furies of slaughter embrace, - Thrills o’er each man some far echo of England; some glance - of some face! - --Faces gazing seaward through tears from the ocean-girt shore; - Faces that ne’er can be gazed on again till the death pang - is o’er.... - Lone in his cabin the Admiral kneeling, and all his great heart - As a child’s to the mother, goes forth to the loved one, who - bade him depart - ... O not for death, but glory! her smile would welcome him home! - --Louder and thicker the thunderbolts fall:--and silent they come. - - As when beyond Dongola the lion, whom hunters attack, - Plagued by their darts from afar, leaps in, dividing them back; - So between Spaniard and Frenchman the _Victory_ wedged with a shout, - Gun against gun; a cloud from her decks and lightning went out; - Iron hailing of pitiless death from the sulphury smoke; - Voices hoarse and parch’d, and blood from invisible stroke. - Each man stood to his work, though his mates fell smitten around, - As an oak of the wood, while his fellow, flame-shatter’d, besplinters - the ground:-- - Gluttons of danger for England, but sparing the foe as he lay; - For the spirit of Nelson was on them, and each was Nelson that day. - - ‘She has struck!’--he shouted--‘She burns, the _Redoubtable_! Save - whom we can; - ‘Silence our guns:’--for in him the woman was great in the man, - In that heroic heart each drop girl-gentle and pure, - Dying by those he spared;--and now Death’s triumph was sure! - From the deck the smoke-wreath clear’d, and the foe set his - rifle in rest, - Dastardly aiming, where Nelson stood forth, with the stars on - his breast,-- - ‘In honour I gained them, in honour I die with them!’ ... Then, - in his place, - Fell ... ‘Hardy! ’tis over; but let them not know:’ and he cover’d - his face. - Silent the whole fleet’s darling they bore to the twilight below: - And above the war-thunder came shouting, as foe struck his - flag after foe. - - To his heart death rose: and for Hardy, the faithful, he cried in - his pain,-- - ‘How goes the day with us, Hardy?’... - ‘’Tis ours’:-- - Then he knew, not in vain - Not in vain for his comrades and England he bled: how he left - her secure, - Queen of her own blue seas, while his name and example endure. - O, like a lover he loved her! for her as water he pours - Life-blood and life and love, lavish’d all for her sake, and for ours! - --‘Kiss me, Hardy!--Thank God!--I have done my duty!’--and then - Fled that heroic soul, and left not his like among men. - - _Hear ye the heart of a Nation - Groan, for her saviour is gone; - Gallant and true and tender, - Child and chieftain in one? - Such another day never - England will weep for again, - When the triumph darkened the triumph, - And the hero of heroes was slain._ - - _Francis Turner Palgrave._ - - - - -DOBELL - - -LXXXIII - -A SEA ADVENTURE - - ‘How many?’ said our good captain, - ‘Twenty sail and more!’ - We were homeward bound, - Scudding in a gale with our jib towards the Nore;-- - Right athwart our tack, - The foe came thick and black, - Like hell-birds and foul weather--you might count them by the score! - - The _Betsy Jane_ did slack - To see the game in view; - They knew the Union Jack, - And the tyrant’s flag we knew. - Our captain shouted, ‘Clear the decks!’ and the bo’sun’s whistle blew. - - Then our gallant captain, - With his hand he seized the wheel, - And pointed with his stump to the middle of the foe,-- - ‘Hurrah, lads, in we go!’ - (You should hear the British cheer, - Fore and aft!) - - ‘There are twenty sail,’ sang he, - ‘But little _Betsy Jane_ bobs to nothing on the sea!’ - (You should hear the British cheer, - Fore and aft!) - - ‘See yon ugly craft - With the pennon at her main! - Hurrah, my merry boys, - There goes the _Betsy Jane_!’ - (You should hear the British cheer, - Fore and aft!) - - The foe, he beats to quarters, and the Russian bugles sound; - And the little _Betsy Jane_ she leaps upon the sea. - ‘Port and starboard!’ cried our captain; - ‘Pay it in, my hearts!’ sang he. - - ‘We’re old England’s sons, - And we’ll fight for her to-day!’ - (You should hear the British cheer, - Fore and aft!) - ‘Fire away!’ - - In she runs, - And her guns - Thunder round. - - _Sydney Dobell._ - - - - -ALEXANDER - - -LXXXIV - -WAR - - They say that ‘war is hell,’ the ‘great accursed,’ - The sin impossible to be forgiven; - Yet I can look beyond it at its worst, - And still find blue in Heaven. - - And as I note how nobly natures form - Under the war’s red rain, I deem it true - That He who made the earthquake and the storm - Perchance makes battles too! - - The life He loves is not the life of span - Abbreviated by each passing breath, - It is the true humanity of man - Victorious over death, - - The long expectance of the upward gaze, - Sense ineradicable of things afar, - Fair hope of finding after many days - The bright and morning star. - - Methinks I see how spirits may be tried, - Transfigured into beauty on war’s verge, - Like flowers, whose tremulous grace is learnt beside - The trampling of the surge. - - And now, not only Englishmen at need - Have won a fiery and unequal fray,-- - No infantry has ever done such deed - Since Albuera’s day! - - Those who live on amid our homes to dwell - Have grasped the higher lessons that endure,-- - The gallant Private learns to practise well - His heroism obscure. - - His heart beats high as one for whom is made - A mighty music solemnly, what time - The oratorio of the cannonade - Rolls through the hills sublime. - - Yet his the dangerous posts that few can mark, - The crimson death, the dread unerring aim, - The fatal ball that whizzes through the dark, - The just-recorded name-- - - The faithful following of the flag all day, - he duty done that brings no nation’s thanks, - The _Ama Nesciri_[1] of some grim and grey - À Kempis of the ranks. - - These are the things our commonweal to guard, - The patient strength that is too proud to press, - The duty done for duty, not reward, - The lofty littleness. - - And they of greater state who never turned, - Taking their path of duty higher and higher, - What do we deem that they, too, may have learned - In that baptismal fire? - - Not that the only end beneath the sun - Is to make every sea a trading lake, - And all our splendid English history one - Voluminous mistake. - - They who marched up the bluffs last stormy week-- - Some of them, ere they reached the mountain’s crown, - The wind of battle breathing on their cheek - Suddenly laid them down. - - Like sleepers--not like those whose race is run-- - Fast, fast asleep amid the cannon’s roar, - Them no reveillé and no morning gun - Shall ever waken more. - - And the boy-beauty passed from off the face - Of those who lived, and into it instead - Came proud forgetfulness of ball and race, - Sweet commune with the dead. - - And thoughts beyond their thoughts the Spirit lent, - And manly tears made mist upon their eyes, - And to them came a great presentiment - Of high self-sacrifice. - - Thus, as the heaven’s many-coloured flames - At sunset are but dust in rich disguise, - The ascending earthquake dust of battle frames - God’s pictures in the skies. - - _William Alexander._ - - [1] The heading of a remarkable chapter in the _De Imitatione - Christi_. - - - - -PROCTER - - -LXXXV - -THE LESSON OF THE WAR - - The feast is spread through England - For rich and poor to-day; - Greetings and laughter may be there, - But thoughts are far away; - Over the stormy ocean, - Over the dreary track, - Where some are gone, whom England - Will never welcome back. - - Breathless she waits, and listens - For every eastern breeze - That bears upon its bloody wings - News from beyond the seas. - The leafless branches stirring - Make many a watcher start; - The distant tramp of steeds may send - A throb from heart to heart. - - The rulers of the nation, - The poor ones at their gate, - With the same eager wonder - The same great news await. - The poor man’s stay and comfort, - The rich man’s joy and pride, - Upon the bleak Crimean shore - Are fighting side by side. - - The bullet comes--and either - A desolate hearth may see; - And God alone to-night knows where - The vacant place may be! - The dread that stirs the peasant - Thrills nobles’ hearts with fear-- - Yet above selfish sorrow - Both hold their country dear. - - The rich man who reposes - In his ancestral shade, - The peasant at his ploughshare, - The worker at his trade, - Each one his all has perilled, - Each has the same great stake, - Each soul can but have patience, - Each heart can only break! - - Hushed is all party clamour; - One thought in every heart, - One dread in every household, - Has bid such strife depart. - England has called her children; - Long silent--the word came - That lit the smouldering ashes - Through all the land to flame. - - O you who toil and suffer, - You gladly heard the call; - But those you sometimes envy - Have they not given their all? - O you who rule the nation, - Take now the toil-worn hand-- - Brothers you are in sorrow, - In duty to your land. - Learn but this noble lesson - Ere Peace returns again, - And the life-blood of Old England - Will not be shed in vain. - - _Adelaide Anne Procter._ - - - - -MASSEY - - -LXXXVI - -SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE’S LAST FIGHT - - Our second Richard Lion-Heart - In days of great Queen Bess, - He did this deed, he played this part, - With true old nobleness, - And wrath heroic that was nursed - To bear the fiercest battle-burst, - When maddened foes should wreak their worst. - - Signalled the English Admiral, - ‘Weigh or cut anchors.’ For - A Spanish fleet bore down, in all - The majesty of war, - Athwart our tack for many a mile, - As there we lay off Florez Isle, - With crews half sick, all tired of toil. - - Eleven of our twelve ships escaped; - Sir Richard stood alone! - Though they were three-and-fifty sail-- - A hundred men to one-- - The old Sea-Rover would not run, - So long as he had man or gun; - But he could die when all was done. - - ‘The Devil’s broken loose, my lads, - In shape of popish Spain: - And we must sink him in the sea, - Or hound him home again. - Now, you old sea-dogs, show your paws! - Have at them tooth and nail and claws!’ - And then his long, bright blade he draws. - - The deck was cleared, the boatswain blew; - The grim sea-lions stand; - The death-fires lit in every eye, - The burning match in hand. - With mail of glorious intent - All hearts were clad; and in they went, - A force that cut through where ’twas sent. - - ‘Push home, my hardy pikemen, - For we play a desperate part; - To-day, my gunners, let them feel - The pulse of England’s heart! - They shall remember long that we - Once lived; and think how shamefully - We shook them--One to fifty-three!’ - - With face of one who cheerily goes - To meet his doom that day, - Sir Richard sprang upon his foes; - The foremost gave him way; - His round shot smashed them through and through, - At every flash white splinters flew, - And madder grew his fighting few. - - They clasp the little ship _Revenge_, - As in the arms of fire; - They run aboard her, six at once; - Hearts beat, hot guns leap higher;-- - Through bloody gaps the boarders swarm, - But still our English stay the storm, - The bulwark in their breast is firm. - - Ship after ship, like broken waves - That wash upon a rock, - Those mighty galleons fall back foiled, - And shattered from the shock. - With fire she answers all their blows; - Again--again in pieces strows - The girdle round her as they close. - - Through all that night the great white storm - Of worlds in silence rolled; - Sirius with green-azure sparkle, - Mars in ruddy gold. - Heaven looked with stillness terrible - Down on a fight most fierce and fell-- - A sea transfigured into hell! - - Some know not they are wounded till - ’Tis slippery where they stand; - Then each one tighter grips his steel, - As ’twere salvation’s hand. - Grim faces glow through lurid night - With sweat of spirit shining bright: - Only the dead on deck turn white. - - At day-break the flame picture fades - In blackness and in blood; - There, after fifteen hours of fight, - The unconquered Sea-King stood - Defying all the power of Spain: - Fifteen armadas hurled in vain, - And fifteen hundred foemen slain! - - About that little bark _Revenge_, - The baffled Spaniards ride - At distance. Two of their good ships - Were sunken at her side; - The rest lie round her in a ring, - As, round the dying forest-king - The dogs afraid of his death-spring. - - Our pikes all broken, powder spent, - Sails, masts to shivers blown; - And with her dead and wounded crew - The ship was settling down. - Sir Richard’s wounds were hot and deep, - Then cried he, with a proud, pale lip, - ‘Ho, Master Gunner, sink the ship!’ - - ‘Make ready now, my mariners, - To go aloft with me, - That nothing to the Spaniard - May remain of victory. - They cannot take us, nor we yield; - So let us leave our battle-field, - Under the shelter of God’s shield.’ - - They had not heart to dare fulfil - The stern commander’s word: - With swelling hearts and welling eyes, - They carried him aboard - The Spaniards’ ship; and round him stand - The warriors of his wasted band: - Then said he, feeling death at hand, - - ‘Here die I, Richard Grenville, - With a joyful and quiet mind; - I reach a soldier’s end, I leave - A soldier’s fame behind. - Who for his Queen and country fought, - For Honour and Religion wrought, - And died as a true soldier ought.’ - - Earth never returned a worthier trust - For hand of Heaven to take, - Since Arthur’s sword, Excalibur, - Was cast into the lake, - And the King’s grievous wounds were dressed, - And healed, by weeping Queens, who blessed, - And bore him to a valley of rest. - - Old heroes who could grandly do, - As they could greatly dare, - A vesture very glorious - Their shining spirits wear - Of noble deeds! God give us grace, - That we may see such face to face, - In our great day that comes apace! - - _Gerald Massey._ - - - - -BROWN - - -LXXXVII - -LAND, HO! - - I know ’tis but a loom of land, - Yet is it land, and so I will rejoice, - I know I cannot hear His voice - Upon the shore, nor see Him stand; - Yet is it land, ho! land. - - The land! the land! the lovely land! - ‘Far off’ dost say? _Far off_--ah, blessed home! - Farewell! farewell! thou salt sea-foam! - Ah, keel upon the silver sand-- - Land, ho! land. - - You cannot see the land, my land, - You cannot see, and yet the land is there-- - My land, my land, through murky air-- - I did not say ’twas close at hand-- - But--land, ho! land. - - Dost hear the bells of my sweet land, - Dost hear the kine, dost hear the merry birds? - No voice, ’tis true, no spoken words, - No tongue that thou may’st understand-- - Yet is it land, ho! land. - - It’s clad in purple mist, my land, - In regal robe it is apparelléd, - A crown is set upon its head, - And on its breast a golden band-- - Land, ho! land. - - Dost wonder that I long for land? - My land is not a land as others are-- - Upon its crest there beams a star, - And lilies grow upon the strand-- - Land, ho! land. - - Give me the helm! there is the land! - Ha! lusty mariners, she takes the breeze! - And what my spirit sees it sees-- - Leap, bark, as leaps the thunderbrand-- - Land, ho! land. - - _Thomas Edward Brown._ - - - - -TREVALDWYN - - -LXXXVIII - -THE _GEORGE_ OF LOOE - - O, ’twas merry down to Looe when the news was carried through - That the _George_ would put to sea all with the morning tide; - And all her jolly crew hurrah’d till they were blue - When the captain said, ‘My lads, we’ll tan the Frenchman’s hide!’ - - For Captain Davy Dann was a famous fightin’ man, - Who lov’d the smell o’ powder and the thunder o’ the guns, - And off the coast of France often made the Frenchmen dance - To the music from his sloop of only ninety tons. - - So at the break o’ day there were hundreds on the quay - To see the gallant ship a-warping out to sea; - And the Mayor, Daniel Chubb, was hoisted on a tub, - And he cried, ‘Good luck to Dann, with a three times three!’ - - For the news that came from Fowey was that ev’ry man and boy - And all the gallants there were expecting of a ship. - And the lively lads o’ Looe, they thought they’d watch her too, - Lest the Frenchman showed his heels and gave ’em all the slip. - - So along by Talland Bay the good ship sailed away, - And the boats were out at Polperro to see what they could see; - And old Dann, he cried, ‘Ahoy! you’d better come to Fowey, - And help to blow the Mounseers to the bottom of the sea!’ - - Now, ’twas almost set o’ sun, and the day was almost done, - When we sighted of a frigate beating up against the wind; - And we put on all our sail till we came within her hail, - And old Dann politely asked, ‘Will you follow us behind?’ - - But the Frenchmen fore and aft only stood and grinned and laughed, - And never guessed the captain was in earnest, don’t you see? - For we’d only half her guns, and were only ninety tons, - And they thought they’d blow us easy to the bottom o’ the sea. - - But our brave old Captain Dann--oh, he was a proper man!-- - Sang out with voice like thunder unto ev’ry man aboard: - ‘Now all you men of Looe just show what you can do, - And we’ll board her, and we’ll take her, by the help o’ the Lord!’ - - Then up her sides we swarm’d, and along her deck we storm’d, - And sword and pike were busy for the space of half an hour; - But before the day was done, tho’ they number’d two to one, - Her commander had to yield, and his flag to lower. - - Then we turn’d our ship about, and while the stars came out - We tow’d our prize right cheerily past Fowey and Polperro; - And we blest old Captain Dann, for we hadn’t lost a man, - And our wounded all were doing well a-down below. - - And when we came to Looe, all the town was there to view, - And the mayor in his chain and gown he cried out lustily, - ‘Nine cheers for Captain Dann, and three for every man, - And the good ship _George_ that carried them to victory!’ - - _Benn Wilkes Jones Trevaldwyn._ - - - - -ARNOLD - - -LXXXIX - -THE FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF THE VICTORIA CROSS - -(_June 26, 1857_) - - To-day the people gather from the streets, - To-day the soldiers muster near and far; - Peace, with a glad look and a grateful, meets - Her rugged brother War. - - To-day the Queen of all the English land, - She who sits high o’er Kaisers and o’er Kings, - Gives with her royal hand--th’ Imperial hand - Whose grasp the earth enrings-- - - Her Cross of Valour to the worthiest; - No golden toy with milky pearl besprent, - But simple bronze, and for a warrior’s breast - A fair, fit ornament. - - And richer than red gold that dull bronze seems, - Since it was bought with lavish waste and worth - Whereto the wealth of earth’s gold-sanded streams - Were but a lack, and dearth. - - Muscovite metal makes this English Cross, - Won in a rain of blood and wreath of flame; - The guns that thundered for their brave lives’ loss - Are worn hence, for their fame! - - Ay, listen! all ye maidens laughing-eyed, - And all ye English mothers, be aware! - Those who shall pass before ye at noontide - Your friends and champions are. - - The men of all the army and the fleet, - The very bravest of the very brave, - Linesman and Lord, these fought with equal feet, - Firm-planted on their grave. - - The men who, setting light their blood and breath - So they might win a victor’s haught renown, - Held their steel straight against the face of Death, - And frowned his frowning down. - - And some that grasped the bomb, all fury-fraught, - And hurled it far, to spend its spite away-- - Between the rescue and the risk no thought-- - Shall pass our Queen this day. - - And some who climbed the deadly glacis-side, - For all that steel could stay, or savage shell; - And some whose blood upon the Colours dried - Tells if they bore them well. - - Some, too, who, gentle-hearted even in strife, - Seeing their fellow or their friend go down, - Saved his, at peril of their own dear life, - Winning the Civil Crown. - - Well done for them; and, fair Isle, well for thee! - While that thy bosom beareth sons like those; - ‘This precious stone set in the silver sea’ - Shall never fear her foes! - - _Sir Edwin Arnold._ - - - - -GARNETT - - -XC - -ABROAD - - Forests that beard the avalanche, - Levels, empurpled slopes of vine, - Wrecks, sadly gay with flower and branch, - I love you, but you are not mine! - - The sweet domestic sanctity - Fades in the fiery sun, like dew; - My Love beheld and passed you by, - My fathers shed no blood for you. - - Pause, rambling clouds, while fancy fain - Your white similitude doth trace - To England’s cliffs, so may your rain - Fall blissful on your native place! - - _Richard Garnett._ - - - - -GILBERT - - -XCI - -THE ENGLISH GIRL - - A wonderful joy our eyes to bless - In her magnificent comeliness, - Is an English girl of eleven stone two, - And five foot ten in her dancing shoe! - She follows the hounds, and on she pounds-- - The ‘field’ tails off and the muffs diminish-- - Over the hedges and brooks she bounds - Straight as a crow from find to finish. - At cricket, her kin will lose or win-- - She and her maids, on grass and clover, - Eleven maids out--eleven maids in-- - (And perhaps an occasional ‘maiden over’). - - _Go search the world and search the sea, - Then come you home and sing with me - There’s no such gold and no such pearl - As a bright and beautiful English girl!_ - - With a ten-mile spin she stretches her limbs, - She golfs, she punts, she rows, she swims-- - She plays, she sings, she dances, too, - From ten or eleven till all is blue! - At ball or drum, till small hours come - (Chaperon’s fan conceals her yawning), - She’ll waltz away like a teetotum, - And never go home till daylight’s dawning. - Lawn tennis may share her favours fair-- - Her eyes a-dance and her cheeks a-glowing-- - Down comes her hair, but what does she care? - It’s all her own, and it’s worth the showing! - - Her soul is sweet as the ocean air, - For prudery knows no haven there; - To find mock-modesty, please apply - To the conscious blush and the downcast eye. - Rich in the things contentment brings, - In every pure enjoyment wealthy, - Blithe as a beautiful bird she sings, - For body and mind are hale and healthy. - Her eyes they thrill with a right good will-- - Her heart is light as a floating feather-- - As pure and bright as the mountain rill - That leaps and laughs in the Highland heather. - - _Go search the world and search the sea, - Then come you home and sing with me - There’s no such gold and no such pearl - As a bright and beautiful English girl!_ - - _William Schwenk Gilbert._ - - - - -WATTS-DUNTON - - -XCII - -THE BREATH OF AVON - -TO ENGLISH-SPEAKING PILGRIMS ON SHAKESPEARE’S BIRTHDAY - - I - - Whate’er of woe the Dark may hide in womb - For England, mother of kings of battle and song-- - Rapine, or racial hate’s mysterious wrong, - Blizzard of Chance, or fiery dart of Doom-- - Let breath of Avon, rich of meadow-bloom, - Bind her to that great daughter sever’d long-- - To near and far-off children young and strong-- - With fetters woven of Avon’s flower perfume. - Welcome, ye English-speaking pilgrims, ye - Whose hands around the world are join’d by him, - Who make his speech the language of the sea, - Till winds of ocean waft from rim to rim - The Breath of Avon: let this great day be - A Feast of Race no power shall ever dim. - - - II - - From where the steeds of earth’s twin oceans toss - Their manes along Columbia’s chariot-way; - From where Australia’s long blue billows play; - From where the morn, quenching the Southern Cross, - Startling the frigate-bird and albatross - Asleep in air, breaks over Table Bay-- - Come hither, pilgrims, where these rushes sway - ‘Tween grassy banks of Avon soft as moss! - For, if ye found the breath of ocean sweet, - Sweeter is Avon’s earthy, flowery smell, - Distill’d from roots that feel the coming spell - Of May, who bids all flowers that lov’d him meet - In meadows that, remembering Shakespeare’s feet, - Hold still a dream of music where they fell. - - _Theodore Watts-Dunton._ - - -XCIII - -ENGLAND STANDS ALONE - -(‘ENGLAND STANDS ALONE--WITHOUT AN ALLY.’ - - --_A Continental Newspaper_) - - ‘She stands alone: ally nor friend has she,’ - Saith Europe of our England--her who bore - Drake, Blake, and Nelson--Warrior-Queen who wore - Light’s conquering glaive that strikes the conquered free. - Alone!--From Canada comes o’er the sea, - And from that English coast with coral shore, - The old-world cry Europe hath heard of yore - From Dover cliffs: ‘Ready, aye ready we!’ - ‘Europe,’ saith England, ‘hath forgot my boys!-- - Forgot how tall, in yonder golden zone - ‘Neath Austral skies, my youngest born have grown - (Bearers of bayonets now and swords for toys)-- - Forgot ’mid boltless thunder--harmless noise-- - The sons with whom old England ‘stands alone!’ - - _Theodore Watts-Dunton._ - - - - -SWINBURNE - - -XCIV - -ENGLAND - - England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle enrings - thee round, - Mother fair as the morning, where is now the place of thy - foemen found? - Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them stricken, acclaims - thee crowned. - Times may change, and the skies grow strange with signs of treason, - and fraud, and fear: - Foes in union of strange communion may rise against thee from - far and near: - Sloth and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers waxing from - year to year. - - Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league and lie and - defame and smite, - We that know thee, how far below thee the hatred burns of the - sons of night, - We that love thee, behold above thee the witness written of - life in light. - - Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none may read not - but eyeless foes: - Hate, born blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now but as - madness grows: - Love, born wise, with exultant eyes adores thy glory, beholds and - glows. - Truth is in thee, and none may win thee to lie, forsaking the - face of truth: - Freedom lives by the grace she gives thee, born again from thy - deathless youth: - Faith should fail, and the world turn pale, wert thou the prey of the - serpent’s tooth. - - Greed and fraud, unabashed, unawed, may strive to sting thee at - heel in vain: - Craft and fear and mistrust may leer and mourn and murmur and - plead and plain: - Thou art thou: and thy sunbright brow is hers that blasted the - strength of Spain. - - Mother, mother beloved, none other could claim in place of thee - England’s place: - Earth bears none that beholds the sun so pure of record, so clothed - with grace: - Dear our mother, nor son nor brother is thine, as strong or as - fair of face. - How shall thou be abased? or how shall fear take hold of thy - heart? of thine, - England, maiden immortal, laden with charge of life and with - hopes divine? - Earth shall wither, when eyes turned hither behold not light in her - darkness shine. - - England, none that is born thy son, and lives, by grace of thy - glory, free, - Lives and yearns not at heart and burns with hope to serve as he - worships thee; - None may sing thee: the sea-wind’s wing beats down our songs as it - hails the sea. - - _Algernon Charles Swinburne._ - - -XCV - -A JACOBITE’S EXILE - -(1746) - - The weary day rins down and dies, - The weary night wears through: - And never an hour is fair wi’ flower, - And never a flower wi’ dew. - - I would the day were night for me, - I would the night were day: - For then would I stand in my ain fair land, - As now in dreams I may. - - O lordly flow the Loire and Seine, - And loud the dark Durance: - But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne - Than a’ the fields of France; - And the waves of Till that speak sae still - Gleam goodlier where they glance. - - O weel were they that fell fighting - On dark Drumossie’s day: - They keep their hame ayont the faem - And we die far away. - - O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep, - But night and day wake we; - And ever between the sea-banks green - Sounds loud the sundering sea. - - And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep, - But sweet and fast sleep they; - And the mool that haps them roun’ and laps them - Is e’en their country’s clay; - But the land we tread that are not dead - Is strange as night by day. - - Strange as night in a strange man’s sight, - Though fair as dawn it be: - For what is here that a stranger’s cheer - Should yet wax blithe to see? - - The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep, - The fields are green and gold: - The hill-streams sing, and the hill-sides ring, - As ours at home of old. - - But hills and flowers are nane of ours, - And ours are over sea: - And the kind strange land whereon we stand, - It wotsna what were we - Or ever we came, wi’ scathe and shame, - To try what end might be. - - Scathe, and shame, and a waefu’ name, - And a weary time and strange, - Have they that seeing a weird for dreeing - Can die, and cannot change. - - Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn, - Though sair be they to dree: - But ill may we bide the thoughts we hide, - Mair keen than wind and sea. - - Ill may we thole the night’s watches, - And ill the weary day: - And the dreams that keep the gates of sleep, - A waefu’ gift gie they; - For the sangs they sing us, the sights they bring us, - The morn blaws all away. - - On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw, - The burn rins blithe and fain: - There’s nought wi’ me I wadna gie - To look thereon again. - - On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide: - There sounds nae hunting-horn - That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat - Round banks where Tyne is born. - - The Wansbeck sings with all her springs, - The bents and braes give ear; - But the wood that rings wi’ the sang she sings - I may not see nor hear; - For far and far thae blithe burns are, - And strange is a’ thing near. - - The light there lightens, the day there brightens, - The loud wind there lives free: - Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me - That I wad hear or see. - - But O gin I were there again, - Afar ayont the faem, - Cauld and dead in the sweet, saft bed - That haps my sires at hame! - - We’ll see nae mair the sea-banks fair, - And the sweet grey gleaming sky, - And the lordly strand of Northumberland, - And the goodly towers thereby; - And none shall know but the winds that blow - The graves wherein we lie. - - _Algernon Charles Swinburne._ - - -XCVI - -NEW YEAR’S DAY - - New Year, be good to England. Bid her name - Shine sunlike as of old on all the sea: - Make strong her soul: set all her spirit free: - Bind fast her home-born foes with links of shame - More strong than iron and more keen than flame: - Seal up their lips for shame’s sake: so shall she - Who was the light that lightened freedom be, - For all false tongues, in all men’s eyes the same. - - O last-born child of Time, earth’s eldest lord, - God undiscrowned of godhead, who for man - Begets all good and evil things that live, - Do thou, his new-begotten son, implored - Of hearts that hope and fear not, make thy span - Bright with such light as history bids thee give. - - _Algernon Charles Swinburne._ - - -XCVII - -TO WILLIAM MORRIS - - Truth, winged and enkindled with rapture - And sense of the radiance of yore, - Fulfilled you with power to recapture - What never might singer before-- - The life, the delight, and the sorrow - Of troublous and chivalrous years - That knew not of night or of morrow, - Of hopes or of fears. - - But wider the wing and the vision - That quicken the spirit have spread - Since memory beheld with derision - Man’s hope to be more than his dead. - From the mists and the snows and the thunders - Your spirit has brought for us forth - Light, music, and joy in the wonders - And charms of the North. - - The wars and the woes and the glories - That quicken and lighten and rain - From the clouds of its chronicled stories, - The passion, the pride, and the pain, - Where echoes were mute and the token - Was lost of the spells that they spake, - Rise bright at your bidding, unbroken - Of ages that break. - - For you, and for none of us other, - Time is not: the dead that must live - Hold commune with you as a brother - By grace of the life that you give. - The heart that was in them is in you, - Their soul in your spirit endures: - The strength of their song is the sinew - Of this that is yours. - - Hence is it that life, everlasting - As light and as music, abides - In the sound of the surge of it, casting - Sound back to the surge of the tides, - Till sons of the sons of the Norsemen - Watch, hurtling to windward and lea, - Round England, unbacked of her horsemen, - The steeds of the sea. - - _Algernon Charles Swinburne._ - - - - -HARDY - - -XCVIII - -THE GOING OF THE BATTERY - - Rain came down drenchingly; but we unblenchingly - Trudged on beside them through mirk and through mire, - They stepping steadily--only too readily!-- - Scarce as if stepping brought parting-time nigher. - - Great guns were gleaming there--living things seeming there-- - Cloaked in their tar cloths, upnosed to the night: - Wheels wet and yellow from axle to felloe, - Throats blank of sound, but prophetic to sight. - - Lamplight all drearily, blinking and blearily - Lit our pale faces outstretched for one kiss, - While we stood prest to them, with a last quest to them - Not to court peril that honour could miss. - - Sharp were those sighs of ours, blinded those eyes of ours, - When at last moved away under the arch - All we loved. Aid for them each woman prayed for them - Treading back slowly the track of their march. - - Someone said ‘Nevermore will they come! Evermore - Are they now lost to us!’ Oh, it was wrong! - Though may be hard their ways, some Hand will guard their ways-- - Bear them through safely--in brief time or long. - - Yet--voices haunting us, daunting us, taunting us, - Hint, in the night-time, when life-beats are low, - Other and graver things.... Hold we to braver things-- - Wait we--in trust--what Time’s fullness shall show. - - _Thomas Hardy._ - - - - -DOBSON - - -XCIX - -BALLAD OF THE ARMADA - - King Philip had vaunted his claims; - He had sworn for a year he would sack us; - With an army of heathenish names - He was coming to fagot and stack us; - Like the thieves of the sea he would track us, - And scatter our ships on the main; - But we had bold Neptune to back us-- - And where are the galleons of Spain? - - His carackes were christened of dames - To the kirtles whereof he would tack us; - With his saints and his gilded stern-frames - He had thought like an egg-shell to crack us; - Now Howard may get to his Flaccus, - And Drake to his Devon again, - And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus-- - For where are the galleons of Spain? - - Let his Majesty hang to St. James - The axe that he whetted to hack us; - He must play at some lustier games - Or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us; - To his mines of Peru he would pack us - To tug at his bullet and chain; - Alas! that his Greatness should lack us!-- - But where are the galleons of Spain? - - - ENVOY - - Gloriana!--the Don may attack us - Whenever his stomach be fain; - He must reach us before he can rack us, ... - And where are the galleons of Spain? - - _Austin Dobson._ - - -C - -RANK AND FILE - - O undistinguished Dead! - Whom the bent covers, or the rock-strewn steep - Shows to the stars, for you I mourn--I weep, - O undistinguished Dead! - - None knows your name. - Blackened and blurred in the wild battle’s brunt, - Hotly you fell ... with all your wounds in front:-- - This is your fame! - - _Austin Dobson._ - - - - -BRIDGES - - -CI - -THE FAIR BRASS - - An effigy of brass - Trodden by careless feet - Of worshippers that pass, - Beautiful and complete, - - Lieth in the sombre aisle - Of this old church unwreckt, - And still from modern style - Shielded by kind neglect. - - It shows a warrior arm’d: - Across his iron breast - His hands by death are charmed - To leave his sword at rest, - - Wherewith he led his men - O’ersea, and smote to hell - The astonisht Saracen, - Nor doubted he did well. - - Would we could teach our sons - His trust in face of doom, - Or give our bravest ones - A comparable tomb: - - Such as to look on shrives - The heart of half its care; - So in each line survives - The spirit that made it fair, - - So fair the characters, - With which the dusty scroll, - That tells his title, stirs - A requiem for his soul. - - Yet dearer far to me, - And brave as he are they, - Who fight by land and sea - For England at this day; - - Whose vile memorials, - In mournful marbles gilt, - Deface the beauteous walls - By growing glory built. - - Heirs of our antique shrines, - Sires of our future fame, - Whose starry honour shines - In many a noble name - - Across the deathful days, - Link’d in the brotherhood - That loves our country’s praise, - And lives for heavenly good. - - _Robert Bridges._ - - - - -SKRINE - - -CII - -THE GENTLE - - We come from tower and grange, - Where the grey woodlands range, - Folding chivalric halls in ancient ease; - From Erin’s rain-wet rocks, - Or where the ocean-shocks - Thunder between the glimmering Hebrides; - And many-spired cities grave, - With terraced riverain hoar lapped by the storied wave. - - Taught in proud England’s school, - Her honour’s knightly rule, - To do and dare and bear and not to lie, - With priest’s or scholar’s lore - Or statesman’s subtle store - Of garnered wisdom, proved in councils high, - We serve her bidding here, or far - Shepherd the imperial flock under an alien star. - - Leechcraft of heaven or earth - We bear to scanted hearth - And lightless doorway and dim beds of pain: - With master-craft we steer - Dusk labour’s march, and cheer - His blind innumerable-handed train; - Or in the cannon-shaken air - Frankly the gentle die that simple men may dare. - - The Asian moonbeams fall - O’er our boys’ graves, and all - The o’er-watching hills are names of their young glory: - Sleep the blithe swordsman hands - Beside red Ethiop sands, - Or drear uprise of wintry promontory: - The headstone of a hero slain - Charms for his Empress-Isle each threshold of her reign. - - O for the blood that fell - So gladly given and well, - O for all spirits that lived for England’s honour, - Ere folly ruin or fear - Her whom these held so dear, - Ere fate or treason shame the crown upon her, - Rise, brothers of her knightly roll, - Close fast our order’s ranks and guard great England whole! - - _John Huntley Skrine._ - - -CIII - -THE MOTHER AND THE SONS - - Sons in my gates of the West, - Where the long tides foam in the dark of the pine, - And the cornlands crowd to the dim sky-line, - And wide as the air are the meadows of kine, - What cheer from my gates of the West? - - ‘Peace in thy gates of the West, - England our mother, and rest, - In our sounding channels and headlands frore - The hot Norse blood of the northern hoar - Is lord of the wave as the lords of yore, - Guarding thy gates of the West. - - But thou, O mother, be strong - In thy seas for a girdle of towers, - Holding thine own from wrong, - Thine own that is ours. - Till the sons that are bone of thy bone, - Till the brood of the lion upgrown - In a day not long, - Shall war for our England’s own, - For the pride of the ocean throne, - Be strong, O mother, be strong!’ - - Sons in my gates of the morn, - That steward the measureless harvest gold - And temples and towers of the Orient old - From the seas of the palm to Himálya cold, - What cheer in my gates of the morn? - - ‘Fair as our India’s morn - Thy peace, as a sunrise, is born. - Where thy banner is broad in the Orient light - There is law from the seas to Himálya’s height, - For the banner of might is the banner of right. - Good cheer in thy gates of the morn.’ - - From the Isles of the South what word? - True South! long ago, when I called not, it came, - And ‘England’s are ours’ ran the war-word aflame, - ‘And a thousand will bleed ere the mother have shame!’ - From my sons of the South what word? - - ‘Mother, what need of a word - For the love that outspake with the sword? - In the day of thy storm, in the clash of the powers, - When thy children close round thee grown great with the hours, - They shall know who have wronged thee if ‘England’s be ours.’ - We bring thee a deed for a word. - - But thou, O mother, be strong, - In thy seas for a girdle of towers, - Holding thine own from wrong, - Thine own that is ours. - Till the sons that are bone of thy bone, - Till the brood of the lion upgrown - In a day not long, - Shall war for our England’s own, - For the pride of the ocean throne, - Be strong, O mother, be strong!’ - - _John Huntley Skrine._ - - - - -HENLEY - - -CIV - -ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND - - What have I done for you, - England, my England? - What is there I would not do, - England, my own? - With your glorious eyes austere, - As the Lord were walking near, - Whispering terrible things and dear - As the Song on your bugles blown, England-- - Round the world on your bugles blown! - - Where shall the watchful Sun, - England, my England, - Match the master-work you’ve done, - England, my own? - When shall he rejoice agen - Such a breed of mighty men - As come forward, one to ten, - To the Song on your bugles blown, England-- - Down the years on your bugles blown? - - Ever the faith endures, - England, my England:-- - ‘Take us and break us: we are yours, - England, my own! - Life is good, and joy runs high - Between English earth and sky: - Death is death; but we shall die - To the Song on your bugles blown, England-- - To the stars on your bugles blown!’ - - They call you proud and hard, - England, my England: - You with worlds to watch and ward, - England, my own! - You whose mailed hand keeps the keys - Of such teeming destinies - You could know nor dread nor ease - Were the Song on your bugles blown, England-- - Round the Pit on your bugles blown! - - Mother of Ships whose might, - England, my England, - Is the fierce old Sea’s delight, - England, my own, - Chosen daughter of the Lord, - Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword, - There’s the menace of the Word - In the Song on your bugles blown, England-- - Out of heaven on your bugles blown! - - _William Ernest Henley._ - - - - -MACKAY - - -CV - -A SONG OF THE SEA - - Free as the wind that leaps from out the North, - When storms are hurrying forth, - Up-springs the voice of England, trumpet-clear, - Which all the world shall hear, - As one may hear God’s thunder over-head,-- - A voice that echoes through the sunset red, - And through the fiery portals of the morn - Where, day by day, the golden hours are born,-- - A voice to urge the strengthening of the bands - That bind our Empire Lands - With such a love as none shall put to scorn! - - They little know our England who deny - The claim we have, from zone to furthest zone, - To belt the beauteous earth, - And treat the clamorous ocean as our own - In all the measuring of its monstrous girth. - The tempest calls to us, and we reply; - And not, as cowards do, in under-tone! - The sun that sets for others sets no more - On Britain’s world-wide shore - Which all the tides of all the seas have known. - - We have no lust of strife: - We seek no vile dissension for base ends; - Freedom and fame and England are old friends. - Yet, if our foes desire it, let them come, - Whate’er their numbers be! - They know the road to England, mile by mile, - And they shall learn, full soon, that strength nor guile - Will much avail them in an English sea; - We will not hurl them backward to the waves,-- - We’ll give them graves! - - ’Tis much to be so honoured in the main, - And feel no further stain - Than one’s own blood outpoured in lieu of wine. - ’Tis much to die in England, and for this - To win the sabre-kiss - Of some true man who deems his cause divine, - And loves his country well. - A foe may calmly dwell - In our sweet soil with daisies for his quilt,-- - Their snows to hide his guilt, - And earth’s good warmth about him where he lies - Beyond the burden of all battle-cries, - And made half-English by his resting-place:-- - God give him grace! - - We love the sea,--the loud, the leaping sea,-- - The rush and roar of waters--the thick foam,-- - The sea-bird’s sudden cry,-- - The gale that bends the lithe and towering masts - Of good ships bounding home, - That spread to the great sky - Exultant flags unmatched in their degree! - And ’tis a joy that lasts, - A joy that thrills the Briton to the soul - Who knows the nearest goal - To all he asks of fortune and of fame, - From dusk to dawn and dawn to sunset-flame. - He knows that he is free, - With all the freedom of the waves and winds - That have the storm in fee. - - And this our glory still:--to bear the palm - In all true enterprise, - And everywhere, in tempest and in calm, - To front the future with unfearing eyes, - And sway the seas where our advancement lies, - With Freedom’s flag uplifted, and unfurled; - And this our rallying-cry, whate’er befall, - Goodwill to men, and peace throughout the world, - But England,--England,--England over all! - - _Eric Mackay._ - - - - -SHARP - - -CVI - -THE BALLAD OF THE RAM - - Who ’as ’eard the Ram a-callin’ on the green fields o’ the sea, - Let ’em wander east or west an’ mighty fast: - For it’s bad to ’ear the Ram when he’s up an’ runnin’ free - With the angry bit o’ ribbon at the mast. - - It’s rush an’ surge an’ dash when the Ram is on the leap, - But smash an’ crash for them as stops the way: - The biggest ship goes down right there that ain’t got sense to keep - The shore-walk o’ the werry nearest bay. - - For Frenchy ships, an’ German too, an’ Russian, you may bet, - It’s safer for to land an’ ’ome by tram, - Than out to come an’ gallivant an’ risk the kind o’ wet - That follers runnin’ counter to a Ram. - - For when the _Terror_ lifts ’is ’ead an’ goes for wot is near, - I’m sorry for them ships wot sails so free: - It’s best to up an’ elsewhere, an’ be werry far from ’ere, - When Rams ’ave took to bleatin’ on the sea! - - _William Sharp._ - - - - -RODD - - -CVII - -SPRING THOUGHTS - - My England, island England, such leagues and leagues away, - It’s years since I was with thee, when April wanes to May. - - Years since I saw the primrose, and watched the brown hillside - Put on white crowns of blossom and blush like April’s bride; - - Years since I heard thy skylark, and caught the throbbing note - Which all the soul of springtide sends through the blackbird’s throat. - - O England, island England, if it has been my lot - To live long years in alien lands, with men who love thee not, - - I do but love thee better who know each wind that blows, - The wind that slays the blossom, the wind that buds the rose, - - The wind that shakes the taper mast and keeps the topsail furled, - The wind that braces nerve and arm to battle with the world: - - I love thy moss-deep grasses, thy great untortured trees, - The cliffs that wall thy havens, the weed-scents of thy seas. - - The dreamy river reaches, the quiet English homes, - The milky path of sorrel down which the springtide comes. - - Oh land so loved through length of years, so tended and caressed, - The land that never stranger wronged nor foeman dared to waste, - - Remember those thou speedest forth round all the world to be - Thy witness to the nations, thy warders on the sea! - - And keep for those who leave thee and find no better place, - The olden smile of welcome, the unchanged mother face! - - _Sir Rennell Rodd._ - - - - -WATSON - - -CVIII - -ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES - - She stands, a thousand wintered tree, - By countless morns impearled; - Her broad roots coil beneath the sea, - Her branches sweep the world; - Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed, - Clothe the remotest strand - With forests from her scatterings made, - New nations fostered in her shade, - And linking land with land. - - O ye by wandering tempest sown - ’Neath every alien star, - Forget not whence the breath was blown - That wafted you afar! - For ye are still her ancient seed - On younger soil let fall-- - Children of Britain’s island-breed, - To whom the Mother in her need - Perchance may one day call. - - _William Watson._ - - - - -DOYLE - - -CIX - -THE SONG OF THE BOW - - What of the bow? - The bow was made in England: - Of true wood, of yew-wood, - The wood of English bows; - So men who are free - Love the old yew-tree - And the land where the yew-tree grows. - - What of the cord? - The cord was made in England: - A rough cord, a tough cord, - A cord that bow-men love; - And so we will sing - Of the hempen string - And the land where the cord was wove. - - What of the shaft? - The shaft was cut in England: - A long shaft, a strong shaft, - Barbed and trim and true; - So we’ll drink all together - To the grey goose-feather - And the land where the grey goose flew. - - What of the mark? - Ah, seek it not in England, - A bold mark, our old mark, - Is waiting over-sea. - When the strings harp in chorus, - And the lion flag is o’er us, - It is there that our mark will be. - - What of the men? - The men were bred in England; - The bow-men--the yeomen, - The lads of dale and fell. - Here’s to you--and to you! - To the hearts that are true - And the land where the true hearts dwell! - - _Arthur Conan Doyle._ - - -CX - -A BALLAD OF THE RANKS - - Who carries the gun? - A lad from over the Tweed. - Then let him go, for well we know - He comes of a soldier breed. - So drink together to rock and heather, - Out where the red deer run, - And stand aside for Scotland’s pride-- - The man who carries the gun! - - _For the Colonel rides before, - The Major’s on the flank, - The Captains and the Adjutant - Are in the foremost rank. - But when it’s ‘Action front!’ - And there’s fighting to be done, - Come one, come all, you stand or fall - By the man who carries the gun._ - - Who carries the gun? - A lad from a Yorkshire dale. - Then let him go, for well we know - The heart that never will fail. - Here’s to the fire of Lancashire, - And here’s to her soldier son! - For the hard-bit North has sent him forth-- - The lad who carries the gun. - - Who carries the gun? - A lad from a Midland shire. - Then let him go, for well we know - He comes of an English sire. - Here’s a glass to a Midland lass - And each can choose the one, - But East and West we claim the best - For the man who carries the gun. - - Who carries the gun? - A lad from the hills of Wales. - Then let him go, for well we know - That Taffy is hard as nails. - There are several ll’s in the place where he dwells, - And of w’s more than one, - With a ‘Llan’ and a ‘pen,’ but it breeds good men - And it’s they who carry the gun. - - Who carries the gun? - A lad from the windy West. - Then let him go, for well we know - That he is one of the best. - There’s Bristol rough, and Gloucester tough, - And Devon yields to none. - Or you may get in Somerset - Your lad to carry the gun. - - Who carries the gun? - A lad from London town. - Then let him go, for well we know - The stuff that never backs down. - He has learned to joke at the powder smoke, - For he is the fog-smoke’s sun, - And his heart is light, and his pluck is right-- - The man who carries the gun. - - Who carries the gun? - A lad from the Emerald Isle. - Then let him go, for well we know - We’ve tried him many a while. - We’ve tried him East, we’ve tried him West, - We’ve tried him sea and land, - But the man to beat old Erin’s best - Has never yet been planned. - - Who carries the gun? - It’s you, and you, and you; - So let us go, and we won’t say no - If they give us a job to do. - Here we stand with a cross-linked hand, - Comrades every one; - So one last cup, and drink it up - To the man who carries the gun? - - _For the Colonel rides before, - The Major’s on the flank, - The Captains and the Adjutant - Are in the foremost rank. - And when it’s ‘Action front!’ - And there’s fighting to be done, - Come one, come all, you stand or fall - By the man who carries the gun._ - - _Arthur Conan Doyle._ - - - - -PAIN - - -CXI - -OUR DEAD - - Sye, do yer ’ear thet bugle callin’ - Sutthink stringe through the city’s din? - Do yer shut yer eyes when the evenin’ ’s fallin’, - An’ see quite plain wheer they’re fallin’ in? - An’ theer ain’t no sarnd as they falls in, - An’ they mawch quick step with a silent tread - Through all ar ’earts, through all ar ’earts, - The Comp’ny of ar Dead. - - A woman’s son, and a woman’s lover-- - Yer’d think as nobody ’eld ’im dear, - As ’e stands, a clear mawk, art o’ cover, - An’ leads the rush when the end is near; - One more ridge and the end is near, - One more step an’ the bullet’s sped. - My God, but they’re well-officered, - The Comp’ny of ar Dead! - - Never they’ll ’ear the crard a-cheerin’, - These ’ull never come beck agine; - Theer welkim ’ome is beyond our ’earin’, - But theer nimes is writ, an’ theer nimes remine, - An’ deep an’ lawstin’ theer nimes remine - Writ in theer blood for theer country shed; - An’ they stan’s up strite an’ they knows no shime, - The Comp’ny of ar Dead. - - _Barry Pain._ - - - - -NEWBOLT - - -CXII - -ADMIRALS ALL - -A SONG OF SEA KINGS - - Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake, - Here’s to the bold and free! - Benbow, Collingwood, Byron, Blake, - Hail to the Kings of the sea! - Admirals all, for England’s sake, - Honour be yours and fame! - And honour, as long as waves shall break, - To Nelson’s peerless name! - - _Admirals all, for England’s sake, - Honour be yours and fame! - And honour, as long as waves shall break, - To Nelson’s peerless name!_ - - Essex was fretting in Cadiz Bay - With the galleons fair in sight; - Howard at last must give him his way, - And the word was passed to fight. - Never was schoolboy gayer than he, - Since holidays first began: - He tossed his bonnet to wind and sea, - And under the guns he ran. - - Drake nor devil nor Spaniard feared, - Their cities he put to the sack; - He singed His Catholic Majesty’s beard, - And harried his ships to wrack. - He was playing at Plymouth a rubber of bowls - When the great Armada came; - But he said, ‘They must wait their turn, good souls,’ - And he stooped and finished the game. - - Fifteen sail were the Dutchmen bold, - Duncan he had but two; - But he anchored them fast where the Texel shoaled, - And his colours aloft he flew. - ‘I’ve taken the depth to a fathom,’ he cried, - ‘And I’ll sink with a right good will: - For I know when we’re all of us under the tide - My flag will be fluttering still.’ - - Splinters were flying above, below, - When Nelson sailed the Sound: - ‘Mark you, I wouldn’t be elsewhere now,’ - Said he, ‘for a thousand pound!’ - The Admiral’s signal bade him fly, - But he wickedly wagged his head: - He clapped the glass to his sightless eye, - And ‘I’m damned if I see it!’ he said. - - Admirals all, they said their say - (The echoes are ringing still). - Admirals all, they went their way - To the haven under the hill. - But they left us a kingdom none can take-- - The realm of the circling sea-- - To be ruled by the rightful sons of Blake, - And the Rodneys yet to be. - - _Admirals all, for England’s sake, - Honour be yours and fame! - And honour, as long as waves shall break, - To Nelson’s peerless name!_ - - _Henry Newbolt._ - - -CXIII - -DRAKE’S DRUM - - Drake he’s in his hammock an’ a thousand mile away, - (Capten, art tha sleepin’ there below?) - Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay, - An’ dreamin’ arl the time o’ Plymouth Hoe. - Yarnder lumes the island, yarnder lie the ships, - Wi’ sailor lads a-dancin’ heel-an’-toe, - An’ the shore-lights flashin’, an’ the night-tide dashin’, - He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago. - - Drake he was a Devon man, an’ rüled the Devon seas, - (Capten, art tha sleepin’ there below?), - Rovin’ tho’ his death fell, he went wi’ heart at ease, - An’ dreamin’ arl the time o’ Plymouth Hoe. - ‘Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore, - Strike et when your powder’s runnin’ low; - If the Dons sight Devon, I’ll quit the port o’ Heaven, - An’ drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago.’ - - Drake he’s in his hammock till the great Armadas come, - (Capten, art tha sleepin’ there below?), - Slung atween the round shot, listenin’ for the drum, - An’ dreamin’ arl the time o’ Plymouth Hoe. - Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound, - Call him when ye sail to meet the foe; - Where the old trade’s plyin’ an’ the old flag flyin’, - They shall find him ware an’ wakin’, as they found him long ago! - - _Henry Newbolt._ - - -CXIV - -A TOAST - - Drake’s luck to all that sail with Drake - For promised lands of gold! - Brave lads, whatever storms may break, - We’ve weathered worse of old! - To-night the loving-cup we’ll drain, - To-morrow for the Spanish Main! - - _Henry Newbolt._ - - - - -KIPLING - - -CXV - -THE FLAG OF ENGLAND - - Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro-- - And what should they know of England who only England know?-- - The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag, - They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the - English Flag. - - Must we borrow a clout from the Boer--to plaster anew with dirt? - An Irish liar’s bandage, or an English coward’s shirt? - We may not speak of England? her Flag’s to sell or share. - What is the Flag of England? Winds of the World, declare! - - The North Wind blew:--‘From Bergen my steel-shod vanguards go; - I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe; - By the great North Lights above me I work the will of God, - And the liner splits on the ice-field or the Dogger fills with cod. - - I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors with flame, - Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies came; - I took the sun from their presence, I cut them down with my blast, - And they died, but the Flag of England blew free ere the - spirit passed. - - The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long Arctic night, - The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Light: - What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my bergs to dare, - Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!’ - - The South Wind sighed:--‘From the Virgins my mid-sea course was ta’en - Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main, - Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed - breakers croon - Their endless ocean legends to the lazy locked lagoon. - - Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys, - I waked the palms to laughter--I tossed the scud in the breeze-- - Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone, - But over the scud and the palm-trees an English flag was flown. - - I have wrenched it free from the halliard to hang for a wisp - on the Horn; - I have chased it North, to the Lizard--ribboned and rolled and torn; - I have spread its fold o’er the dying, adrift in a hopeless sea; - I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free. - - My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross, - Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the Southern Cross. - What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my reefs to dare, - Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it is there!’ - - The East Wind roared:--‘From the Kuriles, the Bitter Seas, I come, - And me men call the Home-Wind, for I bring the English home. - Look--look well to your shipping! By the breath of my mad typhoon - I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your best at Kowloon! - - The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas before, - I raped your richest roadstead--I plundered Singapore! - I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake she rose, - And I heaved your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled - crows. - - Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl wake, - But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England’s sake-- - Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid-- - Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is stayed. - - The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows, - The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows. - What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun to dare, - Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is there!’ - - The West Wind called:--‘In squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly - That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die. - They make my might their porter, they make my house their path, - And I loose my neck from their service and whelm them all - in my wrath. - - I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the hole, - They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll: - For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath, - And they see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death. - - But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day - I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away, - First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky, - Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by. - - The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it--the frozen dews have kissed-- - The morning stars have hailed it, a fellow-star in the mist. - What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to dare, - Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!’ - - _Rudyard Kipling._ - - -CXVI - -RECESSIONAL - - God of our fathers, known of old-- - Lord of our far-flung battle-line-- - Beneath Whose awful Hand we hold - Dominion over palm and pine-- - Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, - Lest we forget--lest we forget! - - The tumult and the shouting dies-- - The captains and the kings depart-- - Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice, - An humble and a contrite heart. - Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, - Lest we forget--lest we forget! - - Far-called our navies melt away-- - On dune and headland sinks the fire-- - Lo, all our pomp of yesterday - Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! - Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, - Lest we forget--lest we forget! - - If, drunk with sight of power, we loose - Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe-- - Such boasting as the Gentiles use - Or lesser breeds without the Law-- - Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, - Lest we forget--lest we forget! - - For heathen heart that puts her trust - In reeking tube and iron shard-- - All valiant dust that builds on dust, - And guarding calls not Thee to guard-- - For frantic boast and foolish word, - Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord! - - _Rudyard Kipling._ - - - - -WATT - - -CXVII - -THE GREY MOTHER - - Lo, how they come to me, - Long through the night I call them, - Ah, how they turn to me! - - East and South my children scatter, - North and West the world they wander, - - Yet they come back to me, - Come with their brave hearts beating, - Longing to die for me, - - Me, the grey, old, weary Mother, - Throned amid the northern waters, - - Where they have died for me, - Died with their songs around me, - Girding my shores for me. - - Narrow was my dwelling for them, - Homes they builded o’er the ocean, - - Yet they leave all for me, - Hearing their Mother calling, - Bringing their lives for me. - - Far from South Seas swiftly sailing, - Out from under stars I know not, - - Come they to fight for me, - Sons of the sons I nurtured, - God keep them safe for me! - - Long ago their fathers saved me, - Died for me among the heather, - - Now they come back to me, - Come, in their children’s children ... - Brave of the brave for me. - - In the wilds and waves they slumber, - Deep they slumber in the deserts, - - Rise they from graves for me, - Graves where they lay forgotten, - Shades of the brave for me. - - Yet my soul is veiled in sadness, - For I see them fall and perish, - - Strewing the hills for me, - Claiming the world in dying, - Bought with their blood for me. - - Hear the grey, old, Northern Mother, - Blessing now her dying children,-- - - God keep you safe for me, - Christ watch you in your sleeping, - Where ye have died for me! - - And when God’s own slogan soundeth, - All the dead world’s dust awaking, - - Ah, will ye look for me? - Bravely we’ll stand together - I and my sons with me. - - _Lauchlan MacLean Watt._ - - - - -BOWLES - - -CXVIII - -THE SONG OF THE SNOTTIES[A] - - Listen! my brothers of Eton and Harrow, - Hearken! my brothers of over the seas, - Say! do your class-rooms seem dingy and narrow? - List to the sound of the sea-scented breeze. - Now for a moment if dreary your lot is, - Wet bob or dry bob whichever you be, - List to the tale and the song of the snotties, - The song of the snotties who sail on the sea. - - _The song of the snotties - (The poor little snotties), - Good luck to the snotties wherever they be, - The dirk and the patches, - The bruises and scratches, - The song of the snotties who sail on the sea!_ - - Early we left you and late are returning - Back to the land of our story and birth, - Back to the land of our glory and yearning, - Back from the uttermost ends of the earth. - Hear you the bucket and clang of the brasses - Working together by perfect decree? - That is the tale of the glory which passes-- - That is the song of the snotties at sea! - - Often at noon when the gale’s at its strongest, - Sadly we think of the days that are gone; - Often at night when the watches are longest - Have your remembrances heartened us on. - And in the mazes of dim recollection, - Still we’ll remember the days that are past, - Till, on the hopes of a schoolboy affection, - Death and his angels shall trample at last. - - What though the enemy taunt and deride us! - Have we forgotten the triumphs of yore? - What if the oceans may seem to divide us! - Brothers, remember the friendship we bore. - Lo! it is finished--the day of probations. - Up! and we stand for the England to be. - Then, as the Head and the Front of the Nations, - Brothers, your health!--from the snotties at sea! - - _‘Stand well,’ say the snotties - (‘Good luck,’ say the snotties), - ‘And wisely and firmly and great shall we be; - For monarchies tremble, - And empires dissemble, - But Britain shall stand’--say the snotties at sea!_ - - _George Frederic Stewart Bowles._ - - [A] From _A Gun-Room Ditty Box_ (Cassell & Co., 1898). By - permission of author and publishers. - - - - -II - -WALES - - - - -GRAY - - -CXIX - -THE BARD - - ‘Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! - Confusion on thy banners wait! - Though fanned by Conquest’s crimson wing - They mock the air with idle state. - Helm, nor hauberk’s twisted mail, - Nor e’en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail - To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, - From Cambria’s curse, from Cambria’s tears.’ - Such were the sounds that o’er the crested pride - Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay, - As down the steep of Snowdon’s shaggy side - He wound with toilsome march his long array: - Stout Glo’ster stood aghast in speechless trance; - ‘To arms!’ cried Mortimer, and couched his quivering lance. - - On a rock, whose haughty brow - Frowns o’er old Conway’s foaming flood, - Robed in the sable garb of woe, - With haggard eyes the poet stood - (Loose his beard, and hoary hair - Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air), - And with a master’s hand and prophet’s fire, - Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: - ‘Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave - Sighs to the torrent’s awful voice beneath! - O’er thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave, - Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; - Vocal no more, since Cambria’s fatal day, - To high-born Hoel’s harp, or soft Llewellyn’s lay. - - ‘Cold is Cadwallo’s tongue - That hushed the stormy main: - Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: - Mountains, ye mourn in vain - Modred, whose magic song - Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head. - On dreary Arvon’s shore they lie, - Smeared with gore and ghastly pale: - Far, far aloof th’ affrighted ravens sail; - The famished eagle screams and passes by. - Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, - Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, - Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, - Ye died amidst your dying country’s cries!-- - No more I weep. They do not sleep. - On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, - I see them sit; they linger yet, - Avengers of their native land: - With me in dreadful harmony they join, - And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. - - ‘Weave the warp and weave the woof, - The winding-sheet of Edward’s race: - Give ample room and verge enough - The characters of hell to trace. - Mark the year and mark the night - When Severn shall re-echo with affright - The shrieks of death through Berkeley’s roof that ring, - Shrieks of an agonizing king! - She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, - That tear’st the bowels of thy mangled mate, - From thee be born, who o’er thy country hangs - The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him wait! - Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, - And Sorrow’s faded form, and Solitude behind. - - ‘Mighty victor, mighty lord, - Low on his funeral couch he lies! - No pitying heart, no eye, afford - A tear to grace his obsequies. - Is the sable warrior fled? - Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. - The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born? - Gone to salute the rising morn. - Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, - While proudly riding o’er the azure realm - In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: - Youth on the prow and Pleasure at the helm: - Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind’s sway, - That hushed in grim repose expects his evening prey. - - ‘Fill high the sparkling bowl, - The rich repast prepare; - Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: - Close by the regal chair - Fell Thirst and Famine scowl - A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. - Heard ye the din of battle bray, - Lance to lance and horse to horse? - Long years of havoc urge their destined course, - And through the kindred squadrons mow their way. - Ye towers of Julius, London’s lasting shame, - With many a foul and midnight murder fed, - Revere his consort’s faith, his father’s fame, - And spare the meek usurper’s holy head! - Above, below, the rose of snow, - Twined with her blushing foe, we spread: - The bristled boar in infant-gore - Wallows beneath the thorny shade. - Now, brothers, bending o’er the accursed loom, - Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. - - ‘Edward, lo! to sudden fate - (Weave we the woof; the thread is spun); - Half of thy heart we consecrate - (The web is wove; the work is done). - Stay, O stay! nor thus forlorn - Leave me unblessed, unpitied, here to mourn: - In yon bright track that fires the western skies - They melt, they vanish from my eyes. - But O! what solemn scenes on Snowdon’s height - Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? - Visions of glory, spare my aching sight! - Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! - No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail: - All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia’s issue, hail! - - ‘Girt with many a baron bold - Sublime their starry fronts they rear; - And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old - In bearded majesty, appear. - In the midst a form divine! - Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line: - Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face - Attempered sweet to virgin grace. - What strings symphonious tremble in the air, - What strains of vocal transport round her play? - Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; - They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. - Bright Rapture calls and, soaring as she sings, - Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-coloured wings. - - ‘The verse adorn again - Fierce War and faithful Love - And Truth severe, by fairy diction drest. - In buskined measures move - Pale Grief and pleasing Pain, - With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. - A voice as of the cherub-choir - Gales from blooming Eden bear, - And distant warblings lessen on my ear - That lost in long futurity expire. - Fond impious man, think’st thou yon sanguine cloud, - Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day? - To-morrow he repairs the golden flood - And warms the nations with redoubled ray. - Enough for me: with joy I see - The different doom our fates assign: - Be thine Despair and sceptred Care, - To triumph and to die are mine.’ - He spoke, and headlong from the mountain’s height - Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. - - _Thomas Gray._ - - - - -HUNT - - -CXX - -BODRYDDAN - - O land of Druid and of Bard, - Worthy of bearded Time’s regard, - Quick-blooded, light-voiced, lyric Wales, - Proud with mountains, rich with vales, - And of such valour that in thee - Was born a third of chivalry - (And is to come again, they say, - Blowing its trumpets into day, - With sudden earthquake from the ground, - And in the midst, great Arthur crown’d), - I used to think of thee and thine - As one of an old faded line - Living in his hills apart, - Whose pride I knew, but not his heart:-- - But now that I have seen thy face, - Thy fields, and ever youthful race, - And women’s lips of rosiest word - (So rich they open), and have heard - The harp still leaping in thy halls, - Quenchless as the waterfalls, - I know thee full of pulse as strong - As the sea’s more ancient song - And of a sympathy as wide; - And all this truth, and more beside, - I should have known, had I but seen, - O Flint, thy little shore; and been - Where Truth and Dream walk, hand-in-hand, - Bodryddan’s living Fairyland. - - _James Henry Leigh Hunt._ - - - - -HEMANS - - -CXXI - -THE HARP OF WALES - - Harp of the mountain-land! sound forth again - As when the foaming Hirla’s horn was crown’d, - And warrior hearts beat proudly to the strain, - And the bright mead at Owain’s feast went round: - Wake with the spirit and the power of yore! - Harp of the ancient hills! be heard once more! - - Thy tones are not to cease! The Roman came - O’er the blue waters with his thousand oars: - Through Mona’s oaks he sent the wasting flame; - The Druid shrines lay prostrate on our shores: - All gave their ashes to the wind and sea-- - Ring out; thou harp! he could not silence thee. - - Thy tones are not to cease! The Saxon pass’d, - His banners floated on Eryri’s gales; - But thou wert heard above the trumpet’s blast, - E’en when his towers rose loftiest o’er the vales! - _Thine_ was the voice that cheer’d the brave and free; - They had their hills, their chainless hearts, and thee. - - Those were dark years!--They saw the valiant fall, - The rank weeds gathering round the chieftain’s board, - The hearth left lonely in the ruin’d hall-- - Yet power was _thine_--a gift in every chord! - Call back that spirit to the days of peace, - Thou noble harp! thy tones are not to cease! - - _Felicia Hemans._ - - -CXXII - -PRINCE MADOG’S FAREWELL - - Why lingers my gaze where the last hues of day - On the hills of my country in loveliness sleep? - Too fair is the sight for a wand’rer whose way - Lies far o’er the measureless paths of the deep. - Fall shadows of twilight, and veil the green shore, - That the heart of the mighty may waver no more! - - Why rise in my thoughts, ye free songs of the land - Where the harp’s lofty soul on each wild wind is borne? - Be hush’d! be forgotten! for ne’er shall the land - Of the minstrel with melody greet my return. - No, no! let your echoes still float on the breeze, - And my heart shall be strong for the conquest of seas! - - ’Tis not for the land of my sires to give birth - Unto bosoms that shrink when their trial is nigh; - Away! we will bear over ocean and earth - A name and a spirit that never shall die. - My course to the winds, to the stars I resign; - But my soul’s quenchless fire, oh, my country, is thine! - - _Felicia Hemans._ - - - - -JONES - - -CXXIII - -THE MARCH OF THE MEN OF HARLECH - - Glyndwr, see thy comet flaming! - Hear a heav’nly voice declaiming, - To the world below proclaiming - ‘Cambria shall be free!’ - While thy star on high is beaming, - Soldiers from the mountain teeming, - With their spears and lances gleaming, - Come to follow thee. - Hear the trumpet sounding, - While the steeds are bounding! - On the gale from hill and dale - The war-cry is resounding. - - Warriors famed in song and story, - Coming from the mountains hoary, - Rushing to the field of glory, - Eager for the fray,-- - To the valley wending, - Hearths and homes defending - With their proud and valiant Prince - From ancient kings descending,-- - See the mighty host advancing, - Sunbeams on their helmets dancing! - On his gallant charger prancing - Glyndwr leads the way. - - Now to battle they are going, - Every heart with courage glowing, - Pride and passion overflowing, - In the furious strife; - Lo, the din of war enrages, - Vengeance crowns the hate of ages, - Sternly foe with foe engages, - Feeding Death with Life! - Hear the trumpets braying, - And the horses neighing! - Hot the strife while fiery foes - Are one another slaying! - - Arrows fly as swift as lightning, - Shout on shout the tumult height’ning, - Conquest’s ruddy wing is bright’ning - Helmet, sword and shield; - With their lances flashing, - Warriors wild are crashing - Through the tyrant’s serried ranks, - Whilst onwards they are dashing! - Now the enemy is flying, - Trampling on the dead and dying; - Victory aloft is crying - ‘Cambria wins the field!’ - - _John Jones._ - - - - -MORRIS - - -CXXIV - -LLEWELYN AP GRUFFYDD - - After dead centuries, - Neglect, derision, scorn, - And secular miseries, - At last our Cymric race again is born, - Opens again its heavy sleep-worn eyes, - And fronts a brighter morn. - Shall then our souls forget, - Dazzled by visions of our Wales to Be, - The Wales that Was, the Wales undying yet, - The old heroic Cymric chivalry? - Nay! one we are, indeed, - With that dim Britain of our distant sires; - Still the same love the patriot’s bosom fires; - With the same wounds our loyal spirits bleed; - The heroes of the past are living still - By each sequestered vale, and cloud-compelling hill. - - Dear heart that wast so strong - To guide the storm of battle year by year, - Last of our Cymric Princes! dauntless King! - Whose brave soul knew not fear! - Thou from Eryri’s summits, swooping down - Like some swift eagle, o’er the affrighted town - And frowning Norman castles hovering, - Onward didst bear the flag of Victory; - And oft the proud invader dravest back - In ruin from thy country’s bounds, and far - Didst roll from her the refluent wave of war, - Till, ’neath the swelling flood, - The low fat Lloegrian plains were sunk in blood. - - I see thee when thy lonely widowed heart - Grew weary of its pain, - In one last desperate onset vain - Hurl thyself on thy country’s deadly foes; - From north to south the swift rebellion sped, - The castles fell, the land arose; - Wales reared once more her weary war-worn head - Through triumph and defeat, a chequered sum, - Till the sure end should come, - The traitorous ambush, and the murderous spear; - Still ’mid the cloistered glories of Cwmhir, - I hear the chants sung for the kingly dead, - While Cambria mourned thy dear dishonoured head. - - Strong son of Wales! thy fate - Not without tears, our Cymric memories keep; - Our faithful, unforgetting natures weep - The ancestral fallen Great. - Not with the stalwart arm - After our age-long peace, - We serve her now, nor keen uplifted sword, - But with the written or the spoken word - Would fain her power increase; - The Light we strive to spread - Is Knowledge, and its power - Comes not from captured town or leaguered tower. - A closer brotherhood - Unites the Cymric and the Anglian blood, - Yet separate, side by side they dwell, not one, - Distinct till Time be done. - - But we who in that peaceful victory - Our faith, our hope repose, - With grateful hearts, Llewelyn, think of thee - Who fought’st our country’s foes; - Whose generous hand was open to reward - The dauntless patriot bard, - Who loved’st the arts of peace, yet knew’st through life - Only incessant strife; - Who ne’er like old Iorwerth’s happier son, - Didst rest from battles won, - But strovest for us still, and not in vain; - Since from that ancient pain, - After six centuries, Wales of thy love - Feels through her veins new patriot currents move, - And from thy ashes, like the Phœnix springs - Skyward on soaring wings, - And fronts, grown stronger for the days that were, - Whatever Fortune, ’neath God’s infinite air, - Fate and the Years prepare! - - _Sir Lewis Morris._ - - - - -JONES - - -CXXV - -RHUDDLAN MARSH - - Arvon’s heights hide the bright sun from our gazing, - Night’s dark pall enshrouds all in its embracing; - Still as death--not a breath mars the deep silence, - On mine ear waves roll near with soft hush’d cadence. - O the start of my heart’s quick palpitating, - Anger’s thrill doth me fill when meditating - On the day when the fray crushed the brave Cambrian, - When, through guile, pile on pile heaped Morfa Rhuddlan! - - See, at once Britain’s sons’ bosoms are swelling, - Each face hot with fierce thought from each heart welling; - Strong arms bare through the air fierce blows are dealing, - Till the foes with the blows serried are reeling! - Through the day Britons pray in their great anguish,-- - ‘Thou, on high, hear our cry--help us to vanquish! - Hedge around the dear ground of our lov’d Britain, - Speed our host, or we’re lost on Morfa Rhuddlan!’ - - Like a dart through my heart anguish is flowing, - Hark, how loud, fierce, and proud is the foes’ crowing! - But, O host, do not boast as of aught glorious, - ’Twas thy swarms, not thine arms, made thee victorious! - See, yon scores at their doors watching in terrors, - Full of care for the fare of their lov’d warriors! - Up the rocks quickly flock sire, child, and woman,-- - Each heart bleeds for the deeds on Morfa Rhuddlan. - - _Richard Bellis Jones._ - - - - -JONES - - -CXXVI - -LIBERTY - - See, see where royal Snowdon rears - Her hoary head above her peers - To cry that Wales is free! - O hills which guard our liberties, - With outstretched arms to where you rise - In all your pride, I turn my eyes - And echo, ‘Wales is free!’ - O’er giant Idris’ lofty seat, - O’er Berwyn and Plynlimon great - And hills which round them lower meet, - Blow winds of liberty. - And like the breezes high and strong, - Which through the cloudwrack sweep along, - Each dweller in this land of song - Is free, is free, is free! - - Never, O Freedom, let sweet sleep - Over that wretch’s eyelids creep - Who bears with wrong and shame. - Make him to feel thy spirit high, - And, like a hero, do or die, - And smite the arm of tyranny, - And lay its haunts aflame,-- - Rather than peace which makes thee slave, - Rise, Europe, rise, and draw thy glaive, - Lay foul oppression in its grave - No more the light to see! - Then heavenward turn thy grateful gaze, - And like the rolling thunder raise - Thy triumph-song of joy and praise - To God--that thou art free! - - _Edmund Osborne Jones._ - - -CXXVII - -THE POETS OF WALES - - Dear Cymru, mid thy mountains soaring high - Dwells genius basking in thy quiet air, - And heavenly shades, and solitude more rare, - And all wrapt round with fullest harmony - Of streams which fall afar. Thus pleasantly - ’Neath Nature their fit foster-mother’s care, - Thy children learn from infant hours to bear - And work the will of God. Thy scenery - So varied-wild, so strangely sweet and strong, - Works on them and to music moulds their mind, - Till flows their fancy in poetic rills. - The voice of Nature breathes in every song; - And we may read therein thy features kind, - As in some tarn that nestles ’neath thy hills. - - Thy fragrant breezes wander through the maze - Of all their songs as through a woodland reach; - Their odes drop sweetness like the ripening peach - In laden orchards on late summer days. - Their work is Nature’s own--not theirs the praise - By culture won which midnight studies teach; - Sounds the loud cataract in their sonorous speech, - And strikes the keynote of their tuneful lays. - As to remotest ages in the past - We trace thy joyous story, more and more - Bards won high honour mid thy hills and vales. - So, Cymru, while this world of ours shall last, - And ocean echoing beat upon thy shore, - May poets never cease to sing for Wales! - - _Edmund Osborne Jones._ - - - - -III - -SCOTLAND - - - - -RAMSAY - - -CXXVIII - -FAREWELL TO LOCHABER - - Fareweel to Lochaber, fareweel to my Jean, - Where heartsome wi’ her I ha’e mony days been; - For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, - We’ll maybe return to Lochaber no more. - These tears that I shed, they are a’ for my dear, - And no’ for the dangers attending on weir; - Though borne on rough seas to a far distant shore, - Maybe to return to Lochaber no more. - - Though hurricanes rage, and rise ev’ry wind, - They’ll ne’er make a tempest like that in my mind; - Though loudest of thunders on louder waves roar, - That’s naething like leaving my love on the shore. - To leave thee behind me, my heart is sair pain’d; - But by ease that’s inglorious no fame can be gained; - And beauty and love’s the reward of the brave; - And I maun deserve it before I can crave. - - Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse; - Since honour commands me, how can I refuse? - Without it, I ne’er can have merit for thee; - And, wanting thy favour, I’d better not be. - I gae then, my lass, to win glory and fame; - And if I should chance to come glorious hame, - I’ll bring a heart to thee with love running o’er, - And then I’ll leave thee and Lochaber no more. - - _Allan Ramsay._ - - - - -ELLIOT - - -CXXIX - -THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST - -A LAMENT FOR FLODDEN - - I’ve heard the liltin’ at our ewe-milkin’, - Lasses a liltin’ before dawn o’ day; - But now there’s a moanin’ on ilka green loanin’, - The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away. - - At buchts in the mornin’, nae blythe lads are scornin’, - Lasses are lanely, and dowie, and wae; - Nae daffin’, nae gabbin’, but sighin’ and sabbin’, - Ilk ane lifts her laiglin and hies her away. - - In har’st at the shearin’, nae youths now are jeerin’, - The bandsters are runkled, and lyart and gray; - At fair or at preachin’, nae wooin’, nae fleechin’,-- - The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away. - - At e’en, in the gloamin’, nae swankies are roamin’ - ’Bout stacks, ’mang the lassies at bogle to play; - But each ane sits dreary, lamentin’ her dearie,-- - The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away. - - Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border! - The English for ance by guile wan the day; - The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, - The prime of our land now lie cauld in the clay. - - We’ll hear nae mair liltin’ at our ewe-milkin’, - Women and bairns are dowie and wae; - Sighin’ and moanin’ on ilka green loanin’,-- - The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away. - - _Jean Elliott._ - - - - -GRANT - - -CXXX - -THE HIGHLAND LADDIE - - O where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone? - O where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone? - He’s gone with streaming banners, where noble deeds are done, - And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home. - - O where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay? - O where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay? - He dwelt beneath the holly trees, beside the rapid Spey, - And many a blessing follow’d him, the day he went away. - - O what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear? - O what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear? - A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war, - And a plaid across the manly breast that yet shall wear a star. - - Suppose, ah suppose, that some cruel, cruel wound - Should pierce your Highland laddie, and all your hopes confound? - The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners round him fly, - The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in his eye. - - But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland’s bonnie bounds, - But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland’s bonnie bounds, - His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds, - While wide through all our Highland hills his warlike name resounds. - - _Anne Macivar Grant._ - - - - -BURNS - - -CXXXI - -MY HEARTS IN THE HIGHLANDS - - _My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here, - My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer, - A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe-- - My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go!_ - - Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, - The birth-place of valour, the country of worth! - Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, - The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. - - Farewell to the mountains high cover’d with snow; - Farewell to the straths and green valleys below, - Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods, - Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods! - - _My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here, - My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer, - A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe-- - My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go!_ - - _Robert Burns._ - - -CXXXII - -BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN - - Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, - Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, - Welcome to your gory bed - Or to victorie! - - Now’s the day, and now’s the hour: - See the front o’ battle lour, - See approach proud Edward’s power-- - Chains and slaverie! - - Wha will be a traitor knave? - Wha can fill a coward’s grave? - Wha sae base as be a slave?-- - Let him turn, and flee! - - Wha for Scotland’s King and Law - Freedom’s sword will strongly draw, - Freeman stand or freeman fa’, - Let him follow me! - - By Oppression’s woes and pains, - By your sons in servile chains, - We will drain our dearest veins - But they shall be free! - - Lay the proud usurpers low! - Tyrants fall in every foe! - Liberty’s in every blow! - Let us do, or die! - - _Robert Burns._ - - -CXXXIII - -THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS - - Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? - Then let the loons beware, Sir, - There’s wooden walls upon our seas, - And volunteers on shore, Sir! - The Nith shall run to Corsincon, - And Criffel sink in Solway, - Ere we permit a foreign foe - On British ground to rally! - - O let us not, like snarling tykes, - In wrangling be divided, - Till, slap! come in an unco loun, - And wi’ a rung decide it! - Be Britain still to Britain true, - Amang oursels united! - For never but by British hands - Maun British wrangs be righted! - - The kettle o’ the Kirk and State, - Perhaps a clout may fail in’t; - But Deil a foreign tinkler loon - Shall ever ca’ a nail in’t! - Our fathers’ blude the kettle bought, - And wha wad dare to spoil it, - By Heav’ns! the sacrilegious dog - Shall fuel be to boil it! - - The wretch that wad a tyrant own, - And the wretch, his true-sworn brother, - Who would set the mob above the throne, - May they be damned together! - Who will not sing ‘God save the King,’ - Shall hang as high’s the steeple; - But while we sing ‘God Save the King,’ - We’ll ne’er forget the People! - - _Robert Burns._ - - -CXXXIV - -THEIR GROVES O’ SWEET MYRTLE - - Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, - Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume! - Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan, - Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom; - Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, - Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly, unseen; - For there, lightly tripping amang the white flowers, - A-list’ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. - - Tho’ rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny vallies, - And cauld Caledonia’s blast on the wave, - Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, - What are they?--the haunt of the tyrant and slave! - The slave’s spicy forests and gold-bubbling fountains - The brave Caledonian views wi’ disdain: - He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, - Save Love’s willing fetters--the chains o’ his Jean. - - _Robert Burns._ - - - - -SCOTT - - -CXXXV - -THE OUTCAST - - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, - Who never to himself hath said, - This is my own, my native land! - Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned, - As home his footsteps he hath turned, - From wandering on a foreign strand! - If such there breathe, go, mark him well; - From him no minstrel raptures swell; - High though his titles, proud his name, - Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; - Despite those titles, power, and pelf, - The wretch, concentred all in self, - Living, shall forfeit fair renown, - And, doubly dying, shall go down - To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, - Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung. - - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - -CXXXVI - -FLODDEN FIELD - - By this, though deep the evening fell, - Still rose the battle’s deadly swell, - For still the Scots around their king, - Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. - Where’s now their victor waward wing, - Where Huntly, and where Home?-- - O, for a blast of that dread horn, - On Fontarabian echoes borne, - That to King Charles did come, - When Rowland brave, and Olivier, - And every paladin and peer, - On Roncesvalles died! - Such blast might warn them, not in vain, - To quit the plunder of the slain, - And turn the doubtful day again, - While yet on Flodden side, - Afar, the Royal Standard flies, - And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies, - Our Caledonian pride! - - But as they left the dark’ning heath, - More desperate grew the strife of death. - The English shafts in volleys hail’d, - In headlong charge their horse assail’d; - Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep - To break the Scottish circle deep, - That fought around their king. - But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, - Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, - Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow, - Unbroken was the ring; - The stubborn spearmen still made good - Their dark impenetrable wood, - Each stepping where his comrade stood, - The instant that he fell. - No thought was there of dastard flight; - Link’d in the serried phalanx tight, - Groom fought like noble, squire like knight, - As fearlessly and well; - Till utter darkness closed her wing - O’er their thin host and wounded king. - Then skilful Surrey’s sage commands - Led back from strife his shattered bands; - And from the charge they drew, - As mountain-waves, from wasted lands, - Sweep back to ocean blue. - Then did their loss his foemen know; - Their king, their lords, their mightiest low, - They melted from the field as snow, - When streams are swoln and south winds blow, - Dissolves in silent dew. - Tweed’s echoes heard the ceaseless plash, - While many a broken band, - Disorder’d, through her currents dash, - To gain the Scottish land; - To town and tower, to down and dale, - To tell red Flodden’s dismal tale, - And raise the universal wail. - Tradition, legend, time, and song, - Shall many an age that wail prolong: - Still from the sire the son shall hear - Of the stern strife, and carnage drear, - Of Flodden’s fatal field, - When shiver’d was fair Scotland’s spear, - And broken was her shield! - - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - -CXXXVII - -GATHERING-SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK - - Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, - Pibroch of Donuil, - Wake thy wild voice anew, - Summon Clan-Conuil. - Come away, come away, - Hark to the summons! - Come in your war array, - Gentles and commons. - - Come from deep glen and - From mountain so rocky, - The war-pipe and pennon - Are at Inverlocky. - Come every hill-plaid and - True heart that wears one, - Come every steel blade and - Strong hand that bears one. - - Leave untended the herd, - The flock without shelter; - Leave the corpse uninterred, - The bride at the altar; - Leave the deer, leave the steer, - Leave nets and barges: - Come with your fighting gear, - Broadswords and targes. - - Come as the winds come when - Forests are rended, - Come as the waves come when - Navies are stranded: - Faster come, faster come, - Faster and faster, - Chief, vassal, page and groom, - Tenant and master. - - Fast they come, fast they come; - See how they gather! - Wide waves the eagle plume - Blended with heather. - Cast your plaids, draw your blades, - Forward each man set! - Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, - Knell for the onset! - - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - -CXXXVIII - -OVER THE BORDER - - March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, - Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order? - March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, - All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. - Many a banner spread, - Flutters above your head, - Many a crest that is famous in story; - Mount and make ready then, - Sons of the mountain glen, - Fight for the Queen and the old Scottish glory! - - Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing, - Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; - Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, - Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. - Trumpets are sounding, - War-steeds are bounding, - Stand to your arms then, and march in good order, - England shall many a day - Tell of the bloody fray, - When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border! - - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - -CXXXIX - -BONNIE DUNDEE - - To the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke, - Ere the King’s crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; - So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, - Come follow the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee. - - _Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, - Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; - Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, - And it’s room for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!_ - - Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, - The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat; - But the Provost, douce man, said, ‘Just e’en let him be, - The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee!’ - - As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, - Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow; - But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee, - Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonnie Dundee. - - With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was crammed, - As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged; - There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e’e, - As they watched for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee. - - These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, - And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers; - But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free, - At the toss of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee. - - He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock, - And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke; - ‘Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three - For the love of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.’ - - The Gordon demands of him which way he goes: - ‘Where’er shall direct me the shade of Montrose! - Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me, - Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee. - - There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth, - If there’s lords in the lowlands, there’s chiefs in the North; - There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three - Will cry _Hoigh!_ for the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee. - - There’s brass on the target of barkened bull-hide; - There’s steel in the scabbard that dangles beside; - The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free - At a toss of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee. - - Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks, - Ere I own a usurper, I’ll couch with the fox; - And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee, - You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!’ - - He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown, - The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on, - Till on Ravelston’s cliffs and on Clermiston’s lee - Died away the wild war-notes of Bonnie Dundee. - - _Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, - Come saddle the horses, and call up the men, - Come open the gates, and let me gae free, - For it’s up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!_ - - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - -CXL - -WAR-SONG - - To horse! to horse! the standard flies, - The bugles sound the call; - The Gallic navy stems the seas, - The voice of battle’s on the breeze, - Arouse ye, one and all! - - From high Dunedin’s towers we come, - A band of brothers true; - Our casques the leopard’s spoils surround, - With Scotland’s hardy thistle crown’d; - We boast the red and blue. - - Though tamely crouch to Gallia’s frown, - Dull Holland’s tardy train; - Their ravish’d toys though Romans mourn; - Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn; - And, foaming, gnaw the chain; - - Oh! had they mark’d the avenging call - Their brethren’s murder gave, - Disunion ne’er their ranks had mown, - Nor patriot valour desperate grown, - Sought freedom in the grave! - - Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, - In Freedom’s temple born, - Dress our pale cheek in timid smile, - To hail a master in our isle, - Or brook a victor’s scorn? - - No! though destruction o’er the land - Come pouring as a flood, - The sun, that sees our falling day, - Shall mark our sabres’ deadly sway, - And set that night in blood. - - For gold let Gallia’s legions fight, - Or plunder’s bloody gain; - Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw, - To guard our king, to fence our law, - Nor shall their edge be vain. - - If ever breath of British gale - Shall fan the tricolor, - Or footstep of invader rude, - With rapine foul, and red with blood, - Pollute our happy shore-- - - Then farewell home! and farewell friends! - Adieu each tender tie! - Resolved, we mingle in the tide, - Where charging squadrons furious ride, - To conquer or to die. - - To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam; - High sounds our bugle call; - Combined by honour’s sacred tie, - Our word is _Laws and Liberty_! - March forward, one and all! - - _Sir Walter Scott._ - - - - -LEYDEN - - -CXLI - -ODE ON VISITING FLODDEN - - Green Flodden! on thy bloodstained head - Descend no rain or vernal dew; - But still, thou charnel of the dead, - May whitening bones thy surface strew! - Soon as I tread thy rush-clad vale, - Wild fancy feels the clasping mail; - The rancour of a thousand years - Glows in my breast; again I burn - To see the banner’d pomp of war return, - And mark, beneath the moon, the silver light of spears. - - Lo! bursting from their common tomb, - The spirits of the ancient dead - Dimly streak the parted gloom - With awful faces, ghastly red; - As once, around their martial king, - They closed the death-devoted ring, - With dauntless hearts, unknown to yield; - In slow procession round the pile - Of heaving corses, moves each shadowy file, - And chants, in solemn strain, the dirge of Flodden Field. - - What youth, of graceful form and mien, - Foremost leads the spectred brave, - While o’er his mantle’s folds of green - His amber locks redundant wave? - When slow returns the fated day, - That viewed their chieftain’s long array, - Wild to the harp’s deep plaintive string, - The virgins raise the funeral strain, - From Ord’s black mountain to the northern main, - And mourn the emerald hue which paints the vest of spring! - - Alas! that Scottish maid should sing - The combat where her lover fell! - That Scottish bard should wake the string, - The triumph of our foes to tell! - Yet Teviot’s sons, with high disdain, - Have kindled at the thrilling strain, - That mourn’d their martial fathers’ bier; - And at the sacred font, the priest - Through ages left the master-hand unblessed, - To urge, with keener aim, the blood-encrusted spear. - - Red Flodden! when thy plaintive strain - In early youth rose soft and sweet, - My life-blood, through each throbbing vein, - With wild tumultuous passion beat; - And oft in fancied might, I trode - The spear-strewn path to Fame’s abode, - Encircled with a sanguine flood; - And thought I heard the mingling hum, - When, croaking hoarse, the birds of carrion come - Afar, on rustling wing, to feast on English blood. - - Rude Border Chiefs, of mighty name, - And iron soul, who sternly tore - The blossoms from the tree of fame, - And purpled deep their tints with gore, - Rush from brown ruins, scarr’d with age, - That frown o’er haunted Hermitage; - Where, long by spells mysterious bound, - They pace their round, with lifeless smile, - And shake, with restless foot, the guilty pile, - Till sink the mouldering towers beneath the burdened ground. - - Shades of the dead! on Alfer’s plain - Who scorned with backward step to move, - But struggling ’mid the hills of slain, - Against the Sacred Standard strove; - Amid the lanes of war I trace - Each broad claymore and ponderous mace: - Where’er the surge of arms is tost, - Your glittering spears, in close array, - Sweep, like the spider’s filmy web, away - The flower of Norman pride, and England’s victor host. - - But distant fleets each warrior ghost, - With surly sounds that murmur far; - Such sounds were heard when Syria’s host - Roll’d from the walls of proud Samàr. - Around my solitary head - Gleam the blue lightnings of the dead, - While murmur low the shadowy band-- - ‘Lament no more the warrior’s doom! - Blood, blood alone, should dew the hero’s tomb, - Who falls, ’mid circling spears, to save his native land.’ - - _John Leyden._ - - - - -CUNNINGHAM - - -CXLII - -LOYALTY - - It’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be, - O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! - When the flower is i’ the bud and the leaf is on the tree, - The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie; - For it’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be, - O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! - - The green leaf o’ loyaltie’s begun for to fa’, - The bonnie white rose it is witherin’ an’ a’, - But I’ll water’t wi’ the blude of usurpin’ tyrannie, - An’ green it will grow in my ain countrie. - For it’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be, - O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! - - The great are now gane, a’ wha ventured to save; - The new grass is springin’ on the tap o’ their grave: - But the sun thro’ the mirk blinks blythe in my e’e, - ‘I’ll shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.’ - For it’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be, - O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! - - _Allan Cunningham._ - - - - -ANONYMOUS - - -CXLIII - -THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMIN’ - - The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho! - The Campbells are comin’, O-ho! - The Campbells are comin’ to bonnie Lochleven! - The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho! - - Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay; - Upon the Lomonds I lay; - I lookit doun to bonnie Lochleven, - An’ saw three perches play. - - Great Argyll he goes before; - He makes the cannons an’ guns to roar, - Wi’ sound of trumpet, pipe, and drum; - The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho! - - The Campbells they are a’ in arms, - Their loyal faith and truth to show, - Wi’ banners rattlin’ in the wind, - The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho! - - _Anonymous._ - - - - -GILFILLAN - - -CXLIV - -MY AIN COUNTRIE - - Oh! why left I my hame? - Why did I cross the deep? - Oh! why left I the land - Where my forefathers sleep? - I sigh for Scotia’s shore, - And I gaze across the sea, - But I canna get a blink - O’ my ain countrie. - - The palm-tree waveth high, - And fair the myrtle springs; - And to the Indian maid - The bulbul sweetly sings. - But I dinna see the broom, - Wi’ its tassels on the lea; - Nor hear the linties’ sang - O’ my ain countrie. - - Oh! here no Sabbath bell - Awakes the Sabbath morn, - Nor sang of reapers heard - Amang the yellow corn; - For the tyrant’s voice is here, - And the wail o’ slaverie; - But the sun o’ freedom shines - In my ain countrie. - - There’s a hope for every woe, - And a balm for every pain; - But the first joys of our heart - Come never back again. - There’s a track upon the deep, - And a path across the sea; - But for me there’s nae return - To my ain countrie. - - _Robert Gilfillan._ - - - - -STEVENSON - - -CXLV - -IN THE HIGHLANDS - - In the Highlands, in the country places, - Where the old plain men have rosy faces, - And the young fair maidens - Quiet eyes; - Where essential silence cheers and blesses, - And for ever in the hill-recesses - _Her_ more lovely music - Broods and dies. - - O to mount again where erst I haunted; - Where the old red hills are bird-enchanted; - And the low green meadows - Bright with sward; - And when even dies, the million-tinted, - And the night has come, and planets glinted, - Lo, the valley hollow - Lamp-bestarred! - - O to dream, O to awake and wander - There, and with delight to take and render, - Through the trance of silence, - Quiet breath; - Lo! for there, among the flowers and grasses, - Only the mightier movement sounds and passes; - Only the winds and rivers, - Life and death. - - _Robert Louis Stevenson._ - - -CXLVI - -EXILED - - Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying, - Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now, - Where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are crying, - My heart remembers how! - - Grey recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places, - Standing stones on the vacant wine-red moor, - Hills of sheep, and the homes of the silent vanished races, - And winds, austere and pure: - - Be it granted to me to behold you again in dying, - Hills of home! and to hear again the call; - Hear about the graves of the martyrs the peewees crying, - And hear no more at all! - - _Robert Louis Stevenson._ - - - - -MUNRO - - -CXLVII - -TO EXILES - - Are you not weary in your distant places, - Far, far from Scotland of the mist of storm, - In stagnant airs, the sun-smite on your faces, - The days so long and warm? - When all around you lie the strange fields sleeping, - The ghastly woods where no dear memories roam, - Do not your sad hearts over seas come leaping - To the Highlands and the Lowlands of your home? - - Wild cries the Winter, loud through all our valleys - The midnights roar, the grey noons echo back; - About the scalloped coasts the eager galleys - Beat for kind harbours from the horizons black; - We tread the miry roads, the rain-drenched heather, - We are the men, we battle, we endure! - God’s pity for you, exiles, in your weather - Of swooning winds, calm seas, and skies demure! - - Wild cries the Winter, and we walk song-haunted - Over the hills and by the thundering falls, - Or where the dirge of a brave past is chaunted - In dolorous dusks by immemorial walls. - Though hails may beat us and the great mists blind us, - And lightning rend the pine-tree on the hill, - Yet are we strong, yet shall the morning find us - Children of tempest all unshaken still. - - We wander where the little grey towns cluster - Deep in the hills or selvedging the sea, - By farm-lands lone, by woods where wild-fowl muster - To shelter from the day’s inclemency; - And night will come, and then far through the darkling - A light will shine out in the sounding glen, - And it will mind us of some fond eye’s sparkling, - And we’ll be happy then. - - Let torrents pour, then, let the great winds rally, - Snow-silence fall or lightning blast the pine, - That light of home shines warmly in the valley, - And, exiled son of Scotland, it is thine. - Far have you wandered over seas of longing, - And now you drowse, and now you well may weep, - When all the recollections come a-thronging, - Of this rude country where your fathers sleep. - - They sleep, but still the hearth is warmly glowing - While the wild Winter blusters round their land; - That light of home, the wind so bitter blowing-- - Look, look and listen, do you understand? - Love, strength, and tempest--oh, come back and share them! - Here is the cottage, here the open door; - We have the hearts, although we do not bare them,-- - They’re yours, and you are ours for evermore. - - _Neil Munro._ - - - - -JACOBITE SONGS - - - - -ANONYMOUS - - -CXLVIII - -THE KING OVER THE WATER - - Bonnie Charlie’s noo awa’ - Safely o’er the friendly main; - Mony a heart will break in twa, - Should he ne’er come back again. - - _Will ye no’ come back again? - Will ye no’ come back again? - Better lo’ed ye canna be-- - Will ye no’ come back again?_ - - The hills he trod were a’ his ain, - And bed beneath the birken tree; - The bush that hid him on the plain, - There’s none on earth can claim but he. - - Sweet the laverock’s note and lang, - Liltin’ wildly up the glen; - But he sings nae ither sang - Than ‘Will ye no come back again?’ - - Whene’er I hear the blackbird sing - Unto the e’enin’ sinkin’ down, - Or merle that makes the woods to ring, - To me they hae nae ither soun’ - Than-- - - _Will ye no come back again? - Will ye no come back again? - Better lo’ed ye canna be-- - Will ye no come back again?_ - - _Anonymous._ - - -CXLIX - -WELCOME, ROYAL CHARLIE! - - _Oh! he was lang o’ comin’, - Lang, lang, lang o’ comin’, - Oh! he was lang o’ comin! - Welcome, Royal Charlie!_ - - When he on Moidart’s shore did stand, - The friends he had within the land - Came down and shook him by the hand, - And welcomed Royal Charlie. - - The dress that our Prince Charlie had, - Was bonnet blue, and tartan plaid; - And O! he was a handsome lad, - A true king’s son was Charlie. - - _But oh! he was lang o’ comin’, - Lang, lang, lang o’ comin’, - Oh! he was lang o’ comin’, - Welcome, Royal Charlie!_ - - _Anonymous._ - - -CL - -CAM’ YE BY ATHOL? - - Cam’ ye by Athol, lad wi’ the philabeg, - Down by the Tummel, or banks of the Garry? - Saw ye the lads wi’ their bonnets an’ white cockades, - Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie? - - _Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee? - Lang hast thou lo’ed an’ trusted us fairly! - Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee? - King o’ the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie!_ - - I hae but ae son, my gallant young Donald; - But if I had ten they should follow Glengarry; - Health to Macdonald an’ gallant Clanronald, - These are the men that will die for their Charlie! - - I’ll to Lochiel an’ Appin, an’ kneel to them; - Down by Lord Murray an’ Roy o’ Kildarlie; - Brave Macintosh, he shall fly to the fiel’ wi’ them; - These are the lads I can trust wi’ my Charlie. - - Down thro’ the Lowlands, down wi’ the Whigamore, - Loyal true Highlanders, down wi’ them rarely; - Ronald an’ Donald drive on wi’ the braid claymore, - Over the necks o’ the foes o’ Prince Charlie! - - _Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee? - Lang hast thou lo’ed an’ trusted us fairly! - Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee? - King o’ the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie!_ - - _Anonymous._ - - -CLI - -LADY KEITH’S LAMENT - - I may sit in my wee croo house, - At the rock and the reel to toil fu’ dreary; - I may think on the day that’s gane, - And sigh and sab till I grow weary. - I ne’er could brook, I ne’er could brook, - A foreign loon to own or flatter; - But I will sing a rantin’ sang, - That day our king comes owre the water. - - O gin I live to see the day, - That I hae begg’d, and begg’d frae Heaven, - I’ll fling my rock and reel away, - And dance and sing frae morn till even: - For there is are I winna name, - That comes the reigning bike to scatter; - And I’ll put on my bridal gown, - That day our king comes owre the water. - - I hae seen the gude auld day, - The day o’ pride and chieftain glory, - When royal Stuarts bare the sway, - And ne’er heard tell o’ Whig nor Tory. - Tho’ lyart be my locks and grey, - And eild has crooked me down--what matter? - I’ll dance and sing anither day, - That day our king comes owre the water. - - A curse on dull and drawling Whig, - The whining, ranting, low deceiver, - Wi’ heart sae black, and look sae big, - And canting tongue o’ clishmaclaver! - My father was a good lord’s son, - My mother was an earl’s daughter, - And I’ll be Lady Keith again, - That day our king comes owre the water. - - _Anonymous._ - - - - -BURNS - - -CLII - -O’ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE - - _We’ll o’er the water, we’ll o’er the sea, - We’ll o’er the water to Charlie! - Come weal, come woe, we’ll gather and go, - And live and die wi’ Charlie._ - - Come, boat me o’er, come row me o’er, - Come boat me o’er to Charlie! - I’ll gie John Ross another bawbee - To boat me o’er to Charlie. - - I lo’e weel my Charlie’s name, - Though some there be abhor him; - But, O! to see Auld Nick gaun hame, - And Charlie’s foes before him! - - I swear and vow by moon and stars - And sun that shines so early, - If I had twenty thousand lives, - I’d die as aft for Charlie! - - _We’ll o’er the water, we’ll o’er the sea, - We’ll o’er the water to Charlie! - Come weal, come woe, we’ll gather and go, - And live and die wi’ Charlie!_ - - _Robert Burns._ - - -CLIII - -A SONG OF EXILE - - Frae the friends and land I love - Driv’n by Fortune’s felly spite, - Frae my best belov’d I rove, - Never mair to taste delight! - Never mair maun hope to find - Ease frae toil, relief frae care. - When remembrance wracks the mind, - Pleasures but unveil despair. - - Brightest climes shall mirk appear, - Desert ilka blooming shore, - Till the Fates, nae mair severe, - Friendship, love, and peace restore; - Till Revenge with laurell’d head - Bring our banish’d hame again, - And ilk loyal, bonnie lad - Cross the seas, and win his ain! - - _Robert Burns._ - - -CLIV - -KENMURE’S MARCH - - O, Kenmure’s on and awa, Willie, - O, Kenmure’s on and awa! - An’ Kenmure’s lord’s the bravest lord - That ever Galloway saw! - - Success to Kenmure’s band, Willie, - Success to Kenmure’s band! - There’s no a heart that fears a Whig - That rides by Kenmure’s hand. - - Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine, Willie, - Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine! - There ne’er was a coward o’ Kenmure’s blude, - Nor yet o’ Gordon’s line. - - O, Kenmure’s lads are men, Willie, - O, Kenmure’s lads are men! - Their hearts and swords are metal true, - And that their faes shall ken. - - They’ll live or die wi’ fame, Willie, - They’ll live or die wi’ fame! - But soon wi’ sounding Victorie - May Kenmure’s lord come hame! - - Here’s him that’s far awa, Willie, - Here’s him that’s far awa! - And here’s the flower that I lo’e best-- - The rose that’s like the sna! - - _Robert Burns._ - - -CLV - -A JACOBITE’S FAREWELL - - It was a’ for our rightfu’ king - We left fair Scotland’s strand; - It was a’ for our rightfu’ king, - We e’er saw Irish land, - My dear-- - We e’er saw Irish land. - - Now a’ is done that men can do, - And a’ is done in vain, - My Love and Native Land fareweel, - For I maun cross the main, - My dear-- - For I maun cross the main. - - He turn’d him right and round about - Upon the Irish shore, - And gae his bridle reins a shake, - With adieu for evermore, - My dear-- - And adieu for evermore! - - The soger frae the wars returns, - The sailor frae the main, - But I hae parted frae my love - Never to meet again, - My dear-- - Never to meet again. - - When day is gane, and night is come, - And a’ folk bound to sleep, - I think on him that’s far awa - The lee-lang night, and weep, - My dear-- - The lee-lang night and weep. - - _Robert Burns._ - - - - -NAIRN - - -CLVI - -CHARLIE IS MY DARLING - - _Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling, - Oh! Charlie is my darling, the young Chevalier!_ - - As he cam’ marchin’ up the street, - The pipes played loud and clear, - An’ a’ the folk cam’ rinnin’ oot - To meet the Chevalier. - - Wi’ Hieland bonnets on their heads, - An’ claymores bricht an’ clear, - They cam’ to fecht for Scotland’s richt, - An’ the young Chevalier. - - They’ve left their bonnie Hieland hills, - Their wives and bairnies dear, - To draw the sword for Scotland’s lord, - The young Chevalier. - - _Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling, - Oh! Charlie is my darling, the young Chevalier!_ - - _Lady Nairn._ - - -CLVII - -WHA’LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE? - - The news frae Moidart cam’ yestreen - Will soon gar mony ferlie; - For ships o’ war hae just come in, - And landed Royal Charlie. - - _Come through the heather, around him gather, - Ye’re a’ the welcomer early; - Around him cling wi’ a’ your kin; - For wha’ll be King but Charlie?_ - - The Hieland clans wi’ sword in hand, - Frae John o’ Groats to Airlie, - Hae to a man declared to stand - Or fa’ wi’ Royal Charlie. - - There’s ne’er a lass in a’ the land, - But vows both late an’ early, - To man she’ll ne’er gie heart or han’, - Wha wadna fecht for Charlie. - - Then here’s a health to Charlie’s cause, - An’ be’t complete an’ early; - His very name our hearts’ blood warms-- - To arms for Royal Charlie! - - _Come through the heather, around him gather, - Come Ronald, come Donald, come a’ thegither, - And claim your rightfu’, lawfu’ King, - For wha’ll be King but Charlie?_ - - _Lady Nairn._ - - - - -GLEN - - -CLVIII - -WAE’S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE - - A wee bird cam’ to our ha’ door, - He warbled sweet an’ clearly, - An’ aye the o’ercome o’ his sang, - Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’ - O! when I heard the bonnie, bonnie bird, - The tears cam’ droppin’ rarely; - I took my bonnet aff my head, - For weel I lo’ed Prince Charlie. - - Quoth I, ‘My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird, - Is that a sang ye borrow? - Are these some words ye’ve learnt by heart, - Or a lilt o’ dool an’ sorrow?’ - ‘O! no, no, no,’ the wee bird sang, - ‘I’ve flown sin’ mornin’ early, - But sic a day o’ wind an’ rain-- - Oh! wae’s me for Prince Charlie! - - On hills that are by right his ain, - He roams a lonely stranger, - On ilka hand he’s press’d by want, - On ilka side by danger: - Yestreen I met him in a glen, - My heart maist burstit fairly; - For sairly changed indeed was he-- - O! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’ - - Dark night cam’ on, the tempest roar’d - Cauld o’er the hills an’ valleys; - An’ whaur was’t that your prince lay down, - Whase hame should be a palace? - He row’d him in a Hieland plaid, - Which cover’d him but sparely, - An’ slept beneath a bush o’ broom-- - O! wae’s me for Prince Charlie! - - But now the bird saw some red-coats, - An’ he shook his wings wi’ anger; - ‘O! this is no a land for me; - I’ll tarry here nae langer.’ - A while he hover’d on the wing, - Ere he departed fairly, - But weel I mind the fareweel strain - Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’ - - _William Glen._ - - - - -BOULTON - - -CLIX - -SKYE BOAT-SONG - - _Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing, - ‘Onward’ the sailors cry; - Carry the lad that’s born to be king - Over the sea to Skye!_ - - Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar, - Thunder-clouds rend the air; - Baffled, our foes stand by the shore, - Follow they will not dare. - - Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep; - Ocean’s a royal bed. - Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep - Watch by your weary head. - - Many’s the lad fought on that day - Well the claymore could wield, - When the night came silently lay - Dead on Culloden’s field. - - Burned are our homes, exile and death - Scatter the loyal men; - Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath - Charlie will come again. - - _Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing, - ‘Onward’ the sailors cry; - Carry the lad that’s born to be king - Over the sea to Skye!_ - - _Harold Boulton._ - - - - -MATHESON - - -CLX - -A KISS OF THE KING’S HAND - - It wasna from a golden throne, - Or a bower with milk-white roses blown, - But ’mid the kelp on northern sand - That I got a kiss of the King’s hand. - - I durstna raise my een to see - If he even cared to glance at me; - His princely brow with care was crossed, - For his true men slain and kingdom lost. - - Think not his hand was soft and white - Or his fingers a’ with jewels dight, - Or round his wrists were ruffles grand, - When I got a kiss of the King’s hand. - - But dearer far to my twa een - Was the ragged sleeve of red and green - Owre that young weary hand that fain - With the guid broadsword had found its ain. - - Farewell for ever! the distance grey - And the lapping ocean seemed to say-- - For him a home in a foreign land, - And for me one kiss of the King’s hand. - - _Sarah Robertson Matheson._ - - - - -IV - -IRELAND - - - - -GOLDSMITH - - -CLXI - -HOME - - In all my wanderings round this world of care, - In all my griefs--and God has given my share-- - I still had hopes my later hours to crown, - Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; - To husband out life’s taper at the close - And keep the flame from wasting by repose; - I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, - Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, - Around my fire an evening group to draw, - And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; - And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue, - Pants to the place from whence at first he flew, - I still had hopes, my long vexations past, - Here to return--and die at home at last. - - _Oliver Goldsmith._ - - - - -ANONYMOUS - - -CLXII - -THE WEARIN’ O’ THE GREEN - - O, Paddy dear! an’ did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round? - The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground; - No more St. Patrick’s Day we’ll keep, his colour can’t be seen, - For there’s a cruel law agin the wearin’ o’ the green! - I met wid Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand, - And he said, ‘How’s poor Ould Ireland, and how does she stand?’ - She’s the most disthressful country that iver yet was seen, - For they’re hangin’ men and women there for wearin’ o’ the green. - - An’ if the colour we must wear is England’s cruel red, - Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed; - Then pull the shamrock from your hat and throw it on the sod,-- - And never fear, ’twill take root there, tho’ under foot ’tis trod! - When law can stop the blades of grass from growin’ as they grow, - And when the leaves in summer-time their colour dare not show, - Then I will change the colour, too, I wear in my caubeen, - But till that day, plaze God, I’ll stick to wearin’ o’ the green. - - _Anonymous._ - - - - -MOORE - - -CLXIII - -THE MINSTREL BOY - - The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone, - In the ranks of death you’ll find him; - His father’s sword he has girded on, - And his wild harp slung behind him. - ‘Land of song!’ said the warrior bard, - ‘Tho’ all the world betrays thee, - One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, - One faithful harp shall praise thee!’ - - The Minstrel fell!--but the foeman’s chain - Could not bring his proud soul under; - The harp he loved ne’er spoke again, - For he tore its chords asunder; - And said, ‘No chain shall sully thee, - Thou soul of love and bravery! - Thy songs were made for the pure and free, - They shall never sound in slavery.’ - - _Thomas Moore._ - - -CLXIV - -A SONG OF THE IRISH - - Remember the glories of Brien the brave, - Tho’ the days of the hero are o’er, - Tho’ lost to Mononia, and cold in the grave, - He returns to Kincora no more! - That star of the field, which so often has pour’d - Its beam on the battle, is set; - But enough of its glory remains on each sword - To light us to victory yet! - - Mononia! when Nature embellished the tint - Of thy fields and thy mountains so fair, - Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print - The footstep of slavery there? - No! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign, - Go, tell our invaders the Danes, - That ’tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine - Than to sleep but a moment in chains. - - Forget not our wounded companions, who stood - In the day of distress by our side; - While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood, - They stirred not, but conquered and died! - The sun that now blesses our arms with his light, - Saw them fall upon Ossory’s plain: - Oh! let him not blush when he leaves us to-night - To find that they fell there in vain! - - _Thomas Moore._ - - -CLXV - -DEPARTED GLORY - - The harp that once through Tara’s halls - The soul of music shed, - Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls, - As if that soul were fled.-- - So sleeps the pride of former days, - So glory’s thrill is o’er, - And hearts, that once beat high for praise, - Now feel that pulse no more. - - No more to chiefs and ladies bright - The harp of Tara swells; - The chord alone, that breaks at night, - Its tale of ruin tells. - Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, - The only throb she gives, - Is when some heart indignant breaks, - To show that still she lives. - - _Thomas Moore._ - - -CLXVI - -THE CHOICE - - O, where’s the slave so lowly, - Condemn’d to chains unholy, - Who, could he burst - His bonds at first, - Would pine beneath them slowly? - What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, - Would wait till time decay’d it, - When thus its wing - At once may spring - To the throne of Him who made it? - - Farewell, Erin,--farewell, all, - Who live to weep our fall! - - Less dear the laurel growing, - Alive, untouch’d and blowing, - Than that, whose braid - Is pluck’d to shade - The brows with victory glowing. - We tread the land that bore us, - Her green flag glitters o’er us, - The friends we’ve tried - Are by our side - And the foe we hate before us. - - Farewell, Erin,--farewell, all, - Who live to weep our fall! - - _Thomas Moore._ - - -CLXVII - -A SONG OF TRUE LOVE - - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, - And lovers are round her, sighing: - But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps, - For her heart in the grave is lying. - - She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, - Every note which he lov’d awaking;-- - Ah! little they think who delight in her strains, - How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking. - - He had liv’d for his love, for his country he died, - They were all that to life had entwin’d him; - Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, - Nor long will his love stay behind him. - - O! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, - When they promise a glorious morrow; - They’ll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile from the west, - From her own loved Island of Sorrow. - - _Thomas Moore._ - - -CLXVIII - -TO ERIN - - Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes, - Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies! - Shining through sorrow’s stream, - Saddening through pleasure’s beam, - Thy suns with doubtful gleam, - Weep while they rise. - - Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease, - Erin, thy languid smile ne’er shall increase, - Till, like the rainbow’s light, - Thy various tints unite, - And form in Heaven’s sight - One arch of peace! - - _Thomas Moore._ - - -CLXIX - -THE MINSTREL TO HIS HARP - - Dear Harp of my country! in darkness I found thee, - The cold chain of silence had hung o’er thee long, - When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee, - And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song! - The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness - Have waken’d thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; - But, so oft hast thou echo’d the deep sigh of sadness, - That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still. - - Dear Harp of my country! farewell to thy numbers, - This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine! - Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers, - Till touch’d by some hand less unworthy than mine; - If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, - Have throbb’d at thy lay, ’tis thy glory alone; - I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over, - And all the wild sweetness I wak’d was thy own. - - _Thomas Moore._ - - - - -TONNA - - -CLXX - -THE MAIDEN CITY - - Where Foyle her swelling waters - Rolls northward to the main, - Here, Queen of Erin’s daughters, - Fair Derry fixed her reign: - A holy temple crowned her, - And commerce graced her street, - A rampart wall was round her, - The river at her feet: - And here she sat alone, boys, - And looking from the hill, - Vow’d the Maiden on her throne, boys, - Would be a Maiden still. - - From Antrim crossing over, - In famous eighty-eight, - A plumed and belted lover - Came to the Ferry Gate; - She summoned to defend her - Our sires--a beardless race-- - They shouted, ‘No surrender!’ - And slamm’d it in his face. - Then in a quiet tone, boys, - They told him ’twas their will - That the Maiden on her throne, boys, - Should be a Maiden still. - - Next, crushing all before him, - A kingly wooer came - (The royal banner o’er him - Blushed crimson-deep for shame); - He showed the Pope’s commission, - Nor dreamed to be refused, - She pitied his condition, - But begged to stand excused. - In short, the fact is known, boys, - She chased him from the hill, - For the Maiden on her throne, boys, - Would be a Maiden still. - - On our brave sires descending, - ’Twas then the tempest broke, - Their peaceful dwellings rending - ’Mid blood, and flame, and smoke. - That hallow’d graveyard yonder - Swells with the slaughtered dead-- - O, brothers! pause and ponder, - It was for us they bled; - And while their gifts we own, boys-- - The fane that tops our hill, - O, the Maiden on her throne, boys, - Shall be a Maiden still. - - Nor wily tongue shall move us, - Nor tyrant arm affright, - We’ll look to One above us, - Who ne’er forsook the right; - Who will may crouch and tender - The birthright of the free, - But, brothers, ‘No surrender!’ - No compromise for me! - We want no barrier stone, boys, - No gates to guard the hill, - Yet the Maiden on her throne, boys, - Shall be a Maiden still! - - _Charlotte Elizabeth Tonna._ - - - - -MANGAN - - -CLXXI - -KINCORA - -(_From the Irish_) - - O, where, Kincora! is Brien the Great? - And where is the beauty that once was thine? - O, where are the princes and nobles that sate - At the feast in thy halls, and drank the red wine? - Where, O, Kincora? - - O, where, Kincora! are thy valorous lords? - O, whither, thou Hospitable! are they gone? - O, where are the Dalcassians of the golden swords? - And where are the warriors Brien led on? - Where, O, Kincora? - - And where is Donogh, King Brien’s son? - And where is Conàing, the beautiful chief? - And Kiàn and Corc? Alas! they are gone; - They have left me this night alone with my grief! - Left me, Kincora! - - O, where is Duvlann of the Swift-footed Steeds? - And where is Kiàn, who was son of Molloy? - And where is king Lonergan, fame of whose deeds - In the red battle no time can destroy? - Where, O, Kincora! - - I am MacLaig, and my home is on the lake: - Thither often, to that palace whose beauty is fled, - Came Brien to ask me, and I went for his sake, - O, my grief! that I should live and Brien be dead! - Dead, O, Kincora! - - _James Clarence Mangan._ - - -CLXXII - -DARK ROSALEEN - -(_From the Irish_) - - O! my Dark Rosaleen, - Do not sigh, do not weep! - The priests are on the ocean green, - They march along the deep. - There’s wine from the royal Pope, - Upon the ocean green; - And Spanish ale shall give you hope, - My Dark Rosaleen! - My own Rosaleen! - Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, - Shall give you health, and help, and hope, - My Dark Rosaleen! - - Over hills, and through dales, - Have I roamed for your sake; - All yesterday I sailed with sails - On river and on lake. - The Erne at its highest flood - I dashed across unseen, - For there was lightning in my blood - My Dark Rosaleen! - My own Rosaleen! - O! there was lightning in my blood, - Red lightning lightened through my blood, - My Dark Rosaleen! - - All day long, in unrest, - To and fro do I move, - The very soul within my breast - Is wasted for you, love! - The heart in my bosom faints - To think of you, my Queen, - My life of life, my saint of saints, - My Dark Rosaleen! - My own Rosaleen! - To hear your sweet and sad complaints, - My life, my love, my saint of saints, - My Dark Rosaleen! - - Woe and pain, pain and woe, - Are my lot, night and noon, - To see your bright face clouded so, - Like to the mournful moon. - But yet will I rear your throne - Again in golden sheen; - ’Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, - My Dark Rosaleen! - My own Rosaleen! - ’Tis you shall have the golden throne, - ’Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, - My Dark Rosaleen! - - Over dews, over sands, - Will I fly for your weal; - Your holy, delicate white hands - Shall girdle me with steel. - At home, in your emerald bowers, - From morning’s dawn till e’en, - You’ll pray for me, my flower of flowers, - My Dark Rosaleen! - My own Rosaleen! - You’ll think of me through daylight’s hours, - My virgin flower, my flower of flowers, - My Dark Rosaleen! - - I could scale the blue air, - I could plough the high hills, - O! I could kneel all night in prayer, - To heal your many ills! - And one beamy smile from you - Would float like light between - My toils and me, my own, my true, - My Dark Rosaleen! - My own Rosaleen! - Would give me life and soul anew, - A second life, a soul anew, - My Dark Rosaleen! - - O! the Erne shall run red - With redundance of blood, - The earth shall rock beneath our tread, - And flames wrap hill and wood, - And gun-peal and slogan cry - Wake many a glen serene, - Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, - My Dark Rosaleen! - My own Rosaleen! - The Judgment Hour must first be nigh, - Ere you can fade, ere you can die, - My Dark Rosaleen! - - _James Clarence Mangan._ - - - - -DUFFERIN - - -CLXXIII - -THE BAY OF DUBLIN - - O, Bay of Dublin! how my heart you’re troublin’, - Your beauty haunts me like a fever dream; - Like frozen fountains, that the sun sets bubblin’, - My heart’s blood warms when I but hear your name; - And never till this life’s pulsation ceases, - My early, latest thought you’ll fail to be,-- - O! none here knows how very fair that place is, - And no one cares how dear it is to me. - Sweet Wicklow mountains! the soft sunlight sleepin’ - On your green uplands is a picture rare; - You crowd around me like young maidens peepin’ - And puzzlin’ me to say which is most fair, - As tho’ you longed to see your own sweet faces - Reflected in that smooth and silver sea. - My fondest blessin’ on those lovely places, - Tho’ no one cares how dear they are to me. - How often when alone at work I’m sittin’ - And musin’ sadly on the days of yore, - I think I see my pretty Katie knittin’, - The childer playin’ round the cabin door; - I think I see the neighbours’ kindly faces - All gathered round, their long-lost friend to see; - Tho’ none here knows how very fair that place is, - Heav’n knows how dear my poor home was to me. - - _Lady Dufferin._ - - -CLXXIV - -LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT - - I’m sitting on the stile, Mary, - Where we sat, side by side, - That bright May morning long ago - When first you were my bride. - The corn was springing fresh and green, - The lark sang loud and high, - The red was on your lip, Mary, - The love-light in your eye. - - The place is little changed, Mary, - The day is bright as then, - The lark’s loud song is in my ear, - The corn is green again; - But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, - Your breath warm on my cheek, - And I still keep listening for the words - You never more may speak. - - ’Tis but a step down yonder lane, - The little Church stands near-- - The Church where we were wed, Mary-- - I see the spire from here; - But the graveyard lies between, Mary,-- - My step might break your rest,-- - Where you, my darling, lie asleep, - With your baby on your breast. - - I’m very lonely now, Mary,-- - The poor make no new friends;-- - But, O! they love the better still - The few our Father sends. - And you were all I had, Mary, - My blessing and my pride; - There’s nothing left to care for now - Since my poor Mary died. - - Yours was the good brave heart, Mary, - That still kept hoping on, - When trust in God had left my soul, - And half my strength was gone. - There was comfort ever on your lip, - And the kind look on your brow. - I bless you, Mary, for that same, - Though you can’t hear me now. - - I thank you for the patient smile - When your heart was fit to break; - When the hunger pain was gnawing there, - You hid it for my sake. - I bless you for the pleasant word - When your heart was sad and sore. - O! I’m thankful you are gone, Mary, - Where grief can’t reach you more! - - I’m bidding you a long farewell, - My Mary--kind and true! - But I’ll not forget you, darling, - In the land I’m going to. - They say there’s bread and work for all, - And the sun shines always there; - But I’ll not forget old Ireland, - Were it fifty times as fair. - - And when amid those grand old woods - I sit and shut my eyes, - My heart will travel back again - To where my Mary lies; - I’ll think I see the little stile - Where we sat, side by side,-- - And the springing corn and the bright May morn, - When first you were my bride. - - _Lady Dufferin._ - - - - -FERGUSON - - -CLXXV - -O’BYRNE’S BARD TO THE CLANS OF WICKLOW - -(_From the Irish_) - - God be with the Irish host! - Never be their battle lost! - For, in battle, never yet - Have they basely earned defeat. - - Host of armour, red and bright, - May ye fight a valiant fight! - For the green spot of the earth, - For the land that gave you birth. - - Like a wild beast in his den, - Lies the chief by hill and glen, - While the strangers, proud and savage, - Creean’s richest valleys ravage. - - When old Leinster’s sons of fame, - Heads of many a warlike name, - Redden their victorious hilts, - On the Gaul, my soul exults. - - When the grim Gaul, who have come, - Hither o’er the ocean foam, - From the fight victorious go, - Then my heart sinks deadly low. - - Bless the blades our warriors draw, - God be with Clan Ranelagh! - But my soul is weak for fear, - Thinking of their danger here. - - Have them in Thy holy keeping, - God be with them lying sleeping, - God be with them standing fighting, - Erin’s foes in battle smiting! - - _Sir Samuel Ferguson._ - - -CLXXVI - -THE HILLS OF IRELAND - -(_From the Irish_) - - A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer, - _Uileacán dubh O!_ - Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear, - _Uileacán dubh O!_ - There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand, - And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fann’d, - There is dew at high noontide there, and springs i’ the yellow sand - On the fair hills of holy Ireland. - - Curl’d he is and ringleted, and plaited to the knee, - _Uileacán dubh O!_ - Each captain who comes sailing across the Irish Sea, - _Uileacán dubh O!_ - And I will make my journey, if life and health but stand, - Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant strand, - And leave your boasted braveries, your wealth and high command, - For the fair hills of holy Ireland. - - _Sir Samuel Ferguson._ - - - - -DAVIS - - -CLXXVII - -MY LAND - - She is a rich and rare land; - O! she’s a fresh and fair land; - She is a dear and rare land-- - This native land of mine. - - No men than hers are braver-- - Her women’s hearts ne’er waver; - I’d freely die to save her, - And think my lot divine. - - She’s not a dull or cold land; - No! she’s a warm and bold land; - O! she’s a true and old land-- - This native land of mine. - - Could beauty ever guard her, - And virtue still reward her, - No foe would cross her border-- - No friend within it pine! - - O, she’s a fresh and fair land; - O, she’s a true and rare land! - Yes, she’s a rare and fair land-- - This native land of mine. - - _Thomas Davis._ - - -CLXXVIII - -THE DEAD CHIEF - - ‘Did they dare, did they dare to slay Owen Roe O’Neill?’ - ‘Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel.’ - ‘May God wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to flow! - May they walk in living death, who poisoned Owen Roe! - - Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words.’ - ‘From Derry, against Cromwell, he marched to measure swords; - But the weapon of the Sacsanach met him on his way, - And he died at Cloc Uachtar upon St. Leonard’s Day.’ - - ‘Wail, wail ye for the Mighty One! Wail, wail ye for the Dead; - Quench the hearth, and hold the breath--with ashes strew the head. - How tenderly we loved him! How deeply we deplore! - Holy Saviour! but to think we shall never see him more. - - Sagest in the council was he, kindest in the hall, - Sure we never won a battle--’twas Owen won them all. - Had he lived--had he lived--our dear country had been free; - But he’s dead, but he’s dead, and ’tis slaves we’ll ever be. - - O’Farrell and Clanrickarde, Preston and Red Hugh, - Audley and MacMahon--ye are valiant, wise, and true; - But--what are ye all to our darling who is gone? - The Rudder of our Ship was he, our Castle’s Cornerstone! - - Wail, wail him through the Island! Weep, weep for our pride! - Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died! - Weep the Victor of Beinn Burb--weep him, young men and old; - Weep for him, ye women--your Beautiful lies cold! - - We thought you would not die--we were sure you would not go, - And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell’s cruel blow-- - Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky-- - O! why did you leave us, Owen? why did you die? - - Soft as woman’s was your voice, O’Neill! bright was your eye, - O! why did you leave us, Owen? why did you die? - Your troubles are all over, you’re at rest with God on high; - But we’re slaves, and we’re orphans, Owen!--why did you die?’ - - _Thomas Davis._ - - - - -DE VERE - - -CLXXIX - -THE LITTLE BLACK ROSE - - The Little Black Rose shall be red at last; - What made it black but the March wind dry, - And the tear of the widow that fell on it fast? - It shall redden the hills when June is nigh! - - The Silk of the Kine shall rest at last; - What drove her forth but the dragon fly? - In the golden vale she shall feed full fast, - With her mild gold horn, and her slow, dark eye. - - The wounded wood-dove lies dead at last! - The pine long-bleeding, it shall not die! - This song is secret. Mine ear it passed - In a wind o’er the plains at Athenry. - - _Aubrey de Vere._ - - - - -INGRAM - - -CLXXX - -THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD - - Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight? - Who blushes at the name? - When cowards mock the patriot’s fate, - Who hangs his head for shame? - He’s all a knave or half a slave, - Who slights his country thus; - But a true man, like you, man, - Will fill your glass with us. - - We drink the memory of the brave, - The faithful and the few: - Some lie far off beyond the wave, - Some sleep in Ireland, too. - All, all are gone; but still lives on - The fame of those who died; - And true men, like you men, - Remember them with pride. - - Some on the shores of distant lands - Their weary hearts have laid, - And by the stranger’s heedless hands - Their lonely graves were made; - But though their clay be far away - Beyond th’ Atlantic foam, - In true men, like you, men, - Their spirit’s still at home. - - The dust of some is Irish earth; - Among their own they rest; - And the same land that gave them birth - Has caught them to her breast; - And we will pray that from their clay - Full many a race may start - Of true men, like you, men, - To act as brave a part. - - They rose in dark and evil days - To right their native land; - They kindled here a living blaze - That nothing shall withstand. - Alas! that might can vanquish right-- - They fell and pass’d away; - But true men, like you, men, - Are plenty here to-day. - - Then here’s their memory! may it be - For us a guiding light, - To cheer our strife for liberty - And teach us to unite. - Through good and ill, be Ireland’s still, - Though sad as theirs your fate, - And true men, be you, men, - Like those of Ninety-Eight! - - _John Kells Ingram._ - - -CLXXXI - -NATIONAL PRESAGE - - Unhappy Erin, what a lot was thine! - Half-conquer’d by a greedy robber band; - Ill govern’d now with lax, now ruthless hand; - Mislead by zealots, wresting laws divine - To sanction every dark or mad design; - Lured by false lights of pseudo-patriot league - Through crooked paths of faction and intrigue; - And drugg’d with selfish flattery’s poison’d wine. - Yet, reading all thy mournful history, - Thy children, with a mystic faith sublime, - Turn to the future, confident that Fate, - Become at last thy friend, reserves for thee, - To be thy portion in the coming time, - They know not what--but surely something great. - - _John Kells Ingram._ - - - - -SIGERSON - - -CLXXXII - -THE FLIGHT OF THE EARLS - -(_From the Irish_) - - Lo, our land this night is lone! - Hear ye not sad Erin’s moan? - Maidens weep and true men sorrow, - Lone the Brave Race night and morrow. - - Lone this night is Fola’s plain,-- - Though the foemen swarm amain-- - Far from Erin, generous-hearted, - Far her Flower of Sons is parted. - - Great the hardship! great the grief! - Ulster wails Tirconaill’s Chief, - From Emain west to Assarue - Wails gallant, gentle, generous Hugh. - - Children’s joy no more rejoices,-- - Fetters silence Song’s sweet voices-- - Change upon our chiefs, alas! - Bare the altar, banned the Mass. - - Homes are hearthless, harps in fetters, - Guerdon’s none for men of letters, - Banquets none, nor merry meetings, - Hills ring not the chase’s greetings. - - Songs of war make no heart stronger, - Songs of peace inspire no longer,-- - In great halls, at close of days, - Sound no more our fathers’ lays. - - Foemen camp in Neimid’s plains; - Who shall break our heavy chains? - What Naisi, son of Conn, shall prove - A Moses to the land we love? - - She has none who now can aid her, - All have gone before the invader; - Banba’s bonds and cruel cross - Steal the very soul from us! - - _George Sigerson._ - - -CLXXXIII - -LAMENT FOR EOGHAN RUA O’NEILL - -(_From the Irish_) - - How great the loss is thy loss to me! - A loss to all who had speech with thee:-- - On earth can so hard a heart there be - As not to weep for the death of Eoghan? - Och, ochón! ’tis I am stricken, - Unto death the isle may sicken, - Thine the soul which all did quicken; - --And thou ’neath the sod! - - I stood at Cavan o’er thy tomb, - Thou spok’st no word through all thy gloom; - O want! O ruin! O bitter doom! - O great, lost heir of the house of Niall! - I care not now whom Death may borrow, - Despair sits by me, night and morrow, - My life henceforth is one long sorrow; - --And thou ’neath the sod! - - O child of heroes, heroic child! - Thou’dst smite our foe in battle wild, - Thou’dst right all wrong, O just and mild! - And who lives now--since dead is Eoghan? - In place of feasts, alas! there’s crying, - In place of song, sad woe and sighing, - Alas, I live with my heart a-dying, - --And thou ’neath the sod! - - My woe, was ever so cruel woe? - My heart is torn with rending throe! - I grieve that I am not lying low - In silent death by thy side, Eoghan! - Thou wast skilled all straits to ravel, - And thousands broughtst from death and cavil, - They journey safe who with thee travel, - --And thou with thy God! - - _George Sigerson._ - - - - -SAVAGE-ARMSTRONG - - -CLXXXIV - -THE OLD COUNTRY - - Not tasselled palm or bended cypress wooing - The languid wind on temple-crownèd heights, - Not heaven’s myriad stars in lustre strewing - Smooth sapphire bays in hushed Ionian nights, - Not the clear peak of dawn-encrimsoned snow, - Or plumage-lighted wood, or gilded pile - Sparkling amid the imperial city’s glow, - Endears our Isle. - - Thine the weird splendour of the restless billow - For ever breaking over lonely shores, - The reedy mere that is the wild-swan’s pillow, - The crag to whose torn spire the eagle soars, - The moorland where the solitary hern - Spreads his grey wings upon the breezes cold, - The pink sweet heather’s bloom, the waving fern, - The gorse’s gold. - - And we who draw our being from thy being, - Blown by the untimely blast about the earth, - Back in love’s visions to thy bosom fleeing, - Droop with thy sorrows, brighten with thy mirth; - O, from afar, with sad and straining eyes, - Tired arms across the darkness and the foam - We stretch to thy bluff capes and sombre skies, - Belovèd home! - - The nurselings of thy moorlands and thy mountains, - Thy children tempered by thy winter gales, - Swayed by the tumult of thy headlong fountains - That clothe with pasture green thy grassy vales, - True to one love in climes’ and years’ despite, - We yearn, in our last hour, upon thy breast, - When the Great Darkness wraps thee from our sight, - To sink to rest! - - _George Francis Savage-Armstrong._ - - - - -GRAVES - - -CLXXXV - -THE SONGS OF ERIN - - (‘Music shall outlive all the songs of the birds.’--_Old Irish_) - - I’ve heard the lark’s cry thrill the sky o’er the meadows of Lusk, - And the first joyous gush of the thrush from Adare’s April Wood; - At thy lone music’s spell, Philomel, magic-stricken I’ve stood, - When, in Espan afar, star on star trembled out of the dusk. - - While Dunkerron’s blue dove murmured love, ’neath her nest I - have sighed, - And by mazy Culdaff with a laugh mocked the cuckoo’s refrain; - Derrycarn’s dusky bird I have heard piping joy hard by pain, - And the swan’s last lament sobbing sent over Moyle’s mystic tide. - - Yet as bright shadows pass from the glass of the darkening lake, - As the rose’s rapt sigh will soon die, when the zephyr is stilled; - In oblivion grey sleeps each lay that those birds ever trilled, - But the songs Erin sings from her strings shall immortally wake. - - _Alfred Perceval Graves._ - - - - -CASEY - - -CLXXXVI - -THE RISING OF THE MOON - -(1798) - - ‘O, then, tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, tell me why you hurry so?’ - ‘Hush, _ma bouchal_, hush and listen;’ and his cheeks were all aglow: - ‘I bear orders from the Captain--get you ready quick and soon; - For the pikes must be together at the risin’ o’ the moon.’ - - ‘O, then, tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, where the gath’rin’ is to be?’ - ‘At the old spot by the river, right well known to you and me; - One word more--for signal token, whistle up the marchin’ tune, - With your pike upon your shoulder, by the risin’ o’ the moon.’ - - Out from many a mud-wall cabin eyes were watching through that night, - Many a manly heart was throbbing for the blessed warning light. - Murmurs passed along the valleys, like the banshee’s lonely croon, - And a thousand blades were flashing at the rising of the moon. - - There, beside the singing river, that dark mass of men was seen-- - Far above the shining weapons hung their own beloved Green. - ‘Death to every foe and traitor! Forward! strike the marchin’ tune, - And hurrah, my boys, for Freedom! ’tis the risin’ o’ the moon!’ - - Well they fought for poor old Ireland, and full bitter was - their fate; - (O, what glorious pride and sorrow fills the name of Ninety-Eight!) - Yet, thank God, e’en still are beating hearts in manhood’s - burning noon, - Who would follow in their footsteps at the rising of the moon! - - _John Keegan Casey._ - - - - -ROLLESTON - - -CLXXXVII - -THE DEAD AT CLONMACNOIS - -(_From the Irish of Angus O’Gillan_) - - In a quiet-water’d land, a land of roses, - Stands Saint Kieran’s city fair; - And the warriors of Erinn in their famous generations - Slumber there - - There below the dewy hillside sleep the noblest - Of the Clan of Conn, - Each beneath his stone with name in branching Ogham - And the sacred knot thereon. - - There they laid to rest the seven Kings of Tara, - There the sons of Cairbrè sleep-- - Battle-banners of the Gael, that in Kieran’s plain of crosses - Now their final hosting keep. - - And in Clonmacnois they laid the men of Teffia, - And right many a lord of Breagh; - Deep the sod above Clan Creidè and Clan Conaill, - Kind in hall and fierce in fray. - - Many and many a son of Conn the Hundred-Fighter - In the red earth lies at rest; - Many a blue eye of Clan Colman the turf covers, - Many a swan-white breast. - - _Thomas William Rolleston._ - - - - -HINKSON - - -CLXXXVIII - -SHAMROCK SONG - - O the red rose may be fair, - And the lily statelier; - But my shamrock, one in three, - Takes the very heart of me! - - Many a lover hath the rose - When June’s musk-wind breathes and blows; - And in many a bower is heard - Her sweet praise from bee and bird. - - Through the gold hours dreameth she, - In her warm heart passionately, - Her fair face hung languid-wise: - O her breath of honey and spice! - - Like a fair saint virginal - Stands your lily silver and tall; - Over all the flowers that be - Is my shamrock dear to me. - - Shines the lily like the sun, - Crystal-pure, a cold sweet nun; - With her austere lip she sings - To her heart of heavenly things. - - Gazeth through a night of June - To her sister-saint the moon; - With the stars communeth long - Of the angels and their song. - - But when summer died last year - Rose and lily died with her; - Shamrock stayeth every day, - Be the winds or gold or grey. - - Irish hills, grey as the dove, - Know the little plant I love; - Warm and fair it mantles them, - Stretching down from throat to hem. - - And it laughs o’er many a vale, - Sheltered safe from storm and gale; - Sky and sun and stars thereof - Love the gentle plant I love. - - Soft it clothes the ruined floor, - Of many an abbey, grey and hoar, - And the still home of the dead - With its green is carpeted. - - Roses for an hour of love, - With the joy and pain thereof; - Stand my lilies white to see - All for prayer and purity. - - These are white as the harvest moon, - Roses flush like the heart of June; - But my shamrock brave and gay, - Glads the tired eyes every day. - - O the red rose shineth rare, - And the lily saintly fair; - But my shamrock, one in three, - Takes the inmost heart of me! - - _Katharine Tynan Hinkson._ - - - - -JOHNSON - - -CLXXXIX - -WAYS OF WAR - - A terrible and splendid trust - Heartens the host of Inisfail: - Their dream is of the swift sword-thrust, - A lighting glory of the Gael. - - Croagh Patrick is the place of prayers, - And Tara the assembling place: - But each sweet wind of Ireland bears - The trump of battle on its race. - - From Dursey Isle to Donegal, - From Howth to Achill, the glad noise - Rings: and the heirs of glory fall, - Or victory crowns their fighting joys. - - A dream! a dream! an ancient dream! - Yet, ere peace come to Inisfail, - Some weapons on some field must gleam, - Some burning glory fire the Gael. - - That field may lie beneath the sun, - Fair for the treading of an host: - That field in realms of thought be won, - And armed minds do their uttermost: - - Some way, to faithful Inisfail, - Shall come the majesty and awe - Of martial truth, that must prevail, - To lay on all the eternal law. - - _Lionel Johnson._ - - - - -V - -CANADA - - - - -SMITH - - -CXC - -THE CANADIANS ON THE NILE - - O, the East is but West, with the sun a little hotter; - And the pine becomes a palm, by the dark Egyptian water: - And the Nile’s like many a stream we know, that fills its - brimming cup,-- - We’ll think it is the Ottawa, as we track the batteaux up! - _Pull, pull, pull! as we track the batteaux up! - It’s easy shooting homeward, when we’re at the top!_ - - O, the cedar and the spruce line each dark Canadian river; - But the thirsty date is here, where the sultry sunbeams quiver; - And the mocking mirage spreads its view, afar on either hand; - But strong we bend the sturdy oar, towards the Southern land! - - O, we’ve tracked the Rapids up, and o’er many a portage crossing; - And it’s often such we’ve seen, though so loud the waves are tossing! - Then, it’s homeward when the run is o’er! o’er stream, and - ocean deep-- - To bring the memory of the Nile, where the maple shadows sleep! - - And it yet may come to pass, that the hearts and hands so ready - May be sought again to help, when some poise is off the steady! - And the Maple and the Pine be matched, with British Oak the while, - As once beneath Egyptian suns, the Canadians on the Nile! - _Pull, pull, pull! as we track the batteaux up! - It’s easy shooting homeward, when we’re at the top!_ - - _William Wye Smith._ - - - - -ANDERSON - - -CXCI - -THE DEATH OF WOLFE - - ‘On with the charge!’ he cries, and waves his sword;-- - One rolling cheer five thousand voices swell;-- - The levelled guns pour forth their leaden shower, - While thund’ring cannons’ roar half drowns the Huron yell. - - ‘On with the charge!’ with shout and cheer they come;-- - No laggard there upon that field of fame. - The lurid plain gleams like a seething hell, - And every rock and tree send forth their bolts of flame. - - On! on! they sweep. Uprise the waiting ranks-- - Still as the grave--unmoved as granite wall;-- - The foe before--the dizzy crags behind-- - They fight, the day to win, or like true warriors fall. - - Forward they sternly move, then halt to wait - That raging sea of human life now near;-- - ‘Fire!’ rings from right to left,--each musket rings, - As if a thunder-peal had struck the startled ear. - - Again, and yet again that volley flies,-- - With deadly aim the grapeshot sweeps the field;-- - All levelled for the charge, the bayonets gleam, - And brawny arms a thousand claymores fiercely wield. - - And down the line swells high the British cheer, - That on a future day woke Minden’s plain, - And the loud slogan that fair Scotland’s foes - Have often heard with dread, and oft shall hear again. - - And the shrill pipe its coronach that wailed - On dark Culloden moor o’er trampled dead, - Now sounds the ‘Onset’ that each clansman knows, - Still leads the foremost rank, where noblest blood is shed. - - And on that day no nobler stained the sod, - Than his, who for his country life laid down; - Who, for a mighty Empire battled there, - And strove from rival’s brow to wrest the laurel crown. - - Twice struck,--he recks not, but still heads the charge, - But, ah! fate guides the marksman’s fatal ball:-- - With bleeding breast, he claims a comrade’s aid,-- - ‘We win,--let not my soldiers see their Leader fall.’ - - Full well he feels life’s tide is ebbing fast,-- - When hark! ‘They run; see how they run!’ they cry. - ‘Who run?’ ‘The foe.’ His eyes flash forth one gleam, - Then murm’ring low he sighs, ‘Praise God, in peace I die.’ - - Far rolls the battle’s din, and leaves its dead, - As when a cyclone thro’ the forest cleaves;-- - And the dread claymore heaps the path with slain, - As strews the biting cold the earth with autumn leaves. - - The Fleur de Lys lies trodden on the ground,-- - The slain Montcalm rests in his warrior grave,-- - ‘All’s well’ resounds from tower and battlement, - And England’s banners proudly o’er the ramparts wave. - - Slowly the mighty warships sail away, - To tell their country of an empire won; - But, ah! they bear the death-roll of the slain, - And all that mortal is of Britain’s noblest son. - - With bowèd head they lay their hero down, - And pomp and pageant crown the deathless brave;-- - Loud salvoes sing the soldier’s lullaby, - And weeping millions bathe with tears his honoured grave. - - Then bright the bonfires blaze on Albion’s hills,-- - And rends the very sky a people’s joy;-- - And even when grief broods o’er the vacant chair, - The mother’s heart still nobly gives her gallant boy. - - And while broad England gleams with glorious light, - And merry peals from every belfry ring;-- - One little village lies all dark and still, - No fires are lighted there--no battle songs they sing. - - There in her lonely cot, in widow’s weeds, - A mother mourns--the silent tear-drops fall;-- - She too had given to swell proud England’s fame, - But, ah! she gave the widow’s mite--she gave her all! - - _Duncan Anderson._ - - - - -CURZON - - -CXCII - -THE LOYALISTS - - O ye, who with your blood and sweat - Watered the furrows of this land,-- - See where upon a nation’s brow, - In honour’s front, ye proudly stand - - Who for her pride abased your own, - And gladly on her altar laid - All bounty of the outer world, - All memories that your glory made. - - And to her service bowed your strength, - Took labour for your shield and crest; - See where upon a nation’s brow, - Her diadem ye proudly rest! - - _Sarah Anne Curzon._ - - - - -RAND - - -CXCIII - -THE WHITETHROAT - - Shy bird of the silver arrows of song, - That cleave our Northern air so clear, - Thy notes prolong, prolong, - I listen, I hear-- - ‘I love--dear--Canada, - Canada, Canada!’ - - O plumes of the pointed dusky fir, - Screen of a swelling patriot heart, - The copse is all astir - And echoes thy part!... - - Now willowy reeds tune their silver flutes - As the noise of the day dies down; - And silence strings her lutes, - The Whitethroat to crown.... - - O bird of the silver arrows of song, - Shy poet of Canada dear, - Thy notes prolong, prolong, - We listen, we hear-- - ‘I--love--dear--Canada, - Canada, Canada!’ - - _Theodore Harding Rand._ - - - - -CHRISTIE - - -CXCIV - -WELCOME HOME - -(_July 23, 1885_) - - War-worn, sun-scorched, stained with the dust of toil - And battle-scarred they come--victorious! - Exultingly we greet them--cleave the sky - With cheers, and fling our banners to the winds; - We raise triumphant songs, and strew their path - To do them homage--bid them ‘Welcome Home!’ - - We laid our country’s honour in their hands - And sent them forth undoubting. Said farewell - With hearts too proud, too jealous of their fame, - To own our pain. To-day glad tears may flow. - To-day they come again, and bring their gift-- - Of all earth’s gifts most precious--trust redeemed. - We stretch our hands, we lift a joyful cry, - Words of all words the sweetest--‘Welcome Home!’ - - O brave true hearts! O steadfast loyal hearts! - They come, and lay their trophies at our feet; - They show us work accomplished, hardships borne, - Courageous deeds, and patience under pain, - Their country’s name upheld and glorified, - And Peace, dear purchased by their blood and toil. - What guerdon have we for such service done? - Our thanks, our pride, our praises, and our prayers; - Our country’s smile, and her most just rewards; - The victor’s laurel laid upon their brows - And all the love that speaks in ‘Welcome Home!’ - - Bays for the heroes: for the martyrs, palms. - To those who come not, who ‘though dead yet speak’ - A lesson to be guarded in our souls - While the land lives for whose dear sake they died-- - Whose lives thrice sacred are the price of Peace, - Whose memory, thrice belovèd thrice revered, - Shall be their country’s heritage, to hold - Eternal pattern to her living sons-- - What dare we bring? They, dying, have won all. - A drooping flag, a flower upon their graves, - Are all the tribute left. Already theirs - A Nation’s safety, gratitude and tears, - Imperishable honour, endless rest. - - And ye, O stricken hearted! to whom earth - Is dark, though Peace is smiling, whom no pride - Can soothe, no triumph-pæan can console-- - Ye surely will not fail them--will not shrink - To perfect now your sacrifice of love? - ’Tis yours to stifle sobs and check your tears, - Lest echo of your grief should reach and break - Their hard-won joy in Heaven, where God Himself - Has met and crowned them, and has said ‘Well done!’ - - _Annie Rothwell Christie._ - - - - -PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY - - -CXCV - -THEIR TESTAMENT - - Why is it that ye grieve, O, weak in faith, - Who turn toward High Heaven upbraiding eyes? - Think ye that God will count your children’s death - Vain sacrifice? - - Half-mast your flags? Nay, fly them at the head! - We reap the harvest where we sowed the corn; - See, from the red graves of your gallant dead, - An Empire born! - - Do ye not know ye cannot cure a flaw - Unless the steel runs molten-red again: - That men’s mere words could not together draw - Those who were twain? - - Do you not see the Anglo-Saxon breed - Grew less than kin, on every continent; - That brothers had forgotten, in their greed, - What ‘brother’ meant? - - Do ye not hear from all the humming wires - Which bind the mother to each colony, - How He works surely for our best desires - To weld the free - - With blood of freemen into one Grand Whole, - To open all the gates of all the Earth? - Do ye not see your Greater Britain’s soul - Has come to birth? - - Do ye not hear above the sighs--the song - From all those outland hearts, which peace kept dumb:-- - ‘There is no fight too fierce, no trail too long, - When Love cries ‘Come!’’ - - Can ye beat steel from iron in the sun, - Or crown Earth’s master on a bloodless field? - As Abram offered to his God his son, - Our best _we_ yield. - - And God gives answer. In the battle smoke-- - Tried in war’s crucible, washed white in tears, - The Saxon heart of Greater Britain woke, - One for all years. - - Lift up your eyes! Your glory is revealed! - See, through war’s clouds, the rising of your Sun! - Hear ye God’s voice! _Their testament is sealed - And ye be one!_ - - _Clive Phillipps-Wolley._ - - - - -ROBERTS - - -CXCVI - -CANADA - - O Child of Nations, giant-limbed, - Who stand’st among the nations now - Unheeded, unadored, unhymned, - With unanointed brow,-- - - How long the ignoble sloth, how long - The trust in greatness not thine own? - Surely the lion’s brood is strong - To front the world alone! - - How long the indolence, ere thou dare - Achieve thy destiny, seize thy fame-- - Ere our proud eyes behold thee bear - A nation’s franchise, nation’s name? - - The Saxon force, the Celtic fire, - These are thy Manhood’s heritage! - Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek higher - The place of race and age. - - I see to every wind unfurled - The flag that bears the Maple-Wreath; - Thy swift keels furrow round the world - Its blood-red folds beneath; - - Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas; - Thy white sails swell with alien gales; - To stream on each remotest breeze - The black smoke of thy pipes exhales. - - O Falterer, let thy past convince - Thy future,--all the growth, the gain, - The fame since Cartier knew thee, since - Thy shores beheld Champlain! - - Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm! - Quebec, thy storied citadel - Attest in burning song and psalm - How here thy heroes fell! - - O Thou that bor’st the battle’s brunt - At Queenston and at Lundy’s Lane,-- - On whose scant ranks but iron front - The battle broke in vain!-- - - Whose was the danger, whose the day, - From whose triumphant throats the cheers, - At Chrysler’s Farm, at Chateauquay, - Storming like clarion-bursts our ears? - - On soft Pacific slopes,--beside - Strange floods that Northward rave and fall-- - Where chafes Acadia’s chainless tide-- - Thy sons await thy call. - - They wait; but some in exile, some - With strangers housed, in stranger lands;-- - And some Canadian lips are dumb - Beneath Egyptian sands. - - O mystic Nile! Thy secret yields - Before us; thy most ancient dreams - Are mixed with far Canadian fields - And murmur of Canadian streams. - - But thou, my Country, dream not thou! - Wake, and behold how night is done; - How on thy breast, and o’er thy brow, - Bursts the uprising Sun! - - _Charles George Douglas Roberts._ - - - - -CAMPBELL - - -CXCVII - -ENGLAND - - England, England, England, - Girdled by ocean and skies, - And the power of a world, and the heart of a race, - And a hope that never dies. - - England, England, England, - Wherever a true heart beats, - Wherever the rivers of commerce flow, - Wherever the bugles of conquest blow, - Wherever the glories of liberty grow, - ’Tis the name that the world repeats. - - And ye who dwell in the shadow - Of the century’s sculptured piles, - Where sleep our century-honoured dead - While the great world thunders overhead, - And far out miles on miles, - Beyond the smoke of the mighty town, - The blue Thames dimples and smiles; - Not yours alone the glory of old, - Of the splendid thousand years, - Of Britain’s might and Britain’s right - And the brunt of British spears. - - Not yours alone, for the great world round - Ready to dare and do, - Scot and Celt and Norman and Dane, - With the Northman’s sinew and heart and brain, - And the Northman’s courage for blessing or bane - Are England’s heroes too. - - North and south and east and west, - Wherever their triumphs be, - Their glory goes home to the ocean-girt isle - Where the heather blooms and the roses smile - With the green isle under her lee; - And if ever the smoke of an alien gun - Should threaten her iron repose, - Shoulder to shoulder against the world, - Face to face with her foes, - Scot and Celt and Saxon are one - Where the glory of England goes. - And we of the newer and vaster West, - Where the great war banners are furled, - And commerce hurries her teeming hosts, - And the cannon are silent along our coasts, - Saxon and Gaul, Canadians claim - A part in the glory and pride and aim - Of the Empire that girdles the world. - - England, England, England, - Wherever the daring heart - By Arctic floe or torrid strand - Thy heroes play their part; - For as long as conquest holds the earth, - Or commerce sweeps the sea, - By orient jungle or western plain, - Will the Saxon spirit be. - - And whatever the people that dwell beneath, - Or whatever the alien tongue, - Over the freedom and peace of the world - Is the flag of England flung. - Till the last great freedom is found, - And the last great truth be taught, - Till the last great deed be done - And the last great battle is fought; - Till the last great fighter is slain in the last great fight - And the war-wolf is dead in his den, - England, breeder of hope and valour and might, - Iron mother of men. - - Yea, England, England, England, - Till honour and valour are dead, - Till the world’s great cannons rust, - Till the world’s great hopes are dust, - Till faith and freedom be fled, - Till wisdom and justice have passed - To sleep with those who sleep in the many-chambered vast, - Till glory and knowledge are charnelled dust in dust, - To all that is best in the world’s unrest, - In heart and mind you are wed. - While out from the Indian jungle - To the far Canadian snows, - Over the east and over the west, - Over the worst and over the best, - The flag of the world to its winds unfurled, - The blood-red ensign blows. - - _William Wilfred Campbell._ - - -CXCVIII - -THE WORLD-MOTHER - - By crag and lonely moor she stands, - This mother of half a world’s great men, - And kens them far by sea-wracked lands, - Or orient jungle or western fen. - - And far out ’mid the mad turmoil, - Or where the desert places keep - Their lonely hush, her children toil, - Or wrapt in wide-world honour sleep. - - By Egypt’s sands or western wave, - She kens her latest heroes rest, - With Scotland’s honour o’er each grave, - And Britain’s flag above each breast. - - And some at home.--Her mother love - Keeps crooning wind-songs o’er their graves, - Where Arthur’s castle looms above, - Or Strathy storms or Solway raves. - - Or Lomond unto Nevis bends - In olden love of clouds and dew; - Where Trossach unto Stirling sends - Greetings that build the years anew. - - Out where her miles of heather sweep, - Her dust of legend in his breast, - ’Neath agèd Dryburgh’s aisle and keep, - Her Wizard Walter takes his rest. - - And her loved ploughman, he of Ayr, - More loved than any singer loved - By heart of man amidst those rare, - High souls the world hath tried and proved; - - Whose songs are first to heart and tongue, - Wherever Scotsmen greet together, - And, far-out alien scenes among, - Go mad at the glint of a sprig of heather. - - And he her latest wayward child, - Her Louis of the magic pen, - Who sleeps by tropic crater piled, - Far, far, alas! from misted glen; - - Who loved her, knew her, drew her so, - Beyond all common poet’s whim;-- - In dreams the whaups are calling low, - In sooth her heart is woe for him. - - And they, her warriors, greater none - E’er drew the blade of daring forth, - Her Colin under Indian sun, - Her Donald of the fighting North. - - Or he, her greatest hero, he - Who sleeps somewhere by Nilus’ sands, - Brave Gordon, mightiest of those free, - Great captains of her fighting bands. - - Yea, these and myriad myriads more, - Who stormed the fort or ploughed the main, - To free the wave or win the shore, - She calls in vain, she calls in vain. - - Brave sons of her, far severed wide - By purpling peak or reeling foam; - From western ridge or orient side, - She calls them home, she calls them home. - - And far, from east to western sea, - The answering word comes back to her:-- - ‘Our hands were slack, our hopes were free, - We answered to the blood astir; - - The life by Kelpie loch was dull, - The homeward slothful work was done, - We followed where the world was full, - To dree the weird our fates had spun. - - We built the brig, we reared the town, - We spanned the earth with lightning gleam, - We ploughed, we fought, ’mid smile and frown, - Where all the world’s four corners team. - - But under all the surge of life, - The mad race-fight for mastery, - Though foremost in the surgent strife, - Our hearts went back, went back to thee.’ - - For the Scotsman’s speech is wise and slow, - And the Scotsman’s thought it is hard to ken, - But through all the yearnings of men that go, - His heart is the heart of the northern glen. - - His song is the song of the windy moor, - And the humming pipes of the squirling din; - And his love is the love of the shieling door, - And the smell of the smoking peat within. - - And nohap how much of the alien blood - Is crossed with the strain that holds him fast, - ‘Mid the world’s great ill and the world’s great good, - He yearns to the Mother of men at last. - - For there’s something strong and something true - In the wind where the sprig of heather is blown; - And something great in the blood so blue, - That makes him stand like a man alone. - - Yea, give him the road and loose him free, - He sets his teeth to the fiercest blast, - For there’s never a toil in a far countrie, - But a Scotsman tackles it hard and fast. - - He builds their commerce, he sings their songs, - He weaves their creeds with an iron twist, - And making of laws or righting of wrongs, - He grinds it all as the Scotsman’s grist. - - Yea, there by crag and moor she stands, - This mother of half a world’s great men, - And out of the heart of her haunted lands - She calls her children home again. - - And over the glens and the wild sea floors - She peers so still as she counts her cost, - With the whaups low calling over the moors, - ‘Woe, woe, for the great ones she hath lost.’ - - _William Wilfred Campbell._ - - - - -SCOTT - - -CXCIX - -QUEBEC - - Fierce on this bastion beats the noon-day sun; - The city sleeps beneath me, old and grey; - On convent roofs the quivering sunbeams play, - And batteries guarded by dismantled gun. - No breeze comes from the northern hills which run - Circling the blue mist of the summer’s day; - No ripple stirs the great stream on its way - To those dim headlands where its rest is won. - - What thunders shook these silent crags of yore! - What smoke of battle rolled up plain and gorge - While two worlds closed in strife for one brief span! - What echoes still come ringing back once more! - For on these heights of old God set His forge; - His strokes wrought here the destinies of man. - - _Frederick George Scott._ - - -CC - -IN MEMORIAM - - Growing to full manhood now, - With the care-lines on our brow, - We, the youngest of the nations, - With no childish lamentations, - Weep, as only strong men weep, - For the noble hearts that sleep, - Pillowed where they fought and bled, - The loved and lost, our glorious dead! - - Toil and sorrow come with age, - Manhood’s rightful heritage; - Toil our arms more strong shall render, - Sorrow make our heart more tender, - In the heartlessness of time; - Honour lays a wreath sublime-- - Deathless glory--where they bled, - Our loved and lost, our glorious dead! - - Wild the prairie grasses wave - O’er each hero’s new-made grave; - Time shall write such wrinkles o’er us, - But the future spreads before us - Glorious in that sunset land-- - Nerving every heart and hand, - Comes a brightness none can shed, - But the dead, the glorious dead! - - Lay them where they fought and fell; - Every heart shall ring their knell, - For the lessons they have taught us, - For the glory they have brought us. - Tho’ our hearts are sad and bowed, - Nobleness still makes us proud-- - Proud of light their names will shed - In the roll-call of our dead! - - Growing to full manhood now, - With the care-lines on our brow, - We, the youngest of the nations, - With no childish lamentations, - Weep, as only strong men weep, - For the noble hearts that sleep - Where the call of duty led, - Where the lonely prairies spread, - Where for us they fought and bled, - Our ever loved and glorious dead! - - _Frederick George Scott._ - - - - -SHERMAN - - -CCI - -A WORD FROM CANADA - - Lest it be said - _One sits at ease - Westward, beyond the outer seas, - Who thanks me not that my decrees - Fall light as love, nor bends her knees - To make one prayer - That peace my latter days may find_,-- - Lest all these bitter things be said - And we be counted as one dead, - Alone and unaccredited - I give this message to the wind: - - Secure in thy security, - Though children, not unwise are we; - And filled with unplumbed love for thee,-- - Call thou but once, if thou wouldst see! - Where the grey bergs - Come down from Labrador, and where - The long Pacific rollers break - Against the pines, for thy word’s sake - Each listeneth,--alive, awake, - And with thy strength made strong to dare. - - And though our love is strong as spring, - Sweet is it, too,--as sweet a thing - As when the first swamp-robins sing - Unto the dawn their welcoming. - Yea, and more sweet - Than the clean savour of the reeds - Where yesterday the June floods were,-- - Than perfumed piles of new cut fir - That greet the forest-worshipper - Who follows where the wood-road leads. - - But unto thee are all unknown - These things by which the worth is shown - Of our deep love; and, near thy throne, - The glory thou hast made thine own - Hath made men blind - To all that lies not to their hand,-- - But what thy strength and theirs hath done: - As though they had beheld the sun - When the noon-hour and March are one - Wide glare across our white, white land. - - For what reck they of _Empire_,--they, - Whose will two hemispheres obey? - Why shouldst thou not count us but clay - For them to fashion as they may - In London-town? - The dwellers in the wilderness - Rich tribute yield to thee their friend; - From the flood unto the world’s end - Thy London ships ascend, descend, - Gleaning--and to thy feet regress. - - Yea, surely they think not at all - Of us, nor note the outer wall - Around thy realm imperial - Our slow hands rear as the years fall; - Which shall withstand - The stress of time and night of doom; - For we, who build, build of our love,-- - Not as they built, whose empires throve - And died,--for what knew they thereof - In old Assyria, Egypt, Rome? - - Therefore, in my dumb country’s stead, - I come to thee, unheralded, - Praying that Time’s peace may be shed - Upon thine high, anointed head, - --One with the wheat, - The mountain pine, the prairie trail, - The lakes, the thronging ships thereon, - The valley of the blue Saint John, - New France--her lilies,--not alone - Empress, I bid thee, Hail! - - _Francis Sherman._ - - - - -STRINGER - - -CCII - -CANADA TO ENGLAND - - Sang one of England in his island home: - ‘Her veins are million, but her heart is one;’ - And looked from out his wave-bound homeland isle - To us who dwell beyond its western sun. - - And we among the northland plains and lakes, - We youthful dwellers on a younger land, - Turn eastward to the wide Atlantic waste, - And feel the clasp of England’s outstretched hand. - - For we are they who wandered far from home - To swell the glory of an ancient name; - Who journeyed seaward on an exile long, - When fortune’s twilight to our island came. - - But every keel that cleaves the midway waste - Binds with a silent thread our sea-cleft strands, - Till ocean dwindles and the sea-waste shrinks, - And England mingles with a hundred lands. - - And weaving silently all far-off shores - A thousand singing wires stretch round the earth, - Or sleep still vocal in their ocean depths, - Till all lands die to make one glorious birth. - - So we remote compatriots reply, - And feel the world-task only half begun: - ‘We are the girders of the ageing earth, - Whose veins are million, but whose heart is one.’ - - _Arthur Stringer._ - - - - -LIVINGSTON - - -CCIII - -THE CANADIAN VOLUNTEERS - - Wide are the plains to the north and the westward; - Drear are the skies to the west and the north-- - Little they cared, as they snatched up their rifles, - And shoulder to shoulder marched gallantly forth. - Cold are the plains to the north and the westward, - Stretching out far to the grey of the sky-- - Little they cared as they marched from the barrack-room, - Willing and ready, if need be, to die. - - Bright was the gleam of the sun on their bayonets; - Firm and erect was each man in his place; - Steadily, evenly, marched they like veterans; - Smiling and fearless was every face; - Never a dread of the foe that was waiting them; - Never a fear of war’s terrible scenes; - ‘Brave as the bravest,’ was stamped on each face of them; - Half of them boys not yet out of their teens. - - Many a woman gazed down at them longingly, - Scanning each rank for her boy as it passed; - Striving through tears just to catch a last glimpse of him, - Knowing that glimpse might, for aye, be the last. - Many a maiden’s cheek paled as she looked at them, - Seeing the lover from whom she must part; - Trying to smile and be brave for the sake of him, - Stifling the dread that was breaking her heart. - - Every heart of us, wild at the sight of them, - Beat as it never had beaten before; - Every voice of us, choked though it may have been, - Broke from huzza to a deafening roar. - Proud! were we proud of them? God! they were part of us, - Sons of us, brothers, all marching to fight; - Swift at their country’s call, ready each man and all, - Eager to battle for her and the right. - - Wide are the plains to the north and the westward, - Stretching out far to the grey of the sky-- - Little they cared as they filed from the barrack-room, - Shoulder to shoulder, if need be, to die. - Was there one flinched? Not a boy, not a boy of them; - Straight on they marched to the dread battle’s brunt-- - Fill up your glasses and drink to them, all of them, - Canada’s call found them all at the front. - - _Stuart Livingston._ - - - - -VI - -INDIA - - - - -DUTT - - -CCIV - -THE HINDU’S ADDRESS TO THE GANGES - - The waves are dashing proudly down - Along thy sounding shore; - Lashing, with all the storm of power, - The craggy base of mountain tower, - Of mosque, and pagod hoar, - That darkly o’er thy waters frown, - As if their moody spirit’s sway - Could hush their wild and boist’rous play! - - Unconscious roll the surges down, - But not unconscious thou, - Dread Spirit of the rolling flood, - For ages worshipped as a God, - And worshipped even now, - Worshipped, and not by serf or clown, - For sages of the mightiest fame - Have paid their homage to thy name. - - Canst thou forget the glorious past, - When mighty as a God, - With hands and heart unfettered yet, - And eyes with slavish tears unwet, - Each sable warrior trod - Thy sacred shore, before the blast - Of Moslem conquest hurried by, - Ere yet the Mogul spear was nigh? - - O’er crumbled thrones thy waters glide, - Through scenes of blood and woe; - And crown and kingdom, might and sway, - The victor’s and the poet’s bay, - Ignobly sleep below; - Sole remnant of our ancient pride, - Thy waves survive the wreck of time, - And wanton free as in their prime. - - Alas, alas, all round how drear, - How mangled and how torn! - Where are the damsels proud and gay, - Where warriors in their dread array, - ‘In Freedom’s temple born?’ - Can heroes sleep? Can patriots fear? - Or is the spark for ever gone, - That lights the soul from sire to son? - - I gaze upon thy current strong - Beneath the blaze of day; - What conjured visions throng my sight, - Of war and carnage, death and flight! - Thy waters to the Bay - In purple eddies sweep along, - And Freedom shrieking leaves the shrine, - Alas! no longer now divine. - - Roll, Gunga, roll in all thy pride - Thy hallowed groves among! - Still glorious thou in every mood, - Thou boast of India’s widowhood, - Thou theme of every song! - Blent with the murmurs of thy tide - The records of far ages lie, - And live, for thou canst never die! - - _Shoshee Chunder Dutt._ - - - - -LYALL - - -CCV - -THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS - - Oft in the pleasant summer years, - Reading the tales of days bygone, - I have mused on the story of human tears, - All that man unto man has done, - Massacre, torture, and black despair; - Reading it all in my easy-chair. - - Passionate prayer for a minute’s life; - Tortured crying for death as rest; - Husband pleading for child or wife, - Pitiless stroke upon tender breast. - Was it all real as that I lay there - Lazily stretched on my easy-chair? - - Could I believe in those hard old times, - Here in this safe luxurious age? - Were the horrors invented to season rhymes, - Or truly is man so fierce in his rage? - What could I suffer, and what could I dare? - I who was bred to that easy-chair. - - They were my fathers, the men of yore, - Little they recked of a cruel death; - They would dip their hands in a heretic’s gore, - They stood and burnt for a rule of faith. - What would I burn for, and whom not spare? - I, who had faith in an easy-chair. - - Now do I see old tales are true, - Here in the clutch of a savage foe; - Now shall I know what my fathers knew, - Bodily anguish and bitter woe, - Naked and bound in the strong sun’s glare, - Far from my civilised easy-chair. - - Now have I tasted and understood - The old-world feeling of mortal hate; - For the eyes all round us are hot with blood; - They will kill us coolly--they do but wait; - While I, I would sell ten lives, at least, - For one fair stroke at that devilish priest, - - Just in return for the kick he gave, - Bidding me call on the prophet’s name; - Even a dog by this may save - Skin from the knife and soul from the flame; - My soul! if he can let the prophet burn it, - But life is sweet if a word may earn it. - - A bullock’s death, and at thirty years! - Just one phrase, and a man gets off it; - Look at that mongrel clerk in his tears - Whining aloud the name of the prophet; - Only a formula easy to patter, - And, God Almighty, what _can_ it matter? - - ‘Matter enough,’ will my comrade say - Praying aloud here close at my side, - ‘Whether you mourn in despair alway, - Cursed for ever by Christ denied; - Or whether you suffer a minute’s pain - All the reward of Heaven to gain.’ - - Not for a moment faltereth he, - Sure of the promise and pardon of sin; - Thus did the martyrs die, I see, - Little to lose and muckle to win; - Death means Heaven, he longs to receive it, - But what shall I do if I don’t believe it? - - Life is pleasant, and friends may be nigh, - Fain would I speak one word and be spared; - Yet I could be silent and cheerfully die, - If I were only sure God cared; - If I had faith, and were only certain - That light is behind that terrible curtain. - - But what if He listeth nothing at all, - Of words a poor wretch in his terror may say? - That mighty God who created all - To labour and live their appointed day; - Who stoops not either to bless or ban, - Weaving the woof of an endless plan. - - He is the Reaper, and binds the sheaf, - Shall not the season its order keep? - Can it be changed by a man’s belief? - Millions of harvests still to reap; - Will God reward, if I die for a creed, - Or will He but pity, and sow more seed? - - Surely He pities who made the brain, - When breaks that mirror of memories sweet, - When the hard blow falleth, and never again - Nerve shall quiver nor pulse shall beat; - Bitter the vision of vanishing joys; - Surely He pities when man destroys. - - Here stand I on the ocean’s brink, - Who hath brought news of the further shore? - How shall I cross it? Sail or sink, - One thing is sure, I return no more; - Shall I find haven, or aye shall I be - Tossed in the depths of a shoreless sea? - - They tell fair tales of a far-off land, - Of love rekindled, of forms renewed; - There may I only touch one hand - Here life’s ruin will little be rued; - But the hand I have pressed and the voice I have heard, - To lose them for ever, and all for a word! - - Now do I feel that my heart must break - All for one glimpse of a woman’s face; - Swiftly the slumbering memories wake - Odour and shadow of hour and place; - One bright ray through the darkening past - Leaps from the lamp as it brightens last, - - Showing me summer in western land - Now, as the cool breeze murmureth - In leaf and flower--And here I stand - In this plain all bare save the shadow of death; - Leaving my life in its full noonday, - And no one to know why I flung it away. - - Why? Am I bidding for glory’s roll? - I shall be murdered and clean forgot; - Is it a bargain to save my soul? - God, whom I trust in, bargains not; - Yet for the honour of English race, - May I not live or endure disgrace. - - Ay, but the word, if I could have said it, - I by no terrors of hell perplext; - Hard to be silent and have no credit - From man in this world, or reward in the next; - None to bear witness and reckon the cost - Of the name that is saved by the life that is lost. - - I must be gone to the crowd untold - Of men by the cause which they served unknown, - Who moulder in myriad graves of old; - Never a story and never a stone - Tells of the martyrs who die like me, - Just for the pride of the old countree. - - _Sir Alfred Lyall._ - - - - -WEBB - - -CCVI - -THE RESIDENCY CHURCHYARD - - From domes and palaces I bent my way - Where, like some Titan by Jove’s thunder marred, - From the old battered portal-towers that guard - The storied ruins of a glorious fray. - In patient stillness house and bastion lay, - As they had fallen; for the fight was hard - That saw their walls by myriad bullets scarred, - When those few steadfast warriors stood at bay. - There, by the English tombs of those that fell - In that fierce struggle ’twixt the East and West, - A few green mounds are seen, where peaceful rest - India’s brave sons who perished fighting well - For England too. What heart its feud can keep - Beside these graves where our dark comrades sleep? - - _William Trego Webb._ - - -CCVII - -THE MEMORIAL WELL - - Speak gently, gently tread, - And breathe one sigh profound; - In memory of the dead - Each spot is holy ground. - - Theirs was no common doom, - And some were young to die; - Within this narrow tomb - Women and infants lie. - - They drank the bitter cup - Of fear and anguish deep, - Ere they were rendered up - To death’s unruffled sleep. - - Meek be our sorrow here, - For them we could not save; - And soft be Pity’s tear - Above the children’s grave. - - Quenched here be passion’s heat, - Let strife and vengeance cease; - Within their garden sweet - Leave them to rest in peace. - - For Nature hath made clean - This place of human guilt; - And now the turf is green - Where English blood was spilt. - - Earth’s healing hand hath spread - Her flowers about their tomb; - Around the quiet dead - Trees wave and roses bloom. - - Then lift not wrathful hands, - But pass in silence by; - Their carven Angel stands - And watches where they lie. - - _William Trego Webb._ - - -CCVIII - -SPRING IN CALCUTTA - - The cool and pleasant days are past, - The sun above the horizon towers; - And Eastern Spring, arriving fast, - Leads on too soon the sultry hours. - - From greener height the palm looks down; - A livelier hue the peepuls share; - And sunlit poinsianas crown - With golden wreaths their branches bare. - - The ships that, by the river’s brim, - At anchor, lift their shining sides - Against the red sun’s westering rim, - Swing to the wash of stronger tides. - - No insects hum in sylvan bower; - In spectral Stillness stand the trees;-- - Come, blessing of our evening hour, - Come forth and blow, sweet southern breeze! - - To us the ocean freshness lend - Which from the wave thy breath receives; - Ripple these glassy tanks and send - A murmur through the silent leaves! - - See, blurred with amber haze, the sun - ’Neath yon dim flats doth sink to rest; - And tender thoughts, that homeward run, - Move fondly with him to the west. - - They leave these hot and weary hours, - The iron fate that girds us round, - And wander ’mid the meadow flowers - And breezy heights of English ground. - - The sun is set; we’ll dream no more; - Vainly for us the vision smiles;-- - Why did we quit thy pleasant shore, - Our happiest of the Happy Isles! - - _William Trego Webb._ - - - - -DENNING - - -CCIX - -THE LUCKNOW GARRISON - - Still stand thy ruins ’neath the Indian sky, - Memorials eloquent of blood and tears! - O! for the spirit of those days gone by - To wake a strain amid these later years - Worthy of thee and thine! I seem to see, - When thinking on thy consecrated dead, - From thy scarred chambers start - The heroes whom thy fiery travail bred - And made thee--for us English--what thou art! - - Green grows the grass around thy crumbling walls - Where glorious Lawrence groaned his life away! - And childhood’s footsteps echo through those halls - Wherein thy wounded and thy dying lay! - While blent with infant laughter seems to rise - The far-off murmur of thy battle roll, - The prayer--the shout--the groan-- - Outram’s unselfish chivalry of soul, - And white-haired Havelock’s strong, commanding tone! - - Yet, what are names? The genius of the spot, - Born of our womanhood and manhood brave, - Shall fire our children’s children! Ne’er forgot - Shall be the dust of thy historic grave - While Reverence fills the sense with musing calm, - While Glory stirs the pulse of prince or clown, - While blooms on British sod - The glorious flower of our fair renown, - Our English valour and our trust in God! - - The memory of the Living! Lo, they stand - Engirt with honour while the day draws in, - An ever lessening and fraternal band - Linked in chivalric glory and akin - To earth’s immortals! Time may bow the frame - And plough deep wrinkles ’mid their honoured scars, - But Death-like Night which brings - To earth the blaze majestic of the stars, - Shall but enhance their glory with his wings! - - The memory of the Dead! A pilgrim, I - Have bowed my face before thy honoured shrine, - With pride deep-welling while the moments by - Sped to a human ecstasy divine - Tingling my very blood, to think that they, - Martyrs and victors in our English need, - Were children of the earth-- - Yet better--heroes of our island breed - And men and women of our British birth! - - _John Renton Denning._ - - -CCX - -SOLDIERS OF IND - - _Men of the Hills and men of the Plains, men of the Isles and Sea, - Brothers in bond of battle and blood wherever the battle may be; - A song and a thought for your fighting line, a song for the - march and camp, - A song to the beat of the rolling drums, a song to the measured tramp, - When the feet lift up on the dusty road ’neath sun and moon and star, - And the prayer is prayed by mother and maid for their best - beloved afar!_ - - What say the Plains--the Plains that stretch along - From hamlet and from field, from fold and byre? - ‘Here once toiled one who sang his peasant song - And now reaps harvest ’mid the tribesmen’s fire! - The Spirit of a mightier world than springs - From his poor village led him on - To glory! Yea--to glory!’--Ever sings - The Spirit of the Plains when he is gone! - - What say the Hills whence come the Gurkha breed-- - The bull-dogs of the East? From crest and vale - Reverberate the echoes, swift they speed - On falling waters or the mountain gale! - ‘Our Hillmen brave as lions have gone forth; - They were our sons; we bred them--even we-- - To face thy foemen, Islands of the North, - We know their worth and sing it thus to thee!’ - - What say the Passes? There the requiem - Of battle lingers o’er the undying dead-- - ‘Our Soldiers of the Sun, whose diadem - Of honour glitters in the nullah bed, - Or by the hillside drear, or dark ravine, - Or on the _sangared_ steep--a solemn ray - That touches thus the thing that once hath been, - With glory--glory!’--So the Passes say! - - And so the great world hears and men’s eyes blaze - As each one to his neighbour cries ‘Well done!’ - A little thing this speech--this flower of praise, - Yet let it crown our Soldiers of the Sun! - Not here alone--for here we know them well; - But tell our English, waiting on the shore - To welcome back _their_ heroes: ‘Lo! these fell - Even as ours--as brave--for evermore!’ - - I hear the roar amid the London street:-- - The earth hath not its equal, whether it be - For ignorance or knowledge, and the feet - That press therein and eyes that turn to see - Know nothing of our sepoys--let them know - That here be men beneath whose dark skin runs - A battle-virtue kindred with the glow - That fires the leaping pulses of their sons! - - ’Tis worth proclaiming. Yea, it seems to me - This loyalty--to death--lies close akin - To all the noblest human traits that be, - Engendered whence we know not--yet within - Choice spirits nobly gathered. Lo! we stand, - Needs must, against the world, Yet war’s alarms - Are nothing to our mightiest Motherland, - While Nation circles Nation in her arms! - - _John Renton Denning._ - - -CCXI - -SARANSAR - - What are the bugles saying - With a strain so long and so loud? - They say that a soldier’s blanket - Is meet for a soldier’s shroud! - They say that their hill-tossed music, - Blown forth of the living breath, - Is full of the victor’s triumph - And sad with the wail of death! - _Bugles of Talavera!_ - - What are the bugles saying? - They tell of the falling night, - When a section of dog-tired English - Drew close for a rear-guard fight; - With an officer-boy to lead them, - A lost and an outflanked squad, - By the grace of a half-learned drill book, - And a prayer to the unseen God! - _Bugles of Talavera!_ - - What are the bugles saying - Of the stand that was heel to heel? - The click of the quick-pressed lever, - The glint of the naked steel, - The flame of the steady volley, - The hope that was almost gone, - As the leaping horde of the tribesmen - Swept as a tide sweeps on! - _Bugles of Talavera!_ - - What are the bugles saying? - They say that the teeth are set, - They say that the breath comes thicker, - And the blood-red Night is wet; - While the rough blunt speech of the English, - The burr of the shires afar, - Falls with a lone brave pathos - ’Mid the hills of the Saransar! - _Bugles of Talavera!_ - - What are the bugles saying? - They say that the English there - Feel a breath from their island meadows - Like incense fill the air! - They say that they stood for a moment - With their dear ones by their side, - For their spirits swept to the Homeland - Before the English died! - _Bugles of Talavera!_ - - And aye are the bugles saying, - While the dust lies low i’ the dust, - The strength of a strong man’s fighting, - The crown of the soldier’s trust-- - The wine of a full-brimmed battle, - The peace of the quiet grave, - And a wreath from the hands of glory - Are the guerdon of the brave! - _Bugles of Talavera!_ - - _John Renton Denning._ - - - - -KIPLING - - -CCXII - -THE GALLEY-SLAVE - - O gallant was our galley from her carven steering-wheel - To her figurehead of silver and her beak of hammered steel; - The leg-bar chafed the ankle and we gasped for cooler air, - But no galley on the water with our galley could compare! - - Our bulkheads bulged with cotton and our masts were stepped in gold-- - We ran a mighty merchandise of niggers in the hold; - The white foam spun behind us, and the black shark swam below, - As we gripped the kicking sweep-head and we made that galley go. - - It was merry in the galley, for we revelled now and then-- - If they wore us down like cattle, faith, we fought and loved like men! - As we snatched her through the water, so we snatched a minute’s bliss, - And the mutter of the dying never spoiled the lovers’ kiss. - - Our women and our children toiled beside us in the dark-- - They died, we filed their fetters, and we heaved them to the shark-- - We heaved them to the fishes, but so fast the galley sped - We had only time to envy, for we could not mourn our dead. - - Bear witness, once my comrades, what a hard-bit gang were we-- - The servants of the sweep-head but the masters of the sea! - By the hands that drove her forward as she plunged and yawed - and sheered, - Woman, Man, or God or Devil, was there anything we feared? - - Was it storm? Our fathers faced it and a wilder never blew; - Earth that waited for the wreckage watched the galley struggle - through. - Burning noon or choking midnight, Sickness, Sorrow, Parting, Death? - Nay, our very babes would mock you had they time for idle breath. - - But to-day I leave the galley and another takes my place; - There’s my name upon the deck-beam--let it stand a little space. - I am free--to watch my messmates beating out to open main - Free of all that Life can offer--save to handle sweep again. - - By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of clinging steel, - By the welt the whips have left me, by the scars that never heal; - By eyes grown old with staring through the sunwash on the brine, - I am paid in full for service--would that service still were mine! - - Yet they talk of times and seasons and of woe the years bring forth, - Of our galley swamped and shattered in the rollers of the North. - When the niggers break the hatches and the decks are gay with gore, - And a craven-hearted pilot crams her crashing on the shore. - - She will need no half-mast signal, minute-gun, or rocket-flare, - When the cry for help goes seaward, she will find her servants there. - Battered chain-gangs of the orlop, grizzled drafts of years gone by, - To the bench that broke their manhood, they shall lash themselves and - die. - - Hale and crippled, young and aged, paid, deserted, shipped away-- - Palace, cot, and lazaretto shall make up the tale that day, - When the skies are black above them, and the decks ablaze beneath, - And the topmen clear the raffle with their clasp-knives in - their teeth. - - It may be that Fate will give me life and leave to row once more-- - Set some strong man free for fighting as I take awhile his oar. - But to-day I leave the galley. Shall I curse her service then? - God be thanked--whate’er comes after, I have lived and toiled with - Men! - - _Rudyard Kipling._ - - - - -VII - -SOUTH AFRICA - - - - -PRINGLE - - -CCXIII - -THE DESOLATE VALLEY - - Far up among the forest-belted mountains, - Where Winterberg, stern giant old and grey, - Looks down the subject dells, whose gleaming fountains - To wizard Kat their virgin tribute pay, - A valley opens to the noontide ray, - With green savannahs shelving to the brim - Of the swift river, sweeping on its way - To where Umtóka tries to meet with him, - Like a blue serpent gliding through the acacias dim. - - There, couched at night in hunter’s wattled shieling, - How wildly-beautiful it was to hear - The elephant his shrill _reveillé_ pealing, - Like some far signal-trumpet on the ear! - While the broad midnight moon was shining clear, - How fearful to look forth upon the woods, - And see those stately forest-kings appear, - Emerging from their shadowy solitudes-- - As if that trump had woke Earth’s old gigantic broods! - - Look round that vale! behold the unburied bones - Of Ghona’s children withering in the blast! - The sobbing wind, that through the forest moans, - Whispers--‘The spirit hath for ever passed!’ - Thus, in the vale of desolation vast, - In moral death dark Afric’s myriads lie; - But the appointed day shall dawn at last, - When, breathed on by a spirit from on high, - The dry bones shall awake, and shout-- - ‘Our God is nigh!’ - - _Thomas Pringle._ - - - - -COURTHOPE - - -CCXIV - -ENGLAND IN SOUTH AFRICA - -(1899) - - Across the streaming flood, the deep ravine, - Through hurricanes of shot, through hells of fire, - To rocks where myriad marksmen lurk unseen, - The steadfast legions mount, mount always higher. - - Earth and her elements protect the foe: - His are the covered trench, the ambushed hill, - The treacherous pit, the sudden secret blow, - The swift retreat--but ours the conquering will. - - Against that will in vain the fatal lead, - Vain is the stubborn heart, brute cunning vain: - Strong in the triumphs of thy dauntless dead, - Advance, Imperial Race, advance and reign! - - _William John Courthope._ - - - - -HENLEY - - -CCXV - -FOR A GRAVE IN SOUTH AFRICA - - We cheered you forth--brilliant and kind and brave, - Under your country’s triumphing flag you fell; - It floats, true heart, over no dearer grave. - Brave and brilliant and kind, hail and farewell! - - _William Ernest Henley._ - - - - -HALL - - -CCXVI - -ON LEAVING TABLE BAY - - Sun-showered land! largess of golden light - Is thine; and well-befitting since the night - Of England voiced again - Canute’s command; ah, not in vain! - Backward the tides of savagery drew; - And still the bright sands gain - On the retreating main: - A lost world leaping to the light and blue. - - In state the mountains greet an eve so fair, - And sunset-crowns and robes of purple wear: - A sea of glass the ocean, gold-inwrought-- - Pathway apocalyptic. From the prow - A long bright ripple to the land is roll’d.... - Haste thee and tell, tell of our love, with lips of gold, - In soft sea-music tell! - And thou, sweet bird, whose snowy wings have caught - The universal glory, carry thou - To that dear shore farewell--our hearts’ farewell! - - _Arthur Vine Hall._ - - - - -COOK - - -CCXVII - -THE RELIEF OF MAFEKING - - ‘Well done!’ The cry goes ringing round the world, - O’er land and sea, wherever pulse throbs fast - At tales of courage, for relief at last - Is theirs and ours: so dawn’s bright flag unfurled - Hath challenge to the powers of darkness hurled, - And made one glory of the empyrean vast; - And when this day to history’s tome is passed - Its name shall stand on golden page impearled. - - O God! our Help, our Hope, our Refuge strong - In days of trouble, still be Thou our Guide; - So shall we pass the coming days along - In certain trust whatever may betide, - And on Thine Empire shine the glorious sun - Till at last Thou say to her ‘Well done!’ - - _Hilda Mary Agnes Cook._ - - - - -RUSSELL - - -CCXVIII - -THE VANGUARD - -(1842) - - By the Boer lines at Congella, - Where the west wind sheds its rain, - All the yellow sands grew crimson - With the wounded and the slain. - - Etched upon the deadly sky-line, - Mark for guns behind each dune, - Flashed the silver of the bayonets - In the lethal night’s high noon. - - Far across the bay the booming - Of the cannon rose and fell; - Echoing to bluff and island, - Rang the soldier’s passing-bell. - - Blood of England shed for Empire - At our southern Trasimene-- - Such it is that fosters heroes, - Keeps the graves of valour green. - - All life’s nobler thoughts are strengthened - By the valiance of our sires, - As it glows undimmed, undying, - Like Rome’s cherished vestal-fires. - - Ever burning--happy omen - For the progress of the State! - Patriots give their lives as incense - On the altars reared by Fate. - - Such pure light streamed o’er the cities - Of the pulsing Punic world; - Lit their galleys through the Pillars - Of the West, with sails unfurled. - - In wild camps it thrilled Rome’s legions, - Stemmed the East at Marathon; - Bore sea-heroes through the Syrtes, - Through strange seas and tropic dawn. - - Diaz and Da Gama snatched it - From their Lusitanian pyre; - Bore it over hungry surges - To the Cape of Storms and Fire; - - And it gleamed upon our verdure - From their storm-vexed caravel-- - Band of afternoon undying-- - O’er tired visions cast its spell. - - Clear the deathless flame was glowing - By the wide bay’s tender blue, - When their blood was shed for England - By the men of ’Forty-two. - - _Robert Russell._ - - - - -VIII - -AUSTRALIA - - - - -SUPPLE - - -CCXIX - -DAMPIER’S DREAM - - The seaman slept--all nature sleeps; a sacred stillness there - Is on the wood--is on the waves--is in the silver air. - The sky above--the silent sea--with stars were all aglow; - There shone Orion and his belt--Arcturus and his bow! - The seaman slept--or does he sleep?--what chorus greets him now?-- - Wild music breaking from the deep around the vessel’s bow? - He starts, he looks, he sees rise shadowy--can he only dream? - A sovereign form, wrathful, yet beauteous--in the moon’s cold beam! - - ‘Mortal, hath fallen my star in the hour - Of the dread eclipse, that thou scornest my power? - Herald thus soon of that mystic race - Fated to reign in my people’s place, - Bringing arts of might--working wondrous spells - Where now but the simple savage dwells; - Before whom my children shall pass away, - As the morntide passes before the day. - The time is not yet, why dost thou come, - The bale of thy presence to cast o’er my home? - Its shadow of doom is on air and waves-- - E’en the still soft gloom of my deep sea caves - A shudder has reached; over shore and bay - Bodeful the shivering moonbeams play! - The Spirit of this zone am I-- - Mine are the isles and yon mainlands nigh; - And roused from my rest by the wood-wraith’s sigh, - And the sea-maid’s moan on the coral reef-- - Voices never till now foreboding grief-- - Hither I fly-- - Here at the gate of my South Sea realm - To bid thee put back thy fateful helm! - Not yet is the hour, why art thou here - Presaging dole, and scaith, and fear?’ - - Not yet is the time-- - Woe-bringer, go back to thy cloud-wrapped clime! - Meeter for thee the drear Northern sky, - And where wintry breakers ceaseless roar, - And strew with wrecks a dusky shore; - Where the iceberg rears its awful form, - Where along the billows the petrels cry-- - For, like thee, that dark bird loves the storm! - Thou child of the clime of the Vikings wild-- - Who wert nursed upon the tempest’s wing, - A boy on the wind-beaten mast to cling-- - Whose quest is prey, who hailest the day - When gleam the red swords and the death-bolts ring! - Thy joy is with restless men and seas, - What dost thou in scenes as soft as these? - - The hour is not yet, but the doom appears - As I gaze thro’ the haze of long distant years. - A mighty people speaking thy tongue, - Sea-borne from their far, dark strands - Shall spread abroad over all these lands - Where man now lives as when Time was young. - I see their stately cities rise - Thro’ the clouds where the future’s horizon lies; - Thro’ the purple mists shrouding river and plain, - Where the white-foaming bay marks the hidden main; - And clearer now--I behold more clear - Great ships--sails swelling to the breeze, - Their keels break all the virgin seas; - Vast white-winged squadrons, they come and go - Where only has skimmed the light canoe! - Yes, the seats and the paths of empire veer, - A highway of nations will yet be here! - As Tyre was in an ancient age; - As Venice of palaces, strong and sage; - As the haughty ports of your native shore - Whose fleets override the waters’ rage, - So shall the pride of yon cities soar. - From the frigid Pole to the torrid Line, - Their sway shall stretch--their standards shine!’ - - _Gerald Henry Supple._ - - - - -GORDON - - -CCXX - -BY FLOOD AND FIELD - - I remember the lowering wintry morn, - And the mist on the Cotswold hills, - Where I once heard the blast of the huntsman’s horn, - Not far from the seven rills. - Jack Esdale was there, and Hugh St. Clair, - Bob Chapman, and Andrew Kerr, - And big George Griffiths on Devil-May-Care, - And--black Tom Oliver. - And one who rode on a dark brown steed, - Clean-jointed, sinewy, spare, - With the lean game head of the Blacklock breed, - And the resolute eye that loves the lead, - And the quarters massive and square-- - A tower of strength, with a promise of speed - (There was Celtic blood in the pair). - - I remember how merry a start we got, - When the red fox broke from the gorse, - In a country so deep, with a scent so hot, - That the hound could outpace the horse; - I remember how few in the front rank show’d, - How endless appeared the tail, - On the brown hillside, where we cross’d the road - And headed towards the vale. - The dark brown steed on the left was there, - On the right was a dappled grey, - And between the pair on a chestnut mare - The duffer who writes this lay. - What business had ‘this child’ there to ride? - But little or none at all; - Yet I hold my own for awhile in the pride - That goeth before a fall. - Though rashness can hope but for one result, - We are heedless when fate draws nigh us, - And the maxim holds good, ‘_Quem perdere vult - Deus dementat prius_.’ - - The right-hand man to the left-hand said, - As down in the vale we went, - ‘Harden your heart like a millstone, Ned, - And set your face as flint; - Solid and tall is the rasping wall - That stretches before us yonder; - You must have it at speed or not at all, - ’Twere better to halt than to ponder; - For the stream runs wide on the take off side, - And washes the clay bank under; - Here goes for a pull, ’tis a madman’s ride, - And a broken neck if you blunder!’ - - No word in reply his comrade spoke, - Nor waver’d, nor once look’d round, - But I saw him shorten his horse’s stroke - As we splash’d through the marshy ground; - I remember the laugh that all the while - On his quiet features played:-- - So he rode to his death, with that careless smile, - In the van of the Light Brigade; - So stricken by Russian grape, the cheer - Rang out while he toppled back, - From the shattered lungs as merry and clear - As it did when it roused the pack. - Let never a tear his memory stain, - Give his ashes never a sigh, - One of the many who fell--not in vain-- - A TYPE OF OUR CHIVALRY! - - I remember one thrust he gave to his hat, - And two to the flanks of the brown, - And still as a statue of old he sat, - And he shot to the front, hands down; - I remember the snort and the stag-like bound - Of the steed six lengths to the fore, - And the laugh of the rider while, landing sound, - He turned in his saddle and glanced around; - I remember--but little more, - Save a bird’s-eye gleam of the dashing stream, - A jarring thud on the wall, - A shock, and the blank of a nightmare’s dream,-- - I was down with a stunning fall! - - _Adam Lindsay Gordon._ - - - - -STEPHENS - - -CCXXI - -FULFILMENT - -(_January 1, 1901_) - - Ah, now we know the long delay - But served to assure a prouder day, - For while we waited, came the call - To prove and make our title good-- - To face the fiery ordeal - That tries the claim to Nationhood-- - And now, in pride of challenge, we unroll, - For all the world to read, the record-scroll - Whose bloody script attests a Nation’s soul. - - O ye, our Dead, who at the call - Fared forth to fall as heroes fall, - Whose consecrated souls we failed - To note beneath the common guise - Till all-revealing Death unveiled - The splendour of your sacrifice, - Now, crowned with more than perishable bays, - Immortal in your country’s love and praise, - Ye too have portion in this day of days! - - And ye who sowed where now we reap, - Whose waiting eyes, now sealed in sleep, - Beheld far off with prescient sight - This triumph of rejoicing lands-- - Yours too the day! for though its light - Can pierce not to your folded hands, - These shining hours of advent but fulfil - The cherished purpose of your constant will - Whose onward impulse liveth in us still. - - Still lead thou vanward of our line - Who, shaggy, massive, leonine, - Couldst yet most finely phrase the event-- - For if a Pisgah view was all - Vouchsafed to thine uncrowned intent, - The echoes of thy herald-call - Not faintlier strive with our saluting guns, - And at thy words through all Australia’s sons - The ‘crimson thread of kinship’ redder runs. - - But not the memory of the dead, - How loved soe’er each sacred head, - To-day can change from glad to grave - The chords that quire a Nation born-- - Twin-offspring of the birth that gave, - When yester-midnight chimed to morn, - Another age to the Redeemer’s reign, - Another cycle to the widening gain - Of Good o’er Ill and Remedy o’er Pain. - - Our sundering lines with love o’ergrown, - Our bounds the girdling seas alone-- - Be this the burden of the psalm - That every resonant hour repeats, - Till day-fall dusk the fern and palm - That forest our transfigured streets, - And night still vibrant with the note of praise - Thrill brotherhearts to song in woodland ways, - When gum-leaves whisper o’er the camp-fire’s blaze. - - * * * * * - - The Charter’s read; the rites are o’er; - The trumpet’s blare and cannon’s roar - Are silent, and the flags are furled; - But not so ends the task to build - Into the fabric of the world - The substance of our hope fulfilled-- - To work as those who greatly have divined - The lordship of a continent assigned - As God’s own gift for service of mankind. - - O People of the onward will, - Unit of Union greater still - Than that to-day hath made you great, - Your true Fulfilment waiteth there, - Embraced within the larger fate - Of Empire ye are born to share-- - No vassal progeny of subject brood, - No satellite shed from Britain’s plenitude, - But orbed with _her_ in one wide sphere of good! - - _James Brunton Stephens._ - - - - -RUSSELL - - -CCXXII - -THE BIRTH OF AUSTRALIA - - Not ’mid the thunder of the battle guns, - Not on the red field of an Empire’s wrath, - Rose to a nation Australasia’s sons, - Who trod to greatness Industry’s pure path. - Behold a people through whose annals runs - No damning stain of falsehood, force or wrong,-- - A record clear as light, and sweet as song, - Without one page the patriot’s finger shuns! - Where ’mid the legends of old Rome, or Greece, - Glows such a tale? Thou canst not answer, Time! - With shield unsullied by a single crime, - With wealth of gold and still more golden fleece, - Forth stands Australia, in her birth sublime,-- - The only nation from the womb of Peace! - - _Percy Russell._ - - - - -LAWSON - - -CCXXIII - -THE WAR OF THE FUTURE - -There are boys to-day in the city slum and the home of wealth and pride -Who’ll have one home when the storm is come, and fight for it side by -side, Who’ll hold the cliffs ’gainst the armoured hells that batter a -coasted town, Or grimly die in a hail of shells when the walls come -crashing down; And many a pink-white baby girl, the queen of her home -to-day, Shall see the wings of the tempest whirl the mist of our dawn -away-- Shall live to shudder and stop her ears to the thud of the -distant gun, And know the sorrow that has no tears when a battle is -lost or won,-- As a mother or wife, in the years to come, will kneel, -mild-eyed and white, And pray to God in her darkened home for the ‘men -in the fort to-night.’ - -But, O! if the cavalry charge again as they did when the world was -wide, ’Twill be grand in the ranks of a thousand men in that glorious -race to ride, And strike for all that is true and strong, for all that -is grand and brave, And all that ever shall be, so long as man has a -soul to save. - -He must lift the saddle, and close his ‘wings,’ and shut his angels -out, And steel his heart for the end of things, who’d ride with the -stockman scout, When the race is rode on the battle track, and the -waning distance hums, And the shelled sky shrieks or the rifles crack -like stockwhips amongst the gums-- And the ‘straight’ is reached, and -the field is ‘gapped,’ and the hoof-torn sward grows red With the blood -of those who are handicapped with iron and steel and lead; And the -gaps are filled, though unseen by eyes, with the spirit and with the -shades Of the world-wide rebel dead who’ll rise and rush with the Bush -Brigades. - -All creeds and trades will have soldiers there--give every class its -due-- And there’ll be many a clerk to spare for the pride of the -jackeroo. They’ll fight for honour, and fight for love, and a few will -fight for gold, For the devil below, and for God above, as our fathers -fought of old; And some half-blind with exultant tears, and some -stiff-lipped, stern-eyed, For the pride of a thousand after-years and -the old eternal pride. The soul of the world they will feel and see in -the chase and the grim retreat-- They’ll know the glory of victory--and -the grandeur of defeat. - -They’ll tell the tales of the ‘nights before’ and the tales of the -ship and fort, Till the sons of Australia take to war as their fathers -took to sport, Their breath come deep and their eyes grow bright at -the tales of chivalry, And every boy will want to fight, no matter -what cause it be-- When the children run to the doors and cry, ‘O, -mother, the troops are come!’ And every heart in the town leaps high at -the first loud thud of the drum. They’ll know, apart from its mystic -charm, what music is at last, When, proud as a boy with a broken arm, -the regiment marches past; And the veriest wreck in the drink-fiend’s -clutch, no matter how low or mean, Will feel, when he hears the march, -a touch of the man he might have been. And fools, when the fiends of -war are out and the city skies aflame, Will have something better to -talk about than a sister’s or brother’s shame, Will have something -nobler to do by far than to jest at a friend’s expense, Or to blacken a -name in a public bar or over a backyard fence. And this you learn from -the libelled past (though its methods were somewhat rude), _A nation’s -born when the shells fall fast, or its lease of life renewed;-- We -in part atone for the ghoulish strife--for the crimes of the peace -we boast-- And the better part of a people’s life in the storm comes -uppermost_. - -_Henry Lawson._ - - - - -MAQUARIE - - -CCXXIV - -A FAMILY MATTER - - Come, my hearties--work will stand-- - Here’s your Mother calling!-- - Wants us all to lend a hand, - And go out Uncle-Pauling. - Catch your nags, and saddle slick, - Quick to join the banners! - Folks that treat the fam’ly thick - Must be taught their manners. - - Who would potter round a farm - Fearful of clubbed gunstroke, - And, keeping cosy out of harm, - Die of loafer’s sunstroke? - Gusts of distant battle-noise - Tell that men are falling; - Get your guns, my bonny boys, - Here’s your Mother calling! - - Buckle on your cartridge belts, - Waste no time about it! - Force is massing on the veldts, - We must off and rout it. - What if fate should work its worst! - Men can grin in falling; - Come on, chaps, and be the first,-- - Here’s your Mother calling! - - _Arthur Maquarie._ - - - - -ADAMS - - -CCXXV - -THE DWELLINGS OF OUR DEAD - - They lie unwatched, in waste and vacant places, - In sombre bush or wind-swept tussock spaces, - Where seldom human tread - And never human trace is-- - The dwellings of our dead! - - No insolence of stone is o’er them builded; - By mockery of monuments unshielded, - Far on the unfenced plain - Forgotten graves have yielded - Earth to free earth again. - - Above their crypts no air with incense reeling, - No chant of choir or sob of organ pealing; - But ever over them - The evening breezes kneeling - Whisper a requiem. - - For some the margeless plain where no one passes, - Save when at morning far in misty masses - The drifting flock appears. - Lo, here the greener grasses - Glint like a stain of tears! - - For some the common trench where, not all fameless, - They fighting fell who thought to tame the tameless, - And won their barren crown; - Where one grave holds them nameless-- - Brave white and braver brown. - - But, in their sleep, like troubled children turning, - A dream of mother-country in them burning, - They whisper their despair, - And one vague, voiceless yearning - Burdens the pausing air.... - - ‘_Unchanging here the drab year onward presses, - No Spring comes trysting here with new-loosed tresses, - And never may the years - Win Autumn’s sweet caresses-- - Her leaves that fall like tears._ - - _And we would lie ’neath old-remembered beeches, - Where we could hear the voice of him who preaches - And the deep organ’s call, - While close about us reaches - The cool, grey, lichened wall._’ - - But they are ours, and jealously we hold them; - Within our children’s ranks we have enrolled them, - And till all Time shall cease - Our brooding bush shall fold them - In her broad-bosomed peace. - - They came as lovers come, all else forsaking, - The bonds of home and kindred proudly breaking; - They lie in splendour lone-- - The nation of their making - Their everlasting throne! - - _Arthur Adams._ - - - - -OGILVIE - - -CCXXVI - -THE BUSH, MY LOVER - - The camp-fire gleams resistance - To every twinkling star; - The horse-bells in the distance - Are jangling faint and far; - Through gum-boughs lorn and lonely - The passing breezes sigh; - In all the world are only - My star-crowned Love and I. - - The still night wraps Macquarie; - The white moon, drifting slow, - Takes back her silver glory - From watching waves below; - To dalliance I give over, - Though half the world may chide, - And clasp my one true Lover - Here on Macquarie side. - - The loves of earth grow olden - Or kneel at some new shrine; - Her locks are always golden-- - This brave Bush-Love of mine; - And for her star-lit beauty, - And for her dawns dew-pearled, - Her name in love and duty - I guard against the world. - - They curse her desert places! - How can they understand, - Who know not what her face is - And never held her hand?-- - Who may have heard the meeting - Of boughs the wind has stirred, - Yet missed the whispered greeting - Our listening hearts have heard. - - For some have travelled over - The long miles at her side, - Yet claimed her not as Lover - Nor thought of her as Bride: - And some have followed after - Through sun and mist for years, - Nor held the sunshine laughter, - Nor guessed the raindrops tears. - - If we some white arms’ folding, - Some warm, red mouth should miss-- - Her hand is ours for holding, - Her lips are ours to kiss; - And closer than a lover - She shares our lightest breath, - And droops her great wings over - To shield us to the death. - - The winds of Dawn are roving, - The river-oaks astir ... - What heart were lorn of loving - That had no Love but her? - Till last red stars are lighted - And last winds wander West, - Her troth and mine are plighted-- - The Lover I love best! - - _William Ogilvie._ - - - - -EVANS - - -CCXXVII - -A FEDERAL SONG - - In the greyness of the dawning we have seen the pilot-star, - In the whisper of the morning we have heard the years afar. - Shall we sleep and let them be - When they call to you and me? - Can we break the land asunder God has girdled with the sea? - For the Flag is floating o’er us, - And the track is clear before us;-- - From the desert to the ocean let us lift the mighty chorus - For the days that are to be. - - We have flung the challenge forward:--‘Brothers stand or fall as one!’ - She is coming out to meet us in the splendour of the sun;-- - From the graves beneath the sky - Where her nameless heroes lie, - From the forelands of the Future they are waiting our reply! - We can face the roughest weather - If we only hold together, - Marching forward to the Future, marching shoulder-firm together; - For the Nation yet to be. - - All the greyness of the dawning, all the mists are overpast; - In the glory of the morning we shall see her face at last. - He who sang, ‘She yet will be,’ - He shall hail her, crowned and free! - Could we break the land asunder God had girdled with the sea? - For the Flag is floating o’er us, - And the star of Hope before us, - From the desert to the ocean, brothers, lift the mighty chorus - For Australian Unity! - - _George Essex Evans._ - - - - -O’HARA - - -CCXXVIII - -FLINDERS - - He left his island home - For leagues of sleepless foam, - For stress of alien seas, - Where wild winds ever blow; - For England’s sake he sought - Fresh fields of fame, and fought - A stormy world for these, - A hundred years ago. - - And where the Austral shore - Heard southward far the roar - Of rising tides that came - From lands of ice and snow, - Beneath a gracious sky - To fadeless memory - He left a deathless name - A hundred years ago. - - Yea, left a name sublime - From that wild dawn of Time, - Whose light he haply saw - In supreme sunrise flow, - And from the shadows vast, - That filled the dim dead past, - A brighter glory draw, - A hundred years ago. - - Perchance, he saw in dreams - Beside our sunlit streams - In some majestic hour - Old England’s banners blow; - Mayhap, the radiant morn - Of this great nation born, - August with perfect power, - A hundred years ago. - - We know not,--yet for thee - Far may the season be, - Whose harp in shameful sleep - Is soundless lying low! - Far be the noteless hour - That holds of fame no flower - For those who dared our deep - A hundred years ago! - - _John Bernard O’Hara._ - - -CCXXIX - -THE AUSTRALIAN COMMONWEALTH - - Lo, ’tis the light of the morn - Over the mountains breaking, - And our Empire’s day is born, - The life of a Nation waking - To the triumph of regal splendour, - To the voice of conquering fate - That cries ‘No longer wait!’ - To the rising hopes that send her - Fearless upon her way - With no thoughts of her yesterday, - But dreams of a mighty State - Great ’mid the old grave nations, - Divine in her aspirations; - Blest be the men who brought her, - Freedom’s starriest daughter, - Out of the night - Into the light, - A power and a glory for evermore!-- - Let the old world live in the pages - Time wrote in the dark of the ages, - For us ’tis the light of the morning breaking on sea and shore! - - They found her a maiden with dower - Only of seasons sunny, - Blue skies and the frail white flower - Of Peace with its song’s sweet honey, - And the joy of her wild seas flinging - Their voices on fairy strands - Where only the winds’ soft singing - Broke on the sleep of day, - Or a whistling spear by the dim green way - Of the water and the lands. - Green were the woodlands round her, - Blue were the seas that bound her, - Soft was the sky above her, - A dreamily lonely lover; - Streams and dells - And the mountain wells, - And the voice of the forest were hers alone, - And the life of the grim grave ranges, - The night and the noon and the changes - Of light on the topmost peaks when the rose of the dawn was blown. - - Lift up thine honoured head! - The skies are all aflame; - The east to morn is wed; - Lift up thine honoured head, - And fearless keep thy fame! - There is work for thee to do, - A nation’s work is thine; - O land, beloved, mine! - Gird thee for life anew! - With strength, that fails not, keep - Thy pathway bright with Good; - Let Honour, Justice, sweep - Aside the weeds that creep-- - Grim Error, Unbelief, - And their Titanic brood, - Be thine the task to rear - The spacious halls of Art, - To hearken to sweet Song, - Be thine the pride to fear - No foe while in thy heart - The love of Truth is strong, - To help the weak, and be - Beloved and great and free, - Even as thy Mighty Mother--the Grey Queen of the Sea! - - _John Bernard O’Hara._ - - - - -IX - -NEW ZEALAND - - - - -BRACKEN - - -CCXXX - -NEW ZEALAND HYMN - - God of Nations! at Thy feet - In the bonds of love we meet, - Hear our voices, we entreat, - God defend our free land! - Guard Pacific’s triple star - From the shafts of strife and war. - Make her praises heard afar, - God defend New Zealand! - - Men of every creed and race - Gather here before Thy face, - Asking Thee to bless this place, - God defend our free land! - From dissension, envy, hate, - And corruption guard our State, - Make our country good and great, - God defend New Zealand! - - Peace, not war, shall be our boast, - But, should foes assail our coast, - Make us then a mighty host, - God defend our free land! - Lord of Battles, in Thy might, - Put our enemies to flight, - Let our cause be just and right, - God defend New Zealand! - - Let our love for Thee increase, - May Thy blessings never cease, - Give us plenty, give us peace, - God defend our free land! - From dishonour and from shame - Guard our country’s spotless name, - Crown her with immortal fame, - God defend New Zealand! - - May our mountains ever be - Freedom’s ramparts on the sea, - Make us faithful unto Thee, - God defend our free land! - Guide her in the nations’ van, - Preaching love and truth to man, - Working out Thy glorious plan, - God defend New Zealand! - - _Thomas Bracken._ - - - - -BATHGATE - - -CCXXXI - -OUR HERITAGE - - A perfect peaceful stillness reigns, - Not e’en a passing playful breeze - The sword-shaped flax-blades gently stirs: - The vale and slopes of rising hills - Are thickly clothed with yellow grass, - Whereon the sun, late risen, throws - His rays, to linger listlessly. - Naught the expanse of yellow breaks, - Save where a darker spot denotes - Some straggling bush of thorny scrub; - While from a gully down the glen, - The foliage of the dull-leaved trees - Rises to view; and the calm air - From stillness for a moment waked - By parakeets’ harsh chattering, - Swift followed by a tui’s trill - Of bell-like notes, is hushed again. - The tiny orbs of glistening dew - Still sparkle, gem-like, ’mid the grass; - While morning mist, their Mother moist, - Reluctant loiters on the hill, - Whence presently she’ll pass to merge - In the soft depths of the blue heav’ns. - This fertile Isle to us is given - Fresh from its Maker’s hand; for here - No records of the vanished past - Tell of the time when might was right, - And self-denial weakness was; - But all is peaceful, pure, and fair. - Our heritage is hope. We’ll rear - A Nation worthy of the land; - And when in age we linger late, - Upon the heights above life’s vale, - Before we, like the mist, shall merge - In depths of God’s eternity, - We’ll see, perchance, our influence - Left dew-like, working for the good - Of those whose day but dawns below. - - _Alexander Bathgate._ - - - - -MONTGOMERY - - -CCXXXII - -TO ONE IN ENGLAND - - I send to you - Songs of a Southern Isle, - Isle like a flower - In warm seas low lying: - Songs to beguile - Some wearisome hour, - When Time’s tired of flying. - - Songs which were sung - To a rapt listener lying, - In sweet lazy hours, - Where wild-birds’ nests swing, - And winds come a-sighing - In Nature’s own bowers. - - Songs which trees sing, - By summer winds swayed - Into rhythmical sound; - Sweet soul-bells sung - Through the Ngaio’s green shade, - Unto one on the ground. - - Songs from an Island - Just waking from sleeping - In history’s morning; - Songs from a land - Where night shadows creep - When your day is dawning. - - * * * * * - - O songs, go your way, - Over seas, over lands, - Though friendless sometimes, - Fear not, comes a day - When the world will clasp hands - With my wandering rhymes. - - _Eleanor Elizabeth Montgomery._ - - -CCXXXIII - -A VOICE FROM NEW ZEALAND - - _Cooee!_ I send my voice - Far North to you, - Rose of the water’s choice, - Dear England true! - Guardian angels three-- - Faith, Hope, and Charity-- - Welcome the strong sons free - Born unto you. - - _Cooee!_ Through flamegirt foam - Speeds now my soul - Straight to thy hero home. - Blue waters roll - Round where Immortals trod-- - Shakespeare--half man, half God-- - Laughed, with divining rod, - Sounding the soul. - - Thou shining gem of sea! - Angels on wing, - Resting where men are free, - Teach them to sing - Such songs blind Milton heard, - Coleridge and Wordsworth stirred, - Keats’, and our own lost bird’s - Haunting, sweet ring. - - _Cooee!_ North, hear the song - On the South’s breath, - Laurels to life belong; - Cypress to death! - Wreathe in song’s garland fair, - Culled with a Nation’s care, - My cypress leaf--a prayer, - Warm with South’s breath! - - _Eleanor Elizabeth Montgomery._ - - - - -NOTES - - -I.--ENGLAND - - -I - -_Agincourt, or the English Bowmans Glory. To a pleasant new Tune._ -Quoted in Heywood’s _King Edward IV._, and, therefore, popular before -1600. This ballad has been severely edited, and I omit several stanzas. -It is printed in full in Hazlitt’s edition of Collier’s ‘Shakespeare’s -Library,’ vol. i. (Reeves & Turner, 1825). - - -II - -Published in 1589. - - -III-IV - -Both were published in _Poemes Lyrick and Pastorall_ (1605?) and -_Poemes_ (1619). As to the first:--l. 6. _Caux_ (‘commonlie called -Kidcaux,’ says Holinshed) was the district north-east of the mouth of -the Seine. - - l. 83. _bilbos._ Swords, from Bilbao. - - 92. _ding._ To belabour with blows. - - -V-VI - -The first is from John of Gaunt’s dying speech (_King Richard II._, -Act ii. sc. 1). _King Richard II._ was probably written early in -1593. It was published anonymously in 1597. The second is from _King -John_, Act v. sc. 7. 1594 is the date assigned to Shakespeare’s _King -John_, which was first printed in the First Folio (1623). These and -the two succeeding numbers follow the text of ‘The Globe Edition’ of -Shakespeare’s Works. I am indebted to the publishers of that edition, -Messrs. Macmillan & Co., and to the Delegates of the Clarendon Press, -Oxford, for kindly extending to readers of this volume the benefits of -the scientific labours of Dr. W. G. Clark and Mr. W. A. Wright. - - -VII - -From various parts of _King Henry V._ The play was written in 1598, and -performed for the first time early in 1599. The first complete version -was published in the First Folio (1623). - - l. 23. _rivage._ The shore. - - 27. _sternage._ (To sternage of=astern of, so as to follow.) - - 40. _puissance._ Strength. - - 87. _battle._ An army, or division of an army. - - 90. _accomplishing._ Equipping. - - 144. _Crispian._ ‘The daie following,’ says Holinshed, ‘was the - five and twentieth of October in the year 1415, being then fridaie, - and the feast of Crispine and Crispinian, a daie faire and fortunate - to the English, but most sorrowfull and unluckie to the French.’ - - 174. _Whiffler._ Herald or usher. - - 183. _ostent._ Clear, visible. - - -VIII - -_King Henry VIII._, Act ii. sc. 3. - - -IX - -Printed by Percy (_Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_, 1765). ‘From an -old black-letter copy.’ - -_Cailìver_ (l. 21)=Caliver, a kind of light musket. - - -X - -There are broadsides of this ballad in the Roxburghe and Bagford -Collections. The version here given is taken from Mr. Henley’s -volume, _Lyra Heroica_ (David Nutt, 1891), by permission of editor -and publisher. The full title of the Roxburghe broadside is as -follows:--‘The Honour of Bristol, shewing how the Angel Gabriel of -Bristol fought with three ships, who boarded as many times, wherein we -cleared our Decks, and killed five hundred of their Men, and wounded -many more, and make them fly into Cales, where we lost but three men, -to the Honour of the Angel Gabriel of Bristol. To the tune of _Our -Noble King in his Progress_.’ - -Calés (l. 13), pronounced as a dissyllable, is, of course, Cadiz. - - -XI--XII - -The first is entitled: _To the Lord General Cromwell, May 1652: On the -Proposals of certain Ministers at the Committee for Propagation of the -Gospel_, and was written against the intolerant Fifteen Proposals of -John Owen and the majority of the Committee. This sonnet first appeared -at the end of Philip’s _Life of Milton_ (1694). - -_Hireling wolves_ (l. 14)=the paid clergy. - -The second is from the chorus of _Samson Agonistes_ (ll. 1268-1286). -_Samson Agonistes_ was first published in 1671, in the small octavo -volume which contained _Paradise Regained_. - - -XIII--XIV - -The _Horatian Ode_ was first printed in 1776, in Captain Edward -Thompson’s edition of Marvell’s _Works_. - - l. 15. _side._ Party. - - 32. _Bergamot._ A kind of pear. - - 67, &c. The finding of the human head at Rome, regarded as a - happy omen, is mentioned by Pliny (_Nat. Hist._, - xxviii. 4). - -The second appeared in _Poems_ (1681). - - -XV - -Produced in 1643. The author was a famous ballad-monger of Charles -I.’s time. The original refrain was ‘When the King comes home in peace -again’ (_Roxburghe Collection of Ballads_, iii. 256; _Loyal Garland_, -1671 and 1686; Ritson, _Ancient Songs_). The song was written to -support the declining cause of the Royal Martyr. It helped to keep up -the spirits of the Cavaliers in the days before the Restoration (1660), -which event it was used to celebrate. When the Revolution (1688) drove -the Stuarts into exile, this song became a weapon in the hands of the -Jacobites. - - -XVI - -This was a very popular loyal song in the reign of Charles II. Both -words and music are given in Playford’s _Musical Companion_ (1667). - - -XVII--XVIII - -The first is from Dryden’s opera, _King Arthur, or the British Worthy_ -(1691). As to the first: ‘A battle is supposed to be given behind the -scenes, with drums, trumpets, and military shouts and excursions; after -which, the Britons, expressing their joy for the victory, sing this -song of triumph.’--Author’s Note. - -The second is an extract from _Annus Mirabilis_ (1667). - - -XIX - -This famous song, which Heine once declared expressed the whole -character of the English people, made its first appearance in _The -Masque of Alfred_ (1740). - - -XX - -This song is at least as old as the reign of Queen Anne. In the British -Museum there are many half-sheet copies, with music. The earliest -begins, ‘Here’s a health to the Queen,’ &c. - - -XXI - -The first print of our National Anthem is to be found in _Harmonica -Anglicana_, a collation of part songs (_circa_ 1742). This copy -consists of two stanzas only. The third made its appearance when -_Harmonica Anglicana_ was extended to two volumes, with the new title -_Thesaurus Musicus_. The copy printed in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ -(October 1745) contains the three stanzas given here, and is called, ‘A -Song for Two Voices sung at both play-houses.’ - - -XXII - -Sung in Garrick’s pantomime, _The Harlequin’s Invasion_, produced -December 31, 1759. - - -XXIII - -_Odes_ (‘Printed for A. Millar in the Strand,’ 1746), and Dodsley’s -_Museum_ (iv., 1749). - - -XXIV-XXV - -The first was written ‘after reading Hume’s _History_ in 1780’ -(Benham). The second was written in September 1782. The _Royal George_ -(108 guns) was being repaired at Spithead (August 29, 1782), when she -capsized and sank instantly. Rear-Admiral Richard Kempenfelt was then -under orders to proceed to the relief of Gibraltar. - - -XXVI-XXVIII - -The first is from _The Oddities, a Table Entertainment_ (1789-1790), -and its original title was _Poor Tom, or the Sailor’s Epitaph_. The -second was first sung in _The Wags, or the Camp of Pleasure_ (October -18, 1790). The third was first sung in _A Tour to Land’s End_ (1798), -and its original title was _Yo heave ho!_ The first collected edition -of Charles Dibdin’s songs was issued in five volumes from 1790 to 1799. - - -XXIX - -The air of _The British Grenadiers_ is at least as old as the reign -of Elizabeth, and is one of the most characteristic of the English -National airs. The words here given are from a copy (with music) about -a hundred and fifty years old. - - -XXX - -Chappell dates this song 1758. The matter is not free from doubt, but -the reference in the second stanza to ‘Brighton Camp’ is a clue. There -were encampments along the south coast (1758-9) when Hawke and Rodney -were watching the French fleet in Brest Harbour. The song appears to -be English, although it has appeared in several collections of Irish -music. I have omitted several stanzas which appear in Chappell’s -version (_Popular Music of the Olden Time_, vol. ii. p. 710). - - -XXXI - -From _Lock and Key_, ‘a musical entertainment,’ first performed at the -Theatre Royal, Covent Garden (_circa_ 1790). - - -XXXII - -From two of the _Prophetic Books_ entitled _Jerusalem_ and _Milton_ -respectively, and both published in 1804. - - -XXXIII - -_Poems_ (1807). Composed August 1802. ‘On August 29th left Calais at -12 in the morning for Dover.... Bathed and sat on the Dover Cliffs, -looked upon France. We could see the shores about as plain as if it -were an English lake. Mounted the coach at half-past four, arrived in -London at six.’--(Dorothy Wordsworth’s Journal.) - - -XXXIV-XL - -_Poems_ (1807). The first and second were composed in September 1802, -the third in 1803, and the fourth in 1806. The fifth is from the third -stanza of the _Thanksgiving Ode_ (1816). The sixth and seventh were -‘composed or suggested during a Tour in the Summer of 1833,’ and were -published in _Yarrow Revisited and Other Poems_ (1835). - - -XLI - -From the Introduction to the first canto of _Marmion_ (1808). - - -XLII-XLIII - -_The Snug Little Island, or The March of Invasion_ was first sung by -‘Jew’ Davis in _The British Raft_ at Sadler’s Wells on Easter Monday, -1797. Tune--‘The Rogue’s March.’ The author’s title for the next number -(_Last Lays_, 1833) is _A Soldier’s Life_. - - -XLIV - -_Poetical Works_, vol. iii. (Longmans, 1838). This is number xxxiii. of -the ‘Inscriptions.’ - - -XLV-XLVII - -The first two were published with _Gertrude of Wyoming_ (1809). The -first (written at Altona during the winter of 1800-1) is based on a -seventeenth-century song which Campbell used to sing. As to the second -(written in 1805), I omit stanzas 5, 6, and 8, an improvement suggested -by Mr. Henley. The third appeared in _Theodoric and Other Poems_ -(Longmans, 1824). - - -XLVIII - -_Songs and Poems_ (edited by Peter Cunningham, 1847). - - -XLIX-LI - -The first is from _Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage_ (canto iii. stanza 2, -and canto iv. stanzas 8, 9, 10). The third canto was published in 1816, -and the fourth in 1818. Byron left England--never to return--on April -24, 1816. - -l. 22. The poet’s body was sent home to England, and was buried in the -family vault at Hucknall Torkard, near Newstead Abbey, Nottinghamshire. - -32. The answer of the mother of Brasidas, the Spartan General, to the -strangers who praised the memory of her son. - -The second is from the third canto of _Don Juan_ (1821). - -The third is from _Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage_ (canto iii. stanzas -21-28). The Duchess of Richmond’s famous ball took place on June 15, -1815, the eve of Quatre Bras, at the Duke’s house in the Rue de la -Blanchisserie, Brussels. - -20. _Brunswick’s fated chieftain._ The Duke of Brunswick (1771-1815) -was killed at Quatre Bras. His father, author of the famous manifesto -against the French Republic (July 15, 1792), had fallen at Jena (1806). - -54. _Evan’s--Donald’s._ Sir Evan Cameron (1629-1719) and his -grandson Donald Cameron of Lochiel (1695-1748). The former fought -at Killiecrankie (1689), and the latter, celebrated by Campbell in -_Lochiel’s Warning_, was wounded at Culloden (1746). - -55. _Ardennes._ The general term is applied to the forest of Soignies, -which at this time occupied the whole country between Brussels and -Waterloo. - - -LII - -First published (without the author’s permission) in the _Newry -Telegraph_ (April 19, 1817), and reprinted in many other journals. -Highly praised by Byron (1822)--‘Such an ode as only Campbell could -have written’--this poem was attributed to Byron himself, and claimed -by many impostors. The question of authorship was settled in 1841 by -the discovery of an autograph copy in a letter from Wolfe to a college -friend. - - -LIII-LIV - -_Works, with a Memoir_ (7 vols., William Blackwood & Sons, 1839). Most -of Mrs. Hemans’ poems were first published in periodicals, such as _The -Edinburgh Monthly Magazine_ and _The New Monthly Magazine_. The latter -was, for a time, edited by Thomas Campbell, not very successfully. The -‘Author’s Note’ on the first number is as follows:--‘It is supposed -that war was anciently proclaimed in Britain by sending messengers in -different directions through the land, each bearing a _bended bow_; -and that peace was in like manner announced by a bow unstrung, and, -therefore, straight.’ - - -LV-LVI - -The first (reprinted from _Knight’s Quarterly Magazine_) was included -in the 1848 edition of the _Lays of Ancient Rome_. It is dated 1832. - - -LVII-LVIII - -_Alma and other Poems_ (1855), and _Poems_ (New Edition, 2 vols., -Macmillan & Co., 1885). By permission of Mr. A. Chenevix Trench. - - -LIX - -_Last Poems_ (Smith, Elder & Co., 1862). This volume was published -after the author’s death. By permission of the publishers. - - -LX-LXVI - -The first two appeared in _Poems_ (2 vols., Edward Moxon, 1842). The -third is from _The Princess: a Medley_ (Edward Moxon, 1847). The fourth -is from the lines entitled, _To the Queen_, forming the Dedication of -the Seventh Edition of _Poems_ (London: 1851). The fifth and sixth -first appeared in _The Examiner_, in 1852; the former on January 31, -and the latter on February 7. The seventh is from the _Ode on the Death -of the Duke of Wellington_, published separately in November 1852 -(Edward Moxon), and reprinted with _Maud_ (1855). - - -LXVII-LXVIII - -The first appeared in _The Examiner_, December 9, 1854, and was -reprinted with _Maud_ (1855). Written on December 2nd, in a few -minutes, after reading the description in _The Times_, in which -occurred the phrase ‘someone had blundered.’ (_Memoir_, i. p. 381.) The -second is from _Maud_. - - -LXIX - -_The Return of the Guards and Other Poems_ (Macmillan & Co., 1866). By -permission of the publishers. The poem deals with an incident of the -war with China (1860):--‘Some Seiks (Sikhs) and a private of the Buffs -(or East Kent Regiment) having remained behind with the grog-carts, -fell into the hands of the Chinese. On the next morning they were -brought before the authorities, and commanded to perform the _Ko tou_. -The Seiks obeyed; but Moyse, the English soldier, declaring that he -would not prostrate himself before any Chinaman alive, was immediately -knocked upon the head, and his body thrown upon a dunghill.’ Quoted by -the author from _The Times_. - - -LXX-LXXI - -_Bells and Pomegranates_ (vii. 1845). The first was written in Italy. -The second was written in pencil on the cover of an Italian book during -Browning’s first journey to Italy. He sailed in a merchant vessel from -London to Trieste, and was the only passenger (1838). A letter from -the poet to Miss Haworth gives an account of the voyage. (_Life and -Letters_, edited by Mrs. Sutherland Orr, 2nd edition, p. 97.) - - -LXXII - -_Songs for Music_ (Routledge, 1856), a reprint of a series of songs -from _The Illustrated London News_ (1852-1855). - - -LXXIII-LXXIV - -The first is from _Songs in Absence_ (1852), and was probably composed -during the author’s voyage across the Atlantic. The second appears -in _Poems with Memoir by F. T. Palgrave_ (Macmillan & Co., 1862). By -permission of Messrs. Macmillan & Co. - - -LXXV - -_Andromeda and Other Poems_ (1858). Written in 1854. - - -LXXVI - -_Edinburgh Courant_, 1852. - -l. 3. _The Vengeur’s crew._ The _Vengeur_ was sunk in Lord Howe’s -action against the French fleet on ‘the glorious first of June’ -(1794), off the coast of Brittany. For the final account of her sinking -see Carlyle (_Miscellanies_--‘Sinking of the _Vengeur_’). - - -LXXVII - -_Ionica_ (George Allen, 1891). By permission of Mrs. Cory. The poem -was written in 1861, and was privately printed in 1877. The ‘School -Fencibles’ are the members of the Volunteer Corps of Eton College, -whose grey uniform, with light-blue facings, is the ‘meek attire of -blue and grey’ referred to in l. 10. - - -LXXVIII - -Verses 1, 2, 4, and 9 of Hymn No. 143 in _Hymns Ancient and Modern_. By -permission of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge. - - -LXXIX - -_Sonnets and Other Poems_ (A. & C. Black, 1900). By permission of -author and publishers. - - -LXXX - -_Points of War_ (Bell & Daldy, 1855), and _Wagers of Battle_ (Macmillan -& Co., 1900). By permission of the author and Messrs. Macmillan. - - -LXXXI-LXXXII - -Both from _Visions of England_ (Macmillan & Co., 1881). By permission -of the publishers. - - l. 1. _Isle of Roses._ Within the temple of Athena at Lindus, in - the island of Rhodes, Pindar’s seventh Olympian Ode was - engraved in golden letters. - - 40. _Changing at the font._ Alfred was god-father to Guthrun, - the Danish leader, when baptized after his defeat at - Ethandún (872). - - -LXXXIII - -_Balder_ (Smith & Elder, 1854). - - -LXXXIV - -This poem first appeared in _The Times_ (October 31, 1899), was -reprinted separately by Messrs. Skeffington & Sons, and is included in -the author’s last volume, _The Finding of the Book and Other Poems_ -(Hodder & Stoughton, 1900). By permission of the author, the editor of -_The Times_, and the publishers above mentioned. - - -LXXXV - -_Legends and Lyrics_ (1858). Written in 1855. - - -LXXXVI - -_Havelock’s March and Other Poems_ (Trübner & Co., 1859). By permission -of the author. - - -LXXXVII - -_Collected Poems_ (Macmillan & Co., 1900). By permission of the -publishers. - - -LXXXVIII - -_Songs and Rhymes_ (Elliot Stock, 1896). By permission of the author. - - -LXXXIX - -_Poems Narrative and Lyrical_ (Pickering, 1853). By permission of the -author. - - -XC - -_Poems_ (Elkin Mathews, 1893). By permission of the author. - - -XCI - -_The Bab Ballads, with which are included Songs of a Savoyard_ (George -Routledge & Sons, 1897). By permission of the author. This is one of -the songs in the comic opera _Utopia, Limited_. - - -XCII-XCIII - -Both from _A Jubilee Greeting at Spithead_ (John Lane, 1897). By -permission of the author. - - -XCIV-XCVII - -The first three numbers are from _Poems and Ballads_, 3rd series -(Chatto & Windus, 1889). The first is part viii. section ii. of _The -Armada_. - -As to the second, Drumossie Muir (l. 16), in Inverness-shire, was the -scene of the battle of Culloden (1746). - - l. 17. _ayont._ Beyond. - - 25. _mool._ Mould. - _laps._ Wraps. - - 40. _wotsna._ Knows not. - - 45. _weird for dreeing._ To ‘dree a weird’ is to abide a fate. - - 47. _thole._ To endure. - - 65. _Wansbeck._ A Northumberland stream. - - 69. _thae._ Those. - -The fourth number is from the dedicatory lines in _Astrophel and Other -Poems_ (Chatto & Windus, 1894). By permission of author and publishers. - - -XCVIII - -_The Graphic_ (November 11, 1899). By permission of the author and the -editor of _The Graphic_. - - -XCIX-C - -The first appeared in _The St. James’s Magazine_ (now defunct), -October, 1877, and was included in the second edition of _Proverbs in -Porcelain_ (1878), and in _At the Sign of the Lyre_ (Kegan Paul, 1889). -By permission of author and publisher. - -_Gloriana_ (l. 25)=Queen Elizabeth. - -The second appeared in _The Sphere_ (February 3, 1900). By permission -of the author and the editor of _The Sphere_. - - -CI - -_Poetical Works_ (vol. ii., Smith, Elder & Co., 1899). By permission of -author and publishers. - - -CII-CIII - -_Songs of the Maid_ (A. Constable & Co., 1896). By permission of author -and publishers. - - -CIV - -_London Voluntaries and Other Poems_ (David Nutt, 1894), and _Poems_ -(David Nutt, 1898). By permission of author and publisher. - - -CV - -_A Song of the Sea and Other Poems_ (Methuen & Co., 1895). By -permission of Miss Marie Corelli and the publishers. - - -CVI - -_Literature_ (July 1, 1899). By permission of the author and the editor -of _Literature_. - - -CVII - -_The Violet Crown and Songs of England_ (Edward Arnold, 1891). By -permission of author and publishers. This poem is dated ‘Athens, 1890.’ - - -CVIII - -_Collected Poems_ (John Lane, 1895). By permission of the publisher. - - -CIX-CX - -_Songs of Action_ (Smith, Elder & Co., 1898). By permission of author -and publishers. _The Song of the Bow_ first appeared in _The White -Company_ (Smith, Elder & Co., 1891). - - -CXI - -_The Daily Chronicle_, October 28, 1899. By permission of the author -and the editor of _The Daily Chronicle_. - - -CXII-CXIV - -_Admirals All_ (Elkin Matthews, 1897). By permission of author and -publisher. As to the first:-- - -l. 1. _Effingham._ Charles, Lord Howard of Effingham (1536-1624), -commanded the English fleet sent against the Spanish Armada (1588). - -_Grenville._ Sir Richard Grenville, naval commander (1541?-1591). See -Mr. Gerald Massey’s poem, _supra_, p. 113. - -_Raleigh._ Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1616), soldier, sailor, courtier, -adventurer, and writer. - -_Drake._ Sir Francis Drake (1540?-1596). - -3. _Benbow._ Vice-admiral John Benbow (1653-1702). - -_Collingwood._ Vice-admiral Cuthbert, Lord Collingwood (1750-1810), -second in command at Trafalgar. - -_Byron._ Vice-admiral John Byron (1723-1786), grandfather of the poet. - -_Blake._ Robert Blake (1599-1657), next to Nelson, the greatest English -admiral. - -8. _Nelson._ Horatio, Viscount Nelson (1758-1805). - -13. _Essex._ Robert Devereux, second Earl of Essex (1567-1601), -commanded the land attack on Cadiz (1596) when the city was taken by -the English. - -30. _Duncan._ Admiral Adam, Viscount Duncan (1731-1804), who defeated -the Dutch in the fight off Camperdown (October 11, 1797). - -31. _Texel._ One of the mouths of the Zuyder Zee. - -38. _The Sound._ The strait between Sweden and Denmark leading into the -Baltic Sea. The English fleet entered the Sound on April 1, 1801, and -next morning Nelson, acting under orders from Sir Hyde Parker, attacked -the Danish batteries. - -52. _Rodneys._ Admiral George Brydges, first Baron Rodney (1719-1792). - -The third is an extract from the poem entitled _Laudabunt Alii_. - - -CXV - -_The Seven Seas._ (Methuen & Co., 1896.) By permission of author and -publishers. - - l. 9. _Bergen._ A town on the west coast of Norway. - - 10. _Disko._ An island off the west coast of Greenland. - _floe._ The surface ice of polar seas. - - 12. _Dogger._ A sandbank in the middle of the North Sea. - - 18. _Musk-ox._ A long-haired animal of the ox tribe, found in - Arctic America. - - 21. _Virgins._ A group of small islands in the West Indies. - - 23. _sea-egg._ Sea-urchin. - - 25. _Keys._ Islands near the coast (Spanish _cayo_, - a sandbank). - - 37. _Kuriles._ A group of islands in the North Pacific. - - 39. _Praya._ Capital of the Cape Verde Islands. - _Kowloon._ A town in China, near Hong-Kong. - - 43. _Hoogli._ The Ganges. - - 50. _Winds._ Scents, smells. - - -CXVI - -_The Times_ (July 17, 1897). Suggested by the celebration of Queen -Victoria’s ‘Diamond Jubilee’ (June 22). By permission of the author and -the editor of _The Times_. - - -CXVII - -_The Spectator_ (December 16, 1899). By permission of the author and -the editor of _The Spectator_. The poem is written to an old Gaelic air. - - -CXVIII - -_A Gun-Room Ditty Box_ (Cassell & Co., 1898). By permission of author -and publishers. ‘Snotties’ is the naval equivalent of ‘midshipmen.’ - - -II.--WALES - - -CXIX - -Published (with _The Progress of Poetry_) in 1757. - - l. 5. _hauberk._ Coat of mail. - - 8. _Cambria._ Wales; a Latinised form of ‘Cymru.’ - - 13-14. _Gloster._ _Mortimer._ English nobles and Lords - of the Welsh Marches. - - 28. _Hoel._ King of Brittany and nephew of King Arthur. - _Llewellyn._ A famous Welsh prince of the eleventh - century. - - 29. _Cadwallo._ King of North Wales in the seventh century. - - 31. _Urien._ A Welsh hero of the fifth century. - - 33. _Mordred._ Nephew of Arthur. - - 34. _Plinlimmon._ A mountain in Cardiganshire. - - 35. _Arvon._ ‘The shores of Carnarvonshire opposite the Isle - of Anglesea.’--Gray. - - 56. Edward II. was murdered in Berkeley Castle (September 21, - 1327). - - 57. Isabella, wife of Edward II. - - 67. Edward, the Black Prince. - - 71, &c. The reign of Richard II. - - 83-96. The Wars of the Roses. - - 87. The Tower of London was said to have been begun by Julius - Cæsar. - - 89. _Consort._ Margaret of Anjou. - _father._ Henry V. - - 90. _meek usurper._ Henry VI. - - 93. The silver boar was the badge of Richard III. - - 115. Queen Elizabeth. - - 121. _Taliessin._ A Welsh bard of the sixth century. - - 126. Spenser’s _Faerie Queene_. - - 128. Shakespeare’s plays. - - 131. Milton. - - 133. ‘The succession of poets after Milton’s time.’--Gray. - - -CXX - -_Poetical Works_ (1832). Bodryddan is near Rhuddlan, in Flintshire. - - -CXXI-CXXII - -_Works, with a Memoir_ (Wm. Blackwood & Sons, 1839). As to the first,-- - - l. 2. _Hirlas._ From ‘hir,’ long, and ‘glas,’ blue or azure. - - 14. Eryri is the Welsh name for the Snowdon Mountains. - -As to the second,-- - -Prince Madog, a natural son of Llywelyn, was the leader of the Welsh -Rebellion (1294-1295), occasioned by the levying of taxes by Edward I. -to pay for his projected expedition to Gascony. - - -CXXIII - -_Poems_ (Roberts, 1869). Translated from the Welsh. - -l. 1. _Glyndwr._ Owain ap Gruffydd, commonly called Owen Glendower -(1359?-1416?), joined the Percies and Mortimers in their rebellion -against Henry IV. - - -CXXIV - -From the Ode written at the request of the Llywelyn Memorial Committee -(Bangor: Jarvis & Foster, 1895). By permission of the author. Llywelyn -ap Gruffydd (died 1282) was the last champion of Welsh liberty. - - l. 29. _Lloegrian._ Lloegria was one of the ancient names of - Britain. - - 40. _Cwmhir._ Cwmhir Abbey in Radnorshire. - - 67. _Iorwerth’s happier son._ Llywelyn ap Iorwerth (died 1240), - commonly called Llywelyn the Great. - - -CXXV - -This translation of the famous Welsh poem, _Morfa Rhuddlan_ (_i.e._, -‘Red Marsh’) is in the metre of the original. Published (September, -1894) in _Wales_, a monthly magazine. By permission of the editor of -_Wales_ and the author’s representatives. Three stanzas (2, 5, and 6) -are omitted. Morfa Rhuddlan, on the banks of the Clwyd in Flintshire, -was the scene of many battles between Britons and Saxons. In the -battle described in the poem (A.D. 795), the Britons under Caradoc -were defeated and their leader slain. Those who escaped the sword were -driven into the river. The original poem is said to have been composed -by Caradoc’s bard immediately after the battle. - - -CXXVI-CXXVII - -_Welsh Lyrics of the Nineteenth Century_, First Series (Bangor: Jarvis -& Foster, 1896). By permission of author and publishers. - -As to the first,--Idris (=Cader Idris), Berwin, and Plynlimmon (l. 8, -&c.) are mountains in Wales. - -As to the second,--Cymru (l. 1)=Wales. - - -III.--SCOTLAND - - -CXXVIII - -_The Tea-Table Miscellany: a Collection of Choice Songs_ (Edinburgh, 4 -vols., 1724-7). - - -CXXIX - -This ‘matchless wail’ (as Scott called it) was written in 1756. For -some time it was thought to be a genuine relic of the past. Burns -was one of the first to insist that it was a modern composition. -The ‘Forest’ is, of course, Ettrick Forest, that romantic district -comprising most of Selkirkshire and the neighbouring parts of Peebles -and Edinburgh shires. A few straggling thorns and solitary birches are -the sole remaining traces of this ‘fein foreste,’ once the favourite -hunting-ground of the Scottish kings. - - _bandsters._ Binders of sheaves. - _bogle._ ‘Hide and seek.’ - _buchts._ Pen in which ewes are enclosed at milking-time. - _daffin’._ Making merry. - _dool._ Sorrow. - _dowie._ Doleful. - _fleechin’._ Coaxing. - _gabbin’._ Talking pertly. - _har’st._ Harvest. - _ilk, ilka._ Every. - _liltin’._ Singing. - _loanin’._ Lane. - _laighlin._ Milking pail. - _lyart._ Hoary-headed. - _mair._ More. - _runkled._ Wrinkled. - _swankies._ Lively young fellows. - _wae._ Sad. - _wede._ Weeded. - - -CXXX - -Written on the Marquess of Huntley’s departure for Holland, with the -English forces, under the command of Sir Ralph Abercromby, in 1799. - - -CXXXI-CXXXIV - -The first is number 259 in vol. iii. of Johnson’s _Musical Museum_ -(1790), signed ‘Z.’ ‘The first half stanza of this song is old--the -rest is mine.’--Author’s note in interleaved copy. - -The second was written in 1793, and first published in the _Morning -Chronicle_ (May, 1794). The old air, _Hey, tuttie, taitie_, to which -Burns ‘fitted’ this poem, is said to have been Bruce’s marching tune at -Bannockburn. - -The third appeared in the _Edinburgh Courant_ (May 4, 1795), and in -the _Dumfries Journal_ (May 5, 1795), and is number 546 in vol. ii. of -Johnson’s _Musical Museum_ (1803). - -The fourth was written in 1795 for the Irish air _Humours of Glen_, and -published in the _Edinburgh Magazine_ (May, 1797), and in vol. ii. of -Thomson’s _Scottish Airs_ (1799). - - -CXXXV-CXXXVII - -The first is the opening stanza of the sixth canto of _The Lay of the -Last Minstrel_ (1805). - -The second consists of part of stanza 33, and the whole of stanza 34 of -the sixth canto of _Marmion_ (1808). - - l. 5. _vaward._ Vanguard. - - 7. The horn of Roland, nephew of Charlemagne, the sound of which - carried a fabulous distance. - -The third was written for _Albyn’s Anthology_ (1816). ‘Donuil Dhu’ -means ‘Donald the Black.’ - - -CXXXVIII-CXL - -The first is from _The Monastery_ (1820). - - l. 8. _the Queen._ Mary, Queen of Scots. - - 9. _hirsels._ Flocks. - -The second, written in 1825, first appeared in _The Doom of Devergoil_ -(1830), Act ii. scene 2. - -‘The air of Bonnie Dundee running in my head to-day,’ Scott writes -(22nd December), ‘I wrote a few verses to it before dinner, taking the -keynote from the story of Clavers leaving the Scottish Convention of -Estates in 1688-9. _I wonder if they are good!_’ (_Journal_, i. 60). - - _barkened._ Tanned. - _carline._ Old woman. - _couthie._ Kind. - _douce._ Quiet. - _duniewassals._ Yeomen. - _flyting._ Scolding. - _gang._ Go. - _ilk._ Every. - _pow._ Pate. - _target._ A round shield. - -The full title of the third number is ‘War Song of the Royal Edinburgh -Light Dragoons.’ It was written under the apprehension of a French -invasion. The corps of volunteers to which the song is addressed was -raised in 1797, and consisted of Edinburgh gentlemen mounted and armed -at their own expense. - - -CXLI - -From Scott’s _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, 3 vols. (1802-1803). -The first four lines of the fourth stanza appear on the title-page of -_Marmion_. - - -CXLII - -First published in Cromek’s _Remains of Nithisdale and Galloway Song_ -(1810), when the author was a working mason. - - -CXLIII - -Johnson’s _Musical Museum_, vol. iii. (1790). A similar song, _The -Clans are Coming_, is included in Ritson’s _Scottish Songs_ (1794). - - -CXLIV - -_Collected Works_, edited by William Anderson (1851). I have found many -versions of this old song, but none to equal Gilfillan’s. - - -CXLV-CXLVI - -Both from _Songs of Travel_ (Chatto & Windus, 1896). By permission of -Charles Baxter, Esq., executor of the author. - -The second was written at Vailima, Samoa, and is addressed ‘To S. R. -Crockett, Esq.’ The author writes from Vailima to Mr. Crockett (May 17, -1893):--‘I shall never set my foot again upon the heather. Here I am -until I die, and here will I be buried. The word is out, and the doom -written.’--_Letters_, vol. ii. p. 287 (Methuen & Co., 1899). - - l. 3. _Whaups._ Curlews. - - 11. _Peewees._ Lapwings. - - -CXLVII - -_Blackwood’s Magazine_ (January 1900). By permission of the author and -the editor of _Blackwood’s Magazine_. - - -JACOBITE SONGS - - -CXLVIII-CLI - -The first number is given in Hogg’s _Jacobite Relics_, Second Series -(Wm. Blackwood, 1821). - -As to the second,--there are many versions of this old song. Hogg has -two versions, both different to that given here. - -The third number is attributed to Hogg by Chambers and other critics. - -The fourth is said to have been written by Lady Keith (_née_ Lady Maria -Drummond), daughter of the Earl of Perth, and mother of James Francis -Edward, commonly called Marshal Keith (1698-1758), who fought under -Frederick the Great in the Seven Years’ War. - - _birken._ Birch. - _laverock._ Lark. - _Moidart._ In Inverness. - _croo house._ Hovel. - _bike._ Family. - _lyart._ Hoary. - _eild._ Old age. - _clishmaclaver._ Idle discourse. - - -CLII-CLV - -The first is number 127 of vol. ii. of Johnson’s _Musical Museum_ -(1788). Unsigned. - -The second is number 302 of vol. iv. of Johnson’s _Musical Museum_ -(1792). Unsigned. - - l. 2. _felly._ Relentless. - - 5. _maun._ Must. - - 9. _mirk._ Gloomy. - -The third is number 359 of vol. iv. of Johnson’s _Musical Museum_ -(1792). Unsigned. This song has not been found in any earlier -collection. - -The fourth is number 497 of vol. v. of Johnson’s _Musical Museum_ -(1796). Unsigned. Based on an old ballad, ‘Unkind Parents’ (_Roxburghe -Ballads_, vol. vii.). - - l. 15. _gae._ Gave. - - 28. _lee-lang._ Live-long. - - -CLVI-CLVII - -_Lays from Stratheam_ (1746). These new versions of old songs were -first published anonymously. - -As to the second, _gar mony ferlie_ (l. 2)=‘cause great excitement.’ - - -CLVIII - -Given in Hogg (Second Series), and reprinted in _Poetical Remains of -William Glen, with Memoir_ (1874). Written to the old tune, ‘Johnnie -Faa.’ - - l. 12. _lilt o’ dool._ Song of grief. - - 22. _maist._ Almost. - - 38. _fairly._ Completely. - - -CLIX - -_Songs of the North_, vol. i. (Cramer & Co., 1885). By permission of -the author, who wrote the words to fit an old and stirring air with -which he became acquainted when on a visit to the Hebrides. - - -CLX - -By permission of the author and the editor of _The Celtic Monthly_, in -which publication (May, 1894) these verses first appeared. - - -IV.--IRELAND - - -CLXI - -Lines 83-97 of _The Deserted Village_ (1769). - - -CLXII - -This, the best and most widely known of the Irish street ballads, dates -from the year 1798. _Caubeen_ (l. 15)=hat. - - -CLXIII-CLXIX - -All from the famous series of _Irish Melodies_, the publication of -which began in 1807, and continued at irregular intervals till 1834. - -As to the second,-- - - l. 3. _Mononia._ Munster. - - 4. _Kincora._ Brien’s Palace. - - 22. _Ossory’s plain._ The ancient kingdom of Ossory comprised - parts of Queen’s County and Kilkenny. - -As to the third,-- - -l. 1. _Tara’s halls._ The hill of Tara, in Meath, was the meeting-place -for the election of the kings of Ireland; but most writers on Irish -antiquities are of opinion that there was no royal dwelling there. It -would seem, therefore, that ‘Tara’s halls’ never existed but in the -imagination of poets. - -As to the fifth, Robert Emmet (1778-1803), United Irishman, the leader -of ‘Emmet’s Rising’ (1803), was arrested by Major Sirr (the capturer -of Lord Edward Fitzgerald), tried September 19, and hanged next day -(1803). He was engaged to be married to Sarah Curran, daughter of the -great lawyer, and it was to this lady Moore addressed his famous poem. -The lady subsequently (November 24, 1805) married Major Sturgeon of the -Royal Staff Corps. - - -CLXX - -_Minor Poems of Charlotte Elizabeth_ (1848). Published in the author’s -lifetime over the signature ‘Charlotte Elizabeth.’ - - -CLXXI-CLXXII - -Mangan’s poems appeared in Dublin magazines and journals--_The Dublin -University Magazine_, _The Nation_, and _The Dublin Penny Journal_. -There is no complete edition of his works. - -As to the second, ‘Dark Rosaleen,’ is, of course, a mystical name for -Ireland. - - -CLXXIII-CLXXIV - -_Songs, Poems, and Verses_ (John Murray, 1884). By permission of the -Marquess of Dufferin and Ava. The second is dated 1845. - - -CLXXV-CLXXVI - -_Dublin University Magazine_ (1834). As to the first, Fiagh MacHugh -O’Byrne, one of the most powerful Irish chieftains in the sixteenth -century, was killed in a skirmish with the forces of the Lord Deputy -(1597). _Gall_ (l. 17)=‘foreigners.’ - -The second is the first two stanzas of a very close translation, in the -original metre, of an Irish song of unknown authorship, dating from -the seventeenth century. The refrain has never been satisfactorily -translated. - - -CLXXVII-CLXXVIII - -_The Poems of Thomas Davis, now first collected_ (Dublin: James Duffy, -1846). These poems made their first appearance in _The Nation_. - -The second is a ‘Lament for the Death of Eoghan Ruadh O’Neill,’ -commonly called Owen Roe O’Neill (1590?-1649), patriot and general, who -led the Irish against the Scotch and Parliamentary forces in Ireland -(1642-1649). - -The Author’s Note is as follows:--‘_Time._--November 10, 1649. -_Scene._--Ormond’s camp, county Waterford. _Speakers._--A veteran of -Eoghan O’Neill’s clan, and one of the horsemen, just arrived with an -account of his death.’ - - l. 2. _Poison._ There is no truth in the assertion that O’Neill - was poisoned. He died a natural death. - - 7. SACSANACH. Saxon, English. - - 8. _Cloc Uachtar._ Clough Oughter, in county Cavan, where the - O’Reillys had a stronghold. - - 19. _Beinn Burb._ Benburb, on the Blackwater, where O’Neill - defeated the Scotch army under Monro (June 5, 1646). - - -CLXXIX - -_Innisfail and Other Poems_ (Macmillan & Co., 1877), and _Poetical -Works_, six vols. (Macmillan & Co., 1884). By permission of author and -publishers. - -‘The Little Black Rose’ (l. 1) and ‘The Silk of the Kine’ (l. 5) were -mystical names applied to Ireland by the bards. Athenry (l. 12), in -county Galway, was the scene of a battle in which the Irish under Felim -O’Conor were defeated by the English forces under Sir William de Burgh -(1316). - - -CLXXX-CLXXXI - -The first appeared in _The Nation_, 1st April 1843, and both are -included in _Sonnets and Other Poems_ (A. & C. Black, 1900). By -permission of author and publishers. - - -CLXXXII-CLXXXIII - -_Bards of the Gael and Gall_ (T. Fisher Unwin, 1897). By permission of -author and publisher. Both are translations from Irish poems of the -seventeenth century. - -As to the first,--O’Neill, Earl of Tyrone, and O’Donnell, Earl of -Tyrconnell, hearing that the Government had determined to seize them on -a charge of conspiracy, apparently groundless, suddenly left Ireland, -sailing from Rathmullan, on Lough Foyle, to France (1607). Their -estates were confiscated, and ‘The Plantation of Ulster’ began. - - -CLXXXIV - -From _Dublin Verses_ (Elkin Mathews, 1895)--a collection of poems -by members of Trinity College, Dublin. By permission of author and -publisher. - - -CLXXXV - -_Macmillan’s Magazine_ (September, 1900). By permission of the author -and the editor of _Macmillan’s Magazine_. - - -CLXXXVI - -_The Rising of the Moon and Other Poems_ (1869). By permission of -Messrs. Cameron & Ferguson, the present publishers. - - l. 2. _ma bouchal._ My boy. - - 11. _banshee._ The fairy spirit of doom (Irish, _ban-sidhe_). - - -CLXXXVII - -_Poems and Ballads of Young Ireland_ (Dublin: Gill & Son, 1888). -By permission of the author. Clonmacnois, founded by St. Kieran in -the sixth century, was for many generations one of the greatest -ecclesiastical establishments and centres of learning in Ireland. It -was the chosen burial-place of many royal and noble families. - - -CLXXXVIII - -_The Wind in the Trees_ (Grant Richards, 1898). By permission of the -author. - - -CLXXXIX - -_Poems_ (Elkin Mathews, 1895). By permission of author and publisher. - -l. 2. _Inisfail_ (_i.e._ ‘The Isle of Destiny’), an ancient name of -Ireland. - - -V.--CANADA - - -CXC - -_Poems_ (Toronto: Dudley & Burns, 1888). By permission of the author. -The Nile Expeditionary Force for the relief of General Gordon was -conveyed up the river in flat-bottomed boats navigated by Canadian -Indians (_voyageurs_). - - -CXCI - -_Lays of Canada_ (Montreal: John Lovell & Son, 1890). By permission of -the author. - - -CXCII - -_Laura Second and Other Poems_ (Toronto, 1887). By permission of the -author’s representatives. - - -CXCII - -_A Treasury of Canadian Verse_ (J. M. Dent & Co., 1900). By permission -of the author’s representatives. - - -CXCIV - -_Toronto Daily Mail_ (July 23, 1885). By permission of the author. The -call for volunteers was occasioned by the ‘Half-Breed Rebellion’ in -North-West Canada (1884-5). - - -CXCV - -Published separately (McCorquodale & Co., 1900), and sold for the -benefit of the Canadian Patriotic Fund. By permission of the author. - - -CXCVI - -_In Divers Tones_ (Boston: Small, Maynard & Co., 1887). By permission -of the author. - - -CXCVII-CXCVIII - -_Beyond the Hills of Dream_ (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1899). By -permission of author and publishers. The first had previously appeared -in _The Westminster Gazette_ (August, 1897), and the second in _The -Toronto Globe_ (Christmas Number, 1899). - - -CXCIX-CC - -The first is from _Poems Old and New_ (Toronto: William Briggs, 1900), -and the second from _The Soul’s Quest and Other Poems_ (London: Kegan -Paul & Co., 1888). By permission of the author. - - -CCI - -_Canadian Monthly_ (August, 1897). By permission of the author. - - -CCII - -_Watchers of Twilight_ (Montreal: T. H. Warren, 1894). By permission of -the author. Line 2 is a quotation from William Watson’s _Last Words to -the Colonies_. - - -CCIII - -_In Various Moods_ (Toronto: William Briggs, 1894). By permission of -the author. - - -VI.--INDIA - - -CCIV - -_Miscellaneous Verses_ (Calcutta: Sanders, Cones & Co., 1848). - -_Gunga_ (l. 49)=the Ganges. - - -CCV - -_Cornhill Magazine_ (September, 1868), and _Verses Written in India_ -(Kegan Paul & Co., 1889). By permission of author and publishers. - -The massacre which suggested this poem took place near Mohundi, in Oudh -(June, 1857). The lives of all the English prisoners would have been -spared had they consented to profess Mahometanism by repeating the -usual short formula. - - -CCVI-CCVIII - -_Indian Lyrics_ (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink & Co., 1884). By permission -of the author. - -The Author’s Note on the second is as follows:--‘Over the well rises a -pedestal supporting a statue in white marble--the Angel of Pity. Below -is the inscription: _Sacred to the perpetual memory of a great company -of Christian people, chiefly women and children, who near this spot -were cruelly massacred by the followers of the rebel Nana Dhoondoo -Punth of Bithoor; and cast, the dying with the dead, into the well -below, on the 15th day of July 1857._’ - -As to the third,-- - - l. 7. _peepuls._ The peepul (or pepul) tree. - - 8. _poinsianas._ The _poinciana regia_, a flowering shrub - introduced from Madagascar. - - -CCIX-CCXI - -All three appeared first in _The Times of India_, and are included in -_Soldierin’_ (Bombay: Indian Textile Journal Co., 1899). By permission -of author and publishers. - -As to the second,--l. 28. _sangared._ Sangars are temporary stone -shelters for riflemen. - -As to the third,--During the operations in Tirah (1897) the pass of -Saransar (or Saran Sur) was the retreat of the hillmen known as the -Lakka Khels. On November 9, a reconnaissance in force was made up the -pass. The firing from the heights was deadly and continuous, and, in -the evening, when our troops were retreating down the pass, a small -party of the 48th (Northamptonshire Regiment) under Second Lieutenant -Macintyre and Colour-Sergeant Luck, were cut off and surrounded by the -enemy. It was found impossible to save them, and the following morning -their dead bodies were found together. - -l. 9. _Talavera._ The 48th are known as ‘The Talavera Boys,’ having -distinguished themselves at the battle of Talavera, in the Peninsular -War (July 27 and 28, 1809). - - -CCXII - -_Departmental Ditties_ (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink & Co., 1886. London: -George Newnes, Ltd., 1899). By permission of the author and Messrs. -George Newnes, Limited. ‘The Galley-Slave’ is understood to be a -mystical name for the Indian Civil Servant. - - -VII.--SOUTH AFRICA - - -CCXIII - -_Ephemerides_ (London: 1828). - - -CCXIV - -By permission of the author and the editor of _Literature_, in which -publication (December 9, 1899) the poem first appeared. - - -CCXV - -Published in G. W. Steevens’ posthumous volume, _Things Seen: with -Memoir by W. E. Henley_ (Blackwood, 1900). By permission of the author. -The quatrain is inscribed ‘G. W. S., December 10, 1869--January 15, -1900.’ The lines were written of G. W. Steevens, journalist and war -correspondent, who died at Ladysmith during the siege. - - -CCXVI - -_England Revisited_ (Cape Town: J. C. Juta & Co., 1900). By permission -of the author. - - -CCXVII - -_Cape Argus_ (May 6, 1901). By permission of the author and the editor -of the _Cape Argus_. - - -CCXVIII - -_Natal: The Land and its Story_ (Pietermaritzburg: Davis & Sons, Fifth -Edition, 1897). By permission of the author. - -l. 1. _Congella._ Hostilities having begun in Natal (1842), Captain -Smith led the English forces out of Durban for a night attack on -Pretorius’ position at Congella. It was a moonlight night, and the -advance was observed. Our men were shot down as they marched along the -shore without cover. The survivors retreated to Durban, and the Boers -immediately invested the town. A despatch-rider having made his way -through the Boer lines, reinforcements were sent by sea, and the siege -was raised (June 25, 1842). Natal was annexed the following year, and -the Boer was thus headed off from the sea. - - -VIII.--AUSTRALIA - - -CCXIX - -From _Dampier’s Dream: an Australian Foreshadowing_ (Melbourne: George -Robertson & Co., 1892). By permission of the author’s representatives. - -William Dampier (1652-1715), pirate, circumnavigator, and captain in -the navy, made several voyages to the South Seas. - - -CCXX - -_Poems_ (Melbourne: A. H. Massina & Co., 1884). By permission of the -publishers. - - -CCXXI - -From _Australia Federata_ (_The Times_, January 1, 1901). This poem -appeared the same day in the leading journals of all the States of the -Commonwealth of Australia. By permission of Sir Horace Tozer, K.C.M.G., -Agent-General for Queensland. - - -CCXXII - -First published in a Tasmanian newspaper. By permission of the author. - - -CCXXIII - -_In the Days when the World was Wide_ (Sydney: Angus & Robertson. -London: The Australian Book Co., 1895). By permission of Messrs. Angus -& Robertson. - -_Jackeroo_ (l. 24). - - -CCXXIV - -_Literature_ (November 11, 1899). By permission of the author and the -editor of _Literature_. - - -CCXXV - -_Maoriland and other Verses_ (Sydney: The Bulletin Newspaper Co., -1899). By permission of the publishers. - -l. 2. _tussock._ ‘Tussock’ is a coarse grass. - - -CCXXVI - -_Fair Girls and Grey Horses_ (Sydney: The Bulletin Newspaper Co., -1899). By permission of the publishers. This poem first appeared in the -Sydney _Bulletin_. - -l. 9. _Macquarie._ The river Macquarie rises in the Blue Mountains, -eighty miles west of Sydney. After following a north-westerly course of -280 miles its waters are lost in the Macquarie marshes. - - -CCXXVII - -First appeared in _The Brisbane Courier_ (August 8, 1899). - - -CCXXVIII-CCXXIX - -The first appeared in _Songs of the South_ (Ward, Lock & Co., -1891), and the second is an extract from _The Commonwealth: an Ode_ -(_Melbourne Age_, January 1901). By permission of the author. - -As to the first,--Matthew Flinders (1774-1814), discoverer and captain -in the navy, was one of the first surveyors of the east coast of -Australia. He spent many years in exploring the country adjacent to the -coast. - - -IX.--NEW ZEALAND - - -CCXXX - -_Musings in Maoriland_ (Sydney: Arthur T. Keirle & Co., 1890). By -permission of the publishers. - - -CCXXXI - -First published in the Dunedin _Saturday Advertiser_ (June 22, 1878), -and included in _Far South Fancies_ (Griffith, Farran & Co., 1889). By -permission of the author. - -l. 15. _Parakeets’._ The parakeet resembles a parrot in appearance, and -is one of the native birds of New Zealand. - -16. _Tui’s._ The tui is a mocking-bird, and has two tufts of white -feathers on its neck, the rest of its plumage being jet black. It is -commonly called the ‘Parson Bird,’ from its supposed resemblance to a -clergyman in a white tie. - - -CCXXXII-CCXXXIII - -The first is from _Songs of the Singing Shepherd_ (Wanganui, New -Zealand: A. D. Willis, 1885), and the second from _The Pilgrim of -Eternity_ (Wanganui: Wanganui Herald Co., 1892). By permission of the -author. - -As to the second,--_Cooee_ (l. 1). The signal-call of the aborigines of -New Zealand (‘cooee’ or ‘cooey’) can be heard at a great distance. - - - - -INDEX OF FIRST LINES - - - PAGE - - Across the streaming flood, the deep ravine 286 - - After dead centuries 168 - - Agincourt, Agincourt 3 - - Ah, now we know the long delay 297 - - Amid the loud ebriety of War 96 - - An effigy of brass 133 - - A perfect peaceful stillness reigns 316 - - A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer 225 - - Are you not weary in your distant places 196 - - Arvon’s heights hide the bright sun from our gazing 171 - - A terrible and splendid trust 239 - - Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England’s praise 74 - - Attend you, and give ear awhile 21 - - Away with bayonet and with lance 63 - - A wee bird cam’ to our ha’ door 205 - - A wonderful joy our eyes to bless 122 - - - Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying 196 - - Bonnie Charlie’s noo awa’ 198 - - Breathes there the man, with soul so dead 183 - - Britain fought her sons of yore 85 - - By crag and lonely moor she stands 254 - - By the Boer lines at Congella 288 - - By this, though deep the evening fell 183 - - - Cam’ ye by Athol, lad wi’ the philabeg 199 - - Come, all ye jolly sailors bold 44 - - Come, cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer 35 - - Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound 31 - - Come, my hearties--work will stand 302 - - _Cooee!_ I send my voice 318 - - Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 17 - - Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud 24 - - - Daddy Neptune one day to Freedom did say 55 - - Dear Cymru, ’mid thy mountains soaring high 173 - - Dear Harp of my country! in darkness I found thee 216 - - Despond who will--_I_ heard a voice exclaim 51 - - Did they dare, did they dare to slay Owen Roe O’Neill 227 - - Does haughty Gaul invasion threat 181 - - Drake he’s in his hammock an’ a thousand mile away 149 - - Drake’s luck to all that sail with Drake 150 - - - Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake 147 - - England, awake! awake! awake 45 - - England, England, England 252 - - England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle - enrings thee round 125 - - Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes 215 - - - Fair stood the wind for France 5 - - Fareweel to Lochaber, fareweel to my Jean 177 - - Far up among the forest-belted mountains 285 - - Fierce on this bastion beats the noon-day sun 258 - - First pledge our Queen this solemn night 84 - - Forests that beard the avalanche 121 - - Frae the friends and land I love 202 - - Free as the wind that leaps from out the North 139 - - From domes and palaces I bent my way 272 - - - Glyndwr, see thy comet flaming 167 - - God be with the Irish host 224 - - God of Nations! at Thy feet 315 - - God of our fathers, known of old 154 - - God save our Lord, the King 34 - - Green fields of England! wheresoe’er 93 - - Green Flodden! on thy bloodstained head 190 - - Growing to full manhood now 258 - - - Half a league, half a league 87 - - Harp of the mountain-land! sound forth again 166 - - Have done with care, my hearts! aboard amain 4 - - Heard ye the thunder of battle 104 - - He left his island home 308 - - Her court was pure; her life serene 83 - - Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling 39 - - Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more 46 - - Here’s a health to the King and a lasting peace 34 - - Here’s a health unto His Majesty 31 - - How great the loss is thy loss to me 233 - - ‘How many?’ said our good captain 108 - - How sleep the brave who sink to rest 36 - - - I know ’tis but a loom of land 117 - - I may sit in my wee croo house 200 - - I’m lonesome since I cross’d the hill 43 - - I’m sitting on the stile, Mary 222 - - In all my wanderings round this world of care 211 - - In a quiet-water’d land, a land of roses 236 - - In the greyness of the dawning we have seen the pilot-star 307 - - In the Highlands, in the country places 195 - - In the ranks of the Austrian you found him 80 - - I remember the lowering wintry morn 295 - - I send to you 317 - - It is not to be thought of that the flood 47 - - It’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be 193 - - It was a’ for our rightfu’ king 203 - - It wasna from a golden throne 207 - - I’ve heard the lark’s cry thrill the sky o’er the meadows of - Lusk 234 - - I’ve heard the liltin’ at our ewe-milkin’ 177 - - - Jack dances and sings, and is always content 40 - - - King Philip had vaunted his claims 132 - - - Last night, among his fellow roughs 90 - - Lest it be said 260 - - Let rogues and cheats prognosticate 30 - - Listen! my brothers of Eton and Harrow 157 - - Lo, how they come to me 155 - - Lo, our land this night is lone 231 - - Lo, ’tis the light of the morn 309 - - Lying here awake, I hear the watchman’s warning 100 - - - March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale 186 - - Men of England! who inherit 62 - - Men of the Hills and men of the Plains, men of the Isles and - Sea 276 - - Methinks already from this chymic flame 32 - - My England, island England, such leagues and leagues away 141 - - My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here 180 - - My name, d’ye see, ’s Tom Tough, I’ve seed a little sarvice 41 - - - New Year, be good to England. Bid her name 129 - - Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-West died away 92 - - Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 69 - - Not ’mid the thunder of the battle guns 299 - - Not tasselled palm or bended cypress wooing 233 - - Now all the youth of England are on fire 12 - - - O, Bay of Dublin! how my heart you’re troublin’ 222 - - Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling 204 - - O Child of Nations, giant-limbed 250 - - O England, thou hast many a precious dower 99 - - Of Nelson and the North 60 - - Of old sat Freedom on the heights 82 - - Oft in the pleasant summer years 268 - - O gallant was our galley from her carven steering-wheel 280 - - O! he was lang o’ comin’ 199 - - O how comely it is, and how reviving 24 - - O, Kenmure’s on and awa, Willie 202 - - O land of Druid and of Bard 165 - - O! my dark Rosaleen 219 - - Once more upon the waters! yet once more 64 - - ‘On with the charge!’ he cries, and waves his sword 244 - - O, Paddy dear! an’ did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round 211 - - O, the East is but West, with the sun a little hotter 243 - - O, then, tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, tell me why you hurry so 235 - - O, the red rose may be fair 237 - - O, to be in England 91 - - O, ’twas merry down to Looe when the news was carried through 118 - - O undistinguished Dead 133 - - Our second Richard Lion-Heart 113 - - O, where, Kincora! is Brien the Great 218 - - O, where’s the slave so lowly 214 - - O where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone 178 - - O! why left I my hame 194 - - O ye, who with your blood and sweat 246 - - - Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 185 - - - Rain came down drenchingly; but we unblenchingly 131 - - Remember the glories of Brien the brave 213 - - Ruin seize thee, ruthless King 161 - - - Sang one of England in his island home 262 - - Say not the struggle naught availeth 94 - - Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled 180 - - See, see where Royal Snowdon rears 172 - - She is a rich and rare land 226 - - She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps 215 - - She stands alone: ally nor friend has she 124 - - She stands, a thousand wintered tree 143 - - Shy bird of the silver arrows of song 247 - - Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules 42 - - Son of the Ocean Isle 72 - - Sons in my gates of the West 136 - - Speak gently, gently tread 273 - - Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing 207 - - Steep is the soldier’s path; nor are the heights 58 - - Still stand thy ruins ’neath the Indian sky 275 - - Sun-showered land! largess of golden light 286 - - Sye, do yer ’ear thet bugle callin’ 147 - - - The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho 193 - - The camp-fire gleams resistance 305 - - The cool and pleasant days are past 274 - - The feast is spread through England 112 - - The fifteenth day of July 18 - - The forward youth that would appear 25 - - The harp that once through Tara’s halls 213 - - Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon 182 - - The Isle of Roses in her Lindian shrine 103 - - The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece 65 - - The Little Black Rose shall be red at last 229 - - The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone 212 - - The news frae Moidart cam’ yestreen 205 - - There are boys to-day in the city slum and the home of wealth - and pride 300 - - There’s a land, a dear land, where the rights of the free 92 - - There was a sound of revelry by night 67 - - There was heard the sound of a coming foe 71 - - The seaman slept--all nature sleeps; a sacred stillness - there 293 - - The waves are dashing proudly down 267 - - The weary day rins down and dies 126 - - They called Thee MERRY ENGLAND in old time 50 - - They lie unwatched, in waste and vacant places 303 - - They say that ‘war is hell,’ the ‘great accursed’ 109 - - This England never did, nor never shall 11 - - This royal throne of kings, this sceptr’d isle 11 - - Thy voice is heard through rolling drums 83 - - To-day the people gather from the streets 120 - - To horse! to horse! the standard flies 189 - - Toll for the Brave 38 - - To mute and to material things 51 - - To my true king I offered free from stain 77 - - To Thee, our God, we fly 99 - - To the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke 187 - - Truth, winged and enkindled with rapture 129 - - - Unhappy Erin, what a lot was thine 231 - - - Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent 48 - - - War-worn, sun-scorched, stained with the dust of toil 248 - - We cheered you forth--brilliant and kind and brave 286 - - We come from tower and grange 134 - - We come in arms, we stand ten score 97 - - Welcome, wild North-easter 94 - - ‘Well done!’ The cry goes ringing round the world 287 - - We’ll o’er the water, we’ll o’er the sea 201 - - What are the bugles saying 278 - - Whate’er of woe the Dark may hide in womb 123 - - What have I done for you 137 - - What of the bow 143 - - When Britain first at Heaven’s command 33 - - When I have borne in memory what has tamed 47 - - When the British warrior queen 36 - - Where Foyle her swelling waters 216 - - Where the remote Bermudas ride 28 - - Who ’as ’eard the Ram a callin’ on the green fields o’ the sea 141 - - Who carries the gun 144 - - Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight 229 - - Who is he that cometh, like an honour’d guest 85 - - Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he 48 - - ‘Who’ll serve the King?’ cried the sergeant aloud 57 - - Whom for thy race of heroes wilt thou own 78 - - Who to the murmurs of an earthly string 50 - - Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? We have made them - a curse 89 - - Why is it that ye grieve, O weak in faith 249 - - Why lingers my gaze where the last hues of day 166 - - Wide are the plains to the north and the westward 262 - - Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro 150 - - - Ye Mariners of England 59 - - Yes, let us own it in confession free 78 - - You ask me, why, tho’ ill at ease 81 - - You brave heroic minds 8 - - - Printed by BALLANTINE, HANSON & CO. - Edinburgh & London - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -As this is a collection of poems written by many different people, -variations in punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were not changed, -although simple typographical errors were corrected. - -Index not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references. - -Page xii: “like an individual” was printed as “like an admiral”, but -has been changed in accordance with the Erratum on page xiii. - -In the Contents, the lifespan dates for several poets were omitted. - -The book printed the names of the Poets at the top of each page; in this -eBook, their names precede their first poem. - -Accent marks have been retained, even though other books do not -necessarily use them in the same poems. One example of this may be -found on page 13, in the ninth line of “King Harry To His Soldiers”: -“aspèct”. - -Page 78: “who saw me tried too sorely” was misprinted as “tired”. - -Page 186: The verse “Knell for the onset!” was printed unindented, but -the pattern of the poem suggests that it should be indented, and other -books do indent it. - -Page 261: “I bid thee, Hail!” was misprinted as “the”. - -The hyphenation in some Index entries was changed to match the -referenced pages. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Patriotic Song, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATRIOTIC SONG *** - -***** This file should be named 52133-0.txt or 52133-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/1/3/52133/ - -Produced by Brian Coe, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Patriotic Song - A book of English verse, being an anthology of the patriotic - poetry of the British Empire, from the defeat of the Spanish - Armada till the death of Queen Victoria - -Author: Various - -Release Date: May 22, 2016 [EBook #52133] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATRIOTIC SONG *** - - - - -Produced by Brian Coe, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width: 400px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="522" height="800" alt="Cover" /> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<h1>PATRIOTIC SONG</h1> - -<hr /> - -<p class="newpage p4 center wspace xxlarge"> -PATRIOTIC SONG</p> - -<p class="p2 center bold wspace large">A Book of English Verse</p> - -<p class="p2 center vspace wspace">BEING AN ANTHOLOGY OF THE PATRIOTIC POETRY OF THE<br /> -BRITISH EMPIRE, FROM THE DEFEAT OF THE SPANISH<br /> -ARMADA TILL THE DEATH OF QUEEN VICTORIA</p> - -<p class="p2 center vspace wspace">SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY<br /> -<span class="xlarge">ARTHUR STANLEY</span></p> - -<p class="p2 center vspace wspace">WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY<br /> -<span class="large">THE RIGHT REVEREND J. E. C. WELLDON</span><br /> -<span class="smaller">Lord Bishop of Calcutta; late Head-Master of Harrow School</span></p> - -<p class="p2 center vspace wspace"><span class="gesperrt">TORONTO<br /> -<span class="bold">WILLIAM BRIGGS</span></span><br /> -1901 -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="newpage p4 center vspace2 wspace"> -THIS BOOK<br /> -IS<br /> -<span class="bold">Sacred to the Memory</span><br /> -OF<br /> -THAT GLORIOUS COMPANY OF MEN<br /> -WOMEN AND CHILDREN<br /> -WHO HAVE GIVEN THEIR LIVES<br /> -FOR ENGLAND’S SAKE -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ix">ix</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="EDITORS_PREFACE"></a>EDITOR’S PREFACE</h2> -</div> - -<p class="in0">This book is intended to be a representative -collection of the patriotic poetry of the British -Empire. I have taken a wide view of the -term “patriotic”—wide enough, indeed, to include -the Jacobite Songs of Scotland and the -National Songs of Ireland.</p> - -<p>Many of my numbers breathe the spirit of -war; for the national instinct is most deeply -stirred in times of great national emotion. -But I have aimed at making this volume -something more than a book of war-songs, -holding that a man may prove his patriotism -as well at home in the pursuit of his daily -business as on the battlefield in the presence -of his country’s enemies. Love of country is -the root of the matter; and, after all, it is -harder to live for one’s country than to die -for it.</p> - -<p>I gratefully acknowledge the debt I owe -to authors and owners of copyright poems. -I am equally grateful to all who, whether -at home or in the Colonies, have given me -encouragement, assistance, or advice. My<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_x">x</a></span> -obligations to Professor Dowden, Mr. W. E. -Henley, and Mr. A. T. Quiller-Couch are very -great.</p> - -<p>My scheme, as originally conceived, provided -for the inclusion of a section representing the -patriotism of America; but, on reconsideration, -I have decided not to go beyond the limits of -the British Empire.</p> - -<p class="sigright">A. S.<br /></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xi">xi</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> -</div> - -<p>The present collection of patriotic songs will, -I think, accord with the imperial spirit of the -day; for they are representative of the whole -British Empire.</p> - -<p>It is needless to dwell upon the inspiring -energy of song. Since the age of Tyrtæus it -has everywhere been recognised as a powerful -incentive to valour. A nation can scarcely exist -without a national anthem. How characteristic -are the anthems of the nations! It may almost -be said that the difference of the English and -the French nations is expressed by the contrast -between <cite>God Save the King</cite> and the <cite>Marseillaise</cite>. -What an influence songs have exercised upon -the life of nations! The debt of Scotland to -Burns, the debt of Ireland to Moore, is greater -than words can tell. Fletcher of Saltoun was -perhaps not wrong in his estimate of the songs, -as compared with the laws, of a nation.</p> - -<p>I am not responsible for the present collection; -perhaps, if I had made it, I should -have left out some few songs which find a -place in it, and should have inserted some<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xii">xii</a></span> -few others which do not, but the purpose of -it I heartily approve. To consolidate the -Empire, and to animate it as a whole with -noble ideas, is one of the greatest needs and -duties of the present day; and an empire, -like an individual, lives not by bread alone, but -by its sentiments, its ambitions, its ideals.</p> - -<p class="sigright">J. E. C. CALCUTTA.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><i>October 1901.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xiii">xiii</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="ERRATUM"></a><span class="small gesperrt">ERRATUM</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">Page xii, line 6, <em>for</em> ‘an admiral’ <em>read</em> ‘an individual.’</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xv">xv</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table class="smaller" summary="Contents"> - <tr class="c"> - <td class="tdc" colspan="3">I.—ENGLAND</td></tr> - <tr class="small"> - <td> </td> - <td> </td> - <td class="tdr">PAGE</td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANONYMOUS (<i>c.</i> 1580).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">I.</td> - <td class="tdl">SONG OF THE ENGLISH BOWMEN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_3">3</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">GEORGE PEELE (1558?-1592?).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">II.</td> - <td class="tdl">FAREWELL TO DRAKE AND NORRIS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_4">4</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">MICHAEL DRAYTON (1563–1631).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">III.</td> - <td class="tdl">BALLAD OF AGINCOURT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_5">5</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">IV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_8">8</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564–1616).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">V.</td> - <td class="tdl">A PICTURE OF ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_11">11</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">VI.</td> - <td class="tdl">ENGLAND INVINCIBLE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_11a">11</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">VII.</td> - <td class="tdl">ENGLAND AT WAR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_12">12</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">VIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">WOLSEY TO CROMWELL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_17">17</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">BALLADS.</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">IX.</td> - <td class="tdl">BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY (<i>c.</i> 1590)</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_18">18</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">X.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL (<i>c.</i> 1626)</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_21">21</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN MILTON (1608–1674).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XI.</td> - <td class="tdl">TO THE LORD GENERAL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_24">24</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XII.</td> - <td class="tdl">DELIVERANCE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_24a">24</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANDREW MARVELL (1620–1678).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL’S RETURN FROM IRELAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_25">25</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_28">28</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">MARTIN PARKER (<i>ob.</i> 1656?).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xvi">xvi</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE KING’S EXILE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_30">30</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANONYMOUS (<i>c.</i> 1667).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">HERE’S A HEALTH UNTO HIS MAJESTY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_31">31</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN DRYDEN (1631–1701).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">A SONG OF KING ARTHUR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_31a">31</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">LONDON IN 1666</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_32">32</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JAMES THOMSON (1700–1748).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">RULE BRITANNIA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_33">33</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN DYER (<i>c.</i> 1708).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XX.</td> - <td class="tdl">DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_34">34</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANONYMOUS (<i>c.</i> 1740).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">GOD SAVE THE KING</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_34a">34</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">DAVID GARRICK (1717–1779).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">HEARTS OF OAK</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_35">35</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM COLLINS (1721–1759).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE SLEEP OF THE BRAVE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_36">36</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM COWPER (1731–1800).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">BOADICEA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_36a">36</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE <i>ROYAL GEORGE</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_38">38</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">CHARLES DIBDIN (1745–1814).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">TOM BOWLING</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_39">39</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE TRUE ENGLISH SAILOR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_40">40</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">TOM TOUGH</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_41">41</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANONYMOUS (<i>c.</i> 1750).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BRITISH GRENADIERS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_42">42</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANONYMOUS (<i>c.</i> 1758).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_43">43</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">PRINCE HOARE (1755–1834).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE <i>ARETHUSA</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_44">44</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM BLAKE (1757–1827).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">JERUSALEM IN ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_45">45</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1770–1850).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xvii">xvii</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">ON LANDING IN ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_46">46</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">DESTINY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_47">47</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MOTHERLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_47a">47</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">TO THE MEN OF KENT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_48">48</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE HAPPY WARRIOR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_48a">48</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">AFTER WATERLOO</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_50">50</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XXXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">MERRY ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_50a">50</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XL.</td> - <td class="tdl">HOPE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_51">51</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771–1832).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XLI.</td> - <td class="tdl">IN MEMORIAM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_51a">51</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS DIBDIN (1771–1841).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XLII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_55">55</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XLIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MERRY SOLDIER</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_57">57</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ROBERT SOUTHEY (1774–1843).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XLIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE STANDARD-BEARER OF THE BUFFS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_58">58</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777–1844).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XLV.</td> - <td class="tdl">YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_59">59</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XLVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_60">60</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XLVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">MEN OF ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_62">62</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1785–1842).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XLVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BRITISH SAILOR’S SONG</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_63">63</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON (1788–1824).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XLIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">ON LEAVING ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_64">64</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">L.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE ISLES OF GREECE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_65">65</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE EVE OF WATERLOO</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_67">67</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">CHARLES WOLFE (1791–1823).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_69">69</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">FELICIA HEMANS (1793–1835).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BENDED BOW</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_71">71</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">ENGLAND’S DEAD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_72">72</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY (1800–1859).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE ARMADA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_74">74</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">A JACOBITE’S EPITAPH</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_77">77</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH (1807–1886).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE TASK</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_78">78</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE UNFORGOTTEN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_78a">78</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING (1809–1861).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xviii">xviii</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE FORCED RECRUIT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_80">80</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON (1809–1892).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE ANSWER</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_81">81</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">FREEDOM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_82">82</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">BATTLE SONG</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_83">83</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">VICTORIA’S REIGN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_83a">83</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">HANDS ALL ROUND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_84">84</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">BRITONS, HOLD YOUR OWN!</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_85">85</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">WELLINGTON AT ST. PAUL’S</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_85a">85</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_87">87</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE USE OF WAR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_89">89</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS DOYLE (1810–1888).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_90">90</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ROBERT BROWNING (1812–1889).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXX.</td> - <td class="tdl">HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_91">91</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">HOME THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_92a">92</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">CHARLES MACKAY (1814–1889).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">A SONG OF ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_92">92</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH (1819–1861).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">GREEN FIELDS OF ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_93">93</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE RALLY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_94">94</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">CHARLES KINGSLEY (1819–1875).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_94a">94</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SIR HENRY YULE (1820–1889).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE <i>BIRKENHEAD</i></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_96">96</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM CORY (1823–1892).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">SCHOOL FENCIBLES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_97">97</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM WALSHAM HOW (1823–1897).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">A NATIONAL HYMN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_99">99</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN KELLS INGRAM (<i>b.</i> 1823).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">A NATION’S WEALTH</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_99a">99</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SIR FRANKLIN LUSHINGTON (<i>b.</i> 1823).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MUSTER OF THE GUARDS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_100">100</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE (1824–1897).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xix">xix</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">ALFRED THE GREAT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_103">103</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">TRAFALGAR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_104">104</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SYDNEY DOBELL (1824–1874).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">A SEA ADVENTURE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_108">108</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM ALEXANDER, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH (<i>b.</i> 1824).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">WAR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_109">109</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER (1825–1864).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE LESSON OF THE WAR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_112">112</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">GERALD MASSEY (<i>b.</i> 1828).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE’S LAST FIGHT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_113">113</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS EDWARD BROWN (1830–1897).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">LAND, HO!</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_117">117</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">BENN WILKES JONES TREVALDWYN (<i>b.</i> 1830).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE <i>GEORGE</i> OF LOOE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_118">118</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SIR EDWIN ARNOLD (<i>b.</i> 1832).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">LXXXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF THE VICTORIA CROSS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_120">120</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">RICHARD GARNETT (<i>b.</i> 1835).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XC.</td> - <td class="tdl">ABROAD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_121">121</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM SCHWENK GILBERT (<i>b.</i> 1836).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XCI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE ENGLISH GIRL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_122">122</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON (<i>b.</i> 1836).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XCII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BREATH OF AVON</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_123">123</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XCIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">ENGLAND STANDS ALONE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_124">124</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE (<i>b.</i> 1837).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XCIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_125">125</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XCV.</td> - <td class="tdl">A JACOBITE’S EXILE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_126">126</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XCVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">NEW YEAR’S DAY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_129">129</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XCVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">TO WILLIAM MORRIS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_129a">129</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS HARDY (<i>b.</i> 1840).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XCVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE GOING OF THE BATTERY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_131">131</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">AUSTIN DOBSON (<i>b.</i> 1840).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xx">xx</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">XCIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">BALLAD OF THE ARMADA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_132">132</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">C.</td> - <td class="tdl">RANK AND FILE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_133">133</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ROBERT BRIDGES (<i>b.</i> 1844).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE FAIR BRASS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_133a">133</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN HUNTLEY SKRINE (<i>b.</i> 1848).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE GENTLE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_134">134</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MOTHER AND THE SONS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_136">136</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY (<i>b.</i> 1849).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_137">137</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ERIC MACKAY (1851–1898).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CV.</td> - <td class="tdl">A SONG OF THE SEA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_139">139</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM SHARP (<i>b.</i> 1856).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BALLAD OF THE RAM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_141">141</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SIR RENNELL RODD (<i>b.</i> 1858).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">SPRING THOUGHTS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_141a">141</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM WATSON (<i>b.</i> 1858).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_143">143</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE (<i>b.</i> 1859).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE SONG OF THE BOW</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_143a">143</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CX.</td> - <td class="tdl">A BALLAD OF THE RANKS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_144">144</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">BARRY PAIN (<i>b.</i> 1860).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">OUR DEAD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_147">147</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">HENRY NEWBOLT (<i>b.</i> 1862).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">ADMIRALS ALL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_147a">147</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">DRAKE’S DRUM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_149">149</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">A TOAST</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_150">150</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">RUDYARD KIPLING (<i>b.</i> 1865).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE FLAG OF ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_150a">150</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">RECESSIONAL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_154">154</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">LAUCHLAN MACLEAN WATT (<i>b.</i> 1867).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE GREY MOTHER</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_155">155</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">GEORGE FREDERIC STEWART BOWLES (<i>b.</i> 1877).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE SONG OF THE SNOTTIES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_157">157</a></td></tr> - - <tr class="c"> - <td class="tdc" colspan="3">II.—WALES<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xxi">xxi</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS GRAY (1716–1771).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BARD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_161">161</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT (1784–1859).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXX.</td> - <td class="tdl">BODRYDDAN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_165">165</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">FELICIA HEMANS (1793–1835).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE HARP OF WALES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_166">166</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">PRINCE MADOG’S FAREWELL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_166a">166</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN JONES (1810–1869).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MARCH OF THE MEN OF HARLECH</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_167">167</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SIR LEWIS MORRIS (<i>b.</i> 1833).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">LLEWELYN AP GRUFFYDD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_168">168</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">RICHARD BELLIS JONES (1837–1900).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">RHUDDLAN MARSH</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_171">171</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">EDMUND OSBORNE JONES (<i>b.</i> 1858).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">LIBERTY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_172">172</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE POETS OF WALES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_173">173</a></td></tr> - - <tr class="c"> - <td class="tdc" colspan="3">III.—SCOTLAND</td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ALLAN RAMSAY (1686–1758).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">FAREWELL TO LOCHABER</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_177">177</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JEAN ELLIOT (1727–1805).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_177a">177</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANNE MACIVAR GRANT (1755–1838).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE HIGHLAND LADDIE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_178">178</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ROBERT BURNS (1759–1796).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">MY HEART’S IN THE HIGHLANDS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_180">180</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBUR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_180a">180</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_181">181</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THEIR GROVES O’ SWEET MYRTLE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_182">182</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771–1832).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xxii">xxii</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE OUTCAST</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_183">183</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">FLODDEN FIELD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_183a">183</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">GATHERING-SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_185">185</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">OVER THE BORDER</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_186">186</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXXXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">BONNIE DUNDEE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_187">187</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXL.</td> - <td class="tdl">WAR-SONG</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_189">189</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN LEYDEN (1775–1811).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXLI.</td> - <td class="tdl">ODE ON VISITING FLODDEN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_190">190</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ALLAN CUNNINGHAM (1785–1842).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXLII.</td> - <td class="tdl">LOYALTY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_193">193</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANONYMOUS (<i>c.</i> 1790).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXLIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMIN’</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_193a">193</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ROBERT GILFILLAN (1798–1850).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXLIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">MY AIN COUNTRIE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_194">194</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON (1850–1894).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXLV.</td> - <td class="tdl">IN THE HIGHLANDS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_195">195</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXLVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">EXILED</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_196">196</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">NEIL MUNRO (<i>b.</i> 1864).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXLVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">TO EXILES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_196a">196</a></td></tr> - - <tr class="c"> - <td class="tdc smaller" colspan="3">JACOBITE SONGS</td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANONYMOUS.</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXLVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE KING OVER THE WATER</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_198">198</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXLIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">WELCOME, ROYAL CHARLIE!</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_199">199</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CL.</td> - <td class="tdl">CAM’ YE BY ATHOL?</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_199a">199</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLI.</td> - <td class="tdl">LADY KEITH’S LAMENT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_200">200</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ROBERT BURNS (1759–1796).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLII.</td> - <td class="tdl">O’ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_201">201</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">A SONG OF EXILE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_202">202</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">KENMURE’S MARCH</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_202a">202</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLV.</td> - <td class="tdl">A JACOBITE’S FAREWELL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_203">203</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">CAROLINA, BARONESS NAIRN (1766–1845).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">CHARLIE IS MY DARLING</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_204">204</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">WHA’LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_205">205</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM GLEN (1789–1826).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xxiii">xxiii</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">WAE’S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_205a">205</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">HAROLD BOULTON (<i>b.</i> 1859).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">SKYE BOAT-SONG</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_207">207</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SARAH ROBERTSON MATHESON.</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLX.</td> - <td class="tdl">A KISS OF THE KING’S HAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_207a">207</a></td></tr> - - <tr class="c"> - <td class="tdc" colspan="3">IV.—IRELAND</td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">OLIVER GOLDSMITH (1725–1774).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">HOME</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_211">211</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANONYMOUS (<i>c.</i> 1798).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE WEARIN’ O’ THE GREEN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_211a">211</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS MOORE (1779–1852).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MINSTREL BOY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_212">212</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">A SONG OF THE IRISH</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_213">213</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">DEPARTED GLORY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_213a">213</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE CHOICE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_214">214</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">A SONG OF TRUE LOVE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_215">215</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">TO ERIN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_215a">215</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MINSTREL TO HIS HARP</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_216">216</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH TONNA (1790–1846).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MAIDEN CITY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_216a">216</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN (1803–1849).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">KINCORA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_218">218</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">DARK ROSALEEN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_219">219</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">HELEN, LADY DUFFERIN (1807–1867).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BAY OF DUBLIN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_222">222</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_222a">222</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON (1810–1886).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">O’BYRNE’S BARD TO THE CLANS OF WICKLOW</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_224">224</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE HILLS OF IRELAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_225">225</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS DAVIS (1814–1845).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xxiv">xxiv</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">MY LAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_226">226</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE DEAD CHIEF</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_227">227</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">AUBREY DE VERE (<i>b.</i> 1814).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE LITTLE BLACK ROSE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_229">229</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN KELLS INGRAM (<i>b.</i> 1823).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_229a">229</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">NATIONAL PRESAGE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_231">231</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">GEORGE SIGERSON (<i>b.</i> 1839).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE FLIGHT OF THE EARLS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_231a">231</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">LAMENT FOR EOGHAN RUA O’NEILL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_232">232</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">GEORGE FRANCIS SAVAGE-ARMSTRONG (<i>b.</i> 1845).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE OLD COUNTRY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_233">233</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES (<i>b.</i> 1846).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE SONGS OF ERIN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_234">234</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN KEEGAN CASEY (1846–1870).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE RISING OF THE MOON</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_235">235</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS WILLIAM ROLLESTON (<i>b.</i> 1857).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE DEAD AT CLONMACNOIS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_236">236</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON (<i>b.</i> 1861).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">SHAMROCK SONG</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_237">237</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">LIONEL JOHNSON (<i>b.</i> 1867).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CLXXXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">WAYS OF WAR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_239">239</a></td></tr> - - <tr class="c"> - <td class="tdc" colspan="3">V.—CANADA</td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM WYE SMITH (<i>b.</i> 1827).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXC.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE CANADIANS ON THE NILE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_243">243</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">DUNCAN ANDERSON (<i>b.</i> 1828).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXCI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE DEATH OF WOLFE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_244">244</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SARAH ANNE CURZON (1833–1898).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXCII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE LOYALISTS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_246">246</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THEODORE HARDING RAND (1835–1900).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xxv">xxv</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXCIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE WHITETHROAT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_247">247</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ANNIE ROTHWELL CHRISTIE (<i>b.</i> 1837).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXCIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">WELCOME HOME</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_248">248</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">CLIVE PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY (<i>b.</i> 1855).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXCV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THEIR TESTAMENT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_249">249</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS (<i>b.</i> 1860).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXCVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">CANADA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_250">250</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL (<i>b.</i> 1861).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXCVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_252">252</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXCVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE WORLD-MOTHER</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_254">254</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">FREDERICK GEORGE SCOTT (<i>b.</i> 1861).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CXCIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">QUEBEC</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_258">258</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CC.</td> - <td class="tdl">IN MEMORIAM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_258a">258</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">FRANCIS SHERMAN (<i>b.</i> 1871).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCI.</td> - <td class="tdl">A WORD FROM CANADA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_260">260</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ARTHUR STRINGER (<i>b.</i> 1874).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCII.</td> - <td class="tdl">CANADA TO ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_262">262</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">STUART LIVINGSTON (<i>b.</i> 1876).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE CANADIAN VOLUNTEERS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_262a">262</a></td></tr> - - <tr class="c"> - <td class="tdc" colspan="3">VI.—INDIA</td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SHOSHEE CHUNDER DUTT (1824–1883).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE HINDU’S ADDRESS TO THE GANGES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_267">267</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">SIR ALFRED LYALL (<i>b.</i> 1835).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_268">268</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM TREGO WEBB (<i>b.</i> 1847).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE RESIDENCY CHURCHYARD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_272">272</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MEMORIAL WELL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_273">273</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">SPRING IN CALCUTTA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_274">274</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN RENTON DENNING (<i>b.</i> 1858).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xxvi">xxvi</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE LUCKNOW GARRISON</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_275">275</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCX.</td> - <td class="tdl">SOLDIERS OF IND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_276">276</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">SARANSAR</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_278">278</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">RUDYARD KIPLING (<i>b.</i> 1865).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE GALLEY-SLAVE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_280">280</a></td></tr> - - <tr class="c"> - <td class="tdc" colspan="3">VII.—SOUTH AFRICA</td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS PRINGLE (1789–1834).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE DESOLATE VALLEY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_285">285</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM JOHN COURTHOPE (<i>b.</i> 1842).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">ENGLAND IN SOUTH AFRICA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_286">286</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY (<i>b.</i> 1849).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">FOR A GRAVE IN SOUTH AFRICA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_286a">286</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ARTHUR VINE HALL (<i>b.</i> 1862).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">ON LEAVING TABLE BAY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_286b">286</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">HILDA MARY AGNES COOK (<i>b.</i> 1865).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE RELIEF OF MAFEKING</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_287">287</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ROBERT RUSSELL (<i>b.</i> 1867).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE VANGUARD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_288">288</a></td></tr> - - <tr class="c"> - <td class="tdc" colspan="3">VIII.—AUSTRALIA</td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">GERALD HENRY SUPPLE (1822–1898).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">DAMPIER’S DREAM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_293">293</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ADAM LINDSAY GORDON (1833–1870).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXX.</td> - <td class="tdl">BY FLOOD AND FIELD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_295">295</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JAMES BRUNTON STEPHENS (<i>b.</i> 1835).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">FULFILMENT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_297">297</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">PERCY RUSSELL (<i>b.</i> 1847).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BIRTH OF AUSTRALIA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_299">299</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">HENRY LAWSON (<i>b.</i> 1867).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE WAR OF THE FUTURE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_300">300</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ARTHUR MAQUARIE (<i>b.</i> 1876).<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xxvii">xxvii</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXIV.</td> - <td class="tdl">A FAMILY MATTER</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_302">302</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ARTHUR ADAMS.</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXV.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE DWELLINGS OF OUR DEAD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_303">303</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">WILLIAM OGILVIE.</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXVI.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BUSH, MY LOVER</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_305">305</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">GEORGE ESSEX EVANS.</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXVII.</td> - <td class="tdl">A FEDERAL SONG</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_307">307</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">JOHN BERNARD O’HARA.</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXVIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">FLINDERS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_308">308</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXIX.</td> - <td class="tdl">THE AUSTRALIAN COMMONWEALTH</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_309">309</a></td></tr> - - <tr class="c"> - <td class="tdc" colspan="3">IX.—NEW ZEALAND</td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">THOMAS BRACKEN (<i>b.</i> 1843).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXX.</td> - <td class="tdl">NEW ZEALAND HYMN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_315">315</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ALEXANDER BATHGATE (<i>b.</i> 1845).</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXXI.</td> - <td class="tdl">OUR HERITAGE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_316">316</a></td></tr> - <tr class="n"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3">ELEANOR ELIZABETH MONTGOMERY.</td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXXII.</td> - <td class="tdl">TO ONE IN ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_317">317</a></td></tr> - <tr class="p"> - <td class="tdr top">CCXXXIII.</td> - <td class="tdl">A VOICE FROM NEW ZEALAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_318">318</a></td></tr> - - <tr class="x"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2">NOTES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#NOTES">323</a></td></tr> - <tr class="x"> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2">INDEX OF FIRST LINES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#INDEX_OF_FIRST_LINES">357</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1">1</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="large"><a id="I"></a>I<br /> - -<span class="subhead">ENGLAND</span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3">3</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_1"><a id="ANONYMOUS"></a>ANONYMOUS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_3"><a id="poemr_I"></a>I<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">SONG OF THE ENGLISH BOWMEN</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4">4</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Agincourt, Agincourt!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know ye not Agincourt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where English slew and hurt<br /></span> -<span class="i6">All their French foemen?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With their pikes and bills brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How the French were beat down,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Shot by our Bowmen!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Agincourt, Agincourt!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know ye not Agincourt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never to be forgot,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Or known to no men?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where English cloth-yard arrows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Killed the French like tame sparrows,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Slain by our Bowmen!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Agincourt, Agincourt!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know ye not Agincourt?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">English of every sort,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">High men and low men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fought that day wondrous well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All our old stories tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Thanks to our Bowmen!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Agincourt, Agincourt!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know ye not Agincourt?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where our fifth Harry taught<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Frenchmen to know men:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, when the day was done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thousands there fell to one<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Good English Bowman!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Agincourt, Agincourt!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know ye not Agincourt?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dear was the vict’ry bought<br /></span> -<span class="i6">By fifty yeomen.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ask any English wench,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They were worth all the French:<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Rare English Bowmen!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_2"><a id="PEELE"></a>PEELE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_4"><a id="poemr_II"></a>II<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">FAREWELL TO DRAKE AND NORRIS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5">5</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Have done with care, my hearts! aboard amain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With stretching sails to plough the swelling waves:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now vail your bonnets to your friends at home:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bid all the lovely British dames adieu!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To arms, my fellow-soldiers! Sea and land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lie open to the voyage you intend.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To arms, to arms, to honourable arms!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hoist sails; weigh anchors up; plough up the seas<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With flying keels; plough up the land with swords!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You follow them whose swords successful are:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You follow Drake, by sea the scourge of Spain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dreadful dragon, terror to your foes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Victorious in his return from Inde,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all his high attempts unvanquishèd;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You follow noble Norris whose renown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Won in the fertile fields of Belgia,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spreads by the gates of Europe to the courts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Christian kings and heathen potentates.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You fight for Christ and England’s peerless Queen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Elizabeth, the wonder of the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over whose throne the enemies of God<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have thunder’d erst their vain successless braves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O ten-times-treble happy men, that fight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the cross of Christ and England’s Queen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And follow such as Drake and Norris are!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All honours do this cause accompany;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All glory on these endless honours waits;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These honours and this glory shall He send,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose honour and Whose glory you defend.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>George Peele.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_3"><a id="DRAYTON"></a>DRAYTON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_5"><a id="poemr_III"></a>III<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">BALLAD OF AGINCOURT</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6">6</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_7">7</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_8">8</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fair stood the wind for France,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When we our sails advance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor now to prove our chance<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Longer will tarry;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But putting to the main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At Caux, the mouth of Seine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all his martial train,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Landed King Harry.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And taking many a fort,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Furnished in warlike sort,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Marched towards Agincourt<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In happy hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Skirmishing day by day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With those that stopped his way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the French gen’ral lay<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With all his power:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Which, in his height of pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">King Henry to deride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His ransom to provide<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To the king sending;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which he neglects the while<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As from a nation vile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet with an angry smile<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Their fall portending.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And turning to his men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quoth our brave Henry then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Though they to one be ten,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Be not amazèd.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet have we well begun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Battles so bravely won<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have ever to the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i4">By fame been raisèd.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘And for myself,’ quoth he,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘This my full rest shall be:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">England ne’er mourn for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Nor more esteem me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Victor I will remain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or on this earth lie slain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never shall she sustain<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Loss to redeem me.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Poitiers and Cressy tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When most their pride did swell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under our swords they fell;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">No less our skill is<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than when our grandsire great,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Claiming the regal seat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By many a warlike feat<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Lopped the French lilies.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Duke of York so dread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eager vaward led;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the main Henry sped,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Amongst his henchmen;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Excester had the rear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A braver man not there:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Lord, how hot they were<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On the false Frenchmen!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They now to fight are gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Armour on armour shone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drum now to drum did groan,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To hear was wonder;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That with the cries they make,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The very earth did shake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trumpet to trumpet spake,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Thunder to thunder.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Well it thine age became,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O noble Erpingham,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which did the single aim<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To our hid forces!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When from a meadow by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a storm suddenly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The English archery<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Struck the French horses.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With Spanish yew so strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arrows a cloth-yard long,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That like to serpents stung,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Piercing the weather;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">None from his fellow starts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But playing manly parts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like true English hearts<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Stuck close together.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When down their bows they threw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And forth their bilbos drew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on the French they flew,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Not one was tardy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arms were from shoulders sent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scalps to the teeth were rent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down the French peasants went;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Our men were hardy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This while our noble king,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His broadsword brandishing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down the French host did ding<br /></span> -<span class="i4">As to o’erwhelm it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a deep wound lent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His arms with blood besprent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a cruel dent<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Bruisèd his helmet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Glo’ster, that duke so good,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Next of the royal blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For famous England stood,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With his brave brother;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clarence, in steel so bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though but a maiden knight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet in that furious fight<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Scarce such another!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Warwick in blood did wade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oxford the foe invade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cruel slaughter made,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Still as they ran up;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Suffolk his axe did ply,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beaumont and Willoughby<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bare them right doughtily<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Ferrers and Fanhope.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Upon St. Crispin’s Day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fought was this noble fray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which fame did not delay,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To England to carry.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, when shall Englishmen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With such acts fill a pen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or England breed again<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Such a King Harry?<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Michael Drayton.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_8"><a id="poemr_IV"></a>IV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9">9</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_10">10</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You brave heroic minds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Worthy your country’s name,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That honour still pursue;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Go and subdue!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whilst loitering hinds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lurk here at home with shame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Britons, you stay too long:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Quickly aboard bestow you,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And with a merry gale<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Swell your stretch’d sail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With vows as strong<br /></span> -<span class="i4">As the winds that blow you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your course securely steer<br /></span> -<span class="i2">West and by south forth keep,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Rocks, lee-shores, nor shoals<br /></span> -<span class="i4">When Æolus scowls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You need not fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So absolute the deep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And cheerfully at sea<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Success you shall entice<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To get the pearl and gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And ours to hold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Virginia<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Earth’s only paradise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where nature hath in store<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fowl, venison, and fish,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the fruitfull’st soil<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Without your toil<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Three harvests more,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All greater than your wish.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the ambitious vine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crowns with his purple mass<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The cedar reaching high<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To kiss the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cypress, pine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And useful sassafras.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To whom the golden age<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still nature’s laws doth give,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Nor other cares attend<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But them to defend<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From winter’s rage,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That long there doth not live.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When as the luscious smell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of that delicious land<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Above the seas that flows<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The clear wind throws<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your hearts to swell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Approaching the dear strand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In kenning of the shore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Thanks to God first given)<br /></span> -<span class="i4">O you the happiest men,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Be frolic then!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let cannons roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Frighting the wide heaven.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in regions far,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Such heroes bring ye forth<br /></span> -<span class="i4">As those from whom we came;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And plant our name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under that star<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not known unto our north.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And as there plenty grows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of laurel everywhere,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Apollo’s sacred tree,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">You it may see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A poet’s brows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To crown that may sing there.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy voyages attend<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Industrious Hackluit<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Whose reading shall inflame<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Men to seek fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And much commend<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To after times thy wit.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Michael Drayton.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11">11</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_4"><a id="SHAKESPEARE"></a>SHAKESPEARE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_11"><a id="poemr_V"></a>V<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A PICTURE OF ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This royal throne of kings, this sceptr’d isle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This other Eden, demi-paradise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This fortress built by Nature for herself<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against infection and the hand of war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This happy breed of men, this little world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This precious stone set in the silver sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which serves it in the office of a wall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or as a moat defensive to a house,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the envy of less happier lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fear’d by their breed, and famous by their birth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Renowned for their deeds as far from home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Christian service and true chivalry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the world’s ransom, blessed Mary’s Son,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Shakespeare.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_11a"><a id="poemr_VI"></a>VI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ENGLAND INVINCIBLE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This England never did, nor never shall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when it first did help to wound itself,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come the three corners of the world in arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If England to itself do rest but true.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Shakespeare.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12">12</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_12"><a id="poemr_VII"></a>VII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ENGLAND AT WAR</span></h3> - -<h4>THE PREPARATION</h4> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now all the youth of England are on fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now thrive the armourers, and honour’s thought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reigns solely in the breast of every man:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Following the mirror of all Christian kings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With wingèd heels, as English Mercuries.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For now sits Expectation in the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hides a sword from hilts unto the point<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Promised to Harry and his followers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The French, advised by good intelligence<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of this most dreadful preparation,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shake in their fear and with pale policy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seek to divert the English purposes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O England! model to thy inward greatness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like little body with a mighty heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were all thy children kind and natural!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>AT SEA</h4> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13">13</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In motion of no less celerity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The well-appointed king at Hampton Pier<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With silken streamers the young Phœbus fanning:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Play with your fancies, and in them behold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow’d sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You stand upon the rivage and behold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A city on the inconstant billows dancing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For so appears this fleet majestical,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leave your England, as dead midnight still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Either passed or not arrived to pith and puissance;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For who is he, whose chin is but enrich’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With one appearing hair, that will not follow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>KING HARRY TO HIS SOLDIERS<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<i>At the Siege of Harfleur</i>)</span></h4> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14">14</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or close the wall up with our English dead.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In peace, there’s nothing so becomes a man<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As modest stillness and humility:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when the blast of war blows in our ears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then imitate the action of the tiger;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Disguise fair nature with hard favour’d rage;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then lend the eye a terrible aspèct;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let it pry through the portage of the head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As fearfully as doth a galled rock<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er hang and jutty his confounded base,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have in these parts from morn till even fought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dishonour not your mothers; now attest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be copy now to men of grosser blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose limbs were made in England, show us here<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mettle of your pasture; let us swear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there is none of you so mean and base,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Follow your spirit, and upon this charge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cry “God for Harry, England, and Saint George!”’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>THE EVE OF BATTLE</h4> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15">15</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now entertain conjecture of a time<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When creeping murmur and the poring dark<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fills the wide vessel of the universe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From camp to camp through the foul womb of night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hum of either army stilly sounds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the fix’d sentinels almost receive<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The secret whispers of each other’s watch:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each battle sees the other’s umbered face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Piercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The armourers, accomplishing the knights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With busy hammers closing rivets up,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give dreadful note of preparation:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the third hour of drowsy morning name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The confident and over-lusty French<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do the low-rated English play at dice;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So tediously away. The poor condemned English,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sit patiently and inly ruminate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The morning’s danger, and their gesture sad<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Presenteth them unto the gazing moon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The royal captain of this ruin’d band<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let him cry ‘Praise and glory on his head!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For forth he goes and visits all his host,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bids them good morrow with a modest smile<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon his royal face there is no note<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How dread an army hath enrounded him;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto the weary and all-watched night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But freshly looks and over-bears attaint<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That every wretch, pining and pale before,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A largess universal like the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His liberal eye doth give to everyone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behold, as may unworthiness define,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A little touch of Harry in the night.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so our scene must to the battle fly.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>KING HARRY’S PRAYER</h4> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Possess them not with fear; take from them now<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O Lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, not to-day, think not upon the fault<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My father made in compassing the crown!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I Richard’s body have interred new;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on it have bestow’d more contrite tears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than from it issued forced drops of blood:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who twice a-day their wither’d hands hold up<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sing still for Richard’s soul. More will I do;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though all that I can do is nothing worth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since that my penitence comes after all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Imploring pardon.’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16">16</a></span></p> - -<h4>St. Crispin’s Day at Agincourt<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<i>King Harry to his Soldiers</i>)</span></h4> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘This day is called the feast of Crispian:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And rouse him at the name of Crispian.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He that shall live this day, and see old age,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And say ‘To-morrow is saint Crispian:’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But he’ll remember with advantages<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What feats he did that day: then shall our names,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Familiar in his mouth as household words,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This story shall the good man teach his son;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From this day to the ending of the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But we in it shall be remembered;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gentlemen in England now abed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.’<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>THE WELCOME HOME</h4> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17">17</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">Now we bear the king<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heave him away upon your winged thoughts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth’d sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which like a mighty whiffler ’fore the king<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seems to prepare his way: so let him land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And solemnly see him set on to London.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So swift a pace hath thought that even now<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You may imagine him upon Blackheath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where that his lords desire him to have borne<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His bruisèd helmet and his bended sword<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before him through the city: he forbids it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Giving full trophy, signal and ostent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quite from himself to God. But now behold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the quick forge and working-house of thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How London doth pour out her citizens!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mayor and all his brethren in best sort,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like to the senators of the antique Rome,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the plebeians swarming at their heels,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go forth and fetch their conquering Cæsar in.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Shakespeare.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_17"><a id="poemr_VIII"></a>VIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">WOLSEY TO CROMWELL</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18">18</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let’s dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sure and safe one, though thy master miss’d it.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mark but my fall, and that that ruin’d me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Corruption wins not more than honesty.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st, O Cromwell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou fall’st a blessed martyr! Serve the king;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And,—Prithee, lead me in:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There take an inventory of all I have,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the last penny; ’tis the king’s: my robe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my integrity to heaven, is all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had I but served my God with half the zeal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I served my king, he would not in mine age<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have left me naked to mine enemies.’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Shakespeare.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_5"><a id="ANONYMOUS18"></a>ANONYMOUS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_18"><a id="poemr_IX"></a>IX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19">19</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_20">20</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_21">21</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The fifteenth day of July,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With glistering spear and shield,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A famous fight in Flanders<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was foughten in the field:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The most conspicuous officers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were English captains three,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the bravest man in battel<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was brave Lord Willoughby.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The next was Captain Norris,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A valiant man was he:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The other, Captain Turner,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From field would never flee.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With fifteen hundred fighting men,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Alas! there were no more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They fought with forty thousand then<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon the bloody shore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Stand to it, noble pikemen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And look you round about:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shoot you right, you bowmen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we will keep them out:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You musket and cailìver men,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Do you prove true to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll be the bravest man in fight,’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Says brave Lord Willoughby.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then the bloody enemy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They fiercely did assail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fought it out most valiantly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not doubting to prevail:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wounded men on both sides fell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Most piteous for to see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet nothing could the courage quell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of brave Lord Willoughby.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For seven hours to all men’s view<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This fight endurèd sore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until our men so feeble grew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That they could fight no more;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then upon dead horses<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Full savourly they eat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drank the puddle water,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They could no better get.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When they had fed so freely,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They kneelèd on the ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And praisèd God devoutly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the favour they had found;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bearing up their colours,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The fight they did renew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cutting tow’rds the Spaniard,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Five thousand more they slew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sharp steel-pointed arrows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And bullets thick did fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then did our valiant soldiers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Charge on most furiously:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which made the Spaniards waver,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They thought it best to flee:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They feared the stout behaviour<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of brave Lord Willoughby.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then quoth the Spanish general,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Come let us march away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I fear we shall be spoilèd all<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If that we longer stay:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For yonder comes Lord Willoughby<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With courage fierce and fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He will not give one inch of ground<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For all the devils in hell.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when the fearful enemy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was quickly put to flight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our men pursued courageously<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To rout his forces quite;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And at last they gave a shout<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which echoed through the sky:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘God and Saint George for England!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The conquerors did cry.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This news was brought to England<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With all the speed might be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And soon our gracious Queen was told<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of this same victory.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘O! this is brave Lord Willoughby<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My love that ever won:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all the lords of honour<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Tis he great deeds hath done!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the soldiers that were maimèd,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And wounded in the fray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Queen allowed a pension<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of eighteen pence a day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from all costs and charges<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She quit and set them free;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And this she did all for the sake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of brave Lord Willoughby.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then courage, noble Englishmen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And never be dismayed!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If that we be but one to ten,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We will not be afraid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To fight with foreign enemies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And set our country free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus I end the bloody bout<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of brave Lord Willoughby.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_21"><a id="poemr_X"></a>X<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE HONOUR OF BRISTOL</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22">22</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_23">23</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_24">24</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Attend you, and give ear awhile,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And you shall understand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of a battle fought upon the seas<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By a ship of brave command.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fight it was so glorious<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Men’s hearts it did fulfil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it made them cry, ‘To sea, to sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the <em>Angel Gabriel</em>!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This lusty ship of Bristol,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sailed out adventurously<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the foes of England,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her strength with them to try;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Well victualled, rigged, and manned she was,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With good provision still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which made them cry, ‘To sea, to sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the <em>Angel Gabriel</em>!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Captain, famous Netherway<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(That was his noble name);<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Master—he was called John Mines—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A mariner of fame:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Gunner, Thomas Watson,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A man of perfect skill:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With many another valiant heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the <em>Angel Gabriel</em>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They waving up and down the seas<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon the ocean main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘It is not long ago,’ quoth they,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘That England fought with Spain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O would the Spaniard we might meet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our stomachs to fulfil!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We would play him fair a noble bout<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With our <em>Angel Gabriel</em>!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They had no sooner spoken<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But straight appeared in sight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Three lusty Spanish vessels<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of warlike trim and might;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With bloody resolution<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They thought our men to spill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And vowed that they would make a prize<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of our <em>Angel Gabriel</em>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our gallant ship had in her<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Full forty fighting men;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With twenty piece of ordnance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We played about them then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With powder, shot, and bullets<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Right well we worked our will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hot and bloody grew the fight<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With our <em>Angel Gabriel</em>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our Captain to our Master said,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Take courage, Master bold!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our Master to the seamen said,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Stand fast, my hearts of gold!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our Gunner unto all the rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Brave hearts, be valiant still!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fight on, fight on in the defence<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of our <em>Angel Gabriel</em>!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We gave them such a broadside<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It smote their mast asunder,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tore the bowsprit off their ship,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which made the Spaniards wonder,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And causèd them in fear to cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With voices loud and shrill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Help, help, or sunken we shall be<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the <em>Angel Gabriel</em>!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So desperately they boarded us<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For all our valiant shot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Threescore of their best fighting men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon our decks were got;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lo! at their first entrances<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Full thirty did we kill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus with speed we cleared the deck<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of our <em>Angel Gabriel</em>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With that their three ships boarded us<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Again with might and main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But still our noble Englishmen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cried out ‘A fig for Spain!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though seven times they boarded us<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At last we showed our skill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And made them feel what men we were<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the <em>Angel Gabriel</em>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Seven hours this fight continued:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So many men lay dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Spanish blood for fathoms round<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sea was coloured red.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Five hundred of their fighting men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We there outright did kill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many more were hurt and maimed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By our <em>Angel Gabriel</em>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then seeing of these bloody spoils,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rest made haste away:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For why, they said, it was no boot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The longer there to stay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then they fled into Calès,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where lie they must and will<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For fear lest they should meet again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With our <em>Angel Gabriel</em>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We had within our English ship<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But only three men slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And five men hurt, the which I hope<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will soon be well again.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At Bristol we were landed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And let us praise God still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That thus hath blest our lusty hearts<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And our <em>Angel Gabriel</em>.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_6"><a id="MILTON"></a>MILTON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_24"><a id="poemr_XI"></a>XI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">TO THE LORD GENERAL</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not of war only, but detractions rude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on the neck of crownèd Fortune proud<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hast reared God’s trophies, and His work pursued,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Worcester’s laureate wreath: yet much remains<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To conquer still; peace hath her victories<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No less renowned than war: new foes arise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Help us to save free conscience from the paw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Milton.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_24a"><a id="poemr_XII"></a>XII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">DELIVERANCE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25">25</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O how comely it is, and how reviving<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the spirits of just men long oppress’d!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When God into the hands of their deliverer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Puts invincible might<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brute and boisterous force of violent men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hardy and industrious to support<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The righteous and all such as honour truth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He all their ammunition<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And feats of war defeats,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With plain heroic magnitude of mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And celestial vigour arm’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their armouries and magazines contemns,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Renders them useless; while<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With winged expedition,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift as the lightning glance, he executes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His errand on the wicked, who, surprised,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lose their defence, distracted and amazed.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Milton.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_7"><a id="MARVELL"></a>MARVELL</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_25"><a id="poemr_XIII"></a>XIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL’S RETURN FROM IRELAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26">26</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_27">27</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_28">28</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The forward youth that would appear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must now forsake his Muses dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor in the shadows sing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His numbers languishing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis time to leave the books in dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And oil the unusèd armour’s rust,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Removing from the wall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The corselet of the hall.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So restless Cromwell could not cease<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the inglorious arts of peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But through adventurous war<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Urgèd his active star:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And, like the three-fork’d lightning, first<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breaking the clouds where it was nurst,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Did thorough his own side<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His fiery way divide:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For ’tis all one to courage high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The emulous, or enemy;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And with such to inclose<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is more than to oppose;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then burning through the air he went<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And palaces and temples rent;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Cæsar’s head at last<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Did through his laurels blast.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis madness to resist or blame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The face of angry Heaven’s flame;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And if we would speak true,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Much to the man is due<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who, from his private gardens, where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He lived reservèd and austere<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(As if his highest plot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To plant the bergamot),<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Could by industrious valour climb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To ruin the great work of Time,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And cast the kingdoms old<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into another mould;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though Justice against Fate complain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And plead the ancient rights in vain—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(But those do hold or break<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As men are strong or weak),<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nature, that hateth emptiness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Allows of penetration less,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And therefore must make room<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where greater spirits come.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What field of all the civil war<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where his were not the deepest scar?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Hampton shows what part<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He had of wiser art,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where, twining subtile fears with hope,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He wove a net of such a scope<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That Charles himself might chase<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To Carisbrook’s narrow case,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That thence the royal actor borne<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tragic scaffold might adorn:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While round the armèd bands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Did clap their bloody hands.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He nothing common did or mean<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon that memorable scene,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But with his keener eye<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The axe’s edge did try;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor call’d the gods, with vulgar spite,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To vindicate his helpless right;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But bow’d his comely head<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down, as upon a bed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This was that memorable hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which first assured the forcèd power:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So, when they did design<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Capitol’s first line,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A bleeding head, where they begun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Did fright the architects to run;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And yet in that the State<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Foresaw its happy fate!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now the Irish are ashamed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see themselves in one year tamed:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So much one man can do<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That doth both act and know.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They can affirm his praises best,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And have, though overcome, confest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How good he is, how just,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fit for highest trust;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor yet grown stiffer with command,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But still in the Republic’s hand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(How fit he is to sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That can so well obey!),<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He to the Commons’ feet presents<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Kingdom for his first year’s rents,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And (what he may) forbears<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His fame, to make it theirs:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And has his sword and spoils ungirt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To lay them at the Public’s skirt<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So when the falcon high<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Falls heavy from the sky,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She, having killed, no more doth search<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But on the next green bough to perch,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where, when he first does lure,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The falconer has her sure.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What may not then our Isle presume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While victory his crest does plume?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What may not others fear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If thus he crowns each year?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As Cæsar he, ere long, to Gaul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Italy an Hannibal,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And to all states not free<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall climacteric be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Pict no shelter now shall find<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within his parti-coloured mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But from this valour sad<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shrink underneath the plaid.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Happy, if in the tufted brake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The English hunter him mistake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor lay his hounds in near<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Caledonian deer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But thou, the war’s and fortune’s son,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">March indefatigably on,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And for the last effect<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still keep the sword erect:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Besides the force it has to fright<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spirits of the shady night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The same arts that did gain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A power, must it maintain.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Andrew Marvell.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_28"><a id="poemr_XIV"></a>XIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29">29</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where the remote Bermudas ride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the Ocean’s bosom unespied,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From a small boat that rowed along<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The listening winds received this song.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘What should we do but sing His praise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That led us through the watery maze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lift the deep upon their backs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto an isle so long unknown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet far kinder than our own?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He lands us on a grassy stage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Safe from the storms and prelates’ rage:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He gave us this eternal spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which here enamels everything,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sends the fowls to us in care<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On daily visits through the air.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He hangs in shades the orange bright<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like golden lamps in a green night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And does in the pomegranates close<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Jewels more rich than Ormus shows:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He makes the figs our mouths to meet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And throws the melons at our feet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But apples plants of such a price,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No tree could ever bear them twice.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With cedars chosen by His hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From Lebanon He stores the land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And makes the hollow seas that roar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proclaim the ambergrease on shore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He cast (of which we rather boast)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Gospel’s pearl upon our coast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in these rocks for us did frame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A temple where to sound His name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O let our voice His praise exalt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till it arrive at Heaven’s vault,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Echo beyond the Mexique Bay!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thus sang they in the English boat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A holy and a cheerful note:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the way, to guide their chime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With falling oars they kept the time.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Andrew Marvell.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30">30</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_8"><a id="PARKER"></a>PARKER</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_30"><a id="poemr_XV"></a>XV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE KING’S EXILE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let rogues and cheats prognosticate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Concerning kings’ or kingdoms’ fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think myself to be as wise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As he that gazeth on the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Whose sight goes beyond<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The depth of a pond<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or rivers in the greatest rain;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For I can tell<br /></span> -<span class="i4">All will be well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the King enjoys his own again!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though for a time we see Whitehall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With cobwebs hanging on the wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Instead of gold and silver brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which formerly ’twas wont to have,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With rich perfume<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In every room,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Delightful to that princely train,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Yet the old again shall be<br /></span> -<span class="i4">When the happy time you see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the King enjoys his own again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Full forty years this royal crown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hath been his father’s and his own;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And is there any one but he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in the same should sharer be?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For who better may<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The sceptre sway<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than he that hath such right to reign?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Then let’s hope for a peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For the wars will not cease<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the King enjoys his own again.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Martin Parker.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31">31</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_9"><a id="ANONYMOUS31"></a>ANONYMOUS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_31"><a id="poemr_XVI"></a>XVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">HERE’S A HEALTH</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here’s a health unto His Majesty,<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><em>With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la!</em><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Confusion to his enemies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><em>With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la!</em><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he that will not drink his health,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I wish him neither wit nor wealth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor yet a rope to hang himself,<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><em>With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la!</em><br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_10"><a id="DRYDEN"></a>DRYDEN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_31a"><a id="poemr_XVII"></a>XVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A SONG OF KING ARTHUR</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come, if you dare, the foes rebound:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We come, we come, we come, we come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Says the double, double, double beat of the thundering drum.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Now they charge on amain,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Now they rally again:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gods from above the mad labour behold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pity mankind, that will perish for gold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The fainting Saxons quit their ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their trumpets languish in the sound:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They fly, they fly, they fly, they fly;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Victoria, Victoria, the bold Britons cry.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Now the victory’s won,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To the plunder we run:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We return to our lasses like fortunate traders,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Triumphant with spoils of the vanquish’d invaders.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Dryden.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32">32</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_32"><a id="poemr_XVIII"></a>XVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">LONDON IN 1666</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33">33</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Methinks already from this chymic flame<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I see a city of more precious mould,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With silver paved, and all divine with gold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Already, labouring with a mighty fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And seems to have renewed her charter’s date<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which Heaven will to the death of time allow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">More great than human now and more august,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">New deified she from her fires does rise:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her widening streets on new foundations trust,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, opening, into larger parts she flies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Before, she like some shepherdess did show<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who sate to bathe her by a river’s side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now like a maiden queen she will behold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From her high turrets hourly suitors come;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The East with incense and the West with gold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will stand like suppliants to receive her dome.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The silver Thames, her own domestic flood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And often wind, as of his mistress proud,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With longing eyes to meet her face again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wealthy Tagus and the wealthier Rhine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The glory of their towns no more shall boast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall find her lustre stained and traffic lost.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The venturous merchant, who designed more far,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And touches on our hospitable shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Charmed with the splendour of this northern star<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall here unlade him and depart no more.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our powerful navy shall no longer meet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wealth of France or Holland to invade;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The beauty of this town without a fleet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From all the world shall vindicate her trade.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And while this famed emporium we prepare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The British ocean shall such triumphs boast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That those who now disdain our trade to share<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Already we have conquered half the war,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the less dangerous part is left behind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our trouble now is but to make them dare<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And not so great to vanquish as to find.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A constant trade-wind will securely blow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gently lay us on the spicy shore.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Dryden.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_11"><a id="THOMSON"></a>THOMSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_33"><a id="poemr_XIX"></a>XIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">RULE BRITANNIA</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34">34</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When Britain first at Heaven’s command<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Arose from out the azure main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This was the charter of her land,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And guardian angels sang the strain:<br /></span> -<em><span class="i4">Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Britons never shall be slaves.<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The nations not so blest as thee<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Must in their turn to tyrants fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dread and envy of them all!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still more majestic shalt thou rise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">More dreadful from each foreign stroke;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the last blast which tears the skies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Serves but to root thy native oak.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thee haughty tyrants ne’er shall tame;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All their attempts to bend thee down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will but arouse thy generous flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And work their woe and thy renown.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To thee belongs the rural reign;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy cities shall with commerce shine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All thine shall be the subject main,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And every shore it circles thine!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Muses, still with Freedom found,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall to thy happy coast repair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And manly hearts to guard the fair:—<br /></span> -<em><span class="i4">Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Britons never shall be slaves!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>James Thomson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_12"><a id="DYER"></a>DYER</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_34"><a id="poemr_XX"></a>XX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here’s a health to the King and a lasting peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To faction an end, to wealth increase!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come, let’s drink it while we have breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there’s no drinking after death;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he that will this health deny,<br /></span> -<em><span class="i4">Down among the dead men—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Down among the dead men—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Down, down, down, down,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Down among the dead men let him lie!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Dyer.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_13"><a id="ANONYMOUS34"></a>ANONYMOUS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_34a"><a id="poemr_XXI"></a>XXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">GOD SAVE THE KING</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35">35</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God save our lord, the King,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long live our noble King,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God save the King!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Send him victorious,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Happy and glorious,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long to reign over us,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God save the King!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O Lord, our God, arise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scatter his enemies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And make them fall!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Confound their politics,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frustrate their knavish tricks!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Thee our hopes we fix,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God save us all!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy choicest gifts in store<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On him be pleased to pour,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long may he reign!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May he defend our laws,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ever give us cause<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To sing with heart and voice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God save the King!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_14"><a id="GARRICK"></a>GARRICK</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_35"><a id="poemr_XXII"></a>XXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">HEARTS OF OAK</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36">36</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come, cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To add something more to this wonderful year,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To honour we call you, not press you like slaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For who are so free as the sons of the waves?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men,<br /></span> -<span class="i12">We always are ready,<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Steady, boys, steady,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We ne’er see our foes but we wish them to stay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They never see us but they wish us away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If they run, why, we follow, and run them ashore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For if they won’t fight us, we cannot do more.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men,<br /></span> -<span class="i12">We always are ready,<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Steady, boys, steady,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still Britain shall triumph, her ships plough the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her standard be justice, her watchword ‘Be free’;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, cheer up, my lads, with one heart let us sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our king.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men,<br /></span> -<span class="i12">We always are ready,<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Steady, boys, steady,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll fight and we’ll conquer again and again.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>David Garrick.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_15"><a id="COLLINS"></a>COLLINS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_36"><a id="poemr_XXIII"></a>XXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE SLEEP OF THE BRAVE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How sleep the brave who sink to rest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By all their country’s wishes blest!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Returns to deck their hallow’d mould,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She there shall dress a sweeter sod<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By fairy hands their knell is rung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By forms unseen their dirge is sung;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To bless the turf that wraps their clay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Freedom shall a while repair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To dwell a weeping hermit there.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Collins.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_16"><a id="COWPER"></a>COWPER</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_36a"><a id="poemr_XXIV"></a>XXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">BOADICEA</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37">37</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the British warrior queen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bleeding from the Roman rods,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sought with an indignant mien<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Counsel of her country’s gods,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sage beneath the spreading oak<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sat the Druid, hoary chief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Every burning word he spoke<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Full of rage, and full of grief:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Princess! if our aged eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis because resentment ties<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the terrors of our tongues.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Rome shall perish,—write that word<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the blood that she has spilt;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perish hopeless and abhorred,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deep in ruin as in guilt.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Rome, for empire far renowned,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tramples on a thousand states;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Other Romans shall arise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heedless of a soldier’s name;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Harmony the path to fame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Then the progeny that springs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From the forests of our land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Armed with thunder, clad with wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall a wider world command.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Regions Cæsar never knew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy posterity shall sway;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where his eagles never flew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">None invincible as they.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such the bard’s prophetic words,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pregnant with celestial fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bending as he swept the chords<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of his sweet but awful lyre.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She with all a monarch’s pride<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Felt them in her bosom glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rushed to battle, fought, and died,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dying, hurled them at the foe:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Ruffians, pitiless as proud,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heaven awards the vengeance due;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Empire is on us bestowed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shame and ruin wait for you!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Cowper.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38">38</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_38"><a id="poemr_XXV"></a>XXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE <i>ROYAL GEORGE</i></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39">39</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Toll for the Brave!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brave that are no more!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All sunk beneath the wave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fast by their native shore!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Eight hundred of the brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose courage well was tried,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had made the vessel heel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And laid her on her side.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A land-breeze shook the shrouds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she was overset;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down went the <i>Royal George</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all her crew complete.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Toll for the brave!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brave Kempenfelt is gone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His last sea-fight is fought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His work of glory done.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It was not in the battle;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No tempest gave the shock,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She sprang no fatal leak,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She ran upon no rock.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His sword was in its sheath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His fingers held the pen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Kempenfelt went down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With twice four hundred men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Weigh the vessel up,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Once dreaded by our foes!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mingle with our cup<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tear that England owes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her timbers yet are sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she may float again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full charged with England’s thunder,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And plough the distant main:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But Kempenfelt is gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His victories are o’er;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he and his eight hundred<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall plough the wave no more.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Cowper.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_17"><a id="DIBDIN"></a>DIBDIN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_39"><a id="poemr_XXVI"></a>XXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">TOM BOWLING</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The darling of our crew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more he’ll hear the tempest howling,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For death has broached him to.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His form was of the manliest beauty,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His heart was kind and soft,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faithful below he did his duty,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And now he’s gone aloft.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tom never from his word departed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His virtues were so rare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His friends were many, and true-hearted,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His Poll was kind and fair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then he’d sing so blithe and jolly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ah, many’s the time and oft!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But mirth is turned to melancholy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For Tom is gone aloft.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When He, who all commands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall give, to call life’s crew together,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The word to pipe all hands.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In vain Tom’s life has doffed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For though his body’s under hatches,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His soul is gone aloft.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Charles Dibdin.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40">40</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_40"><a id="poemr_XXVII"></a>XXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE TRUE ENGLISH SAILOR</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Jack dances and sings, and is always content,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In his vows to his lass he’ll ne’er fail her;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His anchor’s a-trip when his money’s all spent—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And this is the life of a sailor.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Alert in his duty, he readily flies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where winds the tir’d vessel are flinging;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though sunk to the sea-gods, or toss’d to the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still Jack is found working and singing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Long-side of an enemy, boldly and brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He’ll with broadside on broadside regale her;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet he’ll sigh from his soul o’er that enemy’s grave:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So noble’s the mind of a sailor.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let cannons road loud, burst their sides let the bombs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let the winds a dead hurricane rattle;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rough and the pleasant he takes as it comes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And laughs at the storm and the battle.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In a Fostering Power while Jack puts his trust,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As Fortune comes, smiling he’ll hail her;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Resign’d still, and manly, since what must be must,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And this is the mind of a sailor.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though careless and headlong, if danger should press,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And rank’d ’mongst the free list of rovers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet he’ll melt into tears at a tale of distress,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And prove the most constant of lovers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To rancour unknown, to no passion a slave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He’s gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And this is a true English sailor.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Charles Dibdin.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41">41</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_41"><a id="poemr_XXVIII"></a>XXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">TOM TOUGH</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42">42</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My name, d’ye see, ’s Tom Tough, I’ve seed a little sarvice,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ve sailed with valiant Howe, I’ve sailed with noble Jarvis,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in gallant Duncan’s fleet I’ve sung out ‘Yo heave ho!’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Yet more shall ye be knowing,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">I was coxon to Boscawen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And even with brave Hawke have I nobly faced the foe.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Then put round the grog,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">So we’ve that and our prog,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll laugh in Care’s face, and sing ‘Yo heave ho!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When from my love to part I first weigh’d anchor,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And she was sniv’ling seed on the beach below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’d like to cotch’d my eyes sniv’ling too, d’ye see, to thank her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But I brought my sorrows up with a ‘Yo heave ho!’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For sailors, though they have their jokes,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And love and feel like other folks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their duty to neglect must not come for to go;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">So I seized the capstern bar,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Like a true honest tar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, in spite of tears and sighs, sang out ‘Yo heave ho!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the worst on’t was that time when the little ones were sickly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And if they’d live or die the doctor did not know;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The word was gov’d to weigh so sudden and so quickly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I thought my heart would break as I sung ‘Yo heave ho!’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For Poll’s so like her mother,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And as for Jack, her brother,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The boy, when he grows up will nobly fight the foe;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But in Providence I trust,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For you see what must be must,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So my sighs I gave the winds and sung out ‘Yo heave ho!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now at last laid up in a decentish condition,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For I’ve only lost an eye, and got a timber toe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But old ships must expect in time to be out of commission,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor again the anchor weigh with ‘Yo heave ho!’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">So I smoke my pipe and sing old songs,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For my boy shall well revenge my wrongs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my girl shall breed young sailors, nobly for to face the foe;—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Then to Country and King,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Fate no danger can bring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the tars of Old England sing out ‘Yo heave ho!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Charles Dibdin.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_18"><a id="ANONYMOUS42"></a>ANONYMOUS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_42"><a id="poemr_XXIX"></a>XXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BRITISH GRENADIERS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43">43</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But of all the world’s great heroes, there’s none that can compare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadier!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Those heroes of antiquity ne’er saw a cannon ball,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But our brave boys do know it, and banish all their fears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whene’er we are commanded to storm the palisades,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our leaders march with fuses, and we with hand grenades,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We throw them from the glacis, about the enemies’ ears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when the siege is over, we to the town repair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The townsmen cry, ‘Hurrah, boys, here comes a Grenadier!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Here come the Grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then sing, tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who carry caps and pouches, and wear the loupèd clothes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May they and their commanders live happy all their years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_19"><a id="ANONYMOUS43"></a>ANONYMOUS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_43"><a id="poemr_XXX"></a>XXX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44">44</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’m lonesome since I cross’d the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And o’er the moor and valley;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Since parting with my Sally.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I seek no more the fine or gay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For each does but remind me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How swift the hours did pass away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the girl I’ve left behind me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, ne’er shall I forget the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The stars were bright above me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gently lent their silv’ry light<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When first she vowed to love me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But now I’m bound to Brighton camp,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Kind Heaven, then, pray guide me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And send me safely back again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the girl I’ve left behind me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My mind her form shall still retain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In sleeping, or in waking,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until I see my love again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For whom my heart is breaking.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If ever I return that way,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And she should not decline me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I evermore will live and stay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the girl I’ve left behind me.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_20"><a id="HOARE"></a>HOARE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_44"><a id="poemr_XXXI"></a>XXXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE <i>ARETHUSA</i></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45">45</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come, all ye jolly sailors bold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While English glory I unfold,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Huzza for the <i>Arethusa</i>!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She is a frigate tight and brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As ever stemmed the dashing wave;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Her men are staunch<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To their fav’rite launch,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when the foe shall meet our fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sooner than strike, we’ll all expire<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On board of the <i>Arethusa</i>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Twas with the spring fleet she went out<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The English Channel to cruise about,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When four French sail, in show so stout<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Bore down on the <i>Arethusa</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The famed <i>Belle Poule</i> straight ahead did lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The <i>Arethusa</i> seemed to fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Not a sheet, or a tack,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or a brace, did she slack;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though the Frenchmen laughed and thought it stuff,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But they knew not the handful of men, how tough,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On board of the <i>Arethusa</i>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On deck five hundred men did dance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stoutest they could find in France;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We with two hundred did advance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On board of the <i>Arethusa</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our captain hailed the Frenchman, ‘Ho!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Frenchman then cried out ‘Hallo!’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">‘Bear down, d’ye see,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To our admiral’s lee!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘No, no,’ says the Frenchman, ‘that can’t be!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Then I must lug you along with me,’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Says the saucy <i>Arethusa</i>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The fight was off the Frenchman’s land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We forced them back upon their strand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For we fought till not a stick could stand<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of the gallant <i>Arethusa</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now we’ve driven the foe ashore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never to fight with the Britons more,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Let each fill his glass<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To his fav’rite lass;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A health to our captain and officers true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all that belong to the jovial crew<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On board of the <i>Arethusa</i>.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Prince Hoare.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_21"><a id="BLAKE"></a>BLAKE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_45"><a id="poemr_XXXII"></a>XXXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">JERUSALEM IN ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46">46</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">England, awake! awake! awake!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Jerusalem thy sister calls!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And close her from thy ancient walls?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy hills and valleys felt her feet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gently upon their bosoms move:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy gates beheld sweet Zion’s ways;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then was a time of joy and love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now the time returns again:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our souls exult; and London’s towers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Receive the Lamb of God to dwell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In England’s green and pleasant bowers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And did those feet in ancient time<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Walk upon England’s mountain green?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And was the holy Lamb of God<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On England’s pleasant pastures seen?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And did the Countenance Divine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shine forth upon our clouded hills?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And was Jerusalem builded here<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among these dark satanic mills?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bring me my bow of burning gold!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bring me my arrows of desire!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bring me my spear: O clouds, unfold!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bring me my chariot of fire!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I will not cease from mental fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till we have built Jerusalem<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In England’s green and pleasant land.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Blake.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_22"><a id="WORDSWORTH"></a>WORDSWORTH</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_46"><a id="poemr_XXXIII"></a>XXXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ON LANDING IN ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of bells; those boys who in yon meadow-ground<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In white-sleeved shirts are playing; and the roar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All, all are English. Oft have I looked round<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With joy in Kent’s green vales; but never found<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Myself so satisfied in heart before.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thought for another moment. Thou art free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My Country! and ’tis joy enough and pride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For one hour’s perfect bliss, to tread the grass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of England once again, and hear and see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With such a dear Companion at my side.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wordsworth.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47">47</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_47"><a id="poemr_XXXIV"></a>XXXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">DESTINY</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It is not to be thought of that the Flood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of British freedom, which, to the open sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hath flowed, ‘with pomp of waters, unwithstood!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roused though it be full often to a mood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which spurns the check of salutary bands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should perish; and to evil and to good<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be lost for ever—In our halls is hung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We must be free or die, who speak the tongue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which Milton held. In everything we are sprung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wordsworth.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_47a"><a id="poemr_XXXV"></a>XXXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE MOTHERLAND</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When I have borne in memory what has tamed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When men change swords for ledgers, and desert<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The student’s bower for gold, some fears unnamed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I had, my Country!—am I to be blamed?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Verily, in the bottom of my heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For dearly must we prize thee; we who find<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In thee a bulwark for the cause of men:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I, by my affection was beguiled:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What wonder if a Poet now and then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the many movements of his mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Felt for thee as a lover or a child!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wordsworth.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48">48</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_48"><a id="poemr_XXXVI"></a>XXXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">TO THE MEN OF KENT<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<i>October, 1803</i>)</span></span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ye children of a soil that doth advance<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her haughty bow against the coast of France,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now is the time to prove your hardiment!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To France be words of invitation sent!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They from their fields can see the countenance<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hear you shouting forth your brave intent.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Left single, in bold parley, ye, of yore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Confirmed the charters that were yours before;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No parleying now! In Britain is one breath;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We all are with you now from shore to shore;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ye men of Kent, ’tis victory or death!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wordsworth.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_48a"><a id="poemr_XXXVII"></a>XXXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE HAPPY WARRIOR</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49">49</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_50">50</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That every man in arms should wish to be?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose high endeavours are an inward light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That makes the path before him always bright:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—Who, if he rise to station of command,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rises by open means; and there will stand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On honourable terms, or else retire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in himself possess his own desire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who comprehends his trust, and to the same<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like showers of manna, if they come at all:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose powers shed round him in the common strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or mild concerns of ordinary life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A constant influence, a peculiar grace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But who, if he be called upon to face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Great issues, good or bad for human kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is happy as a Lover; and attired<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or if an unexpected call succeed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come when it will, is equal to the need:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—He who, though thus endued as with a sense<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And faculty for storm and turbulence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To home-felt pleasures and to gentle scenes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet images! which, wheresoe’er he be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are at his heart; and such fidelity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is his darling passion to approve;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More brave for this, that he hath much to love:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Conspicuous object in a Nation’s eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or left unthought-of in obscurity,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, with a toward or untoward lot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plays, in the many games of life, that one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where what he most doth value must be won:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor thought of tender happiness betray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, not content that former worth stand fast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Looks forward, persevering to the last,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From well to better, daily self-surpast:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leave a dead unprofitable name—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His breath in confidence of Heaven’s applause:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the happy Warrior; this is He<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That every Man in arms should wish to be.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wordsworth.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_50"><a id="poemr_XXXVIII"></a>XXXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">AFTER WATERLOO</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who to the murmurs of an earthly string<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of Britain’s acts would sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">He with enraptured voice will tell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of One whose spirit no reverse could quell:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of One that, ’mid the failing, never failed—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who paints how Britain struggled and prevailed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall represent her labouring with an eye<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of circumspect humanity;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall show her clothed with strength and skill,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">All martial duties to fulfill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Firm as a rock in stationary fight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In motion rapid as the lightning’s gleam;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fierce as a flood-gate bursting in the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To rouse the wicked from their giddy dream—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Woe, woe to all that face her in the field!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Appalled she may not be, and cannot yield.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wordsworth.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_50a"><a id="poemr_XXXIX"></a>XXXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">MERRY ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51">51</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They called Thee <span class="smcap">Merry England</span> in old time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A happy people won for thee that name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With envy heard in many a distant clime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, spite of change, for me thou keep’st the same<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Endearing title, a responsive chime<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the heart’s fond belief: though some there are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose sterner judgments deem that word a snare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For inattentive Fancy, like the lime<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which foolish birds are caught with. Can, I ask,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This face of rural beauty be a mask<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For discontent, and poverty, and crime;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These spreading towns a cloak for lawless will?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forbid it, Heaven!—and <span class="smcap">Merry England</span> still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall be thy rightful name, in prose and rhyme!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wordsworth.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_51"><a id="poemr_XL"></a>XL<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">HOPE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Despond who will—<em class="padi">I</em> heard a voice exclaim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Though fierce the assault, and shattered the defence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It cannot be that Britain’s social frame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glorious work of time and providence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before a flying season’s rash pretence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should fall; that She, whose virtue put to shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Europe prostrate lay, the Conqueror’s aim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should perish, self-subverted. Black and dense<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cloud is; but brings that a day of doom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Liberty? Her sun is up the while,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That orb whose beams round Saxon Alfred shone:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then laugh, ye innocent Vales! ye Streams, sweep on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor let one billow of our heaven-blest Isle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Toss in the fanning wind a humbler plume.’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wordsworth.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_23"><a id="SCOTT"></a>SCOTT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_51a"><a id="poemr_XLI"></a>XLI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">IN MEMORIAM<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<span class="smcap">Nelson</span>: <span class="smcap">Pitt</span>: <span class="smcap">Fox</span>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52">52</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_53">53</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_54">54</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_55">55</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">To mute and to material things<br /></span> -<span class="i0">New life revolving summer brings;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The genial call dead Nature hears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in her glory reappears.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But O my Country’s wintry state<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What second spring shall renovate?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What powerful call shall bid arise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The buried warlike and the wise;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mind that thought for Britain’s weal,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hand that grasped the victor steel?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vernal sun new life bestows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Even on the meanest flower that blows;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But vainly, vainly may he shine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where glory weeps o’er <span class="smcap">Nelson’s</span> shrine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And vainly pierce the solemn gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That shrouds, O <span class="smcap">Pitt</span>, thy hallowed tomb!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Deep graved in every British heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O never let those names depart!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say to your sons,—Lo, here his grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who victor died on Gadite wave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To him, as to the burning levin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Short, bright, resistless course was given.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where’er his country’s foes were found<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was heard the fated thunder’s sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till burst the bolt on yonder shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rolled, blazed, destroyed,—and was no more.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Nor mourn ye less his perished worth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who bade the conqueror go forth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And launched that thunderbolt of war<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, born to guide such high emprise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Britain’s weal was early wise;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas! to whom the Almighty gave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Britain’s sins, an early grave!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His worth, who in his mightiest hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bauble held the pride of power,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And served his Albion for herself;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, from the frantic crowd amain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strained at subjection’s bursting rein,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er their wild mood full conquest gained,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pride he would not crush restrained,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And brought the freeman’s arm to aid the freeman’s laws.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Hadst thou but lived, though stripped of power,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A watchman on the lonely tower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy thrilling trump had roused the land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When fraud or danger were at hand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By thee, as by the beacon-light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our pilots had kept course aright;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As some proud column, though alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy strength had propped the tottering throne:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now is the stately column broke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The beacon-light is quenched in smoke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The trumpet’s silver sound is still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The warder silent on the hill!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">O think, how to his latest day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When death, just hovering, claimed his prey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Palinure’s unaltered mood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Firm at his dangerous post he stood;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each call for needful rest repelled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With dying hand the rudder held,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till in his fall with fateful sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The steerage of the realm gave way!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, while on Britain’s thousand plains<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One unpolluted church remains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose peaceful bells ne’er sent around<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bloody tocsin’s maddening sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But still, upon the hallowed day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Convoke the swains to praise and pray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While faith and civil peace are dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grace this cold marble with a tear,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He, who preserved them, <span class="smcap">Pitt</span>, lies here!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Nor yet suppress the generous sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because his rival slumbers nigh;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor be thy <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">requiescat</i> dumb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lest it be said o’er <span class="smcap">Fox’s</span> tomb.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For talents mourn, untimely lost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When best employed, and wanted most;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mourn genius high, and lore profound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wit that loved to play, not wound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the reasoning powers divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To penetrate, resolve, combine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And feelings keen, and fancy’s glow,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They sleep with him who sleeps below:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, if thou mourn’st they could not save<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From error him who owns this grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be ever harsher thought suppressed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sacred be the long last rest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>Here</em>, where the end of earthly things<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of those who fought, and spoke and sung;<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>Here</em>, where the fretted aisles prolong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The distant notes of holy song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if some angel spoke agen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘All peace on earth, good-will to men’;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If ever from an English heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, <em>here</em> let prejudice depart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, partial feeling cast aside,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Record, that <span class="smcap">Fox</span> a Briton died!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Europe crouched to France’s yoke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Austria bent, and Prussia broke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the firm Russian’s purpose brave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was bartered by a timorous slave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Even then dishonour’s peace he spurned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sullied olive-branch returned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stood for his country’s glory fast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And nailed her colours to the mast!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A portion in this honoured grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ne’er held marble in its trust<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of two such wondrous men the dust.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With more than mortal powers endowed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How high they soared above the crowd!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Theirs was no common party race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Jostling by dark intrigue for place;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like fabled Gods, their mighty war<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shook realms and nations in its jar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath each banner proud to stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Looked up the noblest of the land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till through the British world were known<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The names of <span class="smcap">Pitt</span> and <span class="smcap">Fox</span> alone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spells of such force no wizard grave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’er framed in dark Thessalian cave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though his could drain the ocean dry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And force the planets from the sky.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These spells are spent, and, spent with these<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wine of life is on the lees.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Genius, and taste, and talent gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ever tombed beneath the stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where—taming thought to human pride!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drop upon <span class="smcap">Fox’s</span> grave the tear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twill trickle to his rival’s bier;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er <span class="smcap">Pitt’s</span> the mournful requiem sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And <span class="smcap">Fox’s</span> shall the notes rebound.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The solemn echo seems to cry,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Here let their discord with them die.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Speak not for those a separate doom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom fate made Brothers in the tomb;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But search the land of living men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where wilt thou find their like agen?’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_24"><a id="DIBDIN55"></a>DIBDIN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_55"><a id="poemr_XLII"></a>XLII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56">56</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_57">57</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Daddy Neptune one day to Freedom did say,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘If ever I live upon dry land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spot I should hit on would be little Britain!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Says Freedom, ‘Why that’s my own island!’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">O, it’s a snug little island!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A right little, tight little island,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Search the globe round, none can be found<br /></span> -<span class="i4">So happy as this little island.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Julius Cæsar, the Roman, who yielded to no man,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Came by water,—he couldn’t come <em>by</em> land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Dane, Pict, and Saxon, their homes turn’d their backs on,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all for the sake of our island.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">O, what a snug little island!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">They’d all have a touch at the island!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Some were shot dead, some of them fled,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And some staid to live on the island.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then a very great war-man, called Billy the Norman,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cried ‘D—n it, I never liked my land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It would be much more handy to leave this Nor<em>man</em>dy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And live on yon beautiful island.’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Says he, ‘’Tis a snug little island:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sha’n’t us go visit the island?’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Hop, skip, and jump, there he was plump,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And he kick’d up a dust in the island.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But party-deceit help’d the Normans to beat;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of traitors they managed to buy land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Dane, Saxon, or Pict, Britons ne’er had been lick’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Had they stuck to the King of their island.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Poor Harold, the King of the island!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">He lost both his life and his island.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That’s very true; what more could he do?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Like a Briton he died for his island!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Spanish Armada set out to invade-a,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Quite sure, if they ever came nigh land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They couldn’t do less than tuck up Queen Bess,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And take their full swing in the island.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">O, the poor Queen of the island!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The Dons came to plunder the island;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But, snug in the hive, the Queen was alive,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And buz was the word in the island.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Those proud puff’d-up cakes thought to make ducks and drakes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of our wealth; but they hardly could spy land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When our Drake had the luck to make their pride duck<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And stoop to the lads of the island.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Huzza for the lads of the island!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The good wooden walls of the island;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Devil or Don, let ’em come on;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But how would they come <em>off</em> at the island?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Since Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In each saying, ‘This shall be my land’;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should the ‘Army of England,’ or all they could bring, land,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’d show ’em some play for the island.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We’ll fight for our right to the island;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We’ll give them enough of the island;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Invaders should just—bite at the dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But not a bit more of the island!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Dibdin.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_57"><a id="poemr_XLIII"></a>XLIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE MERRY SOLDIER</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58">58</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Who’ll serve the King?’ cried the sergeant aloud:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Roll went the drum, and the fife played sweetly;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Here, master sergeant,’ said I, from the crowd,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Is a lad who will answer your purpose completely.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My father was a corporal, and well he knew his trade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of women, wine, and gunpowder, he never was afraid:<br /></span> -<span class="i6">He’d march, fight—left, right,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Front flank—centre rank,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Storm the trenches—court the wenches,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Loved the rattle of a battle,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Died with glory—lives in story!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like him, I found a soldier’s life, if taken smooth and rough,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A very merry, hey down derry, sort of life enough.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Hold up your head,’ said the sergeant at drill:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Roll went the drum, and the fife played loudly;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Turn out your toes, sir!’ Says I, ‘Sir, I will,’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For a nimble-wristed round rattan the sergeant flourished proudly.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My father died when corporal, but I ne’er turned my back,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till, promoted to the halberd, I was sergeant in a crack.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In sword and sash cut a dash,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Spurr’d and booted, next recruited<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Hob and Clod—awkward squad,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Then began my rattan,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">When boys unwilling came to drilling;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till, made the colonel’s orderly, then who but I so bluff,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Led a very merry, hey down derry, sort of life enough.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Homeward, my lads!’ cried the general.—‘Huzza!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Roll went the drum, and the fife played cheer’ly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To quick time we footed, and sung all the way<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Hey for the pretty girls we love so dearly!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My father lived with jolly boys in bustle, jars, and strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like him, being fond of noise, I mean to take a wife<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Soon as miss blushes ‘<em>y-i-s!</em>’<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Rings, gloves, dears, loves,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Bells ringing, comrades singing,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Honeymoon finished soon,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Scolding, sighing, children crying!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet still a wedded life may prove, if taken smooth and rough,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A very merry, hey down derry, sort of life enough.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Dibdin.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_25"><a id="SOUTHEY"></a>SOUTHEY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_58"><a id="poemr_XLIV"></a>XLIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE STANDARD-BEARER OF THE BUFFS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59">59</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Steep is the soldier’s path; nor are the heights<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of glory to be won without long toil<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And arduous efforts of enduring hope;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save when Death takes the aspirant by the hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cutting short the work of years, at once<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lifts him to that conspicuous eminence.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such fate was mine.—The standard of the Buffs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I bore at Albuera, on that day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, covered by a shower, and fatally<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For friends misdeem’d, the Polish lancers fell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon our rear. Surrounding me, they claim’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My precious charge.—‘Not but with life!’ I cried,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And life was given for immortality.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flag which to my heart I held, when wet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With that heart’s blood, was soon victoriously<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Regain’d on that great day. In former times,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Marlborough beheld it borne at Ramilies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Brunswick and for liberty it waved<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Triumphant at Culloden; and hath seen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lilies on the Caribbean shores<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Abased before it. Then too in the front<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of battle did it flap exultingly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Douro, with its wide stream interposed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saved not the French invaders from attack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Discomfiture, and ignominious rout.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My name is Thomas: undisgraced have I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Transmitted it. He who in days to come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May bear the honour’d banner to the field,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will think of Albuera, and of me.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Southey.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_26"><a id="CAMPBELL"></a>CAMPBELL</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_59"><a id="poemr_XLV"></a>XLV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60">60</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ye Mariners of England!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That guard our native seas;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose flag has braved a thousand years<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The battle and the breeze!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your glorious standard launch again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To match another foe!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sweep through the deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the stormy winds do blow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the battle rages loud and long,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the stormy winds do blow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The spirits of your fathers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall start from every wave!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the deck it was their field of fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Ocean was their grave:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your manly hearts shall glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As ye sweep through the deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the stormy winds do blow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the battle rages loud and long,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the stormy winds do blow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Britannia needs no bulwarks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No towers along the steep;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her march is o’er the mountain-waves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her home is on the deep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With thunders from her native oak<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She quells the floods below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As they roar on the shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the stormy winds do blow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the battle rages loud and long,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the stormy winds do blow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The meteor flag of England<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall yet terrific burn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till danger’s troubled night depart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the star of peace return.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, then, ye ocean warriors!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our song and feast shall flow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the fame of your name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the storm has ceased to blow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the fiery fight is heard no more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the storm has ceased to blow.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Campbell.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_60"><a id="poemr_XLVI"></a>XLVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61">61</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of Nelson and the North<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sing the glorious day’s renown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When to battle fierce came forth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the might of Denmark’s crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her arms along the deep proudly shone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By each gun the lighted brand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a bold determined hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Prince of all the land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Led them on.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like leviathans afloat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lay their bulwarks on the brine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the sign of battle flew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the lofty British line:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was ten of April morn by the chime:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As they drifted on their path,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There was silence deep as death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the boldest held his breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For a time.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the might of England flushed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To anticipate the scene;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her van the fleeter rushed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the deadly space between.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Hearts of oak!’ our captains cried; when each gun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From its adamantine lips<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spread a death-shade round the ships,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the hurricane eclipse<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the sun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Again! again! again!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the havoc did not slack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till a feebler cheer the Dane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To our cheering sent us back;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their shots along the deep slowly boom:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then ceased—and all is wail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As they strike the shattered sail;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, in conflagration pale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Light the goom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now joy, Old England, raise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the tidings of thy might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the festal cities’ blaze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet amidst that joy and uproar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let us think of them that sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full many a fathom deep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By thy wild and stormy steep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Elsinore!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Campbell.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62">62</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_62"><a id="poemr_XLVII"></a>XLVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">MEN OF ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Men of England! who inherit<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rights that cost your sires their blood!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Men whose undegenerate spirit<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has been proved on field and flood:—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By the foes you’ve fought uncounted,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the glorious deeds you’ve done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trophies captured—breaches mounted,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Navies conquered—kingdoms won!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet, remember, England gathers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If the freedom of your fathers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Glow not in your hearts the same.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What are monuments of bravery,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where no public virtues bloom?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What avails in lands of slavery,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Trophied temples, arch, and tomb?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Pageants!—Let the world revere us<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For our people’s rights and laws,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the breasts of civic heroes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bared in Freedom’s holy cause.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yours are Hampden’s, Russell’s glory,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sidney’s matchless shade is yours,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Martyrs in heroic story,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Worth a hundred Agincourts!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We’re the sons of sires that baffled<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crown’d and mitred tyranny;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They defied the field and scaffold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For their birthrights—so will we!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Campbell.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63">63</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_27"><a id="CUNNINGHAM"></a>CUNNINGHAM</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_63"><a id="poemr_XLVIII"></a>XLVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BRITISH SAILOR’S SONG</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64">64</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Away with bayonet and with lance,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With corselet, casque, and sword;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our island-king no war-horse needs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For on the sea he’s lord.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His throne’s the war-ship’s lofty deck,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His sceptre is the mast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His kingdom is the rolling wave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His servant is the blast.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His anchor’s up, fair Freedom’s flag<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Proud to the mast he nails;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tyrants and conquerors bow your heads,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For there your terror sails.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I saw fierce Prussia’s chargers stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her children’s sharp swords out;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud Austria’s bright spurs streaming red<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When rose the closing shout;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But soon the steeds rush’d masterless,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By tower, and town, and wood;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For lordly France her fiery youth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Poured o’er them like a flood.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go, hew the gold spurs from your heels,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And let your steeds run free;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then come to our unconquered decks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And learn to reign at sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Behold yon black and batter’d hulk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That slumbers on the tide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is no sound from stem to stern,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For peace has pluck’d her pride;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The masts are down, the cannon mute<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She shows nor sheet nor sail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor starts forth with the seaward breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor answers shout nor hail;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her merry men, with all their mirth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have sought some other shore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she with all her glory on,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall rule the sea no more.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So landsmen speak. Lo! her top-masts<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are quivering in the sky;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her sails are spread, her anchor’s raised,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There sweeps she gallant by.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A thousand warriors fill her decks;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within her painted side<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The thunder sleeps—man’s might has nought<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Can match or mar her pride.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In victor glory goes she forth;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her stainless flag flies free;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Kings of the earth, come and behold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How Britain reigns on sea!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When on your necks the armèd foot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of fierce Napoleon trod,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all was his, save the wide sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where we triumphant rode,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He launched his terror and his strength,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our sea-born pride to tame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They came—they got the Nelson-touch,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And vanish’d as they came.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go, hang your bridles in your halls,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And set your war-steeds free;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The world has one unconquer’d king,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And he reigns on the sea!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Allan Cunningham.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_28"><a id="BYRON"></a>BYRON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_64"><a id="poemr_XLIX"></a>XLIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ON LEAVING ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65">65</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Once more upon the waters! Yet once more!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the waves bound beneath me as a steed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swift be their guidance, wheresoe’er it lead!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still must I on; for I am as a weed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Flung from the rock, on Ocean’s foam to sail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where’er the surge may sweep, the tempest’s breath prevail.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’ve taught me other tongues—and in strange eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have made me not a stranger; to the mind<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which is itself, no changes bring surprise;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A country with—aye, or without mankind;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet was I born where men are proud to be,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not without cause; and should I leave behind<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The inviolate Island of the sage and free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And seek me out a home by a remoter sea,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Perhaps I loved it well; and should I lay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My ashes in a soil which is not mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Spirit shall resume it—if we may<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My hopes of being remembered in my line<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With my land’s language: if too fond and far<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These aspirations in their scope incline,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If my Fame should be, as my fortunes are,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My name from out the temple where the dead<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are honoured by the Nations—let it be—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And light the Laurels on a loftier head!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And be the Spartan’s epitaph on me—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Sparta hath many a worthier son than he.’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I planted,—they have torn me,—and I bleed:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Byron.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_65"><a id="poemr_L"></a>L<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE ISLES OF GREECE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66">66</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_67">67</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where burning Sappho loved and sung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where grew the arts of war and peace,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eternal summer gilds them yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But all, except their sun, is set.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Scian and the Teian muse,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hero’s harp, the lover’s lute,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have found the fame your shores refuse;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their place of birth alone is mute.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To sounds which echo further west<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than your sires’ ‘Islands of the Blest.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The mountains look on Marathon—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Marathon looks on the sea;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And musing there an hour alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I dream’d that Greece might still be free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For standing on the Persians’ grave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I could not deem myself a slave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A king sate on the rocky brow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which looks o’er sea-born Salamis;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ships, by thousands, lay below,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And men in nations;—all were his!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He counted them at break of day—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when the sun set where were they?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And where are they? And where art thou,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My country? On thy voiceless shore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heroic lay is tuneless now,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The heroic bosom beats no more!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And must thy lyre, so long divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Degenerate into hands like mine?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis something in the dearth of fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though linked among a fettered race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To feel at least a patriot’s shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Even as I sing, suffuse my face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For what is left the poet here?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Greeks a blush—for Greece a tear!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Must <em>we</em> but weep o’er days more blest?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Must <em>we</em> but blush? Our fathers bled.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Earth! render back from out thy breast<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A remnant of our Spartan dead!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the three hundred grant but three,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To make a new Thermopylæ!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What, silent still? and silent all?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ah! no;—the voices of the dead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sound like a distant torrent’s fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And answer, ‘Let one living head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But one arise,—we come, we come!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis but the living who are dumb.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In vain—in vain: strike other chords;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fill high the cup with Samian wine!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And shed the blood of Scio’s vine!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark! rising to the ignoble call—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How answers each bold Bacchanal!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our virgins dance beneath the shade—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see their glorious black eyes shine;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But gazing on each glowing maid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My own the burning tear-drop laves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To think such breasts must suckle slaves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Place me on Sunium’s marbled steep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where nothing, save the waves and I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There, swan-like, let me sing and die:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A land of slaves shall ne’er be mine—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Byron.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_67"><a id="poemr_LI"></a>LI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE EVE OF WATERLOO</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68">68</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_69">69</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There was a sound of revelry by night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Belgium’s capital had gathered then<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her Beauty and her Chivalry—and bright<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A thousand hearts beat happily; and when<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Music arose with its voluptuous swell,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all went merry as a marriage bell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Did ye not hear it?—No—’twas but the wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or the car rattling o’er the stony street;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But, hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As if the clouds its echo would repeat;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And nearer—clearer—deadlier than before!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the cannon’s opening roar!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Within a windowed niche of that high hall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sate Brunswick’s fated Chieftain; he did hear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That sound the first amidst the festival,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And when they smiled because he deemed it near,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His heart more truly knew that peal too well<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And there were sudden partings, such as press<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which ne’er might be repeated; who could guess<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And there was mounting in hot haste—the steed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And swiftly forming in the ranks of war,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the deep thunder peal on peal afar;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And near, the beat of the alarming drum<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or whispering, with white lips—‘The foe! They come! they come!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And wild and high the ‘Camerons’ Gathering’ rose!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the fierce native daring which instils<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The stirring memory of a thousand years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Evan’s—Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dewy with Nature’s tear-drops, as they pass—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over the unreturning brave,—alas!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ere evening to be trodden like the grass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which now beneath them, but above shall grow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In its next verdure, when this fiery mass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of living valour rolling on the foe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Last noon beheld them full of lusty life;—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Battle’s magnificently-stern array!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The earth is covered thick with other clay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rider and horse,—friend—foe,—in one red burial blent!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Lord Byron.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_29"><a id="WOLFE"></a>WOLFE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_69"><a id="poemr_LII"></a>LII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70">70</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As his corse to the ramparts we hurried;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er the grave where our hero we buried.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We buried him darkly at dead of night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sods with our bayonets turning,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the lantern dimly burning.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No useless coffin enclosed his breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But he lay like a warrior taking his rest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With his martial cloak around him.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Few and short were the prayers we said,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we spoke not a word of sorrow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we bitterly thought of the morrow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And smoothed down his lonely pillow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we far away on the billow!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the grave where a Briton has laid him.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But half of our heavy task was done,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the clock struck the hour for retiring;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we heard the distant and random gun<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That the foe was sullenly firing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Slowly and sadly we laid him down,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From the field of his fame fresh and gory;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But we left him alone with his glory.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Charles Wolfe.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71">71</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_30"><a id="HEMANS"></a>HEMANS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_71"><a id="poemr_LIII"></a>LIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BENDED BOW</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72">72</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There was heard the sound of a coming foe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There was sent through Britain a bended bow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a voice was pour’d on the free winds far,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the land rose up at the sign of war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘Heard you not the battle horn?—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Reaper! leave thy golden corn!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leave it for the birds of heaven,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swords must flash, and spears be riven!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leave it for the winds to shed—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Arm! ere Britain’s turf grow red!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the reaper arm’d, like a freeman’s son;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the bended bow and the voice passed on.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘Hunter! leave the mountain-chase!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Take the falchion from its place!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let the wolf go free to-day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leave him for a nobler prey!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let the deer ungall’d sweep by,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Arm thee! Britain’s foes are nigh!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the hunter arm’d ere the chase was done;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the bended bow and the voice passed on.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘Chieftain! quit the joyous feast!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stay not till the song hath ceased:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though the mead be foaming bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though the fires give ruddy light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leave the hearth, and leave the hall—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Arm thee! Britain’s foes must fall.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the chieftain arm’d, and the horn was blown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the bended bow and the voice passed on.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘Prince! thy father’s deeds are told,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the bower, and in the hold!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the goatherd’s lay is sung,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the minstrel’s harp is strung,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Foes are on thy native sea—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Give our bards a tale of thee!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the prince came arm’d, like a leader’s son;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the bended bow and the voice passed on.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘Mother! stay not thou thy boy!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He must learn the battle’s joy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sister bring the sword and spear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Give thy brother words of cheer!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Maiden! bid thy lover part,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Britain calls the strong in heart!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the bended bow and the voice passed on;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the bards made song for a battle won.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Felicia Hemans.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_72"><a id="poemr_LIV"></a>LIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ENGLAND’S DEAD</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73">73</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Son of the Ocean Isle!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where sleep your mighty dead?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Show me what high and stately pile<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is reared o’er Glory’s bed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Go, stranger! track the deep—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Free, free the white sail spread!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wave may not foam, not wild wind sweep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where rest not England’s dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On Egypt’s burning plains,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the pyramid o’erswayed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With fearful power the noonday reigns,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the palm trees yield no shade;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But let the angry sun<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From heaven look fiercely red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unfelt by those whose task is done!—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There slumber England’s dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hurricane hath might<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along the Indian shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And far by Ganges’ banks at night<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is heard the tiger’s roar;—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But let the sound roll on!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It hath no tone of dread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For those that from their toils are gone,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There slumber England’s dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Loud rush the torrent floods<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The western wilds among,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And free in green Columbia’s woods<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hunter’s bow is strung;—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But let the floods rush on!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let the arrow’s flight be sped!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why should they reck whose task is done?—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There slumber England’s dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The mountain-storms rise high<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the snowy Pyrenees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And toss the pine-boughs through the sky<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like rose-leaves on the breeze;—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But let the storm rage on!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let the fresh wreaths be shed!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the Roncesvalles’ field is won,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There slumber England’s dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On the frozen deep’s repose<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Tis a dark and dreadful hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When round the ship the ice-fields close,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the northern night-clouds lour;—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But let the ice drift on!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let the cold-blue desert spread!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their course with mast and flag is done,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Even there sleep England’s dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The war-like of the isles,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The men of field and wave!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are not the rocks their funeral piles,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The seas and shores their grave?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Go, stranger! track the deep—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Free, free the white sail spread!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where rest not England’s dead.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Felicia Hemans.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74">74</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_31"><a id="MACAULAY"></a>MACAULAY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_74"><a id="poemr_LV"></a>LV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE ARMADA</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75">75</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_76">76</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_77">77</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England’s praise;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her crew hath seen Castile’s black fleet, beyond Aurigny’s isle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At sunrise she escaped their van, by God’s especial grace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the tall <i>Pinta</i>, till the noon, had held her close in chase.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe’s lofty hall;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bohemia’s plume, and Genoa’s bow, and Cæsar’s eagle shield.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight: ho! scatter flowers, fair maids:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your blades:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou sun, shine on her joyously: ye breezes, waft her wide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our glorious <span class="smcap">Semper Eadem</span>, the banner of our pride.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner’s massy fold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night sank upon the dusky beach and on the purple sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such night in England ne’er had been, nor e’er again shall be.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High on St. Michael’s Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar’s glittering waves:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip’s sunless caves!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er Longleat’s towers, o’er Cranbourne’s oaks, the fiery herald flew:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And saw o’erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then bugle’s note and cannon’s roar the death-like silence broke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Southward from Surrey’s pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High on bleak Hampstead’s swarthy moor they started for the north;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o’er Darwin’s rocky dales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till twelve fair Counties saw the blaze on Malvern’s lonely height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin’s crest of light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely’s stately fane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tower and hamlet rose in arms o’er all the boundless plain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till Belvoir’s lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Lincoln sped the message on o’er the wide vale of Trent;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt’s embattled pile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Macaulay.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_77"><a id="poemr_LVI"></a>LVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A JACOBITE’S EPITAPH</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78">78</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To my true king I offered free from stain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Courage and faith; vain faith, and courage vain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For him, I threw lands, honours, wealth, away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For him I languished in a foreign clime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood’s prime;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heard on Lavernia Scargill’s whispering trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each morning started from the dream to weep;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The resting-place I asked—an early grave.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From that proud country which was once mine own,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By those white cliffs I never more must see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By that dear language which I speak like thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er English dust. A broken heart lies here.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Lord Macaulay.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_32"><a id="TRENCH"></a>TRENCH</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_78"><a id="poemr_LVII"></a>LVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE TASK</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, let us own it in confession free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That when we girt ourselves to quell the wrong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We deemed it not so giant-like and strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But it with our slight effort thought to see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pushed from its base; yea, almost deemed that we,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Champions of right, might be excused the price<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of pain, and loss, and large self-sacrifice,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Set ever on high things by Heav’n’s decree.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What if this work’s great hardness was concealed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From us, until so far upon our way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That no escape remained us, no retreat,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lest, being at an earlier hour revealed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We might have shrunk too weakly from the heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shunned the burden of this fiery day?<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Richard Chenevix Trench.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_78a"><a id="poemr_LVIII"></a>LVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE UNFORGOTTEN</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79">79</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_80">80</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whom for thy race of heroes wilt thou own,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, England, who shall be thy joy, thy pride?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As thou art just, oh then not those alone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who nobly conquering lived, or conquering died.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then also in thy roll of heroes write,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For well they earned what best thou canst bestow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who being girt and armèd for the fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yielded their arms, but to no mortal foe.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far off they pined on fever-stricken coast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or sank in sudden arms of painful death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And faces which their eyes desired the most,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They saw not, as they drew their parting breath.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sad doom, to know a mighty work in hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which shall from all the ages honour win;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the threshold of this work to stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Arrested there, while others enter in.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And this was theirs; they saw their fellows bound<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To fields of fame which they might never share;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the while within their own hearts found<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A strength that was not less, to do and dare:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But knew that never, never with their peers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They should salute some grand day’s glorious close,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shout of triumph ringing in their ears,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The light of battle shining on their brows.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sad doom;—yet say not Heaven to them assigned<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lot from all of glory quite estranged:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Albeit the laurel which they hoped to bind<br /></span> -<span class="i2">About their brows for cypress wreath was changed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Heaven gave to them a glory stern, austere,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A glory of all earthly glory shorn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With firm heart to accept fate’s gift severe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bravely to bear the thing that must be borne;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To see such visions fade and turn to nought,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in this saddest issue to consent;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If only the great work were duly wrought,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That others should accomplish it, content.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then as thou wouldst thyself continue great,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Keep a true eye for what is great indeed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor know it only in its lofty state<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And victor’s robes, but in its lowliest weed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now, and when this dreadful work is done,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, be these too thy delight and pride;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wear them as near thy heart as any one<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of all who conquering lived, or conquering died.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Richard Chenevix Trench.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_33"><a id="BROWNING"></a>BROWNING</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_80"><a id="poemr_LIX"></a>LIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE FORCED RECRUIT<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<i>Solferino, 1859</i>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81">81</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the ranks of the Austrian you found him,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He died with his face to you all;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet bury him here where around him<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You honour your bravest that fall.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Venetian, fair-featured and slender,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He lies shot to death in his youth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a smile on his lips over-tender<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For any mere soldier’s dead mouth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No stranger, and yet not a traitor,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though alien the cloth on his breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Underneath it how seldom a greater<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Young heart has a shot sent to rest!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By your enemy tortured and goaded<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To march with them, stand in their file,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His musket (see) never was loaded,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He facing your guns with that smile!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As orphans yearn on to their mothers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He yearned to your patriot bands;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let me die for our Italy, brothers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If not in your ranks, by your hands!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Aim straightly, fire steadily! spare me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A ball in the body which may<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deliver my heart here, and tear me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This badge of the Austrian away!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So thought he, so died he this morning.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What then? Many others have died.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ay, but easy for men to die scorning<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The death-stroke, who fought side by side—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One tricolor floating above them;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Struck down ’mid triumphant acclaims<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of an Italy rescued to love them<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And blazen the brass with their names.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But he,—without witness or honour,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mixed, shamed in his country’s regard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the tyrants who march in upon her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Died faithful and passive: ’twas hard.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Twas sublime. In a cruel restriction<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cut off from the guerdon of sons,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With most filial obedience, conviction,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His soul kissed the lips of her guns.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That moves you? Nay, grudge not to show it,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While digging a grave for him here:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The others who died, says your poet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have glory,—let <em>him</em> have a tear.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Elizabeth Barrett Browning.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_34"><a id="TENNYSON"></a>TENNYSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_81"><a id="poemr_LX"></a>LX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE ANSWER</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82">82</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You ask me, why, tho’ ill at ease,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Within this region I subsist,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Whose spirits falter in the mist,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And languish for the purple seas.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It is the land that freemen till,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That sober-suited Freedom chose,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The land, where girt with friends or foes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A man may speak the thing he will;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A land of settled government,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A land of just and old renown,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where Freedom slowly broadens down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From precedent to precedent:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where faction seldom gathers head,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But by degrees to fulness wrought,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The strength of some diffusive thought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hath time and space to work and spread.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Should banded unions persecute<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Opinion, and induce a time<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When single thought is civil crime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And individual freedom mute;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tho’ Power should make from land to land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The name of Britain trebly great—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tho’ every channel of the State<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should fill and choke with golden sand—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I will see before I die<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The palms and temples of the South.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Tennyson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_82"><a id="poemr_LXI"></a>LXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">FREEDOM</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83">83</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of old sat Freedom on the heights,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The thunders breaking at her feet:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above her shook the starry lights:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She heard the torrents meet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There in her place she did rejoice,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Self-gather’d in her prophet mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But fragments of her mighty voice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Came rolling on the wind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then stept she down thro’ town and field<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To mingle with the human race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And part by part to men reveal’d<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The fullness of her face—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Grave mother of majestic works,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From her isle-altar gazing down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, King-like, wears the crown:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her open eyes desire the truth.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wisdom of a thousand years<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is in them. May perpetual youth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Keep dry their light from tears;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That her fair form may stand and shine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Make bright our days and light our dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Turning to scorn with lips divine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The falsehood of extremes!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Tennyson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_83"><a id="poemr_LXII"></a>LXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">BATTLE SONG</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy voice is heard thro’ rolling drums,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That beat to battle where he stands;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy face across his fancy comes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gives the battle to his hands:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A moment, while the trumpets blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He sees his brood about thy knee;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The next, like fire he meets the foe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And strikes him dead for thine and thee.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Tennyson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_83a"><a id="poemr_LXIII"></a>LXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">VICTORIA’S REIGN</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her court was pure; her life serene;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">God gave her peace; her land reposed;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A thousand claims to reverence closed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In her as Mother, Wife, and Queen;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And statesmen at her council met<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who knew the seasons when to take<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Occasion by the hand, and make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bounds of freedom wider yet<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By shaping some august decree,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Which kept her throne unshaken still,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Broad-based upon her people’s will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And compass’d by the inviolate sea.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Tennyson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84">84</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_84"><a id="poemr_LXIV"></a>LXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">HANDS ALL ROUND</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">First pledge our Queen this solemn night,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Then drink to England, every guest;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That man’s the best Cosmopolite<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Who loves his native country best.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">May freedom’s oak for ever live<br /></span> -<span class="i6">With stronger life from day to day;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That man’s the true Conservative<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Who lops the mouldered branch away.<br /></span> -<span class="i18">Hands all round!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">God the traitor’s hope confound!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the great name of England, round and round.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">To all the loyal hearts who long<br /></span> -<span class="i6">To keep our English Empire whole!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To all our noble sons, the strong<br /></span> -<span class="i6">New England of the Southern Pole!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To England under Indian skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">To those dark millions of her realm!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To Canada whom we love and prize,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Whatever statesman hold the helm.<br /></span> -<span class="i18">Hands all round!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">God the traitor’s hope confound!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To this great name of England drink, my friends,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all her glorious Empire round and round.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">To all our statesmen so they be<br /></span> -<span class="i6">True leaders of the land’s desire!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To both our Houses, may they see<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Beyond the borough and the shire!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We sail’d wherever ship could sail,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">We founded many a mighty state;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Pray God our greatness may not fail<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Thro’ craven fears of being great.<br /></span> -<span class="i18">Hands all round!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">God the traitor’s hope confound!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the great name of England, round and round.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Tennyson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85">85</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_85"><a id="poemr_LXV"></a>LXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">BRITONS, HOLD YOUR OWN!</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Britain fought her sons of yore—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Britain fail’d; and never more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Careless of our growing kin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall we sin our fathers’ sin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Men that in a narrower day—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unprophetic rulers they—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drove from out the mother’s nest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That young eagle of the West<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To forage for herself alone;<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Britons, hold your own!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sharers of our glorious past,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brothers, must we part at last?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall we not thro’ good and ill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cleave to one another still?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Britain’s myriad voices call,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Sons, be wedded each and all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into one imperial whole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One with Britain, heart and soul!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One life, one flag, one fleet, one Throne!<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Britons, hold your own!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Tennyson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_85a"><a id="poemr_LXVI"></a>LXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">WELLINGTON AT ST. PAUL’S</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86">86</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_87">87</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who is he that cometh, like an honour’d guest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With banner and with music, with soldier and with priest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a nation weeping, and breaking on my rest?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mighty Seaman, this is he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was great by land as thou by sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The greatest sailor since our world began.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now to the roll of muffled drums,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To thee the greatest soldier comes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For this is he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was great by land as thou by sea;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His foes were thine; he kept us free;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O give him welcome, this is he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Worthy of our gorgeous rites,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And worthy to be laid by thee;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For this is England’s greatest son,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He that gained a hundred fights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor ever lost an English gun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mighty Seaman, tender and true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pure as he from taint of craven guile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O saviour of the silver-coasted isle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If aught of things that here befall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Touch a spirit among things divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If love of country move thee there at all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be glad, because his bones are laid by thine!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thro’ the centuries let a people’s voice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In full acclaim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A people’s voice,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The proof and echo of all human fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A people’s voice, when they rejoice<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At civic revel and pomp and game,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Attest their great commander’s claim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With honour, honour, honour, honour to him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eternal honour to his name.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A people’s voice! we are a people yet.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tho’ all men else their nobler dreams forget,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His Briton in blown seas and storming showers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We have a voice, with which to pay the debt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of boundless love and reverence and regret<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To those great men who fought, and kept it ours.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And keep it ours, O God, from brute control;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Europe, keep our noble England whole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And save the one true seed of freedom sown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Betwixt a people and their ancient throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That sober freedom out of which there springs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our loyal passion for our temperate kings;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, saving that, ye help to save mankind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till public wrong be crumbled into dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drill the raw world for the march of mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till crowds at length be sane and crowns be just.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not once or twice in our fair island-story,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The path of duty was the way to glory:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He that ever following her commands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On with toil of heart and knees and hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thro’ the long gorge to the far light has won<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His path upward, and prevail’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are close upon the shining table-lands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To which our God Himself is moon and sun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hush! the Dead March wails in the people’s ears:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The black earth yawns: the mortal disappears;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He is gone who seem’d so great.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gone; but nothing can bereave him<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the force he made his own<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Being here, and we believe him<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Something far advanced in State,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that he wears a truer crown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than any wreath that man can weave him.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Speak no more of his renown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lay your earthly fancies down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the vast cathedral leave him!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God accept him, Christ receive him!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Tennyson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_87"><a id="poemr_LXVII"></a>LXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88">88</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_89">89</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Half a league, half a league,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Half a league onward,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All in the valley of Death<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rode the six hundred.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Forward, the Light Brigade!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Charge for the guns!’ he said:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the valley of Death<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rode the six hundred.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was there a man dismay’d?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not tho’ the soldier knew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some one had blunder’d:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their’s not to make reply,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their’s not to reason why,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their’s but to do and die:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the valley of Death<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rode the six hundred.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cannon to right of them,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cannon to left of them,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cannon in front of them<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Volley’d and thunder’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Storm’d at with shot and shell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Boldly they rode and well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the jaws of Death,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the mouth of Hell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rode the six hundred.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Flash’d all their sabres bare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flash’d as they turn’d in air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sabring the gunners there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Charging an army, while<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the world wonder’d:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plunged in the battery-smoke<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Right thro’ the line they broke;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cossack and Russian<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reel’d from the sabre-stroke<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shatter’d and sunder’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then they rode back, but not<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not the six hundred.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cannon to right of them,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cannon to left of them,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cannon behind them<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Volley’d and thunder’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Storm’d at with shot and shell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While horse and hero fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They that had fought so well<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Came thro’ the jaws of Death,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Back from the mouth of Hell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All that was left of them,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Left of six hundred.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When can their glory fade?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O the wild charge they made!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the world wonder’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Honour the charge they made!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Honour the Light Brigade,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Noble six hundred!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Tennyson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_89"><a id="poemr_LXVIII"></a>LXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE USE OF WAR</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90">90</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? We have made them a curse,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pickpockets, each hand lusting for all that is not its own;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lust of gain, in the spirit of Cain, is it better or worse<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than the heart of the citizen hissing in war on his own hearthstone?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Peace sitting under her olive, and slurring the days gone by,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the poor are hovell’d and hustled together, each sex, like swine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When only the ledger lives, and when only not all men lie;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Peace in her vineyard—yes!—but a company forges the wine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the vitriol madness flushes up in the ruffian’s head,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the filthy by-lane rings to the yell of the trampled wife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And chalk and alum and plaster are sold to the poor for bread,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the spirit of murder works in the very means of life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When a Mammonite mother kills her babe for a burial fee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Timour-Mammon grins on a pile of children’s bones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is it peace or war? better, war! loud war by land and sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">War with a thousand battles, and shaking a hundred thrones.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For I trust if an enemy’s fleet came yonder round by the hill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the rushing battle-bolt sang from the three-decker out of the foam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the smooth-faced snub-nosed rogue would leap from his counter and till,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And strike, if he could, were it but with his cheating yard-wand, home!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Lord Tennyson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_35"><a id="DOYLE"></a>DOYLE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_90"><a id="poemr_LXIX"></a>LXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91">91</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Last night, among his fellow roughs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He jested, quaffed, and swore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A drunken private of the Buffs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who never looked before.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-day, beneath the foeman’s frown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He stands in Elgin’s place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ambassador from Britain’s crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And type of all her race.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bewildered, and alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A heart, with English instinct fraught,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He yet can call his own.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ay, tear his body limb from limb,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bring cord, or axe, or flame:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He only knows, that not through <em>him</em><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall England come to shame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like dreams, to come and go;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One sheet of living snow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The smoke, above his father’s door,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In grey soft eddyings hung:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must he then watch it rise no more,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Doomed by himself, so young?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, honour calls!—with strength like steel<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He put the vision by.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let dusky Indians whine and kneel;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An English lad must die.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus, with eyes that would not shrink,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With knee to man unbent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unfaltering on its dreadful brink,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To his red grave he went.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vain, those all-shattering guns;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unless proud England keep, untamed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The strong heart of her sons.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So, let his name through Europe ring—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A man of mean estate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who died, as firm as Sparta’s king,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Because his soul was great.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Francis Hastings Doyle.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_36"><a id="BROWNING91"></a>BROWNING</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_91"><a id="poemr_LXX"></a>LXX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92">92</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, to be in England,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now that April’s there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whoever wakes in England<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sees, some morning, unaware,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In England—now!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And after April, when May follows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leans to the field and scatters on the clover<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray’s edge—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lest you should think he never could recapture<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The first fine careless rapture!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All will be gay when noontide wakes anew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The buttercups, the little children’s dower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Browning.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_92"><a id="poemr_LXXI"></a>LXXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">HOME THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-West died away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bluish ’mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the dimmest North-East distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?’—say,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Browning.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_37"><a id="MACKAY"></a>MACKAY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_92a"><a id="poemr_LXXII"></a>LXXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A SONG OF ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93">93</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There’s a land, a dear land, where the rights of the free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though firm as the earth are as wide as the sea;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the primroses bloom, and the nightingales sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the honest poor man is as good as a king.<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Showery! Flowery!<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Tearful! Cheerful!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">England, wave-guarded and green to the shore!<br /></span> -<span class="i12">West Land! Best Land!<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Thy Land! My Land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glory be with her, and Peace evermore!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There’s a land, a dear land, where our vigour of soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is fed by the tempests that blow from the Pole;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where a slave cannot breathe, or invader presume,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To ask for more earth than will cover his tomb.<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Sea Land! Free Land!<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Fairest! Rarest!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Home of brave men, and the girls they adore!<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Fearless! Peerless!<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Thy Land! My Land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glory be with her, and Peace evermore!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Charles Mackay.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_38"><a id="CLOUGH"></a>CLOUGH</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_93"><a id="poemr_LXXIII"></a>LXXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">GREEN FIELDS OF ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Green fields of England! wheresoe’er<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across this watery waste we fare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One image at our hearts we bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Green fields of England everywhere.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sweet eyes in England, I must flee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Past where the waves’ last confines be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere your loved smile I cease to see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet eyes in England, dear to me!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dear home in England, safe and fast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If but in thee my lot lie cast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The past shall seem a nothing past<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To thee, dear home, if won at last;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dear home in England, won at last!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Arthur Hugh Clough.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94">94</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_94"><a id="poemr_LXXIV"></a>LXXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE RALLY</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Say not the struggle naught availeth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The labour and the wounds are vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The enemy faints not, nor faileth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And as things have been they remain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It may be, in yon smoke conceal’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, but for you, possess the field.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seem here no painful inch to gain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far back, through creeks and inlets making,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Comes silent, flooding in, the main.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And not by eastern windows only,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When daylight comes, comes in the light;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But westward, look, the land is bright!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Arthur Hugh Clough.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_39"><a id="KINGSLEY"></a>KINGSLEY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_94a"><a id="poemr_LXXV"></a>LXXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95">95</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_96">96</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Welcome, wild North-Easter!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shame it is to see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Odes to every zephyr;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ne’er a verse to thee.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Welcome, black North-Easter!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er the German foam;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the Danish moorlands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From thy frozen home.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tired we are of summer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tired of gaudy glare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Showers soft and steaming,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hot and breathless air.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tired of listless dreaming,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through the lazy day:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Jovial wind of winter,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Turn us out to play!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweep the golden reed-beds;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Crisp the lazy dyke;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hunger into madness<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Every plunging pike.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fill the lake with wild-fowl;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fill the marsh with snipe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While on dreary moorlands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lonely curlew pipe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the black fir-forest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thunder harsh and dry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shattering down the snow-flakes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Off the curdled sky.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark! the brave North-Easter!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Breast-high lies the scent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On by holt and headland,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over heath and bent!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chime, ye dappled darlings,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through the sleet and snow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who can override you?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let the horses go!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chime, ye dappled darlings,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down the roaring blast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You shall see a fox die<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ere an hour be past.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go! and rest to-morrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hunting in your dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While our skates are ringing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er the frozen streams.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let the luscious South-wind<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Breathe in lovers’ sighs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the lazy gallants<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bask in ladies’ eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What does he but soften<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heart alike and pen?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis the hard grey weather<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Breeds hard Englishmen.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What’s the soft South-Wester?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Tis the ladies’ breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bringing home their true loves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out of all the seas:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the black North-Easter,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through the snow-storms hurled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drives our English hearts of oak<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seaward round the world.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come, as came our fathers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heralded by thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Conquering from the eastward,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lords by land and sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come; and strong within us<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stir the Vikings’ blood;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bracing brain and sinew;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blow, thou wind of God!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Charles Kingsley.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_40"><a id="YULE"></a>YULE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_96"><a id="poemr_LXXVI"></a>LXXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE <i>BIRKENHEAD</i></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97">97</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Amid the loud ebriety of War,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With shouts of ‘La République’ and ‘La Gloire,’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The <i>Vengeur’s</i> crew, ’twas said, with flying flag<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And broadside blazing level with the wave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went down erect, defiant, to their grave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the sea! ’Twas but a Frenchman’s brag,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet Europe rang with it for many a year.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now we recount no fable; Europe, hear!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when they tell thee ‘England is a fen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Corrupt, a kingdom tottering to decay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Her nerveless burghers lying an easy prey<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘For the first comer,’ tell how the other day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A crew of half a thousand Englishmen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went down into the deep in Simon’s Bay!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not with the cheer of battle in the throat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or cannon-glare and din to stir their blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, roused from dreams of home to find their boat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fast sinking, mustered on the deck they stood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Biding God’s pleasure and their chief’s command.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Calm was the sea, but not less calm that band<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Close ranged upon the poop, with bated breath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But flinching not though eye to eye with Death!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Heroes! Who were those heroes? Veterans steeled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To face the King of Terrors ’mid the scaith<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of many a hurricane and trenchèd field?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far other: weavers from the stocking-frame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Boys from the plough; cornets with beardless chin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But steeped in honour and in discipline!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Weep, Britain, for the Cape whose ill-starred name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long since divorced from Hope suggests but shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Disaster, and thy captains held at bay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By naked hordes; but as thou weepest, thank<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heaven for those undegenerate sons who sank<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aboard the <i>Birkenhead</i> in Simon’s Bay!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Henry Yule.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_41"><a id="CORY"></a>CORY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_97"><a id="poemr_LXXVII"></a>LXXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">SCHOOL FENCIBLES</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98">98</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We come in arms, we stand ten score,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Embattled on the Castle green;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We grasp our firelocks tight, for war<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is threatening, and we see our Queen.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ‘Will the churls last out till we<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have duly hardened bones and thews<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For scouring leagues of swamp and sea<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of braggart mobs and corsair crews?’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We ask; we fear not scoff or smile<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At meek attire of blue and grey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the proud wrath that thrills our isle<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gives faith and force to this array.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So great a charm is England’s right,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That hearts enlarged together flow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And each man rises up a knight<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To work the evil-thinker’s woe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, girt with ancient truth and grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We do our service and our suit,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And each can be, whate’er his race,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A Chandos or a Montacute.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou, Mistress, whom we serve to-day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bless the real swords that we shall wield,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Repeat the call we now obey<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In sunset lands, on some fair field.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy flag shall make some Huron rock<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As dear to us as Windsor’s keep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And arms thy Thames hath nerved shall mock<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The surgings of th’ Ontarian deep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stately music of thy Guards,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which times our march beneath thy ken,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall sound, with spells of sacred bards,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From heart to heart, when we are men.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when we bleed on alien earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ll call to mind how cheers of ours<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proclaimed a loud uncourtly mirth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Amongst thy glowing orange bowers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if for England’s sake we fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So be it, so thy cross be won,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fixed by kind hands on silvered pall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And worn in death, for duty done.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! thus we fondle Death, the soldier’s mate,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blending his image with the hopes of youth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hallow all; meanwhile the hidden fate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Chills not our fancies with the iron truth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death from afar we call, and Death is here,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To choose out him who wears the loftiest mien;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Grief, the cruel lord who knows no peer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Breaks through the shield of love to pierce our Queen.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Cory.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99">99</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_42"><a id="HOW"></a>HOW</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_99"><a id="poemr_LXXVIII"></a>LXXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A NATIONAL HYMN</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To Thee, our God, we fly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For mercy and for grace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O hear our lowly cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And hide not Thou Thy face!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Lord, stretch forth Thy mighty hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And guard and bless our Fatherland!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Arise, O Lord of Hosts!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Be jealous for Thy Name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drive from out our coasts<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sins that put to shame!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Lord, stretch forth Thy mighty hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And guard and bless our Fatherland!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The powers ordained by Thee<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With heavenly wisdom bless,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May they Thy servants be,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And rule in righteousness!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Lord, stretch forth Thy mighty hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And guard and bless our Fatherland!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though vile and worthless, still,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy people, Lord, are we;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And for our God we will<br /></span> -<span class="i2">None other have but Thee.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Lord, stretch forth Thy mighty hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And guard and bless our Fatherland!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Walsham How.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_43"><a id="INGRAM"></a>INGRAM</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_99a"><a id="poemr_LXXIX"></a>LXXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A NATION’S WEALTH</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O England, thou hast many a precious dower;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But of all treasures it is thine to claim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Prize most the memory of each sainted name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in thy realm, in field or hall or bower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hath wrought high deeds or utter’d words of power—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100">100</a></span> -<span class="i0">Unselfish warrior, without fear or blame—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Statesman, with sleepless watch and steadfast aim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Holding his country’s helm in perilous hour—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poet, whose heart is with us to this day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Embalm’d in song—or Priest, who by the ark<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of faith stood firm in troublous times and dark.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Call them not dead, my England! such as they<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not <em>were</em> but <em>are</em>; within us each survives,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lives an endless life in others’ lives.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Kells Ingram.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_44"><a id="LUSHINGTON"></a>LUSHINGTON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_100"><a id="poemr_LXXX"></a>LXXX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE MUSTER OF THE GUARDS<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(1854)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101">101</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_102">102</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Lying here awake, I hear the watchman’s warning—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Past four o’clock’—on this February morning;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hark! what is that?—there swells a joyous shiver<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Borne down the wind o’er the voices of the river;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the lordly waters flowing, ’tis the martial trumpets blowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis the Grenadier Guards a-going—marching to the war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Yes—there they go, through the February morning,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To where the engine whistles its shrill and solemn warning;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the dull hoarse roar of the multitudes that cheer<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Falls ever and anon with a faint crash on the ear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mid the tears of wives and mothers, and the prayers of many others,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the cheers of their brothers, they are marching to the war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Cheer, boys, cheer! till you crack a thousand throats;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cheer, boys, cheer! to the merry music’s notes;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let the girls they leave behind them wave handkerchiefs and scarfs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let the hearty farewell ring through the echoing streets and wharfs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come—volley out your holloas—come, cheer the gallant fellows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gallant and good fellows, marching to the war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Bridge of Waterloo!—let the span of each proud arch<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Spring to the feet of the soldiers as they march;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the last time they went forth, your glorious name was borne<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the bullets rained like hail among the summer corn:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! we’ll not forget too soon the great Eighteenth of June,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the British Grenadier’s tune strikes up gaily for the war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Bridge of Waterloo!—accept the happy omen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the staunchest friends are wrought out of the bravest foemen:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Guards of Waterloo!—the troops whose brunt you bore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall stand at your right hand upon the Danube’s shore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Trafalgar’s flags shall ride on the tall masts, side by side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the Black Sea and the Baltic, to sweep the waves of war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Die, die away, o’er the bridge and up the street,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shiver of their music, echo of their feet:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dawn upon the darkness, chilly day and pale;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Steady rolling engine, flash along the rail;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the good ship waits in port, with her tackle trim and taut,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her ready funnels snort, till she bear them to the war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Far, far away, they are bound across the billow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the Russian sleeps uneasy on his last plundered pillow;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the Cross is stained with fraud by the giant evil-doer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the pale Crescent shines with a steady light and pure;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And their coats will be dim with dust, and their bayonets brown with rust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere they conquer, as we trust, in the mighty game of war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Peace, peace, peace, with the vain and silly song,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That we do no sin ourselves, if we wink at others’ wrong;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That to turn the second cheek is <em>the</em> lesson of the Cross,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To be proved by calculation of the profit and the loss:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go home, you idle teachers! you miserable creatures!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cannons are God’s preachers, when the time is ripe for war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Peace is no peace, if it lets the ill grow stronger,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Merely cheating destiny a very little longer;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">War, with its agonies, its horrors, and its crimes;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is cheaper if discounted and taken up betimes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the weeds of wrath are rank, you must plough the poisoned bank,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sow and reap the crop of Peace with the implements of war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">God, defend the right, and those that dare to claim it!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God, cleanse the earth from the many wrongs that shame it!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Give peace in our time, but not the peace of trembling,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Won by true strength, not cowardly dissembling;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let us see in pride returning, as we send them forth in yearning,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our Grenadier Guards from earning the trophies of the war.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Franklin Lushington.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103">103</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_45"><a id="PALGRAVE"></a>PALGRAVE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_103"><a id="poemr_LXXXI"></a>LXXXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ALFRED THE GREAT</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104">104</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Isle of Roses in her Lindian shrine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Athena’s dwelling, gleam’d with golden song<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Pindar, set in gold the walls along,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blazoning the praise of Héraclés divine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—O Poets, who for us have wrought the mine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of old Romance, illusive pearl and gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its star-fair maids, knights of heroic mould,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ye lend the rays that on their features shine,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ideal strength and beauty:—But O thou<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fair Truth!—to thee with deeper faith we bow;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Knowing thy genuine heroes bring with them<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their more than poetry. From these we learn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What men can be. By their own light they burn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As in far heavens the Pleiad diadem.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The fair-hair’d boy is at his mother’s knee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A many-colour’d page before them spread,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gay summer harvest-field of gold and red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With lines and staves of ancient minstrelsy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But through her eyes alone the child can see,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From her sweet lips partake the words of song,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And looks as one who feels a hidden wrong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or gazes on some feat of gramarye.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘When thou canst use it, thine the book!’ she cried:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He blush’d, and clasp’d it to his breast with pride:—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Unkingly task!’ his comrades cry; in vain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All work ennobles nobleness, all art,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He sees; head governs hand; and in his heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All knowledge for his province he has ta’en.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Few the bright days, and brief the fruitful rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As summer-clouds that o’er the valley flit:—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To other tasks his genius he must fit;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Dane is in the land, uneasy guest!—O<br /></span> -<span class="i0">sacred Athelney, from pagan quest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Secure, sole haven for the faithful boy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Waiting God’s issue with heroic joy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And unrelaxing purpose in the breast!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Dragon and the Raven, inch by inch,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For England fight; nor Dane nor Saxon flinch;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then Alfred strikes his blow; the realm is free:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He, changing at the font his foe to friend,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yields for the time, to gain the far-off end,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By moderation doubling victory.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O much-vex’d life, for us too short, too dear!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The laggard body lame behind the soul;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pain, that ne’er marr’d the mind’s serene control;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breathing on earth heaven’s æther atmosphere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God with thee, and the love that casts out fear!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O soul in life’s salt ocean guarding sure<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The freshness of youth’s fountain sweet and pure,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to all natural impulse crystal-clear:—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To service or command, to low and high<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Equal at once in magnanimity,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Great by right divine thou only art!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fair star, that crowns the front of England’s morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Royal with Nature’s royalty inborn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And English to the very heart of heart!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Francis Turner Palgrave.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_104"><a id="poemr_LXXXII"></a>LXXXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">TRAFALGAR</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105">105</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_106">106</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_107">107</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_108">108</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i8">Heard ye the thunder of battle<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Low in the South and afar?<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Saw ye the flash of the death-cloud<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Crimson o’er Trafalgar?<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Such another day never<br /></span> -<span class="i10">England will look on again,<br /></span> -<span class="i8">When the battle fought was the hottest,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">And the hero of heroes was slain!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For the fleet of France and the force of Spain were gather’d for fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A greater than Philip their lord, a new Armada in might:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the sails were aloft once more in the deep Gaditanian bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where <i>Redoubtable</i> and <i>Bucentaure</i> and great <i>Trinidada</i> lay;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Eager-reluctant to close; for across the bloodshed to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Two navies beheld one prize in its glory,—the throne of the sea!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which were bravest, who should tell? for both were gallant and true;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the greatest seaman was ours, of all that sail’d o’er the blue.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From Cadiz the enemy sallied: they knew not Nelson was there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His name a navy to us, but to them a flag of despair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twixt Algeziras and Aquamonte he guarded the coast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till he bore from Tavira south; and they now must fight or be lost;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vainly they steered for the Rock and the mid-land sheltering sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For he headed the Admirals round, constraining them under his lee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Villeneuve of France, and Gravina of Spain; so they shifted their ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They could choose,—they were more than we;—and they faced at Trafalgar round;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rampart-like ranged in line, a sea-fortress angrily towered!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the midst, four-storied with guns, the dark <i>Trinidada</i> lower’d.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">So with those—But, meanwhile, as against some dyke that men massively rear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From on high the torrent surges, to drive through the dyke as a spear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eagle-eyed e’en in his blindness, our chief sets his double array,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Making the fleet two spears, to thrust at the foe any way, ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Anyhow!—without orders, each captain his Frenchman may grapple perforce;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Collingwood first’ (yet the <i>Victory</i> ne’er a whit slacken’d her course)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Signal for action! Farewell! we shall win, but we meet not again!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—Then a low thunder of readiness ran from the decks o’er the main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on,—as the message from masthead to masthead flew out like a flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">England expects every man will do his duty</span>,—they came.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">—Silent they come:—While the thirty black forts of the foeman’s array<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clothe them in billowy snow, tier speaking o’er tier as they lay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flashes that thrust and drew in, as swords when the battle is rife;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But ours stood frowningly smiling, and ready for death as for life.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—O in that interval grim, ere the furies of slaughter embrace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thrills o’er each man some far echo of England; some glance of some face!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—Faces gazing seaward through tears from the ocean-girt shore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faces that ne’er can be gazed on again till the death pang is o’er....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lone in his cabin the Admiral kneeling, and all his great heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As a child’s to the mother, goes forth to the loved one, who bade him depart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">... O not for death, but glory! her smile would welcome him home!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—Louder and thicker the thunderbolts fall:—and silent they come.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As when beyond Dongola the lion, whom hunters attack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plagued by their darts from afar, leaps in, dividing them back;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So between Spaniard and Frenchman the <i>Victory</i> wedged with a shout,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gun against gun; a cloud from her decks and lightning went out;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Iron hailing of pitiless death from the sulphury smoke;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Voices hoarse and parch’d, and blood from invisible stroke.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each man stood to his work, though his mates fell smitten around,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As an oak of the wood, while his fellow, flame-shatter’d, besplinters the ground:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gluttons of danger for England, but sparing the foe as he lay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the spirit of Nelson was on them, and each was Nelson that day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘She has struck!’—he shouted—‘She burns, the <i>Redoubtable</i>! Save whom we can;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Silence our guns:’—for in him the woman was great in the man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In that heroic heart each drop girl-gentle and pure,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dying by those he spared;—and now Death’s triumph was sure!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the deck the smoke-wreath clear’d, and the foe set his rifle in rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dastardly aiming, where Nelson stood forth, with the stars on his breast,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘In honour I gained them, in honour I die with them!’ ... Then, in his place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fell ... ‘Hardy! ’tis over; but let them not know:’ and he cover’d his face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Silent the whole fleet’s darling they bore to the twilight below:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And above the war-thunder came shouting, as foe struck his flag after foe.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To his heart death rose: and for Hardy, the faithful, he cried in his pain,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘How goes the day with us, Hardy?’...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘’Tis ours’:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then he knew, not in vain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not in vain for his comrades and England he bled: how he left her secure,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Queen of her own blue seas, while his name and example endure.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, like a lover he loved her! for her as water he pours<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life-blood and life and love, lavish’d all for her sake, and for ours!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—‘Kiss me, Hardy!—Thank God!—I have done my duty!’—and then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fled that heroic soul, and left not his like among men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i8">Hear ye the heart of a Nation<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Groan, for her saviour is gone;<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Gallant and true and tender,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Child and chieftain in one?<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Such another day never<br /></span> -<span class="i10">England will weep for again,<br /></span> -<span class="i8">When the triumph darkened the triumph,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">And the hero of heroes was slain.<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Francis Turner Palgrave.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_46"><a id="DOBELL"></a>DOBELL</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_108"><a id="poemr_LXXXIII"></a>LXXXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A SEA ADVENTURE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109">109</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘How many?’ said our good captain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Twenty sail and more!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We were homeward bound,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Scudding in a gale with our jib towards the Nore;—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Right athwart our tack,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The foe came thick and black,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like hell-birds and foul weather—you might count them by the score!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The <i>Betsy Jane</i> did slack<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To see the game in view;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They knew the Union Jack,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the tyrant’s flag we knew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our captain shouted, ‘Clear the decks!’ and the bo’sun’s whistle blew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Then our gallant captain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With his hand he seized the wheel,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And pointed with his stump to the middle of the foe,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Hurrah, lads, in we go!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(You should hear the British cheer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fore and aft!)<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘There are twenty sail,’ sang he,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘But little <i>Betsy Jane</i> bobs to nothing on the sea!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(You should hear the British cheer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fore and aft!)<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘See yon ugly craft<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the pennon at her main!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hurrah, my merry boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There goes the <i>Betsy Jane</i>!’<br /></span> -<span class="i1">(You should hear the British cheer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fore and aft!)<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The foe, he beats to quarters, and the Russian bugles sound;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the little <i>Betsy Jane</i> she leaps upon the sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Port and starboard!’ cried our captain;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Pay it in, my hearts!’ sang he.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘We’re old England’s sons,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we’ll fight for her to-day!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(You should hear the British cheer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fore and aft!)<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Fire away!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">In she runs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And her guns<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thunder round.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sydney Dobell.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110">110</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_47"><a id="ALEXANDER"></a>ALEXANDER</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_109"><a id="poemr_LXXXIV"></a>LXXXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp gesperrt2">WAR</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111">111</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They say that ‘war is hell,’ the ‘great accursed,’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sin impossible to be forgiven;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet I can look beyond it at its worst,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And still find blue in Heaven.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And as I note how nobly natures form<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under the war’s red rain, I deem it true<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That He who made the earthquake and the storm<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Perchance makes battles too!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The life He loves is not the life of span<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Abbreviated by each passing breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is the true humanity of man<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Victorious over death,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The long expectance of the upward gaze,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sense ineradicable of things afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fair hope of finding after many days<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bright and morning star.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Methinks I see how spirits may be tried,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Transfigured into beauty on war’s verge,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like flowers, whose tremulous grace is learnt beside<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The trampling of the surge.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now, not only Englishmen at need<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have won a fiery and unequal fray,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No infantry has ever done such deed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Since Albuera’s day!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Those who live on amid our homes to dwell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have grasped the higher lessons that endure,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gallant Private learns to practise well<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His heroism obscure.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His heart beats high as one for whom is made<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A mighty music solemnly, what time<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The oratorio of the cannonade<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rolls through the hills sublime.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet his the dangerous posts that few can mark,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The crimson death, the dread unerring aim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fatal ball that whizzes through the dark,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The just-recorded name—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The faithful following of the flag all day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">he duty done that brings no nation’s thanks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The <i>Ama Nesciri</i><a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> of some grim and grey<br /></span> -<span class="i2">À Kempis of the ranks.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These are the things our commonweal to guard,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The patient strength that is too proud to press,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The duty done for duty, not reward,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lofty littleness.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And they of greater state who never turned,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Taking their path of duty higher and higher,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What do we deem that they, too, may have learned<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In that baptismal fire?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not that the only end beneath the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is to make every sea a trading lake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all our splendid English history one<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Voluminous mistake.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They who marched up the bluffs last stormy week—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some of them, ere they reached the mountain’s crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind of battle breathing on their cheek<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Suddenly laid them down.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like sleepers—not like those whose race is run—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fast, fast asleep amid the cannon’s roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Them no reveillé and no morning gun<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall ever waken more.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the boy-beauty passed from off the face<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of those who lived, and into it instead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Came proud forgetfulness of ball and race,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweet commune with the dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And thoughts beyond their thoughts the Spirit lent,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And manly tears made mist upon their eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to them came a great presentiment<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of high self-sacrifice.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus, as the heaven’s many-coloured flames<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At sunset are but dust in rich disguise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ascending earthquake dust of battle frames<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God’s pictures in the skies.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Alexander.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> The heading of a remarkable chapter in the <cite>De Imitatione Christi</cite>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112">112</a></span></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_48"><a id="PROCTER"></a>PROCTER</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_112"><a id="poemr_LXXXV"></a>LXXXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE LESSON OF THE WAR</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113">113</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The feast is spread through England<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For rich and poor to-day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Greetings and laughter may be there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But thoughts are far away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the stormy ocean,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over the dreary track,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where some are gone, whom England<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will never welcome back.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Breathless she waits, and listens<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For every eastern breeze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That bears upon its bloody wings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">News from beyond the seas.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The leafless branches stirring<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Make many a watcher start;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The distant tramp of steeds may send<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A throb from heart to heart.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The rulers of the nation,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The poor ones at their gate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the same eager wonder<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The same great news await.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The poor man’s stay and comfort,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rich man’s joy and pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the bleak Crimean shore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are fighting side by side.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The bullet comes—and either<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A desolate hearth may see;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And God alone to-night knows where<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The vacant place may be!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dread that stirs the peasant<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thrills nobles’ hearts with fear—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet above selfish sorrow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Both hold their country dear.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The rich man who reposes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In his ancestral shade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The peasant at his ploughshare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The worker at his trade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each one his all has perilled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Each has the same great stake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each soul can but have patience,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Each heart can only break!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hushed is all party clamour;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One thought in every heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One dread in every household,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has bid such strife depart.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">England has called her children;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Long silent—the word came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lit the smouldering ashes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through all the land to flame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O you who toil and suffer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You gladly heard the call;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But those you sometimes envy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have they not given their all?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O you who rule the nation,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Take now the toil-worn hand—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brothers you are in sorrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In duty to your land.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Learn but this noble lesson<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ere Peace returns again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the life-blood of Old England<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will not be shed in vain.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Adelaide Anne Procter.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_49"><a id="MASSEY"></a>MASSEY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_113"><a id="poemr_LXXXVI"></a>LXXXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE’S LAST FIGHT</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114">114</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_115">115</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_116">116</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_117">117</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our second Richard Lion-Heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In days of great Queen Bess,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He did this deed, he played this part,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With true old nobleness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wrath heroic that was nursed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To bear the fiercest battle-burst,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When maddened foes should wreak their worst.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Signalled the English Admiral,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Weigh or cut anchors.’ For<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Spanish fleet bore down, in all<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The majesty of war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Athwart our tack for many a mile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As there we lay off Florez Isle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With crews half sick, all tired of toil.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Eleven of our twelve ships escaped;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sir Richard stood alone!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though they were three-and-fifty sail—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A hundred men to one—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old Sea-Rover would not run,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So long as he had man or gun;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But he could die when all was done.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘The Devil’s broken loose, my lads,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In shape of popish Spain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we must sink him in the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or hound him home again.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, you old sea-dogs, show your paws!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have at them tooth and nail and claws!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then his long, bright blade he draws.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The deck was cleared, the boatswain blew;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The grim sea-lions stand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The death-fires lit in every eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The burning match in hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With mail of glorious intent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All hearts were clad; and in they went,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A force that cut through where ’twas sent.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Push home, my hardy pikemen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For we play a desperate part;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-day, my gunners, let them feel<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The pulse of England’s heart!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They shall remember long that we<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Once lived; and think how shamefully<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We shook them—One to fifty-three!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With face of one who cheerily goes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To meet his doom that day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sir Richard sprang upon his foes;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The foremost gave him way;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His round shot smashed them through and through,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At every flash white splinters flew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And madder grew his fighting few.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They clasp the little ship <i>Revenge</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As in the arms of fire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They run aboard her, six at once;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hearts beat, hot guns leap higher;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through bloody gaps the boarders swarm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But still our English stay the storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bulwark in their breast is firm.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ship after ship, like broken waves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That wash upon a rock,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those mighty galleons fall back foiled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And shattered from the shock.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With fire she answers all their blows;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again—again in pieces strows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The girdle round her as they close.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through all that night the great white storm<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of worlds in silence rolled;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sirius with green-azure sparkle,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mars in ruddy gold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heaven looked with stillness terrible<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down on a fight most fierce and fell—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sea transfigured into hell!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some know not they are wounded till<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Tis slippery where they stand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then each one tighter grips his steel,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As ’twere salvation’s hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grim faces glow through lurid night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With sweat of spirit shining bright:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only the dead on deck turn white.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At day-break the flame picture fades<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In blackness and in blood;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, after fifteen hours of fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The unconquered Sea-King stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Defying all the power of Spain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fifteen armadas hurled in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fifteen hundred foemen slain!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">About that little bark <i>Revenge</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The baffled Spaniards ride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At distance. Two of their good ships<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were sunken at her side;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rest lie round her in a ring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As, round the dying forest-king<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dogs afraid of his death-spring.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our pikes all broken, powder spent,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sails, masts to shivers blown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with her dead and wounded crew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The ship was settling down.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sir Richard’s wounds were hot and deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then cried he, with a proud, pale lip,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Ho, Master Gunner, sink the ship!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Make ready now, my mariners,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To go aloft with me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That nothing to the Spaniard<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May remain of victory.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They cannot take us, nor we yield;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So let us leave our battle-field,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the shelter of God’s shield.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They had not heart to dare fulfil<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The stern commander’s word:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With swelling hearts and welling eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They carried him aboard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Spaniards’ ship; and round him stand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The warriors of his wasted band:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then said he, feeling death at hand,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Here die I, Richard Grenville,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a joyful and quiet mind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I reach a soldier’s end, I leave<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A soldier’s fame behind.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who for his Queen and country fought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Honour and Religion wrought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And died as a true soldier ought.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Earth never returned a worthier trust<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For hand of Heaven to take,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since Arthur’s sword, Excalibur,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was cast into the lake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the King’s grievous wounds were dressed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And healed, by weeping Queens, who blessed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bore him to a valley of rest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Old heroes who could grandly do,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As they could greatly dare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A vesture very glorious<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their shining spirits wear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of noble deeds! God give us grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That we may see such face to face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In our great day that comes apace!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Gerald Massey.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_50"><a id="BROWN"></a>BROWN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_117"><a id="poemr_LXXXVII"></a>LXXXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">LAND, HO!</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118">118</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">I know ’tis but a loom of land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet is it land, and so I will rejoice,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know I cannot hear His voice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon the shore, nor see Him stand;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet is it land, ho! land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The land! the land! the lovely land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Far off’ dost say? <em>Far off</em>—ah, blessed home!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Farewell! farewell! thou salt sea-foam!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ah, keel upon the silver sand—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Land, ho! land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">You cannot see the land, my land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You cannot see, and yet the land is there—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My land, my land, through murky air—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I did not say ’twas close at hand—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But—land, ho! land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Dost hear the bells of my sweet land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dost hear the kine, dost hear the merry birds?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No voice, ’tis true, no spoken words,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No tongue that thou may’st understand—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet is it land, ho! land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">It’s clad in purple mist, my land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In regal robe it is apparelléd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A crown is set upon its head,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And on its breast a golden band—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Land, ho! land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Dost wonder that I long for land?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My land is not a land as others are—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon its crest there beams a star,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And lilies grow upon the strand—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Land, ho! land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Give me the helm! there is the land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ha! lusty mariners, she takes the breeze!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And what my spirit sees it sees—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leap, bark, as leaps the thunderbrand—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Land, ho! land.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Edward Brown.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_51"><a id="TREVALDWYN"></a>TREVALDWYN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_118"><a id="poemr_LXXXVIII"></a>LXXXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE <i>GEORGE</i> OF LOOE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119">119</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_120">120</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, ’twas merry down to Looe when the news was carried through<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That the <i>George</i> would put to sea all with the morning tide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all her jolly crew hurrah’d till they were blue<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the captain said, ‘My lads, we’ll tan the Frenchman’s hide!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For Captain Davy Dann was a famous fightin’ man,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who lov’d the smell o’ powder and the thunder o’ the guns,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And off the coast of France often made the Frenchmen dance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the music from his sloop of only ninety tons.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So at the break o’ day there were hundreds on the quay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To see the gallant ship a-warping out to sea;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Mayor, Daniel Chubb, was hoisted on a tub,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And he cried, ‘Good luck to Dann, with a three times three!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For the news that came from Fowey was that ev’ry man and boy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all the gallants there were expecting of a ship.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the lively lads o’ Looe, they thought they’d watch her too,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lest the Frenchman showed his heels and gave ’em all the slip.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So along by Talland Bay the good ship sailed away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the boats were out at Polperro to see what they could see;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And old Dann, he cried, ‘Ahoy! you’d better come to Fowey,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And help to blow the Mounseers to the bottom of the sea!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now, ’twas almost set o’ sun, and the day was almost done,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When we sighted of a frigate beating up against the wind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we put on all our sail till we came within her hail,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And old Dann politely asked, ‘Will you follow us behind?’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the Frenchmen fore and aft only stood and grinned and laughed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And never guessed the captain was in earnest, don’t you see?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For we’d only half her guns, and were only ninety tons,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And they thought they’d blow us easy to the bottom o’ the sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But our brave old Captain Dann—oh, he was a proper man!—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sang out with voice like thunder unto ev’ry man aboard:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Now all you men of Looe just show what you can do,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we’ll board her, and we’ll take her, by the help o’ the Lord!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then up her sides we swarm’d, and along her deck we storm’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sword and pike were busy for the space of half an hour;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But before the day was done, tho’ they number’d two to one,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her commander had to yield, and his flag to lower.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then we turn’d our ship about, and while the stars came out<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We tow’d our prize right cheerily past Fowey and Polperro;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we blest old Captain Dann, for we hadn’t lost a man,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And our wounded all were doing well a-down below.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when we came to Looe, all the town was there to view,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the mayor in his chain and gown he cried out lustily,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Nine cheers for Captain Dann, and three for every man,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the good ship <i>George</i> that carried them to victory!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Benn Wilkes Jones Trevaldwyn.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_52"><a id="ARNOLD"></a>ARNOLD</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_120"><a id="poemr_LXXXIX"></a>LXXXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE FIRST DISTRIBUTION OF THE VICTORIA CROSS<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<i>June 26, 1857</i>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121">121</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To-day the people gather from the streets,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To-day the soldiers muster near and far;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peace, with a glad look and a grateful, meets<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her rugged brother War.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To-day the Queen of all the English land,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She who sits high o’er Kaisers and o’er Kings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gives with her royal hand—th’ Imperial hand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose grasp the earth enrings—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her Cross of Valour to the worthiest;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No golden toy with milky pearl besprent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But simple bronze, and for a warrior’s breast<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A fair, fit ornament.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And richer than red gold that dull bronze seems,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Since it was bought with lavish waste and worth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereto the wealth of earth’s gold-sanded streams<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were but a lack, and dearth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Muscovite metal makes this English Cross,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Won in a rain of blood and wreath of flame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The guns that thundered for their brave lives’ loss<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are worn hence, for their fame!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ay, listen! all ye maidens laughing-eyed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all ye English mothers, be aware!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those who shall pass before ye at noontide<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your friends and champions are.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The men of all the army and the fleet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The very bravest of the very brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Linesman and Lord, these fought with equal feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Firm-planted on their grave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The men who, setting light their blood and breath<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So they might win a victor’s haught renown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Held their steel straight against the face of Death,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And frowned his frowning down.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And some that grasped the bomb, all fury-fraught,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And hurled it far, to spend its spite away—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the rescue and the risk no thought—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall pass our Queen this day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And some who climbed the deadly glacis-side,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For all that steel could stay, or savage shell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And some whose blood upon the Colours dried<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tells if they bore them well.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some, too, who, gentle-hearted even in strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seeing their fellow or their friend go down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saved his, at peril of their own dear life,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Winning the Civil Crown.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Well done for them; and, fair Isle, well for thee!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While that thy bosom beareth sons like those;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘This precious stone set in the silver sea’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall never fear her foes!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Edwin Arnold.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_53"><a id="GARNETT"></a>GARNETT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_121"><a id="poemr_XC"></a>XC<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ABROAD</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122">122</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Forests that beard the avalanche,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Levels, empurpled slopes of vine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wrecks, sadly gay with flower and branch,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I love you, but you are not mine!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sweet domestic sanctity<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fades in the fiery sun, like dew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My Love beheld and passed you by,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My fathers shed no blood for you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Pause, rambling clouds, while fancy fain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your white similitude doth trace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To England’s cliffs, so may your rain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fall blissful on your native place!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Richard Garnett.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_54"><a id="GILBERT"></a>GILBERT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_122"><a id="poemr_XCI"></a>XCI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE ENGLISH GIRL</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123">123</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">A wonderful joy our eyes to bless<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In her magnificent comeliness,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is an English girl of eleven stone two,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And five foot ten in her dancing shoe!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">She follows the hounds, and on she pounds—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The ‘field’ tails off and the muffs diminish—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Over the hedges and brooks she bounds<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Straight as a crow from find to finish.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">At cricket, her kin will lose or win—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">She and her maids, on grass and clover,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Eleven maids out—eleven maids in—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">(And perhaps an occasional ‘maiden over’).<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i0">Go search the world and search the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then come you home and sing with me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s no such gold and no such pearl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As a bright and beautiful English girl!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">With a ten-mile spin she stretches her limbs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She golfs, she punts, she rows, she swims—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She plays, she sings, she dances, too,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From ten or eleven till all is blue!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">At ball or drum, till small hours come<br /></span> -<span class="i6">(Chaperon’s fan conceals her yawning),<br /></span> -<span class="i4">She’ll waltz away like a teetotum,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And never go home till daylight’s dawning.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Lawn tennis may share her favours fair—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Her eyes a-dance and her cheeks a-glowing—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Down comes her hair, but what does she care?<br /></span> -<span class="i6">It’s all her own, and it’s worth the showing!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Her soul is sweet as the ocean air,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For prudery knows no haven there;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To find mock-modesty, please apply<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the conscious blush and the downcast eye.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Rich in the things contentment brings,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In every pure enjoyment wealthy,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Blithe as a beautiful bird she sings,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">For body and mind are hale and healthy.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Her eyes they thrill with a right good will—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Her heart is light as a floating feather—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">As pure and bright as the mountain rill<br /></span> -<span class="i6">That leaps and laughs in the Highland heather.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i0">Go search the world and search the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then come you home and sing with me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s no such gold and no such pearl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As a bright and beautiful English girl!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Schwenk Gilbert.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_55"><a id="WATTS-DUNTON"></a>WATTS-DUNTON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_123"><a id="poemr_XCII"></a>XCII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BREATH OF AVON<br /> - -<span class="subhead">TO ENGLISH-SPEAKING PILGRIMS ON SHAKESPEARE’S BIRTHDAY</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124">124</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza center"> -I -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whate’er of woe the Dark may hide in womb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For England, mother of kings of battle and song—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rapine, or racial hate’s mysterious wrong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blizzard of Chance, or fiery dart of Doom—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let breath of Avon, rich of meadow-bloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bind her to that great daughter sever’d long—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To near and far-off children young and strong—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With fetters woven of Avon’s flower perfume.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Welcome, ye English-speaking pilgrims, ye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose hands around the world are join’d by him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who make his speech the language of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till winds of ocean waft from rim to rim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Breath of Avon: let this great day be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Feast of Race no power shall ever dim.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="stanza center"> -II -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From where the steeds of earth’s twin oceans toss<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their manes along Columbia’s chariot-way;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From where Australia’s long blue billows play;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From where the morn, quenching the Southern Cross,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Startling the frigate-bird and albatross<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Asleep in air, breaks over Table Bay—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come hither, pilgrims, where these rushes sway<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Tween grassy banks of Avon soft as moss!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, if ye found the breath of ocean sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweeter is Avon’s earthy, flowery smell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Distill’d from roots that feel the coming spell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of May, who bids all flowers that lov’d him meet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In meadows that, remembering Shakespeare’s feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hold still a dream of music where they fell.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Theodore Watts-Dunton.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_124"><a id="poemr_XCIII"></a>XCIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ENGLAND STANDS ALONE</span></h3> - -<p class="p1 center smaller">(‘ENGLAND STANDS ALONE—WITHOUT AN ALLY.’</p> - -<div class="attrib2">—<cite>A Continental Newspaper</cite>)</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125">125</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘She stands alone: ally nor friend has she,’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saith Europe of our England—her who bore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drake, Blake, and Nelson—Warrior-Queen who wore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Light’s conquering glaive that strikes the conquered free.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alone!—From Canada comes o’er the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from that English coast with coral shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old-world cry Europe hath heard of yore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From Dover cliffs: ‘Ready, aye ready we!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Europe,’ saith England, ‘hath forgot my boys!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forgot how tall, in yonder golden zone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Neath Austral skies, my youngest born have grown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Bearers of bayonets now and swords for toys)—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forgot ’mid boltless thunder—harmless noise—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sons with whom old England ‘stands alone!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Theodore Watts-Dunton.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_56"><a id="SWINBURNE"></a>SWINBURNE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_125"><a id="poemr_XCIV"></a>XCIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126">126</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee round,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mother fair as the morning, where is now the place of thy foemen found?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them stricken, acclaims thee crowned.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Times may change, and the skies grow strange with signs of treason, and fraud, and fear:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Foes in union of strange communion may rise against thee from far and near:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sloth and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers waxing from year to year.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league and lie and defame and smite,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We that know thee, how far below thee the hatred burns of the sons of night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We that love thee, behold above thee the witness written of life in light.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none may read not but eyeless foes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hate, born blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now but as madness grows:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love, born wise, with exultant eyes adores thy glory, beholds and glows.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Truth is in thee, and none may win thee to lie, forsaking the face of truth:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Freedom lives by the grace she gives thee, born again from thy deathless youth:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faith should fail, and the world turn pale, wert thou the prey of the serpent’s tooth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Greed and fraud, unabashed, unawed, may strive to sting thee at heel in vain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Craft and fear and mistrust may leer and mourn and murmur and plead and plain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou art thou: and thy sunbright brow is hers that blasted the strength of Spain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mother, mother beloved, none other could claim in place of thee England’s place:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Earth bears none that beholds the sun so pure of record, so clothed with grace:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dear our mother, nor son nor brother is thine, as strong or as fair of face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How shall thou be abased? or how shall fear take hold of thy heart? of thine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">England, maiden immortal, laden with charge of life and with hopes divine?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Earth shall wither, when eyes turned hither behold not light in her darkness shine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">England, none that is born thy son, and lives, by grace of thy glory, free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lives and yearns not at heart and burns with hope to serve as he worships thee;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">None may sing thee: the sea-wind’s wing beats down our songs as it hails the sea.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_126"><a id="poemr_XCV"></a>XCV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A JACOBITE’S EXILE<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(1746)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127">127</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_128">128</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_129">129</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The weary day rins down and dies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The weary night wears through:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And never an hour is fair wi’ flower,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And never a flower wi’ dew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I would the day were night for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I would the night were day:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For then would I stand in my ain fair land,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As now in dreams I may.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O lordly flow the Loire and Seine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And loud the dark Durance:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But bonnier shine the braes of Tyne<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than a’ the fields of France;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the waves of Till that speak sae still<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gleam goodlier where they glance.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O weel were they that fell fighting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On dark Drumossie’s day:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They keep their hame ayont the faem<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we die far away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O sound they sleep, and saft, and deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But night and day wake we;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ever between the sea-banks green<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sounds loud the sundering sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And ill we sleep, sae sair we weep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But sweet and fast sleep they;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the mool that haps them roun’ and laps them<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is e’en their country’s clay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the land we tread that are not dead<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is strange as night by day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Strange as night in a strange man’s sight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though fair as dawn it be:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For what is here that a stranger’s cheer<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Should yet wax blithe to see?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hills stand steep, the dells lie deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The fields are green and gold:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hill-streams sing, and the hill-sides ring,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As ours at home of old.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But hills and flowers are nane of ours,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ours are over sea:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the kind strange land whereon we stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It wotsna what were we<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or ever we came, wi’ scathe and shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To try what end might be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Scathe, and shame, and a waefu’ name,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a weary time and strange,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have they that seeing a weird for dreeing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Can die, and cannot change.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shame and scorn may we thole that mourn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though sair be they to dree:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But ill may we bide the thoughts we hide,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mair keen than wind and sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ill may we thole the night’s watches,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ill the weary day:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the dreams that keep the gates of sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A waefu’ gift gie they;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the sangs they sing us, the sights they bring us,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The morn blaws all away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The burn rins blithe and fain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s nought wi’ me I wadna gie<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To look thereon again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There sounds nae hunting-horn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Round banks where Tyne is born.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Wansbeck sings with all her springs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bents and braes give ear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the wood that rings wi’ the sang she sings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I may not see nor hear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For far and far thae blithe burns are,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And strange is a’ thing near.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The light there lightens, the day there brightens,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The loud wind there lives free:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That I wad hear or see.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But O gin I were there again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Afar ayont the faem,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cauld and dead in the sweet, saft bed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That haps my sires at hame!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We’ll see nae mair the sea-banks fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the sweet grey gleaming sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the lordly strand of Northumberland,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the goodly towers thereby;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And none shall know but the winds that blow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The graves wherein we lie.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_129"><a id="poemr_XCVI"></a>XCVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">NEW YEAR’S DAY</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">New Year, be good to England. Bid her name<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Shine sunlike as of old on all the sea:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Make strong her soul: set all her spirit free:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bind fast her home-born foes with links of shame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More strong than iron and more keen than flame:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Seal up their lips for shame’s sake: so shall she<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who was the light that lightened freedom be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all false tongues, in all men’s eyes the same.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O last-born child of Time, earth’s eldest lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God undiscrowned of godhead, who for man<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Begets all good and evil things that live,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do thou, his new-begotten son, implored<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of hearts that hope and fear not, make thy span<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Bright with such light as history bids thee give.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_129a"><a id="poemr_XCVII"></a>XCVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">TO WILLIAM MORRIS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130">130</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Truth, winged and enkindled with rapture<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sense of the radiance of yore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fulfilled you with power to recapture<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What never might singer before—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The life, the delight, and the sorrow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of troublous and chivalrous years<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That knew not of night or of morrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Of hopes or of fears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But wider the wing and the vision<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That quicken the spirit have spread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since memory beheld with derision<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Man’s hope to be more than his dead.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the mists and the snows and the thunders<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your spirit has brought for us forth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Light, music, and joy in the wonders<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And charms of the North.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wars and the woes and the glories<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That quicken and lighten and rain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the clouds of its chronicled stories,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The passion, the pride, and the pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where echoes were mute and the token<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was lost of the spells that they spake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rise bright at your bidding, unbroken<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Of ages that break.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For you, and for none of us other,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Time is not: the dead that must live<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hold commune with you as a brother<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By grace of the life that you give.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heart that was in them is in you,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their soul in your spirit endures:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The strength of their song is the sinew<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Of this that is yours.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hence is it that life, everlasting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As light and as music, abides<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the sound of the surge of it, casting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sound back to the surge of the tides,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till sons of the sons of the Norsemen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Watch, hurtling to windward and lea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Round England, unbacked of her horsemen,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The steeds of the sea.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Algernon Charles Swinburne.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131">131</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_57"><a id="HARDY"></a>HARDY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_131"><a id="poemr_XCVIII"></a>XCVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE GOING OF THE BATTERY</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Rain came down drenchingly; but we unblenchingly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Trudged on beside them through mirk and through mire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They stepping steadily—only too readily!—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Scarce as if stepping brought parting-time nigher.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Great guns were gleaming there—living things seeming there—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cloaked in their tar cloths, upnosed to the night:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wheels wet and yellow from axle to felloe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Throats blank of sound, but prophetic to sight.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lamplight all drearily, blinking and blearily<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lit our pale faces outstretched for one kiss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While we stood prest to them, with a last quest to them<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not to court peril that honour could miss.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sharp were those sighs of ours, blinded those eyes of ours,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When at last moved away under the arch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All we loved. Aid for them each woman prayed for them<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Treading back slowly the track of their march.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Someone said ‘Nevermore will they come! Evermore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are they now lost to us!’ Oh, it was wrong!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though may be hard their ways, some Hand will guard their ways—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bear them through safely—in brief time or long.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet—voices haunting us, daunting us, taunting us,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hint, in the night-time, when life-beats are low,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Other and graver things.... Hold we to braver things—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wait we—in trust—what Time’s fullness shall show.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Hardy.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132">132</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_58"><a id="DOBSON"></a>DOBSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_132"><a id="poemr_XCIX"></a>XCIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">BALLAD OF THE ARMADA</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">King Philip had vaunted his claims;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He had sworn for a year he would sack us;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With an army of heathenish names<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He was coming to fagot and stack us;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the thieves of the sea he would track us,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And scatter our ships on the main;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But we had bold Neptune to back us—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where are the galleons of Spain?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His carackes were christened of dames<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the kirtles whereof he would tack us;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With his saints and his gilded stern-frames<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He had thought like an egg-shell to crack us;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now Howard may get to his Flaccus,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Drake to his Devon again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For where are the galleons of Spain?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let his Majesty hang to St. James<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The axe that he whetted to hack us;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He must play at some lustier games<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To his mines of Peru he would pack us<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To tug at his bullet and chain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas! that his Greatness should lack us!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But where are the galleons of Spain?<br /></span> -</div> - -<p class="p1 center larger"><span class="smcap">Envoy</span></p> -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gloriana!—the Don may attack us<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whenever his stomach be fain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He must reach us before he can rack us, ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where are the galleons of Spain?<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Austin Dobson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133">133</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_133"><a id="poemr_C"></a>C<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">RANK AND FILE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">O undistinguished Dead!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom the bent covers, or the rock-strewn steep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shows to the stars, for you I mourn—I weep,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">O undistinguished Dead!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">None knows your name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blackened and blurred in the wild battle’s brunt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hotly you fell ... with all your wounds in front:—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">This is your fame!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Austin Dobson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_59"><a id="BRIDGES"></a>BRIDGES</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_133a"><a id="poemr_CI"></a>CI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE FAIR BRASS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134">134</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An effigy of brass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trodden by careless feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of worshippers that pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beautiful and complete,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lieth in the sombre aisle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of this old church unwreckt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still from modern style<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shielded by kind neglect.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">It shows a warrior arm’d:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across his iron breast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His hands by death are charmed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To leave his sword at rest,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wherewith he led his men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’ersea, and smote to hell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The astonisht Saracen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor doubted he did well.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Would we could teach our sons<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His trust in face of doom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or give our bravest ones<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A comparable tomb:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such as to look on shrives<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heart of half its care;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So in each line survives<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spirit that made it fair,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So fair the characters,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With which the dusty scroll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That tells his title, stirs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A requiem for his soul.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Yet dearer far to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And brave as he are they,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who fight by land and sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For England at this day;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whose vile memorials,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In mournful marbles gilt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deface the beauteous walls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By growing glory built.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Heirs of our antique shrines,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sires of our future fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose starry honour shines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In many a noble name<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Across the deathful days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Link’d in the brotherhood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That loves our country’s praise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lives for heavenly good.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Bridges.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_60"><a id="SKRINE"></a>SKRINE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_134"><a id="poemr_CII"></a>CII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE GENTLE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135">135</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">We come from tower and grange,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where the grey woodlands range,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Folding chivalric halls in ancient ease;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">From Erin’s rain-wet rocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or where the ocean-shocks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thunder between the glimmering Hebrides;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And many-spired cities grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With terraced riverain hoar lapped by the storied wave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Taught in proud England’s school,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Her honour’s knightly rule,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To do and dare and bear and not to lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With priest’s or scholar’s lore<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or statesman’s subtle store<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of garnered wisdom, proved in councils high,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We serve her bidding here, or far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shepherd the imperial flock under an alien star.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Leechcraft of heaven or earth<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We bear to scanted hearth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And lightless doorway and dim beds of pain:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With master-craft we steer<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Dusk labour’s march, and cheer<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His blind innumerable-handed train;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or in the cannon-shaken air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frankly the gentle die that simple men may dare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">The Asian moonbeams fall<br /></span> -<span class="i4">O’er our boys’ graves, and all<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The o’er-watching hills are names of their young glory:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sleep the blithe swordsman hands<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Beside red Ethiop sands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or drear uprise of wintry promontory:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The headstone of a hero slain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Charms for his Empress-Isle each threshold of her reign.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">O for the blood that fell<br /></span> -<span class="i4">So gladly given and well,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O for all spirits that lived for England’s honour,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Ere folly ruin or fear<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Her whom these held so dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ere fate or treason shame the crown upon her,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Rise, brothers of her knightly roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Close fast our order’s ranks and guard great England whole!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Huntley Skrine.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136">136</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_136"><a id="poemr_CIII"></a>CIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE MOTHER AND THE SONS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137">137</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Sons in my gates of the West,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the long tides foam in the dark of the pine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the cornlands crowd to the dim sky-line,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wide as the air are the meadows of kine,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">What cheer from my gates of the West?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">‘Peace in thy gates of the West,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">England our mother, and rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In our sounding channels and headlands frore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hot Norse blood of the northern hoar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is lord of the wave as the lords of yore,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Guarding thy gates of the West.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">But thou, O mother, be strong<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In thy seas for a girdle of towers,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Holding thine own from wrong,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Thine own that is ours.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Till the sons that are bone of thy bone,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Till the brood of the lion upgrown<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In a day not long,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Shall war for our England’s own,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For the pride of the ocean throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Be strong, O mother, be strong!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Sons in my gates of the morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That steward the measureless harvest gold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And temples and towers of the Orient old<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the seas of the palm to Himálya cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">What cheer in my gates of the morn?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">‘Fair as our India’s morn<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Thy peace, as a sunrise, is born.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where thy banner is broad in the Orient light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is law from the seas to Himálya’s height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the banner of might is the banner of right.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Good cheer in thy gates of the morn.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">From the Isles of the South what word?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">True South! long ago, when I called not, it came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ‘England’s are ours’ ran the war-word aflame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And a thousand will bleed ere the mother have shame!’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">From my sons of the South what word?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">‘Mother, what need of a word<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For the love that outspake with the sword?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the day of thy storm, in the clash of the powers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When thy children close round thee grown great with the hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They shall know who have wronged thee if ‘England’s be ours.’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We bring thee a deed for a word.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">But thou, O mother, be strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In thy seas for a girdle of towers,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Holding thine own from wrong,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Thine own that is ours.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Till the sons that are bone of thy bone,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Till the brood of the lion upgrown<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In a day not long,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Shall war for our England’s own,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For the pride of the ocean throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Be strong, O mother, be strong!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Huntley Skrine.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_61"><a id="HENLEY"></a>HENLEY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_137"><a id="poemr_CIV"></a>CIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138">138</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What have I done for you,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, my England?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What is there I would not do,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, my own?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With your glorious eyes austere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the Lord were walking near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whispering terrible things and dear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As the Song on your bugles blown, England—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Round the world on your bugles blown!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where shall the watchful Sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, my England,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Match the master-work you’ve done,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, my own?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When shall he rejoice agen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such a breed of mighty men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As come forward, one to ten,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the Song on your bugles blown, England—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down the years on your bugles blown?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ever the faith endures,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, my England:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Take us and break us: we are yours,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, my own!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life is good, and joy runs high<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between English earth and sky:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death is death; but we shall die<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the Song on your bugles blown, England—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the stars on your bugles blown!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They call you proud and hard,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, my England:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You with worlds to watch and ward,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, my own!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You whose mailed hand keeps the keys<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of such teeming destinies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You could know nor dread nor ease<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were the Song on your bugles blown, England—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Round the Pit on your bugles blown!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mother of Ships whose might,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, my England,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is the fierce old Sea’s delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">England, my own,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chosen daughter of the Lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s the menace of the Word<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the Song on your bugles blown, England—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out of heaven on your bugles blown!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Ernest Henley.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139">139</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_62"><a id="MACKAY139"></a>MACKAY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_139"><a id="poemr_CV"></a>CV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A SONG OF THE SEA</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140">140</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Free as the wind that leaps from out the North,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When storms are hurrying forth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up-springs the voice of England, trumpet-clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which all the world shall hear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As one may hear God’s thunder over-head,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A voice that echoes through the sunset red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And through the fiery portals of the morn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, day by day, the golden hours are born,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A voice to urge the strengthening of the bands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That bind our Empire Lands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With such a love as none shall put to scorn!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They little know our England who deny<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The claim we have, from zone to furthest zone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To belt the beauteous earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And treat the clamorous ocean as our own<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all the measuring of its monstrous girth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tempest calls to us, and we reply;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And not, as cowards do, in under-tone!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun that sets for others sets no more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Britain’s world-wide shore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which all the tides of all the seas have known.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We have no lust of strife:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We seek no vile dissension for base ends;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Freedom and fame and England are old friends.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet, if our foes desire it, let them come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whate’er their numbers be!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They know the road to England, mile by mile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they shall learn, full soon, that strength nor guile<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will much avail them in an English sea;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We will not hurl them backward to the waves,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll give them graves!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis much to be so honoured in the main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And feel no further stain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than one’s own blood outpoured in lieu of wine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis much to die in England, and for this<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To win the sabre-kiss<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of some true man who deems his cause divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And loves his country well.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A foe may calmly dwell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In our sweet soil with daisies for his quilt,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their snows to hide his guilt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And earth’s good warmth about him where he lies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the burden of all battle-cries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And made half-English by his resting-place:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God give him grace!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We love the sea,—the loud, the leaping sea,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rush and roar of waters—the thick foam,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sea-bird’s sudden cry,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gale that bends the lithe and towering masts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of good ships bounding home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That spread to the great sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Exultant flags unmatched in their degree!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ’tis a joy that lasts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A joy that thrills the Briton to the soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who knows the nearest goal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To all he asks of fortune and of fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From dusk to dawn and dawn to sunset-flame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He knows that he is free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all the freedom of the waves and winds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That have the storm in fee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And this our glory still:—to bear the palm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all true enterprise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And everywhere, in tempest and in calm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To front the future with unfearing eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sway the seas where our advancement lies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Freedom’s flag uplifted, and unfurled;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And this our rallying-cry, whate’er befall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Goodwill to men, and peace throughout the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But England,—England,—England over all!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Eric Mackay.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141">141</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_63"><a id="SHARP"></a>SHARP</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_141"><a id="poemr_CVI"></a>CVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BALLAD OF THE RAM</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who ’as ’eard the Ram a-callin’ on the green fields o’ the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let ’em wander east or west an’ mighty fast:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For it’s bad to ’ear the Ram when he’s up an’ runnin’ free<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the angry bit o’ ribbon at the mast.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s rush an’ surge an’ dash when the Ram is on the leap,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But smash an’ crash for them as stops the way:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The biggest ship goes down right there that ain’t got sense to keep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The shore-walk o’ the werry nearest bay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For Frenchy ships, an’ German too, an’ Russian, you may bet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It’s safer for to land an’ ’ome by tram,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than out to come an’ gallivant an’ risk the kind o’ wet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That follers runnin’ counter to a Ram.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For when the <i>Terror</i> lifts ’is ’ead an’ goes for wot is near,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I’m sorry for them ships wot sails so free:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s best to up an’ elsewhere, an’ be werry far from ’ere,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When Rams ’ave took to bleatin’ on the sea!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Sharp.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_64"><a id="RODD"></a>RODD</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_141a"><a id="poemr_CVII"></a>CVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">SPRING THOUGHTS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142">142</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_143">143</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My England, island England, such leagues and leagues away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It’s years since I was with thee, when April wanes to May.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Years since I saw the primrose, and watched the brown hillside<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Put on white crowns of blossom and blush like April’s bride;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Years since I heard thy skylark, and caught the throbbing note<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which all the soul of springtide sends through the blackbird’s throat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O England, island England, if it has been my lot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To live long years in alien lands, with men who love thee not,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I do but love thee better who know each wind that blows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind that slays the blossom, the wind that buds the rose,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wind that shakes the taper mast and keeps the topsail furled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind that braces nerve and arm to battle with the world:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I love thy moss-deep grasses, thy great untortured trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cliffs that wall thy havens, the weed-scents of thy seas.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dreamy river reaches, the quiet English homes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The milky path of sorrel down which the springtide comes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh land so loved through length of years, so tended and caressed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The land that never stranger wronged nor foeman dared to waste,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Remember those thou speedest forth round all the world to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy witness to the nations, thy warders on the sea!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And keep for those who leave thee and find no better place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The olden smile of welcome, the unchanged mother face!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Rennell Rodd.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_65"><a id="WATSON"></a>WATSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_143"><a id="poemr_CVIII"></a>CVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She stands, a thousand wintered tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By countless morns impearled;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her broad roots coil beneath the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her branches sweep the world;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her seeds, by careless winds conveyed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Clothe the remotest strand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With forests from her scatterings made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">New nations fostered in her shade,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And linking land with land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O ye by wandering tempest sown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Neath every alien star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forget not whence the breath was blown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That wafted you afar!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ye are still her ancient seed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On younger soil let fall—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Children of Britain’s island-breed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To whom the Mother in her need<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Perchance may one day call.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Watson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_66"><a id="DOYLE143"></a>DOYLE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_143a"><a id="poemr_CIX"></a>CIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE SONG OF THE BOW</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144">144</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What of the bow?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bow was made in England:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of true wood, of yew-wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wood of English bows;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">So men who are free<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Love the old yew-tree<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the land where the yew-tree grows.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What of the cord?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cord was made in England:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A rough cord, a tough cord,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A cord that bow-men love;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And so we will sing<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of the hempen string<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the land where the cord was wove.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What of the shaft?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The shaft was cut in England:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A long shaft, a strong shaft,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Barbed and trim and true;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">So we’ll drink all together<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To the grey goose-feather<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the land where the grey goose flew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What of the mark?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ah, seek it not in England,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bold mark, our old mark,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is waiting over-sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">When the strings harp in chorus,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the lion flag is o’er us,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is there that our mark will be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What of the men?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The men were bred in England;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bow-men—the yeomen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lads of dale and fell.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Here’s to you—and to you!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To the hearts that are true<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the land where the true hearts dwell!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Arthur Conan Doyle.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_144"><a id="poemr_CX"></a>CX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A BALLAD OF THE RANKS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145">145</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_146">146</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who carries the gun?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lad from over the Tweed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then let him go, for well we know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He comes of a soldier breed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So drink together to rock and heather,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out where the red deer run,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stand aside for Scotland’s pride—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The man who carries the gun!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">For the Colonel rides before,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The Major’s on the flank,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The Captains and the Adjutant<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Are in the foremost rank.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But when it’s ‘Action front!’<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And there’s fighting to be done,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come one, come all, you stand or fall<br /></span> -<span class="i6">By the man who carries the gun.<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who carries the gun?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lad from a Yorkshire dale.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then let him go, for well we know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The heart that never will fail.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here’s to the fire of Lancashire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And here’s to her soldier son!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the hard-bit North has sent him forth—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lad who carries the gun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who carries the gun?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lad from a Midland shire.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then let him go, for well we know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He comes of an English sire.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here’s a glass to a Midland lass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And each can choose the one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But East and West we claim the best<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the man who carries the gun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who carries the gun?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lad from the hills of Wales.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then let him go, for well we know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That Taffy is hard as nails.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There are several ll’s in the place where he dwells,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And of w’s more than one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a ‘Llan’ and a ‘pen,’ but it breeds good men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And it’s they who carry the gun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who carries the gun?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lad from the windy West.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then let him go, for well we know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That he is one of the best.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s Bristol rough, and Gloucester tough,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Devon yields to none.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or you may get in Somerset<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your lad to carry the gun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who carries the gun?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lad from London town.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then let him go, for well we know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The stuff that never backs down.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He has learned to joke at the powder smoke,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For he is the fog-smoke’s sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And his heart is light, and his pluck is right—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The man who carries the gun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who carries the gun?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lad from the Emerald Isle.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then let him go, for well we know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ve tried him many a while.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ve tried him East, we’ve tried him West,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ve tried him sea and land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the man to beat old Erin’s best<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has never yet been planned.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who carries the gun?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It’s you, and you, and you;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So let us go, and we won’t say no<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If they give us a job to do.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here we stand with a cross-linked hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Comrades every one;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So one last cup, and drink it up<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the man who carries the gun?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">For the Colonel rides before,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The Major’s on the flank,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The Captains and the Adjutant<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Are in the foremost rank.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And when it’s ‘Action front!’<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And there’s fighting to be done,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come one, come all, you stand or fall<br /></span> -<span class="i6">By the man who carries the gun.<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Arthur Conan Doyle.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147">147</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_67"><a id="PAIN"></a>PAIN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_147"><a id="poemr_CXI"></a>CXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">OUR DEAD</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sye, do yer ’ear thet bugle callin’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sutthink stringe through the city’s din?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do yer shut yer eyes when the evenin’ ’s fallin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ see quite plain wheer they’re fallin’ in?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ theer ain’t no sarnd as they falls in,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ they mawch quick step with a silent tread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through all ar ’earts, through all ar ’earts,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Comp’ny of ar Dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A woman’s son, and a woman’s lover—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yer’d think as nobody ’eld ’im dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As ’e stands, a clear mawk, art o’ cover,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ leads the rush when the end is near;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One more ridge and the end is near,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One more step an’ the bullet’s sped.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My God, but they’re well-officered,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Comp’ny of ar Dead!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Never they’ll ’ear the crard a-cheerin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These ’ull never come beck agine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Theer welkim ’ome is beyond our ’earin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But theer nimes is writ, an’ theer nimes remine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ deep an’ lawstin’ theer nimes remine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Writ in theer blood for theer country shed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ they stan’s up strite an’ they knows no shime,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Comp’ny of ar Dead.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Barry Pain.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_68"><a id="NEWBOLT"></a>NEWBOLT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_147a"><a id="poemr_CXII"></a>CXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ADMIRALS ALL<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A SONG OF SEA KINGS</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148">148</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_149">149</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here’s to the bold and free!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Benbow, Collingwood, Byron, Blake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hail to the Kings of the sea!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Admirals all, for England’s sake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Honour be yours and fame!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And honour, as long as waves shall break,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To Nelson’s peerless name!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Admirals all, for England’s sake,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Honour be yours and fame!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And honour, as long as waves shall break,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">To Nelson’s peerless name!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Essex was fretting in Cadiz Bay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the galleons fair in sight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Howard at last must give him his way,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the word was passed to fight.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never was schoolboy gayer than he,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Since holidays first began:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He tossed his bonnet to wind and sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And under the guns he ran.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Drake nor devil nor Spaniard feared,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their cities he put to the sack;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He singed His Catholic Majesty’s beard,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And harried his ships to wrack.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He was playing at Plymouth a rubber of bowls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the great Armada came;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But he said, ‘They must wait their turn, good souls,’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And he stooped and finished the game.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fifteen sail were the Dutchmen bold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Duncan he had but two;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But he anchored them fast where the Texel shoaled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And his colours aloft he flew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I’ve taken the depth to a fathom,’ he cried,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘And I’ll sink with a right good will:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For I know when we’re all of us under the tide<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My flag will be fluttering still.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Splinters were flying above, below,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When Nelson sailed the Sound:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Mark you, I wouldn’t be elsewhere now,’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Said he, ‘for a thousand pound!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Admiral’s signal bade him fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But he wickedly wagged his head:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He clapped the glass to his sightless eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ‘I’m damned if I see it!’ he said.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Admirals all, they said their say<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(The echoes are ringing still).<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Admirals all, they went their way<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the haven under the hill.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But they left us a kingdom none can take—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The realm of the circling sea—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To be ruled by the rightful sons of Blake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the Rodneys yet to be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Admirals all, for England’s sake,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Honour be yours and fame!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And honour, as long as waves shall break,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">To Nelson’s peerless name!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Henry Newbolt.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_149"><a id="poemr_CXIII"></a>CXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">DRAKE’S DRUM</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150">150</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Drake he’s in his hammock an’ a thousand mile away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Capten, art tha sleepin’ there below?)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ dreamin’ arl the time o’ Plymouth Hoe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yarnder lumes the island, yarnder lie the ships,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wi’ sailor lads a-dancin’ heel-an’-toe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ the shore-lights flashin’, an’ the night-tide dashin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Drake he was a Devon man, an’ rüled the Devon seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Capten, art tha sleepin’ there below?),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rovin’ tho’ his death fell, he went wi’ heart at ease,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ dreamin’ arl the time o’ Plymouth Hoe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Strike et when your powder’s runnin’ low;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If the Dons sight Devon, I’ll quit the port o’ Heaven,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Drake he’s in his hammock till the great Armadas come,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Capten, art tha sleepin’ there below?),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slung atween the round shot, listenin’ for the drum,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ dreamin’ arl the time o’ Plymouth Hoe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Call him when ye sail to meet the foe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the old trade’s plyin’ an’ the old flag flyin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They shall find him ware an’ wakin’, as they found him long ago!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Henry Newbolt.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_150"><a id="poemr_CXIV"></a>CXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A TOAST</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Drake’s luck to all that sail with Drake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For promised lands of gold!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brave lads, whatever storms may break,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ve weathered worse of old!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-night the loving-cup we’ll drain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-morrow for the Spanish Main!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Henry Newbolt.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_69"><a id="KIPLING"></a>KIPLING</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_150a"><a id="poemr_CXV"></a>CXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE FLAG OF ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151">151</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_152">152</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_153">153</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_154">154</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And what should they know of England who only England know?—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the English Flag.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Must we borrow a clout from the Boer—to plaster anew with dirt?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An Irish liar’s bandage, or an English coward’s shirt?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We may not speak of England? her Flag’s to sell or share.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What is the Flag of England? Winds of the World, declare!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The North Wind blew:—‘From Bergen my steel-shod vanguards go;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I chase your lazy whalers home from the Disko floe;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the great North Lights above me I work the will of God,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the liner splits on the ice-field or the Dogger fills with cod.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">I barred my gates with iron, I shuttered my doors with flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Because to force my ramparts your nutshell navies came;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I took the sun from their presence, I cut them down with my blast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And they died, but the Flag of England blew free ere the spirit passed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The lean white bear hath seen it in the long, long Arctic night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The musk-ox knows the standard that flouts the Northern Light:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my bergs to dare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ye have but my drifts to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The South Wind sighed:—‘From the Virgins my mid-sea course was ta’en<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over a thousand islands lost in an idle main,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the sea-egg flames on the coral and the long-backed breakers croon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their endless ocean legends to the lazy locked lagoon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Strayed amid lonely islets, mazed amid outer keys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I waked the palms to laughter—I tossed the scud in the breeze—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Never was isle so little, never was sea so lone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But over the scud and the palm-trees an English flag was flown.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">I have wrenched it free from the halliard to hang for a wisp on the Horn;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I have chased it North, to the Lizard—ribboned and rolled and torn;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I have spread its fold o’er the dying, adrift in a hopeless sea;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I have hurled it swift on the slaver, and seen the slave set free.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">My basking sunfish know it, and wheeling albatross,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the lone wave fills with fire beneath the Southern Cross.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my reefs to dare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ye have but my seas to furrow. Go forth, for it is there!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The East Wind roared:—‘From the Kuriles, the Bitter Seas, I come,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And me men call the Home-Wind, for I bring the English home.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Look—look well to your shipping! By the breath of my mad typhoon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I swept your close-packed Praya and beached your best at Kowloon!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The reeling junks behind me and the racing seas before,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I raped your richest roadstead—I plundered Singapore!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I set my hand on the Hoogli; as a hooded snake she rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I heaved your stoutest steamers to roost with the startled crows.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Never the lotos closes, never the wild-fowl wake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But a soul goes out on the East Wind that died for England’s sake—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Man or woman or suckling, mother or bride or maid—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Because on the bones of the English the English Flag is stayed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The desert-dust hath dimmed it, the flying wild-ass knows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The scared white leopard winds it across the taintless snows.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my sun to dare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ye have but my sands to travel. Go forth, for it is there!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The West Wind called:—‘In squadrons the thoughtless galleons fly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That bear the wheat and cattle lest street-bred people die.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They make my might their porter, they make my house their path,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I loose my neck from their service and whelm them all in my wrath.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">I draw the gliding fog-bank as a snake is drawn from the hole,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They bellow one to the other, the frighted ship-bells toll:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For day is a drifting terror till I raise the shroud with my breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And they see strange bows above them and the two go locked to death.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">But whether in calm or wrack-wreath, whether by dark or day<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I heave them whole to the conger or rip their plates away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">First of the scattered legions, under a shrieking sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dipping between the rollers, the English Flag goes by.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">The dead dumb fog hath wrapped it—the frozen dews have kissed—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The morning stars have hailed it, a fellow-star in the mist.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What is the Flag of England? Ye have but my breath to dare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ye have but my waves to conquer. Go forth, for it is there!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Rudyard Kipling.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_154"><a id="poemr_CXVI"></a>CXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">RECESSIONAL</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155">155</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God of our fathers, known of old—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lord of our far-flung battle-line—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath Whose awful Hand we hold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dominion over palm and pine—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lest we forget—lest we forget!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The tumult and the shouting dies—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The captains and the kings depart—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An humble and a contrite heart.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lest we forget—lest we forget!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far-called our navies melt away—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On dune and headland sinks the fire—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo, all our pomp of yesterday<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lest we forget—lest we forget!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If, drunk with sight of power, we loose<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such boasting as the Gentiles use<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or lesser breeds without the Law—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lest we forget—lest we forget!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For heathen heart that puts her trust<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In reeking tube and iron shard—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All valiant dust that builds on dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And guarding calls not Thee to guard—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For frantic boast and foolish word,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Rudyard Kipling.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_70"><a id="WATT"></a>WATT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_155"><a id="poemr_CXVII"></a>CXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE GREY MOTHER</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156">156</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lo, how they come to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Long through the night I call them,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah, how they turn to me!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">East and South my children scatter,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">North and West the world they wander,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet they come back to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come with their brave hearts beating,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Longing to die for me,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Me, the grey, old, weary Mother,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Throned amid the northern waters,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where they have died for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Died with their songs around me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Girding my shores for me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Narrow was my dwelling for them,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Homes they builded o’er the ocean,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet they leave all for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hearing their Mother calling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bringing their lives for me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far from South Seas swiftly sailing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out from under stars I know not,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come they to fight for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sons of the sons I nurtured,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God keep them safe for me!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Long ago their fathers saved me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Died for me among the heather,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now they come back to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come, in their children’s children ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brave of the brave for me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the wilds and waves they slumber,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep they slumber in the deserts,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Rise they from graves for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Graves where they lay forgotten,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shades of the brave for me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet my soul is veiled in sadness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For I see them fall and perish,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Strewing the hills for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Claiming the world in dying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bought with their blood for me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hear the grey, old, Northern Mother,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blessing now her dying children,—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God keep you safe for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Christ watch you in your sleeping,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where ye have died for me!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when God’s own slogan soundeth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the dead world’s dust awaking,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, will ye look for me?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bravely we’ll stand together<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I and my sons with me.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Lauchlan MacLean Watt.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157">157</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_71"><a id="BOWLES"></a>BOWLES</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_157" title="CXVIII THE SONG OF THE SNOTTIES"><a id="poemr_CXVIII"></a>CXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE SONG OF THE SNOTTIES<a id="FNanchor_A" href="#Footnote_A" class="fnanchor small">A</a></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158">158</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Listen! my brothers of Eton and Harrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hearken! my brothers of over the seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say! do your class-rooms seem dingy and narrow?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">List to the sound of the sea-scented breeze.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now for a moment if dreary your lot is,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wet bob or dry bob whichever you be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">List to the tale and the song of the snotties,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The song of the snotties who sail on the sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i10">The song of the snotties<br /></span> -<span class="i10">(The poor little snotties),<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Good luck to the snotties wherever they be,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">The dirk and the patches,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">The bruises and scratches,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The song of the snotties who sail on the sea!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Early we left you and late are returning<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Back to the land of our story and birth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Back to the land of our glory and yearning,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Back from the uttermost ends of the earth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hear you the bucket and clang of the brasses<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Working together by perfect decree?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That is the tale of the glory which passes—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That is the song of the snotties at sea!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Often at noon when the gale’s at its strongest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sadly we think of the days that are gone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Often at night when the watches are longest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have your remembrances heartened us on.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the mazes of dim recollection,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still we’ll remember the days that are past,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till, on the hopes of a schoolboy affection,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Death and his angels shall trample at last.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What though the enemy taunt and deride us!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have we forgotten the triumphs of yore?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What if the oceans may seem to divide us!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Brothers, remember the friendship we bore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo! it is finished—the day of probations.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Up! and we stand for the England to be.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, as the Head and the Front of the Nations,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Brothers, your health!—from the snotties at sea!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i10">‘Stand well,’ say the snotties<br /></span> -<span class="i10">(‘Good luck,’ say the snotties),<br /></span> -<span class="i4">‘And wisely and firmly and great shall we be;<br /></span> -<span class="i10">For monarchies tremble,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">And empires dissemble,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But Britain shall stand’—say the snotties at sea!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>George Frederic Stewart Bowles.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_A" href="#FNanchor_A" class="fnanchor">A</a> From <cite>A Gun-Room Ditty Box</cite> (Cassell & Co., 1898). By -permission of author and publishers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159">159</a></span></p></div> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="large"><a id="II"></a>II<br /> - -<span class="subhead">WALES</span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161">161</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_72"><a id="GRAY"></a>GRAY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_161"><a id="poemr_CXIX"></a>CXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BARD</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162">162</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_163">163</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_164">164</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_165">165</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Confusion on thy banners wait!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though fanned by Conquest’s crimson wing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They mock the air with idle state.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Helm, nor hauberk’s twisted mail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor e’en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Cambria’s curse, from Cambria’s tears.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such were the sounds that o’er the crested pride<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As down the steep of Snowdon’s shaggy side<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He wound with toilsome march his long array:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stout Glo’ster stood aghast in speechless trance;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘To arms!’ cried Mortimer, and couched his quivering lance.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">On a rock, whose haughty brow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frowns o’er old Conway’s foaming flood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Robed in the sable garb of woe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With haggard eyes the poet stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Loose his beard, and hoary hair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air),<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And with a master’s hand and prophet’s fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Hark, how each giant oak, and desert cave<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sighs to the torrent’s awful voice beneath!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vocal no more, since Cambria’s fatal day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To high-born Hoel’s harp, or soft Llewellyn’s lay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">‘Cold is Cadwallo’s tongue<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That hushed the stormy main:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Mountains, ye mourn in vain<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Modred, whose magic song<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topt head.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On dreary Arvon’s shore they lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Smeared with gore and ghastly pale:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far, far aloof th’ affrighted ravens sail;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The famished eagle screams and passes by.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ye died amidst your dying country’s cries!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more I weep. They do not sleep.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On yonder cliffs, a grisly band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see them sit; they linger yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Avengers of their native land:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With me in dreadful harmony they join,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Weave the warp and weave the woof,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The winding-sheet of Edward’s race:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give ample room and verge enough<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The characters of hell to trace.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mark the year and mark the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Severn shall re-echo with affright<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The shrieks of death through Berkeley’s roof that ring,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shrieks of an agonizing king!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That tear’st the bowels of thy mangled mate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From thee be born, who o’er thy country hangs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him wait!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Amazement in his van, with Flight combined,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Sorrow’s faded form, and Solitude behind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Mighty victor, mighty lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Low on his funeral couch he lies!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No pitying heart, no eye, afford<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A tear to grace his obsequies.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is the sable warrior fled?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gone to salute the rising morn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While proudly riding o’er the azure realm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Youth on the prow and Pleasure at the helm:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind’s sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That hushed in grim repose expects his evening prey.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘Fill high the sparkling bowl,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rich repast prepare;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Close by the regal chair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fell Thirst and Famine scowl<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A baleful smile upon their baffled guest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heard ye the din of battle bray,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lance to lance and horse to horse?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Long years of havoc urge their destined course,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And through the kindred squadrons mow their way.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ye towers of Julius, London’s lasting shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With many a foul and midnight murder fed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Revere his consort’s faith, his father’s fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And spare the meek usurper’s holy head!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above, below, the rose of snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bristled boar in infant-gore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wallows beneath the thorny shade.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, brothers, bending o’er the accursed loom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Edward, lo! to sudden fate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Weave we the woof; the thread is spun);<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Half of thy heart we consecrate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(The web is wove; the work is done).<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stay, O stay! nor thus forlorn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leave me unblessed, unpitied, here to mourn:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In yon bright track that fires the western skies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They melt, they vanish from my eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But O! what solemn scenes on Snowdon’s height<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia’s issue, hail!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">‘Girt with many a baron bold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sublime their starry fronts they rear;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In bearded majesty, appear.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the midst a form divine!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her eye proclaims her of the Briton line:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Attempered sweet to virgin grace.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What strings symphonious tremble in the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What strains of vocal transport round her play?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bright Rapture calls and, soaring as she sings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-coloured wings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘The verse adorn again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fierce War and faithful Love<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Truth severe, by fairy diction drest.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In buskined measures move<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale Grief and pleasing Pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A voice as of the cherub-choir<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gales from blooming Eden bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And distant warblings lessen on my ear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lost in long futurity expire.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fond impious man, think’st thou yon sanguine cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-morrow he repairs the golden flood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And warms the nations with redoubled ray.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enough for me: with joy I see<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The different doom our fates assign:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be thine Despair and sceptred Care,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To triumph and to die are mine.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He spoke, and headlong from the mountain’s height<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Gray.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_73"><a id="HUNT"></a>HUNT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_165"><a id="poemr_CXX"></a>CXX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">BODRYDDAN</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">O land of Druid and of Bard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Worthy of bearded Time’s regard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quick-blooded, light-voiced, lyric Wales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud with mountains, rich with vales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And of such valour that in thee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was born a third of chivalry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(And is to come again, they say,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blowing its trumpets into day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With sudden earthquake from the ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the midst, great Arthur crown’d),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I used to think of thee and thine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As one of an old faded line<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Living in his hills apart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose pride I knew, but not his heart:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But now that I have seen thy face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy fields, and ever youthful race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And women’s lips of rosiest word<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(So rich they open), and have heard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The harp still leaping in thy halls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quenchless as the waterfalls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know thee full of pulse as strong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the sea’s more ancient song<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And of a sympathy as wide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all this truth, and more beside,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I should have known, had I but seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Flint, thy little shore; and been<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Truth and Dream walk, hand-in-hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bodryddan’s living Fairyland.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>James Henry Leigh Hunt.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166">166</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_74"><a id="HEMANS166"></a>HEMANS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_166"><a id="poemr_CXXI"></a>CXXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE HARP OF WALES</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Harp of the mountain-land! sound forth again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As when the foaming Hirla’s horn was crown’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And warrior hearts beat proudly to the strain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the bright mead at Owain’s feast went round:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wake with the spirit and the power of yore!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Harp of the ancient hills! be heard once more!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy tones are not to cease! The Roman came<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er the blue waters with his thousand oars:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through Mona’s oaks he sent the wasting flame;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Druid shrines lay prostrate on our shores:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All gave their ashes to the wind and sea—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ring out; thou harp! he could not silence thee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy tones are not to cease! The Saxon pass’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His banners floated on Eryri’s gales;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But thou wert heard above the trumpet’s blast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">E’en when his towers rose loftiest o’er the vales!<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>Thine</em> was the voice that cheer’d the brave and free;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They had their hills, their chainless hearts, and thee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Those were dark years!—They saw the valiant fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rank weeds gathering round the chieftain’s board,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hearth left lonely in the ruin’d hall—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet power was <em>thine</em>—a gift in every chord!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Call back that spirit to the days of peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thou noble harp! thy tones are not to cease!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Felicia Hemans.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_166a"><a id="poemr_CXXII"></a>CXXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">PRINCE MADOG’S FAREWELL</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167">167</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Why lingers my gaze where the last hues of day<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the hills of my country in loveliness sleep?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Too fair is the sight for a wand’rer whose way<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lies far o’er the measureless paths of the deep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fall shadows of twilight, and veil the green shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That the heart of the mighty may waver no more!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Why rise in my thoughts, ye free songs of the land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the harp’s lofty soul on each wild wind is borne?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be hush’d! be forgotten! for ne’er shall the land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the minstrel with melody greet my return.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No, no! let your echoes still float on the breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And my heart shall be strong for the conquest of seas!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis not for the land of my sires to give birth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unto bosoms that shrink when their trial is nigh;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Away! we will bear over ocean and earth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A name and a spirit that never shall die.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My course to the winds, to the stars I resign;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But my soul’s quenchless fire, oh, my country, is thine!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Felicia Hemans.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_75"><a id="JONES"></a>JONES</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_167"><a id="poemr_CXXIII"></a>CXXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE MARCH OF THE MEN OF HARLECH</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168">168</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Glyndwr, see thy comet flaming!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hear a heav’nly voice declaiming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the world below proclaiming<br /></span> -<span class="i4">‘Cambria shall be free!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While thy star on high is beaming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soldiers from the mountain teeming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With their spears and lances gleaming,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come to follow thee.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Hear the trumpet sounding,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">While the steeds are bounding!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the gale from hill and dale<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The war-cry is resounding.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Warriors famed in song and story,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Coming from the mountains hoary,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rushing to the field of glory,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Eager for the fray,—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To the valley wending,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Hearths and homes defending<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With their proud and valiant Prince<br /></span> -<span class="i4">From ancient kings descending,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See the mighty host advancing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sunbeams on their helmets dancing!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On his gallant charger prancing<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Glyndwr leads the way.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now to battle they are going,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Every heart with courage glowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pride and passion overflowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In the furious strife;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo, the din of war enrages,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vengeance crowns the hate of ages,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sternly foe with foe engages,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Feeding Death with Life!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Hear the trumpets braying,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the horses neighing!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hot the strife while fiery foes<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Are one another slaying!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Arrows fly as swift as lightning,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shout on shout the tumult height’ning,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Conquest’s ruddy wing is bright’ning<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Helmet, sword and shield;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With their lances flashing,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Warriors wild are crashing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the tyrant’s serried ranks,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Whilst onwards they are dashing!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now the enemy is flying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trampling on the dead and dying;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Victory aloft is crying<br /></span> -<span class="i4">‘Cambria wins the field!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Jones.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_76"><a id="MORRIS"></a>MORRIS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_168"><a id="poemr_CXXIV"></a>CXXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">LLEWELYN AP GRUFFYDD</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169">169</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_170">170</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">After dead centuries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Neglect, derision, scorn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And secular miseries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At last our Cymric race again is born,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Opens again its heavy sleep-worn eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fronts a brighter morn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall then our souls forget,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dazzled by visions of our Wales to Be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Wales that Was, the Wales undying yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old heroic Cymric chivalry?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nay! one we are, indeed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With that dim Britain of our distant sires;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still the same love the patriot’s bosom fires;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the same wounds our loyal spirits bleed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heroes of the past are living still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By each sequestered vale, and cloud-compelling hill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dear heart that wast so strong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To guide the storm of battle year by year,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Last of our Cymric Princes! dauntless King!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose brave soul knew not fear!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou from Eryri’s summits, swooping down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some swift eagle, o’er the affrighted town<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And frowning Norman castles hovering,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Onward didst bear the flag of Victory;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And oft the proud invader dravest back<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In ruin from thy country’s bounds, and far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Didst roll from her the refluent wave of war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till, ’neath the swelling flood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The low fat Lloegrian plains were sunk in blood.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I see thee when thy lonely widowed heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grew weary of its pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In one last desperate onset vain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hurl thyself on thy country’s deadly foes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From north to south the swift rebellion sped,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The castles fell, the land arose;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wales reared once more her weary war-worn head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through triumph and defeat, a chequered sum,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the sure end should come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The traitorous ambush, and the murderous spear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still ’mid the cloistered glories of Cwmhir,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hear the chants sung for the kingly dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Cambria mourned thy dear dishonoured head.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Strong son of Wales! thy fate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not without tears, our Cymric memories keep;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our faithful, unforgetting natures weep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ancestral fallen Great.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not with the stalwart arm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">After our age-long peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We serve her now, nor keen uplifted sword,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But with the written or the spoken word<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would fain her power increase;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Light we strive to spread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is Knowledge, and its power<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes not from captured town or leaguered tower.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A closer brotherhood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unites the Cymric and the Anglian blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet separate, side by side they dwell, not one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Distinct till Time be done.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But we who in that peaceful victory<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our faith, our hope repose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With grateful hearts, Llewelyn, think of thee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who fought’st our country’s foes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose generous hand was open to reward<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dauntless patriot bard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who loved’st the arts of peace, yet knew’st through life<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only incessant strife;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who ne’er like old Iorwerth’s happier son,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Didst rest from battles won,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But strovest for us still, and not in vain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since from that ancient pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">After six centuries, Wales of thy love<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Feels through her veins new patriot currents move,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from thy ashes, like the Phœnix springs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Skyward on soaring wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fronts, grown stronger for the days that were,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whatever Fortune, ’neath God’s infinite air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fate and the Years prepare!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Lewis Morris.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171">171</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_77"><a id="JONES171"></a>JONES</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_171"><a id="poemr_CXXV"></a>CXXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">RHUDDLAN MARSH</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Arvon’s heights hide the bright sun from our gazing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night’s dark pall enshrouds all in its embracing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still as death—not a breath mars the deep silence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On mine ear waves roll near with soft hush’d cadence.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O the start of my heart’s quick palpitating,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Anger’s thrill doth me fill when meditating<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the day when the fray crushed the brave Cambrian,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, through guile, pile on pile heaped Morfa Rhuddlan!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">See, at once Britain’s sons’ bosoms are swelling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each face hot with fierce thought from each heart welling;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strong arms bare through the air fierce blows are dealing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the foes with the blows serried are reeling!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the day Britons pray in their great anguish,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Thou, on high, hear our cry—help us to vanquish!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hedge around the dear ground of our lov’d Britain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Speed our host, or we’re lost on Morfa Rhuddlan!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like a dart through my heart anguish is flowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark, how loud, fierce, and proud is the foes’ crowing!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, O host, do not boast as of aught glorious,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twas thy swarms, not thine arms, made thee victorious!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See, yon scores at their doors watching in terrors,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full of care for the fare of their lov’d warriors!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up the rocks quickly flock sire, child, and woman,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each heart bleeds for the deeds on Morfa Rhuddlan.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Richard Bellis Jones.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172">172</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_78"><a id="JONES172"></a>JONES</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_172"><a id="poemr_CXXVI"></a>CXXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">LIBERTY</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">See, see where royal Snowdon rears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her hoary head above her peers<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To cry that Wales is free!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O hills which guard our liberties,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With outstretched arms to where you rise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all your pride, I turn my eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And echo, ‘Wales is free!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er giant Idris’ lofty seat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er Berwyn and Plynlimon great<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hills which round them lower meet,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Blow winds of liberty.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like the breezes high and strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which through the cloudwrack sweep along,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each dweller in this land of song<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Is free, is free, is free!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Never, O Freedom, let sweet sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over that wretch’s eyelids creep<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who bears with wrong and shame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make him to feel thy spirit high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like a hero, do or die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And smite the arm of tyranny,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And lay its haunts aflame,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rather than peace which makes thee slave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rise, Europe, rise, and draw thy glaive,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lay foul oppression in its grave<br /></span> -<span class="i4">No more the light to see!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then heavenward turn thy grateful gaze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like the rolling thunder raise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy triumph-song of joy and praise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To God—that thou art free!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Edmund Osborne Jones.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173">173</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_173"><a id="poemr_CXXVII"></a>CXXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE POETS OF WALES</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dear Cymru, mid thy mountains soaring high<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dwells genius basking in thy quiet air,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And heavenly shades, and solitude more rare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all wrapt round with fullest harmony<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of streams which fall afar. Thus pleasantly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Neath Nature their fit foster-mother’s care,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy children learn from infant hours to bear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And work the will of God. Thy scenery<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So varied-wild, so strangely sweet and strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Works on them and to music moulds their mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till flows their fancy in poetic rills.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The voice of Nature breathes in every song;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we may read therein thy features kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As in some tarn that nestles ’neath thy hills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy fragrant breezes wander through the maze<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of all their songs as through a woodland reach;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their odes drop sweetness like the ripening peach<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In laden orchards on late summer days.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their work is Nature’s own—not theirs the praise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By culture won which midnight studies teach;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sounds the loud cataract in their sonorous speech,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And strikes the keynote of their tuneful lays.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As to remotest ages in the past<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We trace thy joyous story, more and more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bards won high honour mid thy hills and vales.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So, Cymru, while this world of ours shall last,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ocean echoing beat upon thy shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May poets never cease to sing for Wales!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Edmund Osborne Jones.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175">175</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="large"><a id="III"></a>III<br /> - -<span class="subhead">SCOTLAND</span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177">177</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_79"><a id="RAMSAY"></a>RAMSAY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_177"><a id="poemr_CXXVIII"></a>CXXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">FAREWELL TO LOCHABER</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fareweel to Lochaber, fareweel to my Jean,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where heartsome wi’ her I ha’e mony days been;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll maybe return to Lochaber no more.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These tears that I shed, they are a’ for my dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And no’ for the dangers attending on weir;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though borne on rough seas to a far distant shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though hurricanes rage, and rise ev’ry wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They’ll ne’er make a tempest like that in my mind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though loudest of thunders on louder waves roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That’s naething like leaving my love on the shore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To leave thee behind me, my heart is sair pain’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But by ease that’s inglorious no fame can be gained;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And beauty and love’s the reward of the brave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I maun deserve it before I can crave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since honour commands me, how can I refuse?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Without it, I ne’er can have merit for thee;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, wanting thy favour, I’d better not be.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I gae then, my lass, to win glory and fame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if I should chance to come glorious hame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll bring a heart to thee with love running o’er,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then I’ll leave thee and Lochaber no more.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Allan Ramsay.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_80"><a id="ELLIOT"></a>ELLIOT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_177a"><a id="poemr_CXXIX"></a>CXXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A LAMENT FOR FLODDEN</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178">178</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’ve heard the liltin’ at our ewe-milkin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lasses a liltin’ before dawn o’ day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But now there’s a moanin’ on ilka green loanin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At buchts in the mornin’, nae blythe lads are scornin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lasses are lanely, and dowie, and wae;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nae daffin’, nae gabbin’, but sighin’ and sabbin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ilk ane lifts her laiglin and hies her away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In har’st at the shearin’, nae youths now are jeerin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bandsters are runkled, and lyart and gray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At fair or at preachin’, nae wooin’, nae fleechin’,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At e’en, in the gloamin’, nae swankies are roamin’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Bout stacks, ’mang the lassies at bogle to play;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But each ane sits dreary, lamentin’ her dearie,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The English for ance by guile wan the day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The prime of our land now lie cauld in the clay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We’ll hear nae mair liltin’ at our ewe-milkin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Women and bairns are dowie and wae;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sighin’ and moanin’ on ilka green loanin’,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Jean Elliott.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_81"><a id="GRANT"></a>GRANT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_178"><a id="poemr_CXXX"></a>CXXX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE HIGHLAND LADDIE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179">179</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He’s gone with streaming banners, where noble deeds are done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He dwelt beneath the holly trees, beside the rapid Spey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a blessing follow’d him, the day he went away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a plaid across the manly breast that yet shall wear a star.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Suppose, ah suppose, that some cruel, cruel wound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should pierce your Highland laddie, and all your hopes confound?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners round him fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in his eye.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland’s bonnie bounds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland’s bonnie bounds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While wide through all our Highland hills his warlike name resounds.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anne Macivar Grant.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180">180</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_82"><a id="BURNS"></a>BURNS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_180"><a id="poemr_CXXXI"></a>CXXXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">MY HEARTS IN THE HIGHLANDS</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The birth-place of valour, the country of worth!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Farewell to the mountains high cover’d with snow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Farewell to the straths and green valleys below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Burns.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_180a"><a id="poemr_CXXXII"></a>CXXXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181">181</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Welcome to your gory bed<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or to victorie!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now’s the day, and now’s the hour:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See the front o’ battle lour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See approach proud Edward’s power—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Chains and slaverie!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wha will be a traitor knave?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wha can fill a coward’s grave?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wha sae base as be a slave?—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Let him turn, and flee!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wha for Scotland’s King and Law<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Freeman stand or freeman fa’,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Let him follow me!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By Oppression’s woes and pains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By your sons in servile chains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We will drain our dearest veins<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But they shall be free!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lay the proud usurpers low!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tyrants fall in every foe!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Liberty’s in every blow!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Let us do, or die!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Burns.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_181"><a id="poemr_CXXXIII"></a>CXXXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182">182</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Does haughty Gaul invasion threat?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then let the loons beware, Sir,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s wooden walls upon our seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And volunteers on shore, Sir!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Nith shall run to Corsincon,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Criffel sink in Solway,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere we permit a foreign foe<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On British ground to rally!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O let us not, like snarling tykes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In wrangling be divided,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till, slap! come in an unco loun,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And wi’ a rung decide it!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be Britain still to Britain true,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Amang oursels united!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For never but by British hands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Maun British wrangs be righted!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The kettle o’ the Kirk and State,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Perhaps a clout may fail in’t;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Deil a foreign tinkler loon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall ever ca’ a nail in’t!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our fathers’ blude the kettle bought,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And wha wad dare to spoil it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Heav’ns! the sacrilegious dog<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall fuel be to boil it!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wretch that wad a tyrant own,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the wretch, his true-sworn brother,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who would set the mob above the throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May they be damned together!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who will not sing ‘God save the King,’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall hang as high’s the steeple;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But while we sing ‘God Save the King,’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’ll ne’er forget the People!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Burns.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_182"><a id="poemr_CXXXIV"></a>CXXXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THEIR GROVES O’ SWEET MYRTLE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far dearer to me yon lone glen o’ green breckan,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wi’ the burn stealing under the lang, yellow broom;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly, unseen;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there, lightly tripping amang the white flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A-list’ning the linnet, aft wanders my Jean.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tho’ rich is the breeze in their gay, sunny vallies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And cauld Caledonia’s blast on the wave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What are they?—the haunt of the tyrant and slave!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The slave’s spicy forests and gold-bubbling fountains<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The brave Caledonian views wi’ disdain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Save Love’s willing fetters—the chains o’ his Jean.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Burns.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183">183</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_83"><a id="SCOTT183"></a>SCOTT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_183"><a id="poemr_CXXXV"></a>CXXXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE OUTCAST</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who never to himself hath said,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This is my own, my native land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As home his footsteps he hath turned,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From wandering on a foreign strand!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If such there breathe, go, mark him well;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From him no minstrel raptures swell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High though his titles, proud his name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Despite those titles, power, and pelf,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wretch, concentred all in self,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Living, shall forfeit fair renown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, doubly dying, shall go down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_183a"><a id="poemr_CXXXVI"></a>CXXXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">FLODDEN FIELD</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184">184</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_185">185</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By this, though deep the evening fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still rose the battle’s deadly swell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For still the Scots around their king,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unbroken, fought in desperate ring.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where’s now their victor waward wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where Huntly, and where Home?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, for a blast of that dread horn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Fontarabian echoes borne,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That to King Charles did come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Rowland brave, and Olivier,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every paladin and peer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On Roncesvalles died!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such blast might warn them, not in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To quit the plunder of the slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And turn the doubtful day again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While yet on Flodden side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Afar, the Royal Standard flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our Caledonian pride!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But as they left the dark’ning heath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More desperate grew the strife of death.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The English shafts in volleys hail’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In headlong charge their horse assail’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To break the Scottish circle deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That fought around their king.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But yet, though thick the shafts as snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unbroken was the ring;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stubborn spearmen still made good<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their dark impenetrable wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each stepping where his comrade stood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The instant that he fell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No thought was there of dastard flight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Link’d in the serried phalanx tight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As fearlessly and well;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till utter darkness closed her wing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er their thin host and wounded king.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then skilful Surrey’s sage commands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Led back from strife his shattered bands;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And from the charge they drew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweep back to ocean blue.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then did their loss his foemen know;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their king, their lords, their mightiest low,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They melted from the field as snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When streams are swoln and south winds blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dissolves in silent dew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tweed’s echoes heard the ceaseless plash,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While many a broken band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Disorder’d, through her currents dash,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To gain the Scottish land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To town and tower, to down and dale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To tell red Flodden’s dismal tale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And raise the universal wail.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tradition, legend, time, and song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall many an age that wail prolong:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still from the sire the son shall hear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the stern strife, and carnage drear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Flodden’s fatal field,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When shiver’d was fair Scotland’s spear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And broken was her shield!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_185"><a id="poemr_CXXXVII"></a>CXXXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">GATHERING-SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186">186</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pibroch of Donuil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wake thy wild voice anew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Summon Clan-Conuil.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come away, come away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hark to the summons!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come in your war array,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gentles and commons.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come from deep glen and<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From mountain so rocky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The war-pipe and pennon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are at Inverlocky.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come every hill-plaid and<br /></span> -<span class="i2">True heart that wears one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come every steel blade and<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Strong hand that bears one.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Leave untended the herd,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The flock without shelter;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leave the corpse uninterred,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bride at the altar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leave the deer, leave the steer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leave nets and barges:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come with your fighting gear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Broadswords and targes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come as the winds come when<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forests are rended,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come as the waves come when<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Navies are stranded:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faster come, faster come,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Faster and faster,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chief, vassal, page and groom,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tenant and master.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fast they come, fast they come;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">See how they gather!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wide waves the eagle plume<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blended with heather.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cast your plaids, draw your blades,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forward each man set!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Knell for the onset!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_186"><a id="poemr_CXXXVIII"></a>CXXXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">OVER THE BORDER</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Many a banner spread,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Flutters above your head,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Many a crest that is famous in story;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Mount and make ready then,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Sons of the mountain glen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fight for the Queen and the old Scottish glory!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Trumpets are sounding,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">War-steeds are bounding,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stand to your arms then, and march in good order,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">England shall many a day<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Tell of the bloody fray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187">187</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_187"><a id="poemr_CXXXIX"></a>CXXXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">BONNIE DUNDEE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188">188</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere the King’s crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come follow the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come open the West Port, and let me gang free,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And it’s room for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the Provost, douce man, said, ‘Just e’en let him be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonnie Dundee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was crammed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e’e,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As they watched for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At the toss of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the love of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Gordon demands of him which way he goes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Where’er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If there’s lords in the lowlands, there’s chiefs in the North;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will cry <em>Hoigh!</em> for the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There’s brass on the target of barkened bull-hide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s steel in the scabbard that dangles beside;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At a toss of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere I own a usurper, I’ll couch with the fox;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till on Ravelston’s cliffs and on Clermiston’s lee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Died away the wild war-notes of Bonnie Dundee.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come saddle the horses, and call up the men,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come open the gates, and let me gae free,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For it’s up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189">189</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_189"><a id="poemr_CXL"></a>CXL<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">WAR-SONG</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190">190</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To horse! to horse! the standard flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The bugles sound the call;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Gallic navy stems the seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The voice of battle’s on the breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Arouse ye, one and all!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From high Dunedin’s towers we come,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A band of brothers true;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our casques the leopard’s spoils surround,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Scotland’s hardy thistle crown’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">We boast the red and blue.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though tamely crouch to Gallia’s frown,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Dull Holland’s tardy train;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their ravish’d toys though Romans mourn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And, foaming, gnaw the chain;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! had they mark’d the avenging call<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Their brethren’s murder gave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Disunion ne’er their ranks had mown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor patriot valour desperate grown,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sought freedom in the grave!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In Freedom’s temple born,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dress our pale cheek in timid smile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hail a master in our isle,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or brook a victor’s scorn?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No! though destruction o’er the land<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come pouring as a flood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun, that sees our falling day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall mark our sabres’ deadly sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And set that night in blood.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For gold let Gallia’s legions fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or plunder’s bloody gain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To guard our king, to fence our law,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Nor shall their edge be vain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If ever breath of British gale<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Shall fan the tricolor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or footstep of invader rude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With rapine foul, and red with blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Pollute our happy shore—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then farewell home! and farewell friends!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Adieu each tender tie!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Resolved, we mingle in the tide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where charging squadrons furious ride,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To conquer or to die.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">High sounds our bugle call;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Combined by honour’s sacred tie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our word is <em>Laws and Liberty</em>!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">March forward, one and all!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Walter Scott.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_84"><a id="LEYDEN"></a>LEYDEN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_190"><a id="poemr_CXLI"></a>CXLI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ODE ON VISITING FLODDEN</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191">191</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_192">192</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Green Flodden! on thy bloodstained head<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Descend no rain or vernal dew;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But still, thou charnel of the dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">May whitening bones thy surface strew!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Soon as I tread thy rush-clad vale,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wild fancy feels the clasping mail;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rancour of a thousand years<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Glows in my breast; again I burn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To see the banner’d pomp of war return,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mark, beneath the moon, the silver light of spears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Lo! bursting from their common tomb,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The spirits of the ancient dead<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dimly streak the parted gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With awful faces, ghastly red;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As once, around their martial king,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They closed the death-devoted ring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With dauntless hearts, unknown to yield;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In slow procession round the pile<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of heaving corses, moves each shadowy file,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And chants, in solemn strain, the dirge of Flodden Field.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">What youth, of graceful form and mien,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Foremost leads the spectred brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While o’er his mantle’s folds of green<br /></span> -<span class="i4">His amber locks redundant wave?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When slow returns the fated day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That viewed their chieftain’s long array,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild to the harp’s deep plaintive string,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The virgins raise the funeral strain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Ord’s black mountain to the northern main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mourn the emerald hue which paints the vest of spring!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Alas! that Scottish maid should sing<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The combat where her lover fell!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That Scottish bard should wake the string,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The triumph of our foes to tell!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet Teviot’s sons, with high disdain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have kindled at the thrilling strain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That mourn’d their martial fathers’ bier;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And at the sacred font, the priest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through ages left the master-hand unblessed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To urge, with keener aim, the blood-encrusted spear.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Red Flodden! when thy plaintive strain<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In early youth rose soft and sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My life-blood, through each throbbing vein,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With wild tumultuous passion beat;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And oft in fancied might, I trode<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The spear-strewn path to Fame’s abode,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Encircled with a sanguine flood;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And thought I heard the mingling hum,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When, croaking hoarse, the birds of carrion come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Afar, on rustling wing, to feast on English blood.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Rude Border Chiefs, of mighty name,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And iron soul, who sternly tore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The blossoms from the tree of fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And purpled deep their tints with gore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rush from brown ruins, scarr’d with age,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That frown o’er haunted Hermitage;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, long by spells mysterious bound,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They pace their round, with lifeless smile,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And shake, with restless foot, the guilty pile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till sink the mouldering towers beneath the burdened ground.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Shades of the dead! on Alfer’s plain<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who scorned with backward step to move,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But struggling ’mid the hills of slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Against the Sacred Standard strove;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Amid the lanes of war I trace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Each broad claymore and ponderous mace:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where’er the surge of arms is tost,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your glittering spears, in close array,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweep, like the spider’s filmy web, away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flower of Norman pride, and England’s victor host.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">But distant fleets each warrior ghost,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With surly sounds that murmur far;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Such sounds were heard when Syria’s host<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Roll’d from the walls of proud Samàr.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Around my solitary head<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gleam the blue lightnings of the dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While murmur low the shadowy band—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Lament no more the warrior’s doom!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blood, blood alone, should dew the hero’s tomb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who falls, ’mid circling spears, to save his native land.’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Leyden.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193">193</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_85"><a id="CUNNINGHAM193"></a>CUNNINGHAM</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_193"><a id="poemr_CXLII"></a>CXLII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">LOYALTY</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the flower is i’ the bud and the leaf is on the tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For it’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The green leaf o’ loyaltie’s begun for to fa’,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bonnie white rose it is witherin’ an’ a’,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I’ll water’t wi’ the blude of usurpin’ tyrannie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ green it will grow in my ain countrie.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For it’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The great are now gane, a’ wha ventured to save;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The new grass is springin’ on the tap o’ their grave:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the sun thro’ the mirk blinks blythe in my e’e,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I’ll shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For it’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Allan Cunningham.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_86"><a id="ANONYMOUS193"></a>ANONYMOUS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_193a"><a id="poemr_CXLIII"></a>CXLIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMIN’</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194">194</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Campbells are comin’, O-ho!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Campbells are comin’ to bonnie Lochleven!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon the Lomonds I lay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I lookit doun to bonnie Lochleven,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ saw three perches play.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Great Argyll he goes before;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He makes the cannons an’ guns to roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wi’ sound of trumpet, pipe, and drum;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Campbells they are a’ in arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their loyal faith and truth to show,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wi’ banners rattlin’ in the wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_87"><a id="GILFILLAN"></a>GILFILLAN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_194"><a id="poemr_CXLIV"></a>CXLIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">MY AIN COUNTRIE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195">195</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! why left I my hame?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Why did I cross the deep?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! why left I the land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where my forefathers sleep?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I sigh for Scotia’s shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I gaze across the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I canna get a blink<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’ my ain countrie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The palm-tree waveth high,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fair the myrtle springs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to the Indian maid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bulbul sweetly sings.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I dinna see the broom,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wi’ its tassels on the lea;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor hear the linties’ sang<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’ my ain countrie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! here no Sabbath bell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Awakes the Sabbath morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor sang of reapers heard<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Amang the yellow corn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the tyrant’s voice is here,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the wail o’ slaverie;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the sun o’ freedom shines<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In my ain countrie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There’s a hope for every woe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a balm for every pain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the first joys of our heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come never back again.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s a track upon the deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a path across the sea;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But for me there’s nae return<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To my ain countrie.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Gilfillan.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_88"><a id="STEVENSON"></a>STEVENSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_195"><a id="poemr_CXLV"></a>CXLV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">IN THE HIGHLANDS</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the Highlands, in the country places,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the old plain men have rosy faces,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the young fair maidens<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quiet eyes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where essential silence cheers and blesses,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And for ever in the hill-recesses<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>Her</em> more lovely music<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Broods and dies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O to mount again where erst I haunted;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the old red hills are bird-enchanted;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the low green meadows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bright with sward;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when even dies, the million-tinted,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the night has come, and planets glinted,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo, the valley hollow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lamp-bestarred!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O to dream, O to awake and wander<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, and with delight to take and render,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the trance of silence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quiet breath;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo! for there, among the flowers and grasses,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only the mightier movement sounds and passes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only the winds and rivers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life and death.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Louis Stevenson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196">196</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_196"><a id="poemr_CXLVI"></a>CXLVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">EXILED</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are crying,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My heart remembers how!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Grey recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Standing stones on the vacant wine-red moor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hills of sheep, and the homes of the silent vanished races,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And winds, austere and pure:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Be it granted to me to behold you again in dying,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hills of home! and to hear again the call;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hear about the graves of the martyrs the peewees crying,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And hear no more at all!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Louis Stevenson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_89"><a id="MUNRO"></a>MUNRO</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_196a"><a id="poemr_CXLVII"></a>CXLVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">TO EXILES</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197">197</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Are you not weary in your distant places,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Far, far from Scotland of the mist of storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In stagnant airs, the sun-smite on your faces,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The days so long and warm?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all around you lie the strange fields sleeping,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The ghastly woods where no dear memories roam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do not your sad hearts over seas come leaping<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the Highlands and the Lowlands of your home?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wild cries the Winter, loud through all our valleys<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The midnights roar, the grey noons echo back;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About the scalloped coasts the eager galleys<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beat for kind harbours from the horizons black;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We tread the miry roads, the rain-drenched heather,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We are the men, we battle, we endure!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God’s pity for you, exiles, in your weather<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of swooning winds, calm seas, and skies demure!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wild cries the Winter, and we walk song-haunted<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over the hills and by the thundering falls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or where the dirge of a brave past is chaunted<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In dolorous dusks by immemorial walls.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though hails may beat us and the great mists blind us,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And lightning rend the pine-tree on the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet are we strong, yet shall the morning find us<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Children of tempest all unshaken still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We wander where the little grey towns cluster<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deep in the hills or selvedging the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By farm-lands lone, by woods where wild-fowl muster<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To shelter from the day’s inclemency;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And night will come, and then far through the darkling<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A light will shine out in the sounding glen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it will mind us of some fond eye’s sparkling,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we’ll be happy then.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let torrents pour, then, let the great winds rally,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Snow-silence fall or lightning blast the pine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That light of home shines warmly in the valley,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, exiled son of Scotland, it is thine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far have you wandered over seas of longing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And now you drowse, and now you well may weep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all the recollections come a-thronging,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of this rude country where your fathers sleep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They sleep, but still the hearth is warmly glowing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While the wild Winter blusters round their land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That light of home, the wind so bitter blowing—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Look, look and listen, do you understand?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love, strength, and tempest—oh, come back and share them!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here is the cottage, here the open door;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We have the hearts, although we do not bare them,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They’re yours, and you are ours for evermore.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Neil Munro.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198">198</a></span></p> - -<h2 class="large"><a id="JACOBITE_SONGS"></a><span class="smaller">JACOBITE SONGS</span></h2> - -<hr class="wide" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_90"><a id="ANONYMOUS198"></a>ANONYMOUS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_198"><a id="poemr_CXLVIII"></a>CXLVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE KING OVER THE WATER</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bonnie Charlie’s noo awa’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Safely o’er the friendly main;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mony a heart will break in twa,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Should he ne’er come back again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Will ye no’ come back again?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Will ye no’ come back again?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Better lo’ed ye canna be—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Will ye no’ come back again?<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hills he trod were a’ his ain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And bed beneath the birken tree;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bush that hid him on the plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There’s none on earth can claim but he.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sweet the laverock’s note and lang,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Liltin’ wildly up the glen;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But he sings nae ither sang<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than ‘Will ye no come back again?’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whene’er I hear the blackbird sing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unto the e’enin’ sinkin’ down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or merle that makes the woods to ring,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To me they hae nae ither soun’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Than—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Will ye no come back again?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Will ye no come back again?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Better lo’ed ye canna be—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Will ye no come back again?<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199">199</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_199"><a id="poemr_CXLIX"></a>CXLIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">WELCOME, ROYAL CHARLIE!</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Oh! he was lang o’ comin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Lang, lang, lang o’ comin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Oh! he was lang o’ comin!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Welcome, Royal Charlie!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When he on Moidart’s shore did stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The friends he had within the land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Came down and shook him by the hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And welcomed Royal Charlie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dress that our Prince Charlie had,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was bonnet blue, and tartan plaid;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And O! he was a handsome lad,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A true king’s son was Charlie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">But oh! he was lang o’ comin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Lang, lang, lang o’ comin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Oh! he was lang o’ comin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Welcome, Royal Charlie!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_199a"><a id="poemr_CL"></a>CL<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">CAM’ YE BY ATHOL?</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200">200</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cam’ ye by Athol, lad wi’ the philabeg,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down by the Tummel, or banks of the Garry?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saw ye the lads wi’ their bonnets an’ white cockades,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i6">Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee?<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Lang hast thou lo’ed an’ trusted us fairly!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee?<br /></span> -<span class="i8">King o’ the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hae but ae son, my gallant young Donald;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But if I had ten they should follow Glengarry;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Health to Macdonald an’ gallant Clanronald,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These are the men that will die for their Charlie!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’ll to Lochiel an’ Appin, an’ kneel to them;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down by Lord Murray an’ Roy o’ Kildarlie;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brave Macintosh, he shall fly to the fiel’ wi’ them;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These are the lads I can trust wi’ my Charlie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Down thro’ the Lowlands, down wi’ the Whigamore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Loyal true Highlanders, down wi’ them rarely;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ronald an’ Donald drive on wi’ the braid claymore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over the necks o’ the foes o’ Prince Charlie!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i6">Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee?<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Lang hast thou lo’ed an’ trusted us fairly!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee?<br /></span> -<span class="i8">King o’ the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_200"><a id="poemr_CLI"></a>CLI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">LADY KEITH’S LAMENT</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201">201</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I may sit in my wee croo house,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At the rock and the reel to toil fu’ dreary;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I may think on the day that’s gane,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sigh and sab till I grow weary.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I ne’er could brook, I ne’er could brook,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A foreign loon to own or flatter;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I will sing a rantin’ sang,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That day our king comes owre the water.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O gin I live to see the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That I hae begg’d, and begg’d frae Heaven,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll fling my rock and reel away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And dance and sing frae morn till even:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there is are I winna name,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That comes the reigning bike to scatter;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I’ll put on my bridal gown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That day our king comes owre the water.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hae seen the gude auld day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The day o’ pride and chieftain glory,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When royal Stuarts bare the sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ne’er heard tell o’ Whig nor Tory.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tho’ lyart be my locks and grey,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And eild has crooked me down—what matter?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll dance and sing anither day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That day our king comes owre the water.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A curse on dull and drawling Whig,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The whining, ranting, low deceiver,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wi’ heart sae black, and look sae big,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And canting tongue o’ clishmaclaver!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My father was a good lord’s son,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My mother was an earl’s daughter,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I’ll be Lady Keith again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That day our king comes owre the water.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_91"><a id="BURNS201"></a>BURNS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_201"><a id="poemr_CLII"></a>CLII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">O’ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">We’ll o’er the water, we’ll o’er the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">We’ll o’er the water to Charlie!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come weal, come woe, we’ll gather and go,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And live and die wi’ Charlie.<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come, boat me o’er, come row me o’er,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come boat me o’er to Charlie!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll gie John Ross another bawbee<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To boat me o’er to Charlie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I lo’e weel my Charlie’s name,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though some there be abhor him;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, O! to see Auld Nick gaun hame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Charlie’s foes before him!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I swear and vow by moon and stars<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sun that shines so early,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I had twenty thousand lives,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I’d die as aft for Charlie!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">We’ll o’er the water, we’ll o’er the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">We’ll o’er the water to Charlie!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Come weal, come woe, we’ll gather and go,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And live and die wi’ Charlie!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Burns.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202">202</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_202"><a id="poemr_CLIII"></a>CLIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A SONG OF EXILE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Frae the friends and land I love<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Driv’n by Fortune’s felly spite,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frae my best belov’d I rove,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Never mair to taste delight!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never mair maun hope to find<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ease frae toil, relief frae care.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When remembrance wracks the mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pleasures but unveil despair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Brightest climes shall mirk appear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Desert ilka blooming shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the Fates, nae mair severe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Friendship, love, and peace restore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till Revenge with laurell’d head<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bring our banish’d hame again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ilk loyal, bonnie lad<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cross the seas, and win his ain!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Burns.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_202a"><a id="poemr_CLIV"></a>CLIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">KENMURE’S MARCH</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203">203</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, Kenmure’s on and awa, Willie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O, Kenmure’s on and awa!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ Kenmure’s lord’s the bravest lord<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That ever Galloway saw!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Success to Kenmure’s band, Willie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Success to Kenmure’s band!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s no a heart that fears a Whig<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That rides by Kenmure’s hand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine, Willie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There ne’er was a coward o’ Kenmure’s blude,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor yet o’ Gordon’s line.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, Kenmure’s lads are men, Willie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O, Kenmure’s lads are men!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their hearts and swords are metal true,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And that their faes shall ken.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They’ll live or die wi’ fame, Willie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They’ll live or die wi’ fame!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But soon wi’ sounding Victorie<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May Kenmure’s lord come hame!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here’s him that’s far awa, Willie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here’s him that’s far awa!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here’s the flower that I lo’e best—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rose that’s like the sna!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Burns.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_203"><a id="poemr_CLV"></a>CLV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A JACOBITE’S FAREWELL</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204">204</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It was a’ for our rightfu’ king<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We left fair Scotland’s strand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was a’ for our rightfu’ king,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We e’er saw Irish land,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">My dear—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We e’er saw Irish land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now a’ is done that men can do,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a’ is done in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My Love and Native Land fareweel,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For I maun cross the main,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">My dear—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For I maun cross the main.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He turn’d him right and round about<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon the Irish shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gae his bridle reins a shake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With adieu for evermore,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">My dear—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And adieu for evermore!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The soger frae the wars returns,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sailor frae the main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I hae parted frae my love<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Never to meet again,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">My dear—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Never to meet again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When day is gane, and night is come,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a’ folk bound to sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think on him that’s far awa<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lee-lang night, and weep,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">My dear—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lee-lang night and weep.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Burns.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_92"><a id="NAIRN"></a>NAIRN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_204"><a id="poemr_CLVI"></a>CLVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">CHARLIE IS MY DARLING</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i0">Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! Charlie is my darling, the young Chevalier!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">As he cam’ marchin’ up the street,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The pipes played loud and clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">An’ a’ the folk cam’ rinnin’ oot<br /></span> -<span class="i8">To meet the Chevalier.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">Wi’ Hieland bonnets on their heads,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">An’ claymores bricht an’ clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">They cam’ to fecht for Scotland’s richt,<br /></span> -<span class="i8">An’ the young Chevalier.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">They’ve left their bonnie Hieland hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Their wives and bairnies dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">To draw the sword for Scotland’s lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i8">The young Chevalier.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i0">Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! Charlie is my darling, the young Chevalier!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Lady Nairn.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205">205</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_205"><a id="poemr_CLVII"></a>CLVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">WHA’LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The news frae Moidart cam’ yestreen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will soon gar mony ferlie;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ships o’ war hae just come in,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And landed Royal Charlie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Come through the heather, around him gather,<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Ye’re a’ the welcomer early;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Around him cling wi’ a’ your kin;<br /></span> -<span class="i8">For wha’ll be King but Charlie?<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Hieland clans wi’ sword in hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Frae John o’ Groats to Airlie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hae to a man declared to stand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or fa’ wi’ Royal Charlie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There’s ne’er a lass in a’ the land,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But vows both late an’ early,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To man she’ll ne’er gie heart or han’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then here’s a health to Charlie’s cause,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ be’t complete an’ early;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His very name our hearts’ blood warms—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To arms for Royal Charlie!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Come through the heather, around him gather,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Come Ronald, come Donald, come a’ thegither,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And claim your rightfu’, lawfu’ King,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">For wha’ll be King but Charlie?<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Lady Nairn.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_93"><a id="GLEN"></a>GLEN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_205a"><a id="poemr_CLVIII"></a>CLVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">WAE’S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206">206</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A wee bird cam’ to our ha’ door,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He warbled sweet an’ clearly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ aye the o’ercome o’ his sang,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! when I heard the bonnie, bonnie bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The tears cam’ droppin’ rarely;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I took my bonnet aff my head,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For weel I lo’ed Prince Charlie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Quoth I, ‘My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is that a sang ye borrow?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are these some words ye’ve learnt by heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or a lilt o’ dool an’ sorrow?’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘O! no, no, no,’ the wee bird sang,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘I’ve flown sin’ mornin’ early,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But sic a day o’ wind an’ rain—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oh! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On hills that are by right his ain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He roams a lonely stranger,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On ilka hand he’s press’d by want,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On ilka side by danger:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yestreen I met him in a glen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My heart maist burstit fairly;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For sairly changed indeed was he—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dark night cam’ on, the tempest roar’d<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cauld o’er the hills an’ valleys;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ whaur was’t that your prince lay down,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whase hame should be a palace?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He row’d him in a Hieland plaid,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which cover’d him but sparely,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An’ slept beneath a bush o’ broom—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But now the bird saw some red-coats,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An’ he shook his wings wi’ anger;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘O! this is no a land for me;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I’ll tarry here nae langer.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A while he hover’d on the wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ere he departed fairly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But weel I mind the fareweel strain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Glen.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207">207</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_94"><a id="BOULTON"></a>BOULTON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_207"><a id="poemr_CLIX"></a>CLIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">SKYE BOAT-SONG</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">‘Onward’ the sailors cry;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Carry the lad that’s born to be king<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Over the sea to Skye!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thunder-clouds rend the air;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Follow they will not dare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ocean’s a royal bed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Watch by your weary head.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Many’s the lad fought on that day<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Well the claymore could wield,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the night came silently lay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dead on Culloden’s field.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Burned are our homes, exile and death<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Scatter the loyal men;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Charlie will come again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i4">Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">‘Onward’ the sailors cry;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Carry the lad that’s born to be king<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Over the sea to Skye!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Harold Boulton.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_95"><a id="MATHESON"></a>MATHESON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_207a"><a id="poemr_CLX"></a>CLX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A KISS OF THE KING’S HAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208">208</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It wasna from a golden throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or a bower with milk-white roses blown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But ’mid the kelp on northern sand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That I got a kiss of the King’s hand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I durstna raise my een to see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If he even cared to glance at me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His princely brow with care was crossed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For his true men slain and kingdom lost.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Think not his hand was soft and white<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or his fingers a’ with jewels dight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or round his wrists were ruffles grand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When I got a kiss of the King’s hand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But dearer far to my twa een<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was the ragged sleeve of red and green<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Owre that young weary hand that fain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the guid broadsword had found its ain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Farewell for ever! the distance grey<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the lapping ocean seemed to say—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For him a home in a foreign land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And for me one kiss of the King’s hand.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sarah Robertson Matheson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209">209</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="large"><a id="IV"></a>IV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">IRELAND</span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211">211</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_96"><a id="GOLDSMITH"></a>GOLDSMITH</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_211"><a id="poemr_CLXI"></a>CLXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">HOME</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In all my wanderings round this world of care,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all my griefs—and God has given my share—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I still had hopes my later hours to crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To husband out life’s taper at the close<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And keep the flame from wasting by repose;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around my fire an evening group to draw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I still had hopes, my long vexations past,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here to return—and die at home at last.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Oliver Goldsmith.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_97"><a id="ANONYMOUS211"></a>ANONYMOUS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_211a"><a id="poemr_CLXII"></a>CLXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE WEARIN’ O’ THE GREEN</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212">212</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, Paddy dear! an’ did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more St. Patrick’s Day we’ll keep, his colour can’t be seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there’s a cruel law agin the wearin’ o’ the green!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I met wid Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he said, ‘How’s poor Ould Ireland, and how does she stand?’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She’s the most disthressful country that iver yet was seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For they’re hangin’ men and women there for wearin’ o’ the green.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An’ if the colour we must wear is England’s cruel red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then pull the shamrock from your hat and throw it on the sod,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And never fear, ’twill take root there, tho’ under foot ’tis trod!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When law can stop the blades of grass from growin’ as they grow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when the leaves in summer-time their colour dare not show,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then I will change the colour, too, I wear in my caubeen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But till that day, plaze God, I’ll stick to wearin’ o’ the green.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Anonymous.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_98"><a id="MOORE"></a>MOORE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_212"><a id="poemr_CLXIII"></a>CLXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE MINSTREL BOY</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the ranks of death you’ll find him;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His father’s sword he has girded on,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And his wild harp slung behind him.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Land of song!’ said the warrior bard,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Tho’ all the world betrays thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One faithful harp shall praise thee!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Minstrel fell!—but the foeman’s chain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Could not bring his proud soul under;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The harp he loved ne’er spoke again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For he tore its chords asunder;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And said, ‘No chain shall sully thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thou soul of love and bravery!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy songs were made for the pure and free,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They shall never sound in slavery.’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Moore.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213">213</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_213"><a id="poemr_CLXIV"></a>CLXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A SONG OF THE IRISH</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Remember the glories of Brien the brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tho’ the days of the hero are o’er,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tho’ lost to Mononia, and cold in the grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He returns to Kincora no more!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That star of the field, which so often has pour’d<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its beam on the battle, is set;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But enough of its glory remains on each sword<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To light us to victory yet!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mononia! when Nature embellished the tint<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of thy fields and thy mountains so fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The footstep of slavery there?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Go, tell our invaders the Danes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That ’tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than to sleep but a moment in chains.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Forget not our wounded companions, who stood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the day of distress by our side;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They stirred not, but conquered and died!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun that now blesses our arms with his light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Saw them fall upon Ossory’s plain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! let him not blush when he leaves us to-night<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To find that they fell there in vain!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Moore.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_213a"><a id="poemr_CLXV"></a>CLXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">DEPARTED GLORY</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214">214</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The harp that once through Tara’s halls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The soul of music shed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As if that soul were fled.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So sleeps the pride of former days,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So glory’s thrill is o’er,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hearts, that once beat high for praise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now feel that pulse no more.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No more to chiefs and ladies bright<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The harp of Tara swells;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The chord alone, that breaks at night,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its tale of ruin tells.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The only throb she gives,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is when some heart indignant breaks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To show that still she lives.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Moore.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_214"><a id="poemr_CLXVI"></a>CLXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE CHOICE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215">215</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, where’s the slave so lowly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Condemn’d to chains unholy,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Who, could he burst<br /></span> -<span class="i4">His bonds at first,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would pine beneath them slowly?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What soul, whose wrongs degrade it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would wait till time decay’d it,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">When thus its wing<br /></span> -<span class="i4">At once may spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the throne of Him who made it?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Farewell, Erin,—farewell, all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who live to weep our fall!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Less dear the laurel growing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alive, untouch’d and blowing,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Than that, whose braid<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Is pluck’d to shade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brows with victory glowing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We tread the land that bore us,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her green flag glitters o’er us,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The friends we’ve tried<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Are by our side<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the foe we hate before us.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Farewell, Erin,—farewell, all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who live to weep our fall!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Moore.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_215"><a id="poemr_CLXVII"></a>CLXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A SONG OF TRUE LOVE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And lovers are round her, sighing:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For her heart in the grave is lying.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Every note which he lov’d awaking;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! little they think who delight in her strains,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He had liv’d for his love, for his country he died,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They were all that to life had entwin’d him;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor long will his love stay behind him.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When they promise a glorious morrow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They’ll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile from the west,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From her own loved Island of Sorrow.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Moore.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_215a"><a id="poemr_CLXVIII"></a>CLXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">TO ERIN</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216">216</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Shining through sorrow’s stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Saddening through pleasure’s beam,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Thy suns with doubtful gleam,<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Weep while they rise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Erin, thy languid smile ne’er shall increase,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Till, like the rainbow’s light,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Thy various tints unite,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And form in Heaven’s sight<br /></span> -<span class="i8">One arch of peace!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Moore.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_216"><a id="poemr_CLXIX"></a>CLXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE MINSTREL TO HIS HARP</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dear Harp of my country! in darkness I found thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cold chain of silence had hung o’er thee long,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have waken’d thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, so oft hast thou echo’d the deep sigh of sadness,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dear Harp of my country! farewell to thy numbers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till touch’d by some hand less unworthy than mine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have throbb’d at thy lay, ’tis thy glory alone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all the wild sweetness I wak’d was thy own.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Moore.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_99"><a id="TONNA"></a>TONNA</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_216a"><a id="poemr_CLXX"></a>CLXX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE MAIDEN CITY</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217">217</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_218">218</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where Foyle her swelling waters<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rolls northward to the main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here, Queen of Erin’s daughters,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fair Derry fixed her reign:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A holy temple crowned her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And commerce graced her street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A rampart wall was round her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The river at her feet:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here she sat alone, boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And looking from the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vow’d the Maiden on her throne, boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Would be a Maiden still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From Antrim crossing over,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In famous eighty-eight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A plumed and belted lover<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Came to the Ferry Gate;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She summoned to defend her<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our sires—a beardless race—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They shouted, ‘No surrender!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And slamm’d it in his face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then in a quiet tone, boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They told him ’twas their will<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the Maiden on her throne, boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Should be a Maiden still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Next, crushing all before him,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A kingly wooer came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(The royal banner o’er him<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blushed crimson-deep for shame);<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He showed the Pope’s commission,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor dreamed to be refused,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She pitied his condition,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But begged to stand excused.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In short, the fact is known, boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She chased him from the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the Maiden on her throne, boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Would be a Maiden still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On our brave sires descending,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Twas then the tempest broke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their peaceful dwellings rending<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Mid blood, and flame, and smoke.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That hallow’d graveyard yonder<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swells with the slaughtered dead—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, brothers! pause and ponder,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It was for us they bled;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And while their gifts we own, boys—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The fane that tops our hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, the Maiden on her throne, boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall be a Maiden still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor wily tongue shall move us,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor tyrant arm affright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll look to One above us,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who ne’er forsook the right;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who will may crouch and tender<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The birthright of the free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, brothers, ‘No surrender!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No compromise for me!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We want no barrier stone, boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No gates to guard the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet the Maiden on her throne, boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall be a Maiden still!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Charlotte Elizabeth Tonna.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_100"><a id="MANGAN"></a>MANGAN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_218"><a id="poemr_CLXXI"></a>CLXXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">KINCORA<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<cite>From the Irish</cite>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219">219</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, where, Kincora! is Brien the Great?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And where is the beauty that once was thine?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, where are the princes and nobles that sate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At the feast in thy halls, and drank the red wine?<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Where, O, Kincora?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, where, Kincora! are thy valorous lords?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O, whither, thou Hospitable! are they gone?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, where are the Dalcassians of the golden swords?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And where are the warriors Brien led on?<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Where, O, Kincora?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And where is Donogh, King Brien’s son?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And where is Conàing, the beautiful chief?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Kiàn and Corc? Alas! they are gone;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They have left me this night alone with my grief!<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Left me, Kincora!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, where is Duvlann of the Swift-footed Steeds?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And where is Kiàn, who was son of Molloy?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where is king Lonergan, fame of whose deeds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the red battle no time can destroy?<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Where, O, Kincora!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I am MacLaig, and my home is on the lake:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thither often, to that palace whose beauty is fled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Came Brien to ask me, and I went for his sake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O, my grief! that I should live and Brien be dead!<br /></span> -<span class="i12">Dead, O, Kincora!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>James Clarence Mangan.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_219"><a id="poemr_CLXXII"></a>CLXXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">DARK ROSALEEN<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<cite>From the Irish</cite>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220">220</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_221">221</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! my Dark Rosaleen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Do not sigh, do not weep!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The priests are on the ocean green,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They march along the deep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s wine from the royal Pope,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon the ocean green;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Spanish ale shall give you hope,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall give you health, and help, and hope,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Over hills, and through dales,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have I roamed for your sake;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All yesterday I sailed with sails<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On river and on lake.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Erne at its highest flood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I dashed across unseen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there was lightning in my blood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! there was lightning in my blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red lightning lightened through my blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All day long, in unrest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To and fro do I move,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The very soul within my breast<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is wasted for you, love!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heart in my bosom faints<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To think of you, my Queen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My life of life, my saint of saints,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hear your sweet and sad complaints,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My life, my love, my saint of saints,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Woe and pain, pain and woe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are my lot, night and noon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see your bright face clouded so,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like to the mournful moon.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But yet will I rear your throne<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Again in golden sheen;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis you shall have the golden throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis you shall reign, and reign alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Over dews, over sands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will I fly for your weal;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your holy, delicate white hands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall girdle me with steel.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At home, in your emerald bowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From morning’s dawn till e’en,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’ll pray for me, my flower of flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’ll think of me through daylight’s hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My virgin flower, my flower of flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I could scale the blue air,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I could plough the high hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! I could kneel all night in prayer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To heal your many ills!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And one beamy smile from you<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Would float like light between<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My toils and me, my own, my true,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would give me life and soul anew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A second life, a soul anew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! the Erne shall run red<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With redundance of blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The earth shall rock beneath our tread,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And flames wrap hill and wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gun-peal and slogan cry<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wake many a glen serene,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Judgment Hour must first be nigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere you can fade, ere you can die,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>James Clarence Mangan.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222">222</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_101"><a id="DUFFERIN"></a>DUFFERIN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_222"><a id="poemr_CLXXIII"></a>CLXXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BAY OF DUBLIN</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, Bay of Dublin! how my heart you’re troublin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your beauty haunts me like a fever dream;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like frozen fountains, that the sun sets bubblin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart’s blood warms when I but hear your name;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And never till this life’s pulsation ceases,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My early, latest thought you’ll fail to be,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! none here knows how very fair that place is,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And no one cares how dear it is to me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet Wicklow mountains! the soft sunlight sleepin’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On your green uplands is a picture rare;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You crowd around me like young maidens peepin’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And puzzlin’ me to say which is most fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As tho’ you longed to see your own sweet faces<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reflected in that smooth and silver sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My fondest blessin’ on those lovely places,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tho’ no one cares how dear they are to me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How often when alone at work I’m sittin’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And musin’ sadly on the days of yore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think I see my pretty Katie knittin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The childer playin’ round the cabin door;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think I see the neighbours’ kindly faces<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All gathered round, their long-lost friend to see;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tho’ none here knows how very fair that place is,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heav’n knows how dear my poor home was to me.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Lady Dufferin.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_222a"><a id="poemr_CLXXIV"></a>CLXXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223">223</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_224">224</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’m sitting on the stile, Mary,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where we sat, side by side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That bright May morning long ago<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When first you were my bride.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The corn was springing fresh and green,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The lark sang loud and high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The red was on your lip, Mary,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The love-light in your eye.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The place is little changed, Mary,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The day is bright as then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lark’s loud song is in my ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The corn is green again;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your breath warm on my cheek,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I still keep listening for the words<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You never more may speak.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis but a step down yonder lane,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The little Church stands near—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Church where we were wed, Mary—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I see the spire from here;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the graveyard lies between, Mary,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My step might break your rest,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where you, my darling, lie asleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With your baby on your breast.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’m very lonely now, Mary,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The poor make no new friends;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, O! they love the better still<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The few our Father sends.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you were all I had, Mary,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My blessing and my pride;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s nothing left to care for now<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Since my poor Mary died.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yours was the good brave heart, Mary,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That still kept hoping on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When trust in God had left my soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And half my strength was gone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There was comfort ever on your lip,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the kind look on your brow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I bless you, Mary, for that same,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though you can’t hear me now.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I thank you for the patient smile<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When your heart was fit to break;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the hunger pain was gnawing there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You hid it for my sake.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I bless you for the pleasant word<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When your heart was sad and sore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! I’m thankful you are gone, Mary,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where grief can’t reach you more!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’m bidding you a long farewell,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Mary—kind and true!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I’ll not forget you, darling,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the land I’m going to.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They say there’s bread and work for all,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the sun shines always there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I’ll not forget old Ireland,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were it fifty times as fair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when amid those grand old woods<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I sit and shut my eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart will travel back again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To where my Mary lies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll think I see the little stile<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where we sat, side by side,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the springing corn and the bright May morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When first you were my bride.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Lady Dufferin.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_102"><a id="FERGUSON"></a>FERGUSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_224"><a id="poemr_CLXXV"></a>CLXXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">O’BYRNE’S BARD TO THE CLANS OF WICKLOW<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<cite>From the Irish</cite>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225">225</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God be with the Irish host!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never be their battle lost!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, in battle, never yet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have they basely earned defeat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Host of armour, red and bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May ye fight a valiant fight!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the green spot of the earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the land that gave you birth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like a wild beast in his den,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lies the chief by hill and glen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the strangers, proud and savage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Creean’s richest valleys ravage.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When old Leinster’s sons of fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heads of many a warlike name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Redden their victorious hilts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the Gaul, my soul exults.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the grim Gaul, who have come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hither o’er the ocean foam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the fight victorious go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then my heart sinks deadly low.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bless the blades our warriors draw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God be with Clan Ranelagh!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But my soul is weak for fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thinking of their danger here.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Have them in Thy holy keeping,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God be with them lying sleeping,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God be with them standing fighting,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Erin’s foes in battle smiting!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Samuel Ferguson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_225"><a id="poemr_CLXXVI"></a>CLXXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE HILLS OF IRELAND<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<cite>From the Irish</cite>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226">226</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer,<br /></span> -<span class="i8"><em>Uileacán dubh O!</em><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i8"><em>Uileacán dubh O!</em><br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fann’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is dew at high noontide there, and springs i’ the yellow sand<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On the fair hills of holy Ireland.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Curl’d he is and ringleted, and plaited to the knee,<br /></span> -<span class="i8"><em>Uileacán dubh O!</em><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each captain who comes sailing across the Irish Sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i8"><em>Uileacán dubh O!</em><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I will make my journey, if life and health but stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant strand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leave your boasted braveries, your wealth and high command,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For the fair hills of holy Ireland.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Samuel Ferguson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_103"><a id="DAVIS"></a>DAVIS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_226"><a id="poemr_CLXXVII"></a>CLXXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">MY LAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227">227</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She is a rich and rare land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! she’s a fresh and fair land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She is a dear and rare land—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">This native land of mine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No men than hers are braver—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her women’s hearts ne’er waver;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’d freely die to save her,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And think my lot divine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She’s not a dull or cold land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No! she’s a warm and bold land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! she’s a true and old land—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">This native land of mine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Could beauty ever guard her,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And virtue still reward her,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No foe would cross her border—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">No friend within it pine!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, she’s a fresh and fair land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, she’s a true and rare land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes, she’s a rare and fair land—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">This native land of mine.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Davis.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_227"><a id="poemr_CLXXVIII"></a>CLXXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE DEAD CHIEF</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228">228</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Did they dare, did they dare to slay Owen Roe O’Neill?’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘May God wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to flow!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May they walk in living death, who poisoned Owen Roe!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘From Derry, against Cromwell, he marched to measure swords;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the weapon of the Sacsanach met him on his way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he died at Cloc Uachtar upon St. Leonard’s Day.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Wail, wail ye for the Mighty One! Wail, wail ye for the Dead;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quench the hearth, and hold the breath—with ashes strew the head.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How tenderly we loved him! How deeply we deplore!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Holy Saviour! but to think we shall never see him more.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sagest in the council was he, kindest in the hall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sure we never won a battle—’twas Owen won them all.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had he lived—had he lived—our dear country had been free;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But he’s dead, but he’s dead, and ’tis slaves we’ll ever be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O’Farrell and Clanrickarde, Preston and Red Hugh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Audley and MacMahon—ye are valiant, wise, and true;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But—what are ye all to our darling who is gone?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Rudder of our Ship was he, our Castle’s Cornerstone!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wail, wail him through the Island! Weep, weep for our pride!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weep the Victor of Beinn Burb—weep him, young men and old;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weep for him, ye women—your Beautiful lies cold!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We thought you would not die—we were sure you would not go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell’s cruel blow—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! why did you leave us, Owen? why did you die?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Soft as woman’s was your voice, O’Neill! bright was your eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! why did you leave us, Owen? why did you die?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your troubles are all over, you’re at rest with God on high;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But we’re slaves, and we’re orphans, Owen!—why did you die?’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Davis.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229">229</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_104"><a id="DE_VERE"></a>DE VERE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_229"><a id="poemr_CLXXIX"></a>CLXXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE LITTLE BLACK ROSE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Little Black Rose shall be red at last;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What made it black but the March wind dry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the tear of the widow that fell on it fast?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It shall redden the hills when June is nigh!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Silk of the Kine shall rest at last;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What drove her forth but the dragon fly?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the golden vale she shall feed full fast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With her mild gold horn, and her slow, dark eye.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wounded wood-dove lies dead at last!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The pine long-bleeding, it shall not die!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This song is secret. Mine ear it passed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In a wind o’er the plains at Athenry.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Aubrey de Vere.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_105"><a id="INGRAM229"></a>INGRAM</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_229a"><a id="poemr_CLXXX"></a>CLXXX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230">230</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who blushes at the name?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When cowards mock the patriot’s fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who hangs his head for shame?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He’s all a knave or half a slave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who slights his country thus;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But a true man, like you, man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will fill your glass with us.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We drink the memory of the brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The faithful and the few:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some lie far off beyond the wave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some sleep in Ireland, too.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All, all are gone; but still lives on<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fame of those who died;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And true men, like you men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Remember them with pride.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some on the shores of distant lands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their weary hearts have laid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And by the stranger’s heedless hands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their lonely graves were made;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But though their clay be far away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond th’ Atlantic foam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In true men, like you, men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their spirit’s still at home.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dust of some is Irish earth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among their own they rest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the same land that gave them birth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has caught them to her breast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we will pray that from their clay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full many a race may start<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of true men, like you, men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To act as brave a part.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They rose in dark and evil days<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To right their native land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They kindled here a living blaze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That nothing shall withstand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas! that might can vanquish right—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They fell and pass’d away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But true men, like you, men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are plenty here to-day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then here’s their memory! may it be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For us a guiding light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To cheer our strife for liberty<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And teach us to unite.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through good and ill, be Ireland’s still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though sad as theirs your fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And true men, be you, men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like those of Ninety-Eight!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Kells Ingram.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231">231</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_231"><a id="poemr_CLXXXI"></a>CLXXXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">NATIONAL PRESAGE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unhappy Erin, what a lot was thine!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Half-conquer’d by a greedy robber band;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ill govern’d now with lax, now ruthless hand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mislead by zealots, wresting laws divine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To sanction every dark or mad design;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lured by false lights of pseudo-patriot league<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through crooked paths of faction and intrigue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drugg’d with selfish flattery’s poison’d wine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet, reading all thy mournful history,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy children, with a mystic faith sublime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Turn to the future, confident that Fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Become at last thy friend, reserves for thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To be thy portion in the coming time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They know not what—but surely something great.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Kells Ingram.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_106"><a id="SIGERSON"></a>SIGERSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_231a"><a id="poemr_CLXXXII"></a>CLXXXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE FLIGHT OF THE EARLS<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<cite>From the Irish</cite>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232">232</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lo, our land this night is lone!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hear ye not sad Erin’s moan?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Maidens weep and true men sorrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lone the Brave Race night and morrow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lone this night is Fola’s plain,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though the foemen swarm amain—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far from Erin, generous-hearted,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far her Flower of Sons is parted.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Great the hardship! great the grief!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ulster wails Tirconaill’s Chief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From Emain west to Assarue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wails gallant, gentle, generous Hugh.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Children’s joy no more rejoices,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fetters silence Song’s sweet voices—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Change upon our chiefs, alas!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bare the altar, banned the Mass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Homes are hearthless, harps in fetters,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guerdon’s none for men of letters,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Banquets none, nor merry meetings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hills ring not the chase’s greetings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Songs of war make no heart stronger,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Songs of peace inspire no longer,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In great halls, at close of days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sound no more our fathers’ lays.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Foemen camp in Neimid’s plains;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who shall break our heavy chains?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What Naisi, son of Conn, shall prove<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Moses to the land we love?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She has none who now can aid her,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All have gone before the invader;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Banba’s bonds and cruel cross<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Steal the very soul from us!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>George Sigerson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_232"><a id="poemr_CLXXXIII"></a>CLXXXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">LAMENT FOR EOGHAN RUA O’NEILL<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<cite>From the Irish</cite>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233">233</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How great the loss is thy loss to me!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A loss to all who had speech with thee:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On earth can so hard a heart there be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As not to weep for the death of Eoghan?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Och, ochón! ’tis I am stricken,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Unto death the isle may sicken,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Thine the soul which all did quicken;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">—And thou ’neath the sod!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I stood at Cavan o’er thy tomb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou spok’st no word through all thy gloom;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O want! O ruin! O bitter doom!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O great, lost heir of the house of Niall!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">I care not now whom Death may borrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Despair sits by me, night and morrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">My life henceforth is one long sorrow;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">—And thou ’neath the sod!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O child of heroes, heroic child!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou’dst smite our foe in battle wild,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou’dst right all wrong, O just and mild!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And who lives now—since dead is Eoghan?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In place of feasts, alas! there’s crying,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In place of song, sad woe and sighing,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Alas, I live with my heart a-dying,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">—And thou ’neath the sod!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My woe, was ever so cruel woe?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart is torn with rending throe!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I grieve that I am not lying low<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In silent death by thy side, Eoghan!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Thou wast skilled all straits to ravel,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And thousands broughtst from death and cavil,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">They journey safe who with thee travel,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">—And thou with thy God!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>George Sigerson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_107"><a id="SAVAGE-ARMSTRONG"></a>SAVAGE-ARMSTRONG</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_233"><a id="poemr_CLXXXIV"></a>CLXXXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE OLD COUNTRY</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234">234</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not tasselled palm or bended cypress wooing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The languid wind on temple-crownèd heights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not heaven’s myriad stars in lustre strewing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Smooth sapphire bays in hushed Ionian nights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not the clear peak of dawn-encrimsoned snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or plumage-lighted wood, or gilded pile<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sparkling amid the imperial city’s glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Endears our Isle.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thine the weird splendour of the restless billow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For ever breaking over lonely shores,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The reedy mere that is the wild-swan’s pillow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The crag to whose torn spire the eagle soars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moorland where the solitary hern<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Spreads his grey wings upon the breezes cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pink sweet heather’s bloom, the waving fern,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">The gorse’s gold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And we who draw our being from thy being,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blown by the untimely blast about the earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Back in love’s visions to thy bosom fleeing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Droop with thy sorrows, brighten with thy mirth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O, from afar, with sad and straining eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tired arms across the darkness and the foam<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We stretch to thy bluff capes and sombre skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Belovèd home!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The nurselings of thy moorlands and thy mountains,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy children tempered by thy winter gales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swayed by the tumult of thy headlong fountains<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That clothe with pasture green thy grassy vales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">True to one love in climes’ and years’ despite,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We yearn, in our last hour, upon thy breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the Great Darkness wraps thee from our sight,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">To sink to rest!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>George Francis Savage-Armstrong.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_108"><a id="GRAVES"></a>GRAVES</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_234"><a id="poemr_CLXXXV"></a>CLXXXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE SONGS OF ERIN</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235">235</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"> -<p class="p0 b0 center">(‘Music shall outlive all the songs of the birds.’</p> -<p class="p0 sigright">—<cite>Old Irish</cite>)</p> -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’ve heard the lark’s cry thrill the sky o’er the meadows of Lusk,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the first joyous gush of the thrush from Adare’s April Wood;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At thy lone music’s spell, Philomel, magic-stricken I’ve stood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, in Espan afar, star on star trembled out of the dusk.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While Dunkerron’s blue dove murmured love, ’neath her nest I have sighed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And by mazy Culdaff with a laugh mocked the cuckoo’s refrain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Derrycarn’s dusky bird I have heard piping joy hard by pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the swan’s last lament sobbing sent over Moyle’s mystic tide.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet as bright shadows pass from the glass of the darkening lake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the rose’s rapt sigh will soon die, when the zephyr is stilled;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In oblivion grey sleeps each lay that those birds ever trilled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the songs Erin sings from her strings shall immortally wake.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Alfred Perceval Graves.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_109"><a id="CASEY"></a>CASEY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_235"><a id="poemr_CLXXXVI"></a>CLXXXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE RISING OF THE MOON<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(1798)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236">236</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘O, then, tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, tell me why you hurry so?’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Hush, <i xml:lang="ga" lang="ga">ma bouchal</i>, hush and listen;’ and his cheeks were all aglow:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I bear orders from the Captain—get you ready quick and soon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the pikes must be together at the risin’ o’ the moon.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘O, then, tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, where the gath’rin’ is to be?’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘At the old spot by the river, right well known to you and me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One word more—for signal token, whistle up the marchin’ tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With your pike upon your shoulder, by the risin’ o’ the moon.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out from many a mud-wall cabin eyes were watching through that night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Many a manly heart was throbbing for the blessed warning light.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Murmurs passed along the valleys, like the banshee’s lonely croon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a thousand blades were flashing at the rising of the moon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There, beside the singing river, that dark mass of men was seen—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far above the shining weapons hung their own beloved Green.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Death to every foe and traitor! Forward! strike the marchin’ tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hurrah, my boys, for Freedom! ’tis the risin’ o’ the moon!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Well they fought for poor old Ireland, and full bitter was their fate;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(O, what glorious pride and sorrow fills the name of Ninety-Eight!)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet, thank God, e’en still are beating hearts in manhood’s burning noon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who would follow in their footsteps at the rising of the moon!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Keegan Casey.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_110"><a id="ROLLESTON"></a>ROLLESTON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_236"><a id="poemr_CLXXXVII"></a>CLXXXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE DEAD AT CLONMACNOIS<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<cite>From the Irish of Angus O’Gillan</cite>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237">237</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In a quiet-water’d land, a land of roses,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stands Saint Kieran’s city fair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the warriors of Erinn in their famous generations<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Slumber there<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There below the dewy hillside sleep the noblest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the Clan of Conn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each beneath his stone with name in branching Ogham<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the sacred knot thereon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There they laid to rest the seven Kings of Tara,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There the sons of Cairbrè sleep—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Battle-banners of the Gael, that in Kieran’s plain of crosses<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now their final hosting keep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in Clonmacnois they laid the men of Teffia,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And right many a lord of Breagh;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep the sod above Clan Creidè and Clan Conaill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Kind in hall and fierce in fray.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Many and many a son of Conn the Hundred-Fighter<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the red earth lies at rest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Many a blue eye of Clan Colman the turf covers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Many a swan-white breast.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas William Rolleston.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_111"><a id="HINKSON"></a>HINKSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_237"><a id="poemr_CLXXXVIII"></a>CLXXXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">SHAMROCK SONG</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238">238</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O the red rose may be fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the lily statelier;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But my shamrock, one in three,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Takes the very heart of me!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Many a lover hath the rose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When June’s musk-wind breathes and blows;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in many a bower is heard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her sweet praise from bee and bird.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through the gold hours dreameth she,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In her warm heart passionately,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her fair face hung languid-wise:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O her breath of honey and spice!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like a fair saint virginal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stands your lily silver and tall;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over all the flowers that be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is my shamrock dear to me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shines the lily like the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crystal-pure, a cold sweet nun;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With her austere lip she sings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To her heart of heavenly things.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gazeth through a night of June<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To her sister-saint the moon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the stars communeth long<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the angels and their song.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But when summer died last year<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rose and lily died with her;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shamrock stayeth every day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be the winds or gold or grey.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Irish hills, grey as the dove,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know the little plant I love;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Warm and fair it mantles them,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stretching down from throat to hem.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And it laughs o’er many a vale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sheltered safe from storm and gale;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sky and sun and stars thereof<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love the gentle plant I love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Soft it clothes the ruined floor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of many an abbey, grey and hoar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the still home of the dead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With its green is carpeted.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Roses for an hour of love,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the joy and pain thereof;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stand my lilies white to see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All for prayer and purity.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These are white as the harvest moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roses flush like the heart of June;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But my shamrock brave and gay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glads the tired eyes every day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O the red rose shineth rare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the lily saintly fair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But my shamrock, one in three,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Takes the inmost heart of me!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239">239</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_112"><a id="JOHNSON"></a>JOHNSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_239"><a id="poemr_CLXXXIX"></a>CLXXXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">WAYS OF WAR</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A terrible and splendid trust<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heartens the host of Inisfail:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their dream is of the swift sword-thrust,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lighting glory of the Gael.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Croagh Patrick is the place of prayers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Tara the assembling place:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But each sweet wind of Ireland bears<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The trump of battle on its race.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From Dursey Isle to Donegal,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Howth to Achill, the glad noise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rings: and the heirs of glory fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or victory crowns their fighting joys.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A dream! a dream! an ancient dream!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet, ere peace come to Inisfail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some weapons on some field must gleam,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some burning glory fire the Gael.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That field may lie beneath the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fair for the treading of an host:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That field in realms of thought be won,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And armed minds do their uttermost:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some way, to faithful Inisfail,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall come the majesty and awe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of martial truth, that must prevail,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To lay on all the eternal law.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Lionel Johnson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241">241</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="large"><a id="V"></a>V<br /> - -<span class="subhead">CANADA</span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243">243</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_113"><a id="SMITH"></a>SMITH</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_243"><a id="poemr_CXC"></a>CXC<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE CANADIANS ON THE NILE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244">244</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, the East is but West, with the sun a little hotter;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the pine becomes a palm, by the dark Egyptian water:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Nile’s like many a stream we know, that fills its brimming cup,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll think it is the Ottawa, as we track the batteaux up!<br /></span> -<em><span class="i6">Pull, pull, pull! as we track the batteaux up!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">It’s easy shooting homeward, when we’re at the top!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, the cedar and the spruce line each dark Canadian river;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the thirsty date is here, where the sultry sunbeams quiver;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the mocking mirage spreads its view, afar on either hand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But strong we bend the sturdy oar, towards the Southern land!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, we’ve tracked the Rapids up, and o’er many a portage crossing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it’s often such we’ve seen, though so loud the waves are tossing!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, it’s homeward when the run is o’er! o’er stream, and ocean deep—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To bring the memory of the Nile, where the maple shadows sleep!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And it yet may come to pass, that the hearts and hands so ready<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May be sought again to help, when some poise is off the steady!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Maple and the Pine be matched, with British Oak the while,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As once beneath Egyptian suns, the Canadians on the Nile!<br /></span> -<em><span class="i6">Pull, pull, pull! as we track the batteaux up!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">It’s easy shooting homeward, when we’re at the top!<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wye Smith.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_114"><a id="ANDERSON"></a>ANDERSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_244"><a id="poemr_CXCI"></a>CXCI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE DEATH OF WOLFE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245">245</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_246">246</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘On with the charge!’ he cries, and waves his sword;—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One rolling cheer five thousand voices swell;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The levelled guns pour forth their leaden shower,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While thund’ring cannons’ roar half drowns the Huron yell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘On with the charge!’ with shout and cheer they come;—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No laggard there upon that field of fame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lurid plain gleams like a seething hell,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And every rock and tree send forth their bolts of flame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On! on! they sweep. Uprise the waiting ranks—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still as the grave—unmoved as granite wall;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The foe before—the dizzy crags behind—<br /></span> -<span class="i1">They fight, the day to win, or like true warriors fall.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Forward they sternly move, then halt to wait<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That raging sea of human life now near;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Fire!’ rings from right to left,—each musket rings,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As if a thunder-peal had struck the startled ear.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Again, and yet again that volley flies,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With deadly aim the grapeshot sweeps the field;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All levelled for the charge, the bayonets gleam,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And brawny arms a thousand claymores fiercely wield.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And down the line swells high the British cheer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That on a future day woke Minden’s plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the loud slogan that fair Scotland’s foes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have often heard with dread, and oft shall hear again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the shrill pipe its coronach that wailed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On dark Culloden moor o’er trampled dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now sounds the ‘Onset’ that each clansman knows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still leads the foremost rank, where noblest blood is shed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And on that day no nobler stained the sod,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than his, who for his country life laid down;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, for a mighty Empire battled there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And strove from rival’s brow to wrest the laurel crown.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Twice struck,—he recks not, but still heads the charge,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But, ah! fate guides the marksman’s fatal ball:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With bleeding breast, he claims a comrade’s aid,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘We win,—let not my soldiers see their Leader fall.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Full well he feels life’s tide is ebbing fast,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When hark! ‘They run; see how they run!’ they cry.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Who run?’ ‘The foe.’ His eyes flash forth one gleam,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then murm’ring low he sighs, ‘Praise God, in peace I die.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far rolls the battle’s din, and leaves its dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As when a cyclone thro’ the forest cleaves;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the dread claymore heaps the path with slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As strews the biting cold the earth with autumn leaves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Fleur de Lys lies trodden on the ground,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The slain Montcalm rests in his warrior grave,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘All’s well’ resounds from tower and battlement,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And England’s banners proudly o’er the ramparts wave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Slowly the mighty warships sail away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To tell their country of an empire won;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, ah! they bear the death-roll of the slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all that mortal is of Britain’s noblest son.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With bowèd head they lay their hero down,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And pomp and pageant crown the deathless brave;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Loud salvoes sing the soldier’s lullaby,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And weeping millions bathe with tears his honoured grave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then bright the bonfires blaze on Albion’s hills,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And rends the very sky a people’s joy;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And even when grief broods o’er the vacant chair,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The mother’s heart still nobly gives her gallant boy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And while broad England gleams with glorious light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And merry peals from every belfry ring;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One little village lies all dark and still,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No fires are lighted there—no battle songs they sing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There in her lonely cot, in widow’s weeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A mother mourns—the silent tear-drops fall;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She too had given to swell proud England’s fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But, ah! she gave the widow’s mite—she gave her all!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Duncan Anderson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_115"><a id="CURZON"></a>CURZON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_246"><a id="poemr_CXCII"></a>CXCII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE LOYALISTS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247">247</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O ye, who with your blood and sweat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Watered the furrows of this land,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See where upon a nation’s brow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In honour’s front, ye proudly stand<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who for her pride abased your own,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gladly on her altar laid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All bounty of the outer world,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All memories that your glory made.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And to her service bowed your strength,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Took labour for your shield and crest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See where upon a nation’s brow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her diadem ye proudly rest!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sarah Anne Curzon.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_116"><a id="RAND"></a>RAND</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_247"><a id="poemr_CXCIII"></a>CXCIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE WHITETHROAT</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shy bird of the silver arrows of song,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That cleave our Northern air so clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy notes prolong, prolong,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I listen, I hear—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I love—dear—Canada,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Canada, Canada!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O plumes of the pointed dusky fir,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Screen of a swelling patriot heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The copse is all astir<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And echoes thy part!...<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now willowy reeds tune their silver flutes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As the noise of the day dies down;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And silence strings her lutes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Whitethroat to crown....<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O bird of the silver arrows of song,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shy poet of Canada dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy notes prolong, prolong,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We listen, we hear—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I—love—dear—Canada,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Canada, Canada!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Theodore Harding Rand.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248">248</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_117"><a id="CHRISTIE"></a>CHRISTIE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_248"><a id="poemr_CXCIV"></a>CXCIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">WELCOME HOME<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<i>July 23, 1885</i>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249">249</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">War-worn, sun-scorched, stained with the dust of toil<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And battle-scarred they come—victorious!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Exultingly we greet them—cleave the sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With cheers, and fling our banners to the winds;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We raise triumphant songs, and strew their path<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To do them homage—bid them ‘Welcome Home!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We laid our country’s honour in their hands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sent them forth undoubting. Said farewell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hearts too proud, too jealous of their fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To own our pain. To-day glad tears may flow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-day they come again, and bring their gift—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all earth’s gifts most precious—trust redeemed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We stretch our hands, we lift a joyful cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Words of all words the sweetest—‘Welcome Home!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O brave true hearts! O steadfast loyal hearts!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They come, and lay their trophies at our feet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They show us work accomplished, hardships borne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Courageous deeds, and patience under pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their country’s name upheld and glorified,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Peace, dear purchased by their blood and toil.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What guerdon have we for such service done?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our thanks, our pride, our praises, and our prayers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our country’s smile, and her most just rewards;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The victor’s laurel laid upon their brows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the love that speaks in ‘Welcome Home!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bays for the heroes: for the martyrs, palms.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To those who come not, who ‘though dead yet speak’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A lesson to be guarded in our souls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the land lives for whose dear sake they died—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose lives thrice sacred are the price of Peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose memory, thrice belovèd thrice revered,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall be their country’s heritage, to hold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eternal pattern to her living sons—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What dare we bring? They, dying, have won all.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A drooping flag, a flower upon their graves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are all the tribute left. Already theirs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Nation’s safety, gratitude and tears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Imperishable honour, endless rest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And ye, O stricken hearted! to whom earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is dark, though Peace is smiling, whom no pride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can soothe, no triumph-pæan can console—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ye surely will not fail them—will not shrink<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To perfect now your sacrifice of love?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis yours to stifle sobs and check your tears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lest echo of your grief should reach and break<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their hard-won joy in Heaven, where God Himself<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has met and crowned them, and has said ‘Well done!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Annie Rothwell Christie.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_118"><a id="PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY"></a>PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_249"><a id="poemr_CXCV"></a>CXCV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THEIR TESTAMENT</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250">250</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Why is it that ye grieve, O, weak in faith,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who turn toward High Heaven upbraiding eyes?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Think ye that God will count your children’s death<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vain sacrifice?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Half-mast your flags? Nay, fly them at the head!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We reap the harvest where we sowed the corn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See, from the red graves of your gallant dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An Empire born!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do ye not know ye cannot cure a flaw<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unless the steel runs molten-red again:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That men’s mere words could not together draw<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Those who were twain?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you not see the Anglo-Saxon breed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grew less than kin, on every continent;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That brothers had forgotten, in their greed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What ‘brother’ meant?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do ye not hear from all the humming wires<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which bind the mother to each colony,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How He works surely for our best desires<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To weld the free<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With blood of freemen into one Grand Whole,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To open all the gates of all the Earth?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do ye not see your Greater Britain’s soul<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has come to birth?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do ye not hear above the sighs—the song<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From all those outland hearts, which peace kept dumb:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘There is no fight too fierce, no trail too long,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When Love cries ‘Come!’’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Can ye beat steel from iron in the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or crown Earth’s master on a bloodless field?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As Abram offered to his God his son,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our best <em>we</em> yield.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And God gives answer. In the battle smoke—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tried in war’s crucible, washed white in tears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Saxon heart of Greater Britain woke,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One for all years.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lift up your eyes! Your glory is revealed!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">See, through war’s clouds, the rising of your Sun!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hear ye God’s voice! <em>Their testament is sealed</em><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><em>And ye be one!</em><br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Clive Phillipps-Wolley.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_119"><a id="ROBERTS"></a>ROBERTS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_250"><a id="poemr_CXCVI"></a>CXCVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">CANADA</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251">251</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_252">252</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O Child of Nations, giant-limbed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who stand’st among the nations now<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unheeded, unadored, unhymned,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With unanointed brow,—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How long the ignoble sloth, how long<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The trust in greatness not thine own?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Surely the lion’s brood is strong<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To front the world alone!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How long the indolence, ere thou dare<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Achieve thy destiny, seize thy fame—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere our proud eyes behold thee bear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A nation’s franchise, nation’s name?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Saxon force, the Celtic fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These are thy Manhood’s heritage!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek higher<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The place of race and age.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I see to every wind unfurled<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The flag that bears the Maple-Wreath;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy swift keels furrow round the world<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its blood-red folds beneath;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy white sails swell with alien gales;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To stream on each remotest breeze<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The black smoke of thy pipes exhales.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O Falterer, let thy past convince<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy future,—all the growth, the gain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fame since Cartier knew thee, since<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy shores beheld Champlain!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Quebec, thy storied citadel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Attest in burning song and psalm<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How here thy heroes fell!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O Thou that bor’st the battle’s brunt<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At Queenston and at Lundy’s Lane,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On whose scant ranks but iron front<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The battle broke in vain!—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whose was the danger, whose the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From whose triumphant throats the cheers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At Chrysler’s Farm, at Chateauquay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Storming like clarion-bursts our ears?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On soft Pacific slopes,—beside<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Strange floods that Northward rave and fall—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where chafes Acadia’s chainless tide—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy sons await thy call.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They wait; but some in exile, some<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With strangers housed, in stranger lands;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And some Canadian lips are dumb<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath Egyptian sands.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O mystic Nile! Thy secret yields<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Before us; thy most ancient dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are mixed with far Canadian fields<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And murmur of Canadian streams.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But thou, my Country, dream not thou!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wake, and behold how night is done;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How on thy breast, and o’er thy brow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bursts the uprising Sun!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Charles George Douglas Roberts.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_120"><a id="CAMPBELL252"></a>CAMPBELL</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_252"><a id="poemr_CXCVII"></a>CXCVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253">253</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_254">254</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">England, England, England,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Girdled by ocean and skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the power of a world, and the heart of a race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a hope that never dies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">England, England, England,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherever a true heart beats,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherever the rivers of commerce flow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherever the bugles of conquest blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherever the glories of liberty grow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis the name that the world repeats.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And ye who dwell in the shadow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the century’s sculptured piles,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where sleep our century-honoured dead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the great world thunders overhead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And far out miles on miles,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the smoke of the mighty town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blue Thames dimples and smiles;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not yours alone the glory of old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the splendid thousand years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Britain’s might and Britain’s right<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the brunt of British spears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not yours alone, for the great world round<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ready to dare and do,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scot and Celt and Norman and Dane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the Northman’s sinew and heart and brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Northman’s courage for blessing or bane<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are England’s heroes too.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">North and south and east and west,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherever their triumphs be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their glory goes home to the ocean-girt isle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the heather blooms and the roses smile<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the green isle under her lee;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if ever the smoke of an alien gun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should threaten her iron repose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shoulder to shoulder against the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Face to face with her foes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scot and Celt and Saxon are one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the glory of England goes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we of the newer and vaster West,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the great war banners are furled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And commerce hurries her teeming hosts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the cannon are silent along our coasts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saxon and Gaul, Canadians claim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A part in the glory and pride and aim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the Empire that girdles the world.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">England, England, England,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherever the daring heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Arctic floe or torrid strand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy heroes play their part;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For as long as conquest holds the earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or commerce sweeps the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By orient jungle or western plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will the Saxon spirit be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And whatever the people that dwell beneath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or whatever the alien tongue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the freedom and peace of the world<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is the flag of England flung.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the last great freedom is found,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the last great truth be taught,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the last great deed be done<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the last great battle is fought;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the last great fighter is slain in the last great fight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the war-wolf is dead in his den,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">England, breeder of hope and valour and might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Iron mother of men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yea, England, England, England,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till honour and valour are dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the world’s great cannons rust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the world’s great hopes are dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till faith and freedom be fled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till wisdom and justice have passed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To sleep with those who sleep in the many-chambered vast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till glory and knowledge are charnelled dust in dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To all that is best in the world’s unrest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In heart and mind you are wed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While out from the Indian jungle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the far Canadian snows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the east and over the west,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the worst and over the best,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flag of the world to its winds unfurled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blood-red ensign blows.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wilfred Campbell.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_254"><a id="poemr_CXCVIII"></a>CXCVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE WORLD-MOTHER</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255">255</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_256">256</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_257">257</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By crag and lonely moor she stands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This mother of half a world’s great men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And kens them far by sea-wracked lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or orient jungle or western fen.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And far out ’mid the mad turmoil,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or where the desert places keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their lonely hush, her children toil,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or wrapt in wide-world honour sleep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By Egypt’s sands or western wave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She kens her latest heroes rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Scotland’s honour o’er each grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Britain’s flag above each breast.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And some at home.—Her mother love<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Keeps crooning wind-songs o’er their graves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Arthur’s castle looms above,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or Strathy storms or Solway raves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or Lomond unto Nevis bends<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In olden love of clouds and dew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Trossach unto Stirling sends<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Greetings that build the years anew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out where her miles of heather sweep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her dust of legend in his breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Neath agèd Dryburgh’s aisle and keep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her Wizard Walter takes his rest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And her loved ploughman, he of Ayr,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">More loved than any singer loved<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By heart of man amidst those rare,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">High souls the world hath tried and proved;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whose songs are first to heart and tongue,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wherever Scotsmen greet together,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, far-out alien scenes among,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Go mad at the glint of a sprig of heather.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And he her latest wayward child,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her Louis of the magic pen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who sleeps by tropic crater piled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Far, far, alas! from misted glen;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who loved her, knew her, drew her so,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beyond all common poet’s whim;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In dreams the whaups are calling low,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In sooth her heart is woe for him.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And they, her warriors, greater none<br /></span> -<span class="i2">E’er drew the blade of daring forth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her Colin under Indian sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her Donald of the fighting North.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or he, her greatest hero, he<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who sleeps somewhere by Nilus’ sands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brave Gordon, mightiest of those free,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Great captains of her fighting bands.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yea, these and myriad myriads more,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who stormed the fort or ploughed the main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To free the wave or win the shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She calls in vain, she calls in vain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Brave sons of her, far severed wide<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By purpling peak or reeling foam;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From western ridge or orient side,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She calls them home, she calls them home.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And far, from east to western sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The answering word comes back to her:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Our hands were slack, our hopes were free,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We answered to the blood astir;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The life by Kelpie loch was dull,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The homeward slothful work was done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We followed where the world was full,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To dree the weird our fates had spun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We built the brig, we reared the town,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We spanned the earth with lightning gleam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We ploughed, we fought, ’mid smile and frown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where all the world’s four corners team.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But under all the surge of life,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The mad race-fight for mastery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though foremost in the surgent strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our hearts went back, went back to thee.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For the Scotsman’s speech is wise and slow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the Scotsman’s thought it is hard to ken,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But through all the yearnings of men that go,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His heart is the heart of the northern glen.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His song is the song of the windy moor,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the humming pipes of the squirling din;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And his love is the love of the shieling door,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the smell of the smoking peat within.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And nohap how much of the alien blood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is crossed with the strain that holds him fast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Mid the world’s great ill and the world’s great good,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He yearns to the Mother of men at last.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For there’s something strong and something true<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the wind where the sprig of heather is blown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And something great in the blood so blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That makes him stand like a man alone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yea, give him the road and loose him free,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He sets his teeth to the fiercest blast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there’s never a toil in a far countrie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But a Scotsman tackles it hard and fast.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He builds their commerce, he sings their songs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He weaves their creeds with an iron twist,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And making of laws or righting of wrongs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He grinds it all as the Scotsman’s grist.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yea, there by crag and moor she stands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This mother of half a world’s great men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And out of the heart of her haunted lands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She calls her children home again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And over the glens and the wild sea floors<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She peers so still as she counts her cost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the whaups low calling over the moors,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Woe, woe, for the great ones she hath lost.’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Wilfred Campbell.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258">258</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_121"><a id="SCOTT258"></a>SCOTT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_258"><a id="poemr_CXCIX"></a>CXCIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">QUEBEC</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fierce on this bastion beats the noon-day sun;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The city sleeps beneath me, old and grey;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On convent roofs the quivering sunbeams play,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And batteries guarded by dismantled gun.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No breeze comes from the northern hills which run<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Circling the blue mist of the summer’s day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No ripple stirs the great stream on its way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To those dim headlands where its rest is won.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What thunders shook these silent crags of yore!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What smoke of battle rolled up plain and gorge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While two worlds closed in strife for one brief span!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What echoes still come ringing back once more!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For on these heights of old God set His forge;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His strokes wrought here the destinies of man.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Frederick George Scott.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_258a"><a id="poemr_CC"></a>CC<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">IN MEMORIAM</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259">259</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Growing to full manhood now,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the care-lines on our brow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We, the youngest of the nations,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With no childish lamentations,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weep, as only strong men weep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the noble hearts that sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pillowed where they fought and bled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The loved and lost, our glorious dead!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Toil and sorrow come with age,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Manhood’s rightful heritage;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Toil our arms more strong shall render,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sorrow make our heart more tender,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the heartlessness of time;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Honour lays a wreath sublime—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deathless glory—where they bled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our loved and lost, our glorious dead!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wild the prairie grasses wave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er each hero’s new-made grave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Time shall write such wrinkles o’er us,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the future spreads before us<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glorious in that sunset land—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nerving every heart and hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes a brightness none can shed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the dead, the glorious dead!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lay them where they fought and fell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Every heart shall ring their knell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the lessons they have taught us,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the glory they have brought us.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tho’ our hearts are sad and bowed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nobleness still makes us proud—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud of light their names will shed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the roll-call of our dead!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Growing to full manhood now,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the care-lines on our brow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We, the youngest of the nations,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With no childish lamentations,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weep, as only strong men weep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the noble hearts that sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the call of duty led,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the lonely prairies spread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where for us they fought and bled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our ever loved and glorious dead!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Frederick George Scott.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260">260</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_122"><a id="SHERMAN"></a>SHERMAN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_260"><a id="poemr_CCI"></a>CCI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A WORD FROM CANADA</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261">261</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lest it be said<br /></span> -<em><span class="i10">One sits at ease<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Westward, beyond the outer seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who thanks me not that my decrees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fall light as love, nor bends her knees<br /></span> -<span class="i10">To make one prayer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That peace my latter days may find,—<br /></span></em> -<span class="i0">Lest all these bitter things be said<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we be counted as one dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alone and unaccredited<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I give this message to the wind:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Secure in thy security,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though children, not unwise are we;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And filled with unplumbed love for thee,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Call thou but once, if thou wouldst see!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Where the grey bergs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come down from Labrador, and where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The long Pacific rollers break<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the pines, for thy word’s sake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each listeneth,—alive, awake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with thy strength made strong to dare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And though our love is strong as spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet is it, too,—as sweet a thing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As when the first swamp-robins sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto the dawn their welcoming.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Yea, and more sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than the clean savour of the reeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where yesterday the June floods were,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than perfumed piles of new cut fir<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That greet the forest-worshipper<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who follows where the wood-road leads.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But unto thee are all unknown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These things by which the worth is shown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of our deep love; and, near thy throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glory thou hast made thine own<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Hath made men blind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To all that lies not to their hand,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But what thy strength and theirs hath done:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As though they had beheld the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the noon-hour and March are one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wide glare across our white, white land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For what reck they of <em>Empire</em>,—they,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose will two hemispheres obey?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why shouldst thou not count us but clay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For them to fashion as they may<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In London-town?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dwellers in the wilderness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rich tribute yield to thee their friend;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the flood unto the world’s end<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy London ships ascend, descend,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gleaning—and to thy feet regress.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yea, surely they think not at all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of us, nor note the outer wall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around thy realm imperial<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our slow hands rear as the years fall;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Which shall withstand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stress of time and night of doom;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For we, who build, build of our love,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not as they built, whose empires throve<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And died,—for what knew they thereof<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In old Assyria, Egypt, Rome?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Therefore, in my dumb country’s stead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I come to thee, unheralded,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Praying that Time’s peace may be shed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon thine high, anointed head,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">—One with the wheat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mountain pine, the prairie trail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lakes, the thronging ships thereon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The valley of the blue Saint John,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">New France—her lilies,—not alone<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Empress, I bid thee, Hail!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Francis Sherman.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262">262</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_123"><a id="STRINGER"></a>STRINGER</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_262"><a id="poemr_CCII"></a>CCII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">CANADA TO ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sang one of England in his island home:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘Her veins are million, but her heart is one;’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And looked from out his wave-bound homeland isle<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To us who dwell beyond its western sun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And we among the northland plains and lakes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We youthful dwellers on a younger land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Turn eastward to the wide Atlantic waste,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And feel the clasp of England’s outstretched hand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For we are they who wandered far from home<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To swell the glory of an ancient name;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who journeyed seaward on an exile long,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When fortune’s twilight to our island came.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But every keel that cleaves the midway waste<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Binds with a silent thread our sea-cleft strands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till ocean dwindles and the sea-waste shrinks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And England mingles with a hundred lands.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And weaving silently all far-off shores<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A thousand singing wires stretch round the earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or sleep still vocal in their ocean depths,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till all lands die to make one glorious birth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So we remote compatriots reply,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And feel the world-task only half begun:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘We are the girders of the ageing earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose veins are million, but whose heart is one.’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Arthur Stringer.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_124"><a id="LIVINGSTON"></a>LIVINGSTON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_262a"><a id="poemr_CCIII"></a>CCIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE CANADIAN VOLUNTEERS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263">263</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_264">264</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wide are the plains to the north and the westward;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Drear are the skies to the west and the north—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Little they cared, as they snatched up their rifles,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And shoulder to shoulder marched gallantly forth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cold are the plains to the north and the westward,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stretching out far to the grey of the sky—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Little they cared as they marched from the barrack-room,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Willing and ready, if need be, to die.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bright was the gleam of the sun on their bayonets;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Firm and erect was each man in his place;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Steadily, evenly, marched they like veterans;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Smiling and fearless was every face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never a dread of the foe that was waiting them;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Never a fear of war’s terrible scenes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Brave as the bravest,’ was stamped on each face of them;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Half of them boys not yet out of their teens.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Many a woman gazed down at them longingly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Scanning each rank for her boy as it passed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Striving through tears just to catch a last glimpse of him,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Knowing that glimpse might, for aye, be the last.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Many a maiden’s cheek paled as she looked at them,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seeing the lover from whom she must part;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trying to smile and be brave for the sake of him,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stifling the dread that was breaking her heart.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Every heart of us, wild at the sight of them,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beat as it never had beaten before;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Every voice of us, choked though it may have been,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Broke from huzza to a deafening roar.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud! were we proud of them? God! they were part of us,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sons of us, brothers, all marching to fight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift at their country’s call, ready each man and all,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Eager to battle for her and the right.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wide are the plains to the north and the westward,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stretching out far to the grey of the sky—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Little they cared as they filed from the barrack-room,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shoulder to shoulder, if need be, to die.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was there one flinched? Not a boy, not a boy of them;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Straight on they marched to the dread battle’s brunt—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fill up your glasses and drink to them, all of them,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Canada’s call found them all at the front.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Stuart Livingston.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265">265</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="large"><a id="VI"></a>VI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">INDIA</span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267">267</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_125"><a id="DUTT"></a>DUTT</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_267"><a id="poemr_CCIV"></a>CCIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE HINDU’S ADDRESS TO THE GANGES</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268">268</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The waves are dashing proudly down<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Along thy sounding shore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lashing, with all the storm of power,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The craggy base of mountain tower,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of mosque, and pagod hoar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That darkly o’er thy waters frown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if their moody spirit’s sway<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could hush their wild and boist’rous play!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unconscious roll the surges down,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But not unconscious thou,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dread Spirit of the rolling flood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ages worshipped as a God,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And worshipped even now,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Worshipped, and not by serf or clown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For sages of the mightiest fame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have paid their homage to thy name.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Canst thou forget the glorious past,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">When mighty as a God,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hands and heart unfettered yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And eyes with slavish tears unwet,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Each sable warrior trod<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy sacred shore, before the blast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Moslem conquest hurried by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere yet the Mogul spear was nigh?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O’er crumbled thrones thy waters glide,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Through scenes of blood and woe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And crown and kingdom, might and sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The victor’s and the poet’s bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Ignobly sleep below;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sole remnant of our ancient pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy waves survive the wreck of time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wanton free as in their prime.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Alas, alas, all round how drear,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">How mangled and how torn!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where are the damsels proud and gay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where warriors in their dread array,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">‘In Freedom’s temple born?’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can heroes sleep? Can patriots fear?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or is the spark for ever gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lights the soul from sire to son?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I gaze upon thy current strong<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Beneath the blaze of day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What conjured visions throng my sight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of war and carnage, death and flight!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Thy waters to the Bay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In purple eddies sweep along,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Freedom shrieking leaves the shrine,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Alas! no longer now divine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Roll, Gunga, roll in all thy pride<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Thy hallowed groves among!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still glorious thou in every mood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou boast of India’s widowhood,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Thou theme of every song!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blent with the murmurs of thy tide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The records of far ages lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And live, for thou canst never die!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Shoshee Chunder Dutt.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_126"><a id="LYALL"></a>LYALL</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_268"><a id="poemr_CCV"></a>CCV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THEOLOGY IN EXTREMIS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269">269</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_270">270</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_271">271</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_272">272</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft in the pleasant summer years,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Reading the tales of days bygone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have mused on the story of human tears,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All that man unto man has done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Massacre, torture, and black despair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reading it all in my easy-chair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Passionate prayer for a minute’s life;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tortured crying for death as rest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Husband pleading for child or wife,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pitiless stroke upon tender breast.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was it all real as that I lay there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lazily stretched on my easy-chair?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Could I believe in those hard old times,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here in this safe luxurious age?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were the horrors invented to season rhymes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or truly is man so fierce in his rage?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What could I suffer, and what could I dare?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I who was bred to that easy-chair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They were my fathers, the men of yore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Little they recked of a cruel death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They would dip their hands in a heretic’s gore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They stood and burnt for a rule of faith.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What would I burn for, and whom not spare?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I, who had faith in an easy-chair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now do I see old tales are true,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here in the clutch of a savage foe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now shall I know what my fathers knew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bodily anguish and bitter woe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Naked and bound in the strong sun’s glare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far from my civilised easy-chair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now have I tasted and understood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The old-world feeling of mortal hate;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the eyes all round us are hot with blood;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They will kill us coolly—they do but wait;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While I, I would sell ten lives, at least,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For one fair stroke at that devilish priest,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Just in return for the kick he gave,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bidding me call on the prophet’s name;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Even a dog by this may save<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Skin from the knife and soul from the flame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My soul! if he can let the prophet burn it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But life is sweet if a word may earn it.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A bullock’s death, and at thirty years!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Just one phrase, and a man gets off it;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Look at that mongrel clerk in his tears<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whining aloud the name of the prophet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only a formula easy to patter,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, God Almighty, what <em>can</em> it matter?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Matter enough,’ will my comrade say<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Praying aloud here close at my side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Whether you mourn in despair alway,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cursed for ever by Christ denied;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or whether you suffer a minute’s pain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the reward of Heaven to gain.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not for a moment faltereth he,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sure of the promise and pardon of sin;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus did the martyrs die, I see,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Little to lose and muckle to win;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death means Heaven, he longs to receive it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But what shall I do if I don’t believe it?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Life is pleasant, and friends may be nigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fain would I speak one word and be spared;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet I could be silent and cheerfully die,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If I were only sure God cared;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I had faith, and were only certain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That light is behind that terrible curtain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But what if He listeth nothing at all,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of words a poor wretch in his terror may say?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That mighty God who created all<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To labour and live their appointed day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who stoops not either to bless or ban,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weaving the woof of an endless plan.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He is the Reaper, and binds the sheaf,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall not the season its order keep?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can it be changed by a man’s belief?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Millions of harvests still to reap;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will God reward, if I die for a creed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or will He but pity, and sow more seed?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Surely He pities who made the brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When breaks that mirror of memories sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the hard blow falleth, and never again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nerve shall quiver nor pulse shall beat;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bitter the vision of vanishing joys;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Surely He pities when man destroys.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here stand I on the ocean’s brink,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who hath brought news of the further shore?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How shall I cross it? Sail or sink,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One thing is sure, I return no more;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall I find haven, or aye shall I be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tossed in the depths of a shoreless sea?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They tell fair tales of a far-off land,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of love rekindled, of forms renewed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There may I only touch one hand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here life’s ruin will little be rued;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the hand I have pressed and the voice I have heard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To lose them for ever, and all for a word!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now do I feel that my heart must break<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All for one glimpse of a woman’s face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swiftly the slumbering memories wake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Odour and shadow of hour and place;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One bright ray through the darkening past<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaps from the lamp as it brightens last,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Showing me summer in western land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now, as the cool breeze murmureth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In leaf and flower—And here I stand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In this plain all bare save the shadow of death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaving my life in its full noonday,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And no one to know why I flung it away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Why? Am I bidding for glory’s roll?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I shall be murdered and clean forgot;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is it a bargain to save my soul?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God, whom I trust in, bargains not;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet for the honour of English race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May I not live or endure disgrace.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ay, but the word, if I could have said it,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I by no terrors of hell perplext;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hard to be silent and have no credit<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From man in this world, or reward in the next;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">None to bear witness and reckon the cost<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the name that is saved by the life that is lost.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I must be gone to the crowd untold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of men by the cause which they served unknown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who moulder in myriad graves of old;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Never a story and never a stone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tells of the martyrs who die like me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just for the pride of the old countree.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Sir Alfred Lyall.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_127"><a id="WEBB"></a>WEBB</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_272"><a id="poemr_CCVI"></a>CCVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE RESIDENCY CHURCHYARD</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From domes and palaces I bent my way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, like some Titan by Jove’s thunder marred,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the old battered portal-towers that guard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The storied ruins of a glorious fray.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In patient stillness house and bastion lay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As they had fallen; for the fight was hard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That saw their walls by myriad bullets scarred,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When those few steadfast warriors stood at bay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, by the English tombs of those that fell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In that fierce struggle ’twixt the East and West,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A few green mounds are seen, where peaceful rest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">India’s brave sons who perished fighting well<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For England too. What heart its feud can keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside these graves where our dark comrades sleep?<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Trego Webb.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273">273</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_273"><a id="poemr_CCVII"></a>CCVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE MEMORIAL WELL</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Speak gently, gently tread,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And breathe one sigh profound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In memory of the dead<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Each spot is holy ground.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Theirs was no common doom,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And some were young to die;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within this narrow tomb<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Women and infants lie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They drank the bitter cup<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of fear and anguish deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere they were rendered up<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To death’s unruffled sleep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Meek be our sorrow here,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For them we could not save;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And soft be Pity’s tear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above the children’s grave.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Quenched here be passion’s heat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let strife and vengeance cease;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within their garden sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leave them to rest in peace.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For Nature hath made clean<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This place of human guilt;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now the turf is green<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where English blood was spilt.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Earth’s healing hand hath spread<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her flowers about their tomb;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around the quiet dead<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Trees wave and roses bloom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then lift not wrathful hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But pass in silence by;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their carven Angel stands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And watches where they lie.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Trego Webb.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274">274</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="poem_274"><a id="poemr_CCVIII"></a>CCVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">SPRING IN CALCUTTA</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The cool and pleasant days are past,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sun above the horizon towers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Eastern Spring, arriving fast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leads on too soon the sultry hours.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From greener height the palm looks down;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A livelier hue the peepuls share;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sunlit poinsianas crown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With golden wreaths their branches bare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The ships that, by the river’s brim,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At anchor, lift their shining sides<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the red sun’s westering rim,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swing to the wash of stronger tides.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No insects hum in sylvan bower;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In spectral Stillness stand the trees;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come, blessing of our evening hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come forth and blow, sweet southern breeze!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To us the ocean freshness lend<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which from the wave thy breath receives;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ripple these glassy tanks and send<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A murmur through the silent leaves!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">See, blurred with amber haze, the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Neath yon dim flats doth sink to rest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tender thoughts, that homeward run,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Move fondly with him to the west.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They leave these hot and weary hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The iron fate that girds us round,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wander ’mid the meadow flowers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And breezy heights of English ground.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sun is set; we’ll dream no more;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vainly for us the vision smiles;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why did we quit thy pleasant shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our happiest of the Happy Isles!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Trego Webb.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275">275</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_128"><a id="DENNING"></a>DENNING</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_275"><a id="poemr_CCIX"></a>CCIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE LUCKNOW GARRISON</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276">276</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still stand thy ruins ’neath the Indian sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Memorials eloquent of blood and tears!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! for the spirit of those days gone by<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To wake a strain amid these later years<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Worthy of thee and thine! I seem to see,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When thinking on thy consecrated dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">From thy scarred chambers start<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The heroes whom thy fiery travail bred<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And made thee—for us English—what thou art!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Green grows the grass around thy crumbling walls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where glorious Lawrence groaned his life away!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And childhood’s footsteps echo through those halls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wherein thy wounded and thy dying lay!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While blent with infant laughter seems to rise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The far-off murmur of thy battle roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The prayer—the shout—the groan—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Outram’s unselfish chivalry of soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And white-haired Havelock’s strong, commanding tone!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet, what are names? The genius of the spot,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Born of our womanhood and manhood brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall fire our children’s children! Ne’er forgot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall be the dust of thy historic grave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Reverence fills the sense with musing calm,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While Glory stirs the pulse of prince or clown,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">While blooms on British sod<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The glorious flower of our fair renown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our English valour and our trust in God!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The memory of the Living! Lo, they stand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Engirt with honour while the day draws in,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An ever lessening and fraternal band<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Linked in chivalric glory and akin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To earth’s immortals! Time may bow the frame<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And plough deep wrinkles ’mid their honoured scars,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But Death-like Night which brings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To earth the blaze majestic of the stars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall but enhance their glory with his wings!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The memory of the Dead! A pilgrim, I<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have bowed my face before thy honoured shrine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With pride deep-welling while the moments by<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sped to a human ecstasy divine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tingling my very blood, to think that they,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Martyrs and victors in our English need,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Were children of the earth—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet better—heroes of our island breed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And men and women of our British birth!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Renton Denning.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_276"><a id="poemr_CCX"></a>CCX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">SOLDIERS OF IND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277">277</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_278">278</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i0">Men of the Hills and men of the Plains, men of the Isles and Sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brothers in bond of battle and blood wherever the battle may be;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A song and a thought for your fighting line, a song for the march and camp,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A song to the beat of the rolling drums, a song to the measured tramp,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the feet lift up on the dusty road ’neath sun and moon and star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the prayer is prayed by mother and maid for their best beloved afar!<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What say the Plains—the Plains that stretch along<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From hamlet and from field, from fold and byre?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Here once toiled one who sang his peasant song<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And now reaps harvest ’mid the tribesmen’s fire!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Spirit of a mightier world than springs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From his poor village led him on<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To glory! Yea—to glory!’—Ever sings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Spirit of the Plains when he is gone!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What say the Hills whence come the Gurkha breed—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bull-dogs of the East? From crest and vale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reverberate the echoes, swift they speed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On falling waters or the mountain gale!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Our Hillmen brave as lions have gone forth;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They were our sons; we bred them—even we—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To face thy foemen, Islands of the North,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We know their worth and sing it thus to thee!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What say the Passes? There the requiem<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of battle lingers o’er the undying dead—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Our Soldiers of the Sun, whose diadem<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of honour glitters in the nullah bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or by the hillside drear, or dark ravine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or on the <em>sangared</em> steep—a solemn ray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That touches thus the thing that once hath been,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With glory—glory!’—So the Passes say!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And so the great world hears and men’s eyes blaze<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As each one to his neighbour cries ‘Well done!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A little thing this speech—this flower of praise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet let it crown our Soldiers of the Sun!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not here alone—for here we know them well;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But tell our English, waiting on the shore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To welcome back <em>their</em> heroes: ‘Lo! these fell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Even as ours—as brave—for evermore!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hear the roar amid the London street:—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The earth hath not its equal, whether it be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ignorance or knowledge, and the feet<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That press therein and eyes that turn to see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know nothing of our sepoys—let them know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That here be men beneath whose dark skin runs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A battle-virtue kindred with the glow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That fires the leaping pulses of their sons!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis worth proclaiming. Yea, it seems to me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This loyalty—to death—lies close akin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To all the noblest human traits that be,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Engendered whence we know not—yet within<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Choice spirits nobly gathered. Lo! we stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Needs must, against the world, Yet war’s alarms<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are nothing to our mightiest Motherland,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While Nation circles Nation in her arms!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Renton Denning.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_278"><a id="poemr_CCXI"></a>CCXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">SARANSAR</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279">279</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What are the bugles saying<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a strain so long and so loud?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They say that a soldier’s blanket<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is meet for a soldier’s shroud!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They say that their hill-tossed music,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blown forth of the living breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is full of the victor’s triumph<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sad with the wail of death!<br /></span> -<span class="i8"><em>Bugles of Talavera!</em><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What are the bugles saying?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They tell of the falling night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When a section of dog-tired English<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Drew close for a rear-guard fight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With an officer-boy to lead them,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A lost and an outflanked squad,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the grace of a half-learned drill book,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a prayer to the unseen God!<br /></span> -<span class="i8"><em>Bugles of Talavera!</em><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What are the bugles saying<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the stand that was heel to heel?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The click of the quick-pressed lever,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The glint of the naked steel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flame of the steady volley,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hope that was almost gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the leaping horde of the tribesmen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swept as a tide sweeps on!<br /></span> -<span class="i8"><em>Bugles of Talavera!</em><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What are the bugles saying?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They say that the teeth are set,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They say that the breath comes thicker,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the blood-red Night is wet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the rough blunt speech of the English,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The burr of the shires afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Falls with a lone brave pathos<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Mid the hills of the Saransar!<br /></span> -<span class="i8"><em>Bugles of Talavera!</em><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What are the bugles saying?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They say that the English there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Feel a breath from their island meadows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like incense fill the air!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They say that they stood for a moment<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With their dear ones by their side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For their spirits swept to the Homeland<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Before the English died!<br /></span> -<span class="i8"><em>Bugles of Talavera!</em><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And aye are the bugles saying,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While the dust lies low i’ the dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The strength of a strong man’s fighting,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The crown of the soldier’s trust—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wine of a full-brimmed battle,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The peace of the quiet grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a wreath from the hands of glory<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are the guerdon of the brave!<br /></span> -<span class="i10"><em>Bugles of Talavera!</em><br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Renton Denning.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280">280</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_129"><a id="KIPLING280"></a>KIPLING</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_280"><a id="poemr_CCXII"></a>CCXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE GALLEY-SLAVE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281">281</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_282">282</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O gallant was our galley from her carven steering-wheel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To her figurehead of silver and her beak of hammered steel;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The leg-bar chafed the ankle and we gasped for cooler air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But no galley on the water with our galley could compare!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our bulkheads bulged with cotton and our masts were stepped in gold—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We ran a mighty merchandise of niggers in the hold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The white foam spun behind us, and the black shark swam below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As we gripped the kicking sweep-head and we made that galley go.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It was merry in the galley, for we revelled now and then—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If they wore us down like cattle, faith, we fought and loved like men!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As we snatched her through the water, so we snatched a minute’s bliss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the mutter of the dying never spoiled the lovers’ kiss.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our women and our children toiled beside us in the dark—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They died, we filed their fetters, and we heaved them to the shark—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We heaved them to the fishes, but so fast the galley sped<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We had only time to envy, for we could not mourn our dead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bear witness, once my comrades, what a hard-bit gang were we—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The servants of the sweep-head but the masters of the sea!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the hands that drove her forward as she plunged and yawed and sheered,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Woman, Man, or God or Devil, was there anything we feared?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Was it storm? Our fathers faced it and a wilder never blew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Earth that waited for the wreckage watched the galley struggle through.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burning noon or choking midnight, Sickness, Sorrow, Parting, Death?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nay, our very babes would mock you had they time for idle breath.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But to-day I leave the galley and another takes my place;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s my name upon the deck-beam—let it stand a little space.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am free—to watch my messmates beating out to open main<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Free of all that Life can offer—save to handle sweep again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By the brand upon my shoulder, by the gall of clinging steel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the welt the whips have left me, by the scars that never heal;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By eyes grown old with staring through the sunwash on the brine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am paid in full for service—would that service still were mine!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet they talk of times and seasons and of woe the years bring forth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of our galley swamped and shattered in the rollers of the North.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the niggers break the hatches and the decks are gay with gore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a craven-hearted pilot crams her crashing on the shore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She will need no half-mast signal, minute-gun, or rocket-flare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the cry for help goes seaward, she will find her servants there.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Battered chain-gangs of the orlop, grizzled drafts of years gone by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the bench that broke their manhood, they shall lash themselves and die.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hale and crippled, young and aged, paid, deserted, shipped away—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Palace, cot, and lazaretto shall make up the tale that day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the skies are black above them, and the decks ablaze beneath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the topmen clear the raffle with their clasp-knives in their teeth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It may be that Fate will give me life and leave to row once more—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Set some strong man free for fighting as I take awhile his oar.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But to-day I leave the galley. Shall I curse her service then?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God be thanked—whate’er comes after, I have lived and toiled with Men!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Rudyard Kipling.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283">283</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="large"><a id="VII"></a>VII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">SOUTH AFRICA</span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285">285</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_130"><a id="PRINGLE"></a>PRINGLE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_285"><a id="poemr_CCXIII"></a>CCXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE DESOLATE VALLEY</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Far up among the forest-belted mountains,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where Winterberg, stern giant old and grey,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Looks down the subject dells, whose gleaming fountains<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To wizard Kat their virgin tribute pay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A valley opens to the noontide ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With green savannahs shelving to the brim<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the swift river, sweeping on its way<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To where Umtóka tries to meet with him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a blue serpent gliding through the acacias dim.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">There, couched at night in hunter’s wattled shieling,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How wildly-beautiful it was to hear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The elephant his shrill <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">reveillé</i> pealing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like some far signal-trumpet on the ear!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While the broad midnight moon was shining clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How fearful to look forth upon the woods,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And see those stately forest-kings appear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Emerging from their shadowy solitudes—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if that trump had woke Earth’s old gigantic broods!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Look round that vale! behold the unburied bones<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Ghona’s children withering in the blast!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sobbing wind, that through the forest moans,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whispers—‘The spirit hath for ever passed!’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thus, in the vale of desolation vast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In moral death dark Afric’s myriads lie;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But the appointed day shall dawn at last,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When, breathed on by a spirit from on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dry bones shall awake, and shout—<br /></span> -<span class="i16">‘Our God is nigh!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Pringle.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286">286</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_131"><a id="COURTHOPE"></a>COURTHOPE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_286"><a id="poemr_CCXIV"></a>CCXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ENGLAND IN SOUTH AFRICA<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(1899)</span></span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Across the streaming flood, the deep ravine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through hurricanes of shot, through hells of fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To rocks where myriad marksmen lurk unseen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The steadfast legions mount, mount always higher.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Earth and her elements protect the foe:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His are the covered trench, the ambushed hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The treacherous pit, the sudden secret blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The swift retreat—but ours the conquering will.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Against that will in vain the fatal lead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vain is the stubborn heart, brute cunning vain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strong in the triumphs of thy dauntless dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Advance, Imperial Race, advance and reign!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William John Courthope.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_132"><a id="HENLEY286"></a>HENLEY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_286a"><a id="poemr_CCXV"></a>CCXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">FOR A GRAVE IN SOUTH AFRICA</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We cheered you forth—brilliant and kind and brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under your country’s triumphing flag you fell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It floats, true heart, over no dearer grave.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brave and brilliant and kind, hail and farewell!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Ernest Henley.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_133"><a id="HALL"></a>HALL</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_286b"><a id="poemr_CCXVI"></a>CCXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">ON LEAVING TABLE BAY</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287">287</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sun-showered land! largess of golden light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is thine; and well-befitting since the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of England voiced again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Canute’s command; ah, not in vain!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Backward the tides of savagery drew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still the bright sands gain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the retreating main:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A lost world leaping to the light and blue.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In state the mountains greet an eve so fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sunset-crowns and robes of purple wear:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sea of glass the ocean, gold-inwrought—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pathway apocalyptic. From the prow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A long bright ripple to the land is roll’d....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haste thee and tell, tell of our love, with lips of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In soft sea-music tell!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thou, sweet bird, whose snowy wings have caught<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The universal glory, carry thou<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To that dear shore farewell—our hearts’ farewell!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Arthur Vine Hall.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_134"><a id="COOK"></a>COOK</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_287"><a id="poemr_CCXVII"></a>CCXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE RELIEF OF MAFEKING</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Well done!’ The cry goes ringing round the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">O’er land and sea, wherever pulse throbs fast<br /></span> -<span class="i4">At tales of courage, for relief at last<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is theirs and ours: so dawn’s bright flag unfurled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hath challenge to the powers of darkness hurled,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And made one glory of the empyrean vast;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And when this day to history’s tome is passed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its name shall stand on golden page impearled.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O God! our Help, our Hope, our Refuge strong<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In days of trouble, still be Thou our Guide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So shall we pass the coming days along<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In certain trust whatever may betide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on Thine Empire shine the glorious sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till at last Thou say to her ‘Well done!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Hilda Mary Agnes Cook.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288">288</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_135"><a id="RUSSELL"></a>RUSSELL</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_288"><a id="poemr_CCXVIII"></a>CCXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE VANGUARD<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(1842)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289">289</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By the Boer lines at Congella,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the west wind sheds its rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the yellow sands grew crimson<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the wounded and the slain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Etched upon the deadly sky-line,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mark for guns behind each dune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flashed the silver of the bayonets<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the lethal night’s high noon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far across the bay the booming<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the cannon rose and fell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Echoing to bluff and island,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rang the soldier’s passing-bell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Blood of England shed for Empire<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At our southern Trasimene—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such it is that fosters heroes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Keeps the graves of valour green.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All life’s nobler thoughts are strengthened<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the valiance of our sires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As it glows undimmed, undying,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like Rome’s cherished vestal-fires.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ever burning—happy omen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the progress of the State!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Patriots give their lives as incense<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the altars reared by Fate.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such pure light streamed o’er the cities<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the pulsing Punic world;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lit their galleys through the Pillars<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the West, with sails unfurled.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In wild camps it thrilled Rome’s legions,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stemmed the East at Marathon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bore sea-heroes through the Syrtes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through strange seas and tropic dawn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Diaz and Da Gama snatched it<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From their Lusitanian pyre;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bore it over hungry surges<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the Cape of Storms and Fire;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And it gleamed upon our verdure<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From their storm-vexed caravel—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Band of afternoon undying—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er tired visions cast its spell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Clear the deathless flame was glowing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the wide bay’s tender blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When their blood was shed for England<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the men of ’Forty-two.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Robert Russell.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291">291</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="large"><a id="VIII"></a>VIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">AUSTRALIA</span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293">293</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_136"><a id="SUPPLE"></a>SUPPLE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_293"><a id="poemr_CCXIX"></a>CCXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">DAMPIER’S DREAM</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294">294</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_295">295</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The seaman slept—all nature sleeps; a sacred stillness there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is on the wood—is on the waves—is in the silver air.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sky above—the silent sea—with stars were all aglow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There shone Orion and his belt—Arcturus and his bow!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The seaman slept—or does he sleep?—what chorus greets him now?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild music breaking from the deep around the vessel’s bow?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He starts, he looks, he sees rise shadowy—can he only dream?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sovereign form, wrathful, yet beauteous—in the moon’s cold beam!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Mortal, hath fallen my star in the hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the dread eclipse, that thou scornest my power?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Herald thus soon of that mystic race<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fated to reign in my people’s place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bringing arts of might—working wondrous spells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where now but the simple savage dwells;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before whom my children shall pass away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the morntide passes before the day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The time is not yet, why dost thou come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bale of thy presence to cast o’er my home?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its shadow of doom is on air and waves—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en the still soft gloom of my deep sea caves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A shudder has reached; over shore and bay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bodeful the shivering moonbeams play!<br /></span> -<span class="i8">The Spirit of this zone am I—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mine are the isles and yon mainlands nigh;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And roused from my rest by the wood-wraith’s sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the sea-maid’s moan on the coral reef—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Voices never till now foreboding grief—<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Hither I fly—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here at the gate of my South Sea realm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To bid thee put back thy fateful helm!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not yet is the hour, why art thou here<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Presaging dole, and scaith, and fear?’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not yet is the time—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Woe-bringer, go back to thy cloud-wrapped clime!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meeter for thee the drear Northern sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where wintry breakers ceaseless roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And strew with wrecks a dusky shore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the iceberg rears its awful form,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where along the billows the petrels cry—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, like thee, that dark bird loves the storm!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou child of the clime of the Vikings wild—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who wert nursed upon the tempest’s wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A boy on the wind-beaten mast to cling—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose quest is prey, who hailest the day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When gleam the red swords and the death-bolts ring!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy joy is with restless men and seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What dost thou in scenes as soft as these?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hour is not yet, but the doom appears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As I gaze thro’ the haze of long distant years.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mighty people speaking thy tongue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sea-borne from their far, dark strands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall spread abroad over all these lands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where man now lives as when Time was young.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see their stately cities rise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thro’ the clouds where the future’s horizon lies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thro’ the purple mists shrouding river and plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the white-foaming bay marks the hidden main;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And clearer now—I behold more clear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Great ships—sails swelling to the breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their keels break all the virgin seas;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vast white-winged squadrons, they come and go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where only has skimmed the light canoe!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes, the seats and the paths of empire veer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A highway of nations will yet be here!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As Tyre was in an ancient age;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As Venice of palaces, strong and sage;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the haughty ports of your native shore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose fleets override the waters’ rage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So shall the pride of yon cities soar.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the frigid Pole to the torrid Line,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their sway shall stretch—their standards shine!’<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Gerald Henry Supple.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_137"><a id="GORDON"></a>GORDON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_295"><a id="poemr_CCXX"></a>CCXX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">BY FLOOD AND FIELD</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296">296</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_297">297</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I remember the lowering wintry morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the mist on the Cotswold hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where I once heard the blast of the huntsman’s horn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not far from the seven rills.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Jack Esdale was there, and Hugh St. Clair,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bob Chapman, and Andrew Kerr,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And big George Griffiths on Devil-May-Care,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And—black Tom Oliver.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And one who rode on a dark brown steed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Clean-jointed, sinewy, spare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the lean game head of the Blacklock breed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the resolute eye that loves the lead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the quarters massive and square—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A tower of strength, with a promise of speed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(There was Celtic blood in the pair).<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I remember how merry a start we got,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the red fox broke from the gorse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a country so deep, with a scent so hot,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That the hound could outpace the horse;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I remember how few in the front rank show’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How endless appeared the tail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the brown hillside, where we cross’d the road<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And headed towards the vale.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dark brown steed on the left was there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the right was a dappled grey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And between the pair on a chestnut mare<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The duffer who writes this lay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What business had ‘this child’ there to ride?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But little or none at all;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet I hold my own for awhile in the pride<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That goeth before a fall.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though rashness can hope but for one result,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We are heedless when fate draws nigh us,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the maxim holds good, ‘<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Quem perdere vult</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Deus dementat prius</i>.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The right-hand man to the left-hand said,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As down in the vale we went,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Harden your heart like a millstone, Ned,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And set your face as flint;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Solid and tall is the rasping wall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That stretches before us yonder;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You must have it at speed or not at all,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Twere better to halt than to ponder;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the stream runs wide on the take off side,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And washes the clay bank under;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here goes for a pull, ’tis a madman’s ride,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a broken neck if you blunder!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No word in reply his comrade spoke,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor waver’d, nor once look’d round,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I saw him shorten his horse’s stroke<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As we splash’d through the marshy ground;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I remember the laugh that all the while<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On his quiet features played:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So he rode to his death, with that careless smile,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the van of the Light Brigade;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So stricken by Russian grape, the cheer<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rang out while he toppled back,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the shattered lungs as merry and clear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As it did when it roused the pack.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let never a tear his memory stain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Give his ashes never a sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One of the many who fell—not in vain—<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">A type of our chivalry</span>!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I remember one thrust he gave to his hat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And two to the flanks of the brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still as a statue of old he sat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And he shot to the front, hands down;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I remember the snort and the stag-like bound<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the steed six lengths to the fore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the laugh of the rider while, landing sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He turned in his saddle and glanced around;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I remember—but little more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save a bird’s-eye gleam of the dashing stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A jarring thud on the wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A shock, and the blank of a nightmare’s dream,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I was down with a stunning fall!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Adam Lindsay Gordon.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_138"><a id="STEPHENS"></a>STEPHENS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_297"><a id="poemr_CCXXI"></a>CCXXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">FULFILMENT<br /> - -<span class="subhead">(<i>January 1, 1901</i>)</span></span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298">298</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_299">299</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, now we know the long delay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But served to assure a prouder day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For while we waited, came the call<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To prove and make our title good—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To face the fiery ordeal<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That tries the claim to Nationhood—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now, in pride of challenge, we unroll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all the world to read, the record-scroll<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose bloody script attests a Nation’s soul.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O ye, our Dead, who at the call<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fared forth to fall as heroes fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose consecrated souls we failed<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To note beneath the common guise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till all-revealing Death unveiled<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The splendour of your sacrifice,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, crowned with more than perishable bays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Immortal in your country’s love and praise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ye too have portion in this day of days!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And ye who sowed where now we reap,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose waiting eyes, now sealed in sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beheld far off with prescient sight<br /></span> -<span class="i4">This triumph of rejoicing lands—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yours too the day! for though its light<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Can pierce not to your folded hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These shining hours of advent but fulfil<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cherished purpose of your constant will<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose onward impulse liveth in us still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still lead thou vanward of our line<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, shaggy, massive, leonine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Couldst yet most finely phrase the event—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For if a Pisgah view was all<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vouchsafed to thine uncrowned intent,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The echoes of thy herald-call<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not faintlier strive with our saluting guns,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And at thy words through all Australia’s sons<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ‘crimson thread of kinship’ redder runs.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But not the memory of the dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How loved soe’er each sacred head,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To-day can change from glad to grave<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The chords that quire a Nation born—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Twin-offspring of the birth that gave,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">When yester-midnight chimed to morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Another age to the Redeemer’s reign,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Another cycle to the widening gain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Good o’er Ill and Remedy o’er Pain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our sundering lines with love o’ergrown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our bounds the girdling seas alone—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Be this the burden of the psalm<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That every resonant hour repeats,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till day-fall dusk the fern and palm<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That forest our transfigured streets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And night still vibrant with the note of praise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thrill brotherhearts to song in woodland ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When gum-leaves whisper o’er the camp-fire’s blaze.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Charter’s read; the rites are o’er;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The trumpet’s blare and cannon’s roar<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are silent, and the flags are furled;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But not so ends the task to build<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into the fabric of the world<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The substance of our hope fulfilled—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To work as those who greatly have divined<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lordship of a continent assigned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As God’s own gift for service of mankind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O People of the onward will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unit of Union greater still<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than that to-day hath made you great,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Your true Fulfilment waiteth there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Embraced within the larger fate<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of Empire ye are born to share—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No vassal progeny of subject brood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No satellite shed from Britain’s plenitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But orbed with <em>her</em> in one wide sphere of good!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>James Brunton Stephens.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_139"><a id="RUSSELL299"></a>RUSSELL</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_299"><a id="poemr_CCXXII"></a>CCXXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BIRTH OF AUSTRALIA</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300">300</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not ’mid the thunder of the battle guns,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not on the red field of an Empire’s wrath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rose to a nation Australasia’s sons,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who trod to greatness Industry’s pure path.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behold a people through whose annals runs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No damning stain of falsehood, force or wrong,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A record clear as light, and sweet as song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Without one page the patriot’s finger shuns!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where ’mid the legends of old Rome, or Greece,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Glows such a tale? Thou canst not answer, Time!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With shield unsullied by a single crime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With wealth of gold and still more golden fleece,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forth stands Australia, in her birth sublime,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The only nation from the womb of Peace!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Percy Russell.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_140"><a id="LAWSON"></a>LAWSON</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_300"><a id="poemr_CCXXIII"></a>CCXXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE WAR OF THE FUTURE</span></h3> - -<div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There are boys to-day in the city slum and the home of wealth and pride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who’ll have one home when the storm is come, and fight for it side by side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who’ll hold the cliffs ’gainst the armoured hells that batter a coasted town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or grimly die in a hail of shells when the walls come crashing down;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a pink-white baby girl, the queen of her home to-day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall see the wings of the tempest whirl the mist of our dawn away—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall live to shudder and stop her ears to the thud of the distant gun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And know the sorrow that has no tears when a battle is lost or won,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As a mother or wife, in the years to come, will kneel, mild-eyed and white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pray to God in her darkened home for the ‘men in the fort to-night.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, O! if the cavalry charge again as they did when the world was wide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twill be grand in the ranks of a thousand men in that glorious race to ride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And strike for all that is true and strong, for all that is grand and brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all that ever shall be, so long as man has a soul to save.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301">301</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He must lift the saddle, and close his ‘wings,’ and shut his angels out,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And steel his heart for the end of things, who’d ride with the stockman scout,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the race is rode on the battle track, and the waning distance hums,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the shelled sky shrieks or the rifles crack like stockwhips amongst the gums—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the ‘straight’ is reached, and the field is ‘gapped,’ and the hoof-torn sward grows red<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the blood of those who are handicapped with iron and steel and lead;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the gaps are filled, though unseen by eyes, with the spirit and with the shades<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the world-wide rebel dead who’ll rise and rush with the Bush Brigades.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All creeds and trades will have soldiers there—give every class its due—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there’ll be many a clerk to spare for the pride of the jackeroo.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They’ll fight for honour, and fight for love, and a few will fight for gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the devil below, and for God above, as our fathers fought of old;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And some half-blind with exultant tears, and some stiff-lipped, stern-eyed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the pride of a thousand after-years and the old eternal pride.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The soul of the world they will feel and see in the chase and the grim retreat—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They’ll know the glory of victory—and the grandeur of defeat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They’ll tell the tales of the ‘nights before’ and the tales of the ship and fort,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the sons of Australia take to war as their fathers took to sport,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their breath come deep and their eyes grow bright at the tales of chivalry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every boy will want to fight, no matter what cause it be—<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302">302</a></span> -<span class="i0">When the children run to the doors and cry, ‘O, mother, the troops are come!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every heart in the town leaps high at the first loud thud of the drum.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They’ll know, apart from its mystic charm, what music is at last,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, proud as a boy with a broken arm, the regiment marches past;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the veriest wreck in the drink-fiend’s clutch, no matter how low or mean,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will feel, when he hears the march, a touch of the man he might have been.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fools, when the fiends of war are out and the city skies aflame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will have something better to talk about than a sister’s or brother’s shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will have something nobler to do by far than to jest at a friend’s expense,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or to blacken a name in a public bar or over a backyard fence.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And this you learn from the libelled past (though its methods were somewhat rude),<br /></span> -<em><span class="i0">A nation’s born when the shells fall fast, or its lease of life renewed;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We in part atone for the ghoulish strife—for the crimes of the peace we boast—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the better part of a people’s life in the storm comes uppermost.<br /></span></em> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Henry Lawson.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_141"><a id="MAQUARIE"></a>MAQUARIE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_302"><a id="poemr_CCXXIV"></a>CCXXIV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A FAMILY MATTER</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303">303</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come, my hearties—work will stand—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here’s your Mother calling!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wants us all to lend a hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And go out Uncle-Pauling.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Catch your nags, and saddle slick,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Quick to join the banners!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Folks that treat the fam’ly thick<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Must be taught their manners.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who would potter round a farm<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fearful of clubbed gunstroke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, keeping cosy out of harm,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Die of loafer’s sunstroke?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gusts of distant battle-noise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tell that men are falling;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Get your guns, my bonny boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here’s your Mother calling!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Buckle on your cartridge belts,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Waste no time about it!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Force is massing on the veldts,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We must off and rout it.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What if fate should work its worst!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Men can grin in falling;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come on, chaps, and be the first,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here’s your Mother calling!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Arthur Maquarie.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_142"><a id="ADAMS"></a>ADAMS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_303"><a id="poemr_CCXXV"></a>CCXXV<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE DWELLINGS OF OUR DEAD</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304">304</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_305">305</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They lie unwatched, in waste and vacant places,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In sombre bush or wind-swept tussock spaces,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where seldom human tread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And never human trace is—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The dwellings of our dead!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No insolence of stone is o’er them builded;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By mockery of monuments unshielded,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Far on the unfenced plain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forgotten graves have yielded<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Earth to free earth again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Above their crypts no air with incense reeling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No chant of choir or sob of organ pealing;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But ever over them<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The evening breezes kneeling<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Whisper a requiem.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For some the margeless plain where no one passes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save when at morning far in misty masses<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The drifting flock appears.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo, here the greener grasses<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Glint like a stain of tears!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For some the common trench where, not all fameless,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They fighting fell who thought to tame the tameless,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And won their barren crown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where one grave holds them nameless—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Brave white and braver brown.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, in their sleep, like troubled children turning,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dream of mother-country in them burning,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">They whisper their despair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And one vague, voiceless yearning<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Burdens the pausing air....<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘<em>Unchanging here the drab year onward presses,</em><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>No Spring comes trysting here with new-loosed tresses,</em><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><em>And never may the years</em><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><em>Win Autumn’s sweet caresses—</em><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><em>Her leaves that fall like tears.</em><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<em><span class="i0">And we would lie ’neath old-remembered beeches,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where we could hear the voice of him who preaches<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the deep organ’s call,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While close about us reaches<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The cool, grey, lichened wall.’<br /></span></em> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But they are ours, and jealously we hold them;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within our children’s ranks we have enrolled them,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And till all Time shall cease<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our brooding bush shall fold them<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In her broad-bosomed peace.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They came as lovers come, all else forsaking,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bonds of home and kindred proudly breaking;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">They lie in splendour lone—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The nation of their making<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Their everlasting throne!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Arthur Adams.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_143"><a id="OGILVIE"></a>OGILVIE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_305"><a id="poemr_CCXXVI"></a>CCXXVI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE BUSH, MY LOVER</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306">306</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The camp-fire gleams resistance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To every twinkling star;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The horse-bells in the distance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are jangling faint and far;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through gum-boughs lorn and lonely<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The passing breezes sigh;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all the world are only<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My star-crowned Love and I.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The still night wraps Macquarie;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The white moon, drifting slow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Takes back her silver glory<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From watching waves below;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To dalliance I give over,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though half the world may chide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And clasp my one true Lover<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here on Macquarie side.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The loves of earth grow olden<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or kneel at some new shrine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her locks are always golden—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This brave Bush-Love of mine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And for her star-lit beauty,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And for her dawns dew-pearled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her name in love and duty<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I guard against the world.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They curse her desert places!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How can they understand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who know not what her face is<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And never held her hand?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who may have heard the meeting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of boughs the wind has stirred,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet missed the whispered greeting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our listening hearts have heard.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For some have travelled over<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The long miles at her side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet claimed her not as Lover<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor thought of her as Bride:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And some have followed after<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through sun and mist for years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor held the sunshine laughter,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor guessed the raindrops tears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If we some white arms’ folding,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some warm, red mouth should miss—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her hand is ours for holding,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her lips are ours to kiss;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And closer than a lover<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She shares our lightest breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And droops her great wings over<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To shield us to the death.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The winds of Dawn are roving,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The river-oaks astir ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What heart were lorn of loving<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That had no Love but her?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till last red stars are lighted<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And last winds wander West,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her troth and mine are plighted—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Lover I love best!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>William Ogilvie.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307">307</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_144"><a id="EVANS"></a>EVANS</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_307"><a id="poemr_CCXXVII"></a>CCXXVII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A FEDERAL SONG</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308">308</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the greyness of the dawning we have seen the pilot-star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the whisper of the morning we have heard the years afar.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Shall we sleep and let them be<br /></span> -<span class="i6">When they call to you and me?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can we break the land asunder God has girdled with the sea?<br /></span> -<span class="i6">For the Flag is floating o’er us,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And the track is clear before us;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the desert to the ocean let us lift the mighty chorus<br /></span> -<span class="i6">For the days that are to be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We have flung the challenge forward:—‘Brothers stand or fall as one!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She is coming out to meet us in the splendour of the sun;—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">From the graves beneath the sky<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Where her nameless heroes lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the forelands of the Future they are waiting our reply!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">We can face the roughest weather<br /></span> -<span class="i6">If we only hold together,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Marching forward to the Future, marching shoulder-firm together;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">For the Nation yet to be.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All the greyness of the dawning, all the mists are overpast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the glory of the morning we shall see her face at last.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">He who sang, ‘She yet will be,’<br /></span> -<span class="i6">He shall hail her, crowned and free!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could we break the land asunder God had girdled with the sea?<br /></span> -<span class="i6">For the Flag is floating o’er us,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And the star of Hope before us,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the desert to the ocean, brothers, lift the mighty chorus<br /></span> -<span class="i6">For Australian Unity!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>George Essex Evans.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_145"><a id="OHARA"></a>O’HARA</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_308"><a id="poemr_CCXXVIII"></a>CCXXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">FLINDERS</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309">309</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He left his island home<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For leagues of sleepless foam,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For stress of alien seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where wild winds ever blow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For England’s sake he sought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fresh fields of fame, and fought<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A stormy world for these,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A hundred years ago.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And where the Austral shore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heard southward far the roar<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of rising tides that came<br /></span> -<span class="i4">From lands of ice and snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath a gracious sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To fadeless memory<br /></span> -<span class="i4">He left a deathless name<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A hundred years ago.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yea, left a name sublime<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From that wild dawn of Time,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Whose light he haply saw<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In supreme sunrise flow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from the shadows vast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That filled the dim dead past,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A brighter glory draw,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A hundred years ago.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Perchance, he saw in dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside our sunlit streams<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In some majestic hour<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Old England’s banners blow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mayhap, the radiant morn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of this great nation born,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">August with perfect power,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A hundred years ago.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We know not,—yet for thee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far may the season be,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Whose harp in shameful sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Is soundless lying low!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far be the noteless hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That holds of fame no flower<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For those who dared our deep<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A hundred years ago!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Bernard O’Hara.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_309"><a id="poemr_CCXXIX"></a>CCXXIX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">THE AUSTRALIAN COMMONWEALTH</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310">310</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_311">311</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Lo, ’tis the light of the morn<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Over the mountains breaking,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And our Empire’s day is born,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The life of a Nation waking<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To the triumph of regal splendour,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">To the voice of conquering fate<br /></span> -<span class="i6">That cries ‘No longer wait!’<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To the rising hopes that send her<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Fearless upon her way<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With no thoughts of her yesterday,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">But dreams of a mighty State<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Great ’mid the old grave nations,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Divine in her aspirations;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Blest be the men who brought her,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Freedom’s starriest daughter,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Out of the night<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Into the light,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A power and a glory for evermore!—<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Let the old world live in the pages<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Time wrote in the dark of the ages,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For us ’tis the light of the morning breaking on sea and shore!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">They found her a maiden with dower<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Only of seasons sunny,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Blue skies and the frail white flower<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Of Peace with its song’s sweet honey,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the joy of her wild seas flinging<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Their voices on fairy strands<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where only the winds’ soft singing<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Broke on the sleep of day,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Or a whistling spear by the dim green way<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Of the water and the lands.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Green were the woodlands round her,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Blue were the seas that bound her,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Soft was the sky above her,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A dreamily lonely lover;<br /></span> -<span class="i10">Streams and dells<br /></span> -<span class="i10">And the mountain wells,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the voice of the forest were hers alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And the life of the grim grave ranges,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The night and the noon and the changes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of light on the topmost peaks when the rose of the dawn was blown.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Lift up thine honoured head!<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The skies are all aflame;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The east to morn is wed;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Lift up thine honoured head,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And fearless keep thy fame!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">There is work for thee to do,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">A nation’s work is thine;<br /></span> -<span class="i6">O land, beloved, mine!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Gird thee for life anew!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With strength, that fails not, keep<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Thy pathway bright with Good;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Let Honour, Justice, sweep<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Aside the weeds that creep—<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Grim Error, Unbelief,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And their Titanic brood,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Be thine the task to rear<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The spacious halls of Art,<br /></span> -<span class="i10">To hearken to sweet Song,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Be thine the pride to fear<br /></span> -<span class="i6">No foe while in thy heart<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The love of Truth is strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To help the weak, and be<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Beloved and great and free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Even as thy Mighty Mother—the Grey Queen of the Sea!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>John Bernard O’Hara.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_313">313</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="large"><a id="IX"></a>IX<br /> - -<span class="subhead">NEW ZEALAND</span></h2> -</div> - -<hr class="wide" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_315">315</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_146"><a id="BRACKEN"></a>BRACKEN</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_315"><a id="poemr_CCXXX"></a>CCXXX<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">NEW ZEALAND HYMN</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_316">316</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God of Nations! at Thy feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the bonds of love we meet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hear our voices, we entreat,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God defend our free land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guard Pacific’s triple star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the shafts of strife and war.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make her praises heard afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God defend New Zealand!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Men of every creed and race<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gather here before Thy face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Asking Thee to bless this place,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God defend our free land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From dissension, envy, hate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And corruption guard our State,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make our country good and great,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God defend New Zealand!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Peace, not war, shall be our boast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, should foes assail our coast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make us then a mighty host,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God defend our free land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lord of Battles, in Thy might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Put our enemies to flight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let our cause be just and right,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God defend New Zealand!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let our love for Thee increase,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May Thy blessings never cease,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give us plenty, give us peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God defend our free land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From dishonour and from shame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guard our country’s spotless name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crown her with immortal fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God defend New Zealand!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">May our mountains ever be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Freedom’s ramparts on the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make us faithful unto Thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God defend our free land!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guide her in the nations’ van,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Preaching love and truth to man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Working out Thy glorious plan,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God defend New Zealand!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Thomas Bracken.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_147"><a id="BATHGATE"></a>BATHGATE</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_316"><a id="poemr_CCXXXI"></a>CCXXXI<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">OUR HERITAGE</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_317">317</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A perfect peaceful stillness reigns,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not e’en a passing playful breeze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sword-shaped flax-blades gently stirs:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vale and slopes of rising hills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are thickly clothed with yellow grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereon the sun, late risen, throws<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His rays, to linger listlessly.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Naught the expanse of yellow breaks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save where a darker spot denotes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some straggling bush of thorny scrub;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While from a gully down the glen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The foliage of the dull-leaved trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rises to view; and the calm air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From stillness for a moment waked<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By parakeets’ harsh chattering,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift followed by a tui’s trill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of bell-like notes, is hushed again.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tiny orbs of glistening dew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still sparkle, gem-like, ’mid the grass;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While morning mist, their Mother moist,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reluctant loiters on the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whence presently she’ll pass to merge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the soft depths of the blue heav’ns.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This fertile Isle to us is given<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fresh from its Maker’s hand; for here<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No records of the vanished past<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell of the time when might was right,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And self-denial weakness was;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But all is peaceful, pure, and fair.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our heritage is hope. We’ll rear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Nation worthy of the land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when in age we linger late,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the heights above life’s vale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before we, like the mist, shall merge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In depths of God’s eternity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll see, perchance, our influence<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Left dew-like, working for the good<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of those whose day but dawns below.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Alexander Bathgate.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<hr /> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="poet_148"><a id="MONTGOMERY"></a>MONTGOMERY</h2> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_317"><a id="poemr_CCXXXII"></a>CCXXXII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">TO ONE IN ENGLAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_318">318</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">I send to you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Songs of a Southern Isle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Isle like a flower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In warm seas low lying:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Songs to beguile<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some wearisome hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Time’s tired of flying.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Songs which were sung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To a rapt listener lying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In sweet lazy hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where wild-birds’ nests swing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And winds come a-sighing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Nature’s own bowers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Songs which trees sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By summer winds swayed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into rhythmical sound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet soul-bells sung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the Ngaio’s green shade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto one on the ground.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Songs from an Island<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just waking from sleeping<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In history’s morning;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Songs from a land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where night shadows creep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When your day is dawning.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="tb">* <span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">* </span><span class="in2">*</span></div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O songs, go your way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over seas, over lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though friendless sometimes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fear not, comes a day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the world will clasp hands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With my wandering rhymes.<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Eleanor Elizabeth Montgomery.</i> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 id="poem_318"><a id="poemr_CCXXXIII"></a>CCXXXIII<br /> - -<span class="subheadp">A VOICE FROM NEW ZEALAND</span></h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_319">319</a></span></p><div class="poem-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><em>Cooee!</em> I send my voice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Far North to you,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rose of the water’s choice,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dear England true!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guardian angels three—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Faith, Hope, and Charity—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Welcome the strong sons free<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Born unto you.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><em>Cooee!</em> Through flamegirt foam<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Speeds now my soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Straight to thy hero home.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blue waters roll<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Round where Immortals trod—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shakespeare—half man, half God—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Laughed, with divining rod,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sounding the soul.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou shining gem of sea!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Angels on wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Resting where men are free,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Teach them to sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such songs blind Milton heard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Coleridge and Wordsworth stirred,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Keats’, and our own lost bird’s<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Haunting, sweet ring.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><em>Cooee!</em> North, hear the song<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the South’s breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Laurels to life belong;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Cypress to death!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wreathe in song’s garland fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Culled with a Nation’s care,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My cypress leaf—a prayer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Warm with South’s breath!<br /></span> -</div> - -<div class="attrib"><i>Eleanor Elizabeth Montgomery.</i> -</div></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_321">321</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_323">323</a></span></p> -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="NOTES"></a>NOTES</h2> -</div> - -<h3>I.—ENGLAND</h3> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_I">I</a></h4> - -<p><i>Agincourt, or the English Bowmans Glory. To a pleasant new -Tune.</i> Quoted in Heywood’s <cite>King Edward IV.</cite>, and, therefore, -popular before 1600. This ballad has been severely edited, and I -omit several stanzas. It is printed in full in Hazlitt’s edition of -Collier’s ‘Shakespeare’s Library,’ vol. i. (Reeves & Turner, 1825).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_II">II</a></h4> - -<p>Published in 1589.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_III">III</a>–<a href="#poemr_IV">IV</a></h4> - -<p>Both were published in <cite>Poemes Lyrick and Pastorall</cite> (1605?) and -<cite>Poemes</cite> (1619). As to the first:—l. 6. <i>Caux</i> (‘commonlie called -Kidcaux,’ says Holinshed) was the district north-east of the mouth -of the Seine.</p> - -<p> -l. 83. <i>bilbos.</i> Swords, from Bilbao.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">92. <i>ding.</i> To belabour with blows.</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_V">V</a>–<a href="#poemr_VI">VI</a></h4> - -<p>The first is from John of Gaunt’s dying speech (<cite>King Richard II.</cite>, -Act ii. sc. 1). <cite>King Richard II.</cite> was probably written early in -1593. It was published anonymously in 1597. The second is from -<cite>King John</cite>, Act v. sc. 7. 1594 is the date assigned to Shakespeare’s -<cite>King John</cite>, which was first printed in the First Folio (1623). -These and the two succeeding numbers follow the text of ‘The -Globe Edition’ of Shakespeare’s Works. I am indebted to the -publishers of that edition, Messrs. Macmillan & Co., and to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_324">324</a></span> -Delegates of the Clarendon Press, Oxford, for kindly extending -to readers of this volume the benefits of the scientific labours of -Dr. W. G. Clark and Mr. W. A. Wright.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_VII">VII</a></h4> - -<p>From various parts of <cite>King Henry V.</cite> The play was written in -1598, and performed for the first time early in 1599. The first -complete version was published in the First Folio (1623).</p> - -<p> -l. 23. <i>rivage.</i> The shore.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">27. <i>sternage.</i> (To sternage of=astern of, so as to follow.)</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">40. <i>puissance.</i> Strength.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">87. <i>battle.</i> An army, or division of an army.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">90. <i>accomplishing.</i> Equipping.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">144. <i>Crispian.</i> ‘The daie following,’ says Holinshed, ‘was the -five and twentieth of October in the year 1415, being then fridaie, -and the feast of Crispine and Crispinian, a daie faire and fortunate -to the English, but most sorrowfull and unluckie to the French.’</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">174. <i>Whiffler.</i> Herald or usher.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">183. <i>ostent.</i> Clear, visible.</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_VIII">VIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>King Henry VIII.</cite>, Act ii. sc. 3.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_IX">IX</a></h4> - -<p>Printed by Percy (<cite>Reliques of Ancient English Poetry</cite>, 1765). -‘From an old black-letter copy.’</p> - -<p><i>Cailìver</i> (l. 21)=Caliver, a kind of light musket.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_X">X</a></h4> - -<p>There are broadsides of this ballad in the Roxburghe and Bagford -Collections. The version here given is taken from Mr. Henley’s -volume, <cite>Lyra Heroica</cite> (David Nutt, 1891), by permission of -editor and publisher. The full title of the Roxburghe broadside -is as follows:—‘The Honour of Bristol, shewing how the Angel -Gabriel of Bristol fought with three ships, who boarded as many -times, wherein we cleared our Decks, and killed five hundred of -their Men, and wounded many more, and make them fly into Cales, -where we lost but three men, to the Honour of the Angel Gabriel -of Bristol. To the tune of <i>Our Noble King in his Progress</i>.’</p> - -<p>Calés (l. 13), pronounced as a dissyllable, is, of course, Cadiz.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_325">325</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XI">XI</a>—<a href="#poemr_XII">XII</a></h4> - -<p>The first is entitled: <cite>To the Lord General Cromwell, May 1652: -On the Proposals of certain Ministers at the Committee for Propagation -of the Gospel</cite>, and was written against the intolerant -Fifteen Proposals of John Owen and the majority of the Committee. -This sonnet first appeared at the end of Philip’s <cite>Life of -Milton</cite> (1694).</p> - -<p><i>Hireling wolves</i> (l. 14)=the paid clergy.</p> - -<p>The second is from the chorus of <i>Samson Agonistes</i> (ll. 1268–1286). -<cite>Samson Agonistes</cite> was first published in 1671, in the small -octavo volume which contained <cite>Paradise Regained</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XIII">XIII</a>—<a href="#poemr_XIV">XIV</a></h4> - -<p>The <cite>Horatian Ode</cite> was first printed in 1776, in Captain Edward -Thompson’s edition of Marvell’s <cite>Works</cite>.</p> - -<p> -l. 15. <i>side.</i> Party.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">32. <i>Bergamot.</i> A kind of pear.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">67, &c. The finding of the human head at Rome, regarded as a happy -omen, is mentioned by Pliny (<cite>Nat. Hist.</cite>, xxviii. 4).</span> -</p> - -<p>The second appeared in <cite>Poems</cite> (1681).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XV">XV</a></h4> - -<p>Produced in 1643. The author was a famous ballad-monger of -Charles I.’s time. The original refrain was ‘When the King comes -home in peace again’ (<cite>Roxburghe Collection of Ballads</cite>, iii. 256; -<cite>Loyal Garland</cite>, 1671 and 1686; Ritson, <cite>Ancient Songs</cite>). The -song was written to support the declining cause of the Royal -Martyr. It helped to keep up the spirits of the Cavaliers in the -days before the Restoration (1660), which event it was used to -celebrate. When the Revolution (1688) drove the Stuarts into -exile, this song became a weapon in the hands of the Jacobites.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XVI">XVI</a></h4> - -<p>This was a very popular loyal song in the reign of Charles II. -Both words and music are given in Playford’s <cite>Musical Companion</cite> -(1667).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XVII">XVII</a>—<a href="#poemr_XVIII">XVIII</a></h4> - -<p>The first is from Dryden’s opera, <cite>King Arthur, or the British -Worthy</cite> (1691). As to the first: ‘A battle is supposed to be given<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_326">326</a></span> -behind the scenes, with drums, trumpets, and military shouts and -excursions; after which, the Britons, expressing their joy for the -victory, sing this song of triumph.’—Author’s Note.</p> - -<p>The second is an extract from <cite>Annus Mirabilis</cite> (1667).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XIX">XIX</a></h4> - -<p>This famous song, which Heine once declared expressed the -whole character of the English people, made its first appearance in -<cite>The Masque of Alfred</cite> (1740).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XX">XX</a></h4> - -<p>This song is at least as old as the reign of Queen Anne. In the -British Museum there are many half-sheet copies, with music. The -earliest begins, ‘Here’s a health to the Queen,’ &c.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXI">XXI</a></h4> - -<p>The first print of our National Anthem is to be found in <cite>Harmonica -Anglicana</cite>, a collation of part songs (<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">circa</i> 1742). This -copy consists of two stanzas only. The third made its appearance -when <cite>Harmonica Anglicana</cite> was extended to two volumes, with the -new title <cite>Thesaurus Musicus</cite>. The copy printed in the <cite>Gentleman’s -Magazine</cite> (October 1745) contains the three stanzas given here, and -is called, ‘A Song for Two Voices sung at both play-houses.’</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXII">XXII</a></h4> - -<p>Sung in Garrick’s pantomime, <cite>The Harlequin’s Invasion</cite>, produced -December 31, 1759.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXIII">XXIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Odes</cite> (‘Printed for A. Millar in the Strand,’ 1746), and Dodsley’s -<cite>Museum</cite> (iv., 1749).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXIV">XXIV</a>–<a href="#poemr_XXV">XXV</a></h4> - -<p>The first was written ‘after reading Hume’s <cite>History</cite> in 1780’ -(Benham). The second was written in September 1782. The -<i>Royal George</i> (108 guns) was being repaired at Spithead (August -29, 1782), when she capsized and sank instantly. Rear-Admiral -Richard Kempenfelt was then under orders to proceed to the relief -of Gibraltar.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_327">327</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXVI">XXVI</a>–<a href="#poemr_XXVIII">XXVIII</a></h4> - -<p>The first is from <cite>The Oddities, a Table Entertainment</cite> (1789–1790), -and its original title was <cite>Poor Tom, or the Sailor’s Epitaph</cite>. -The second was first sung in <cite>The Wags, or the Camp of Pleasure</cite> -(October 18, 1790). The third was first sung in <cite>A Tour to Land’s -End</cite> (1798), and its original title was <cite>Yo heave ho!</cite> The first -collected edition of Charles Dibdin’s songs was issued in five -volumes from 1790 to 1799.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXIX">XXIX</a></h4> - -<p>The air of <cite>The British Grenadiers</cite> is at least as old as the reign -of Elizabeth, and is one of the most characteristic of the English -National airs. The words here given are from a copy (with music) -about a hundred and fifty years old.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXX">XXX</a></h4> - -<p>Chappell dates this song 1758. The matter is not free from -doubt, but the reference in the second stanza to ‘Brighton Camp’ -is a clue. There were encampments along the south coast (1758–9) -when Hawke and Rodney were watching the French fleet in Brest -Harbour. The song appears to be English, although it has appeared -in several collections of Irish music. I have omitted several stanzas -which appear in Chappell’s version (<cite>Popular Music of the Olden -Time</cite>, vol. ii. p. 710).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXXI">XXXI</a></h4> - -<p>From <cite>Lock and Key</cite>, ‘a musical entertainment,’ first performed -at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden (<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">circa</i> 1790).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXXII">XXXII</a></h4> - -<p>From two of the <cite>Prophetic Books</cite> entitled <cite>Jerusalem</cite> and <cite>Milton</cite> -respectively, and both published in 1804.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXXIII">XXXIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poems</cite> (1807). Composed August 1802. ‘On August 29th left -Calais at 12 in the morning for Dover.... Bathed and sat on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_328">328</a></span> -the Dover Cliffs, looked upon France. We could see the shores -about as plain as if it were an English lake. Mounted the coach -at half-past four, arrived in London at six.’—(Dorothy Wordsworth’s -Journal.)</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XXXIV">XXXIV</a>–<a href="#poemr_XL">XL</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poems</cite> (1807). The first and second were composed in September -1802, the third in 1803, and the fourth in 1806. The fifth -is from the third stanza of the <cite>Thanksgiving Ode</cite> (1816). The sixth -and seventh were ‘composed or suggested during a Tour in the -Summer of 1833,’ and were published in <cite>Yarrow Revisited and -Other Poems</cite> (1835).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XLI">XLI</a></h4> - -<p>From the Introduction to the first canto of <cite>Marmion</cite> (1808).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XLII">XLII</a>–<a href="#poemr_XLIII">XLIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Snug Little Island, or The March of Invasion</cite> was first -sung by ‘Jew’ Davis in <cite>The British Raft</cite> at Sadler’s Wells -on Easter Monday, 1797. Tune—‘The Rogue’s March.’ The -author’s title for the next number (<cite>Last Lays</cite>, 1833) is <cite>A Soldier’s -Life</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XLIV">XLIV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poetical Works</cite>, vol. iii. (Longmans, 1838). This is number -xxxiii. of the ‘Inscriptions.’</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XLV">XLV</a>–<a href="#poemr_XLVII">XLVII</a></h4> - -<p>The first two were published with <cite>Gertrude of Wyoming</cite> (1809). -The first (written at Altona during the winter of 1800–1) is based -on a seventeenth-century song which Campbell used to sing. As -to the second (written in 1805), I omit stanzas 5, 6, and 8, an improvement -suggested by Mr. Henley. The third appeared in -<cite>Theodoric and Other Poems</cite> (Longmans, 1824).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XLVIII">XLVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Songs and Poems</cite> (edited by Peter Cunningham, 1847).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_329">329</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XLIX">XLIX</a>–<a href="#poemr_LI">LI</a></h4> - -<p>The first is from <cite>Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage</cite> (canto iii. stanza 2, -and canto iv. stanzas 8, 9, 10). The third canto was published in -1816, and the fourth in 1818. Byron left England—never to return—on -April 24, 1816.</p> - -<p>l. 22. The poet’s body was sent home to England, and was buried -in the family vault at Hucknall Torkard, near Newstead Abbey, -Nottinghamshire.</p> - -<p>32. The answer of the mother of Brasidas, the Spartan General, -to the strangers who praised the memory of her son.</p> - -<p>The second is from the third canto of <cite>Don Juan</cite> (1821).</p> - -<p>The third is from <cite>Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage</cite> (canto iii. stanzas -21–28). The Duchess of Richmond’s famous ball took place on -June 15, 1815, the eve of Quatre Bras, at the Duke’s house in the -Rue de la Blanchisserie, Brussels.</p> - -<p>20. <i>Brunswick’s fated chieftain.</i> The Duke of Brunswick (1771–1815) -was killed at Quatre Bras. His father, author of the famous -manifesto against the French Republic (July 15, 1792), had fallen -at Jena (1806).</p> - -<p>54. <i>Evan’s—Donald’s.</i> Sir Evan Cameron (1629–1719) and his -grandson Donald Cameron of Lochiel (1695–1748). The former -fought at Killiecrankie (1689), and the latter, celebrated by Campbell -in <cite>Lochiel’s Warning</cite>, was wounded at Culloden (1746).</p> - -<p>55. <i>Ardennes.</i> The general term is applied to the forest of -Soignies, which at this time occupied the whole country between -Brussels and Waterloo.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LII">LII</a></h4> - -<p>First published (without the author’s permission) in the <cite>Newry -Telegraph</cite> (April 19, 1817), and reprinted in many other journals. -Highly praised by Byron (1822)—‘Such an ode as only Campbell -could have written’—this poem was attributed to Byron himself, -and claimed by many impostors. The question of authorship was -settled in 1841 by the discovery of an autograph copy in a letter -from Wolfe to a college friend.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LIII">LIII</a>–<a href="#poemr_LIV">LIV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Works, with a Memoir</cite> (7 vols., William Blackwood & Sons, -1839). Most of Mrs. Hemans’ poems were first published in -periodicals, such as <cite>The Edinburgh Monthly Magazine</cite> and <cite>The<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_330">330</a></span> -New Monthly Magazine</cite>. The latter was, for a time, edited by -Thomas Campbell, not very successfully. The ‘Author’s Note’ on -the first number is as follows:—‘It is supposed that war was -anciently proclaimed in Britain by sending messengers in different -directions through the land, each bearing a <em>bended bow</em>; and that -peace was in like manner announced by a bow unstrung, and, -therefore, straight.’</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LV">LV</a>–<a href="#poemr_LVI">LVI</a></h4> - -<p>The first (reprinted from <cite>Knight’s Quarterly Magazine</cite>) was included -in the 1848 edition of the <cite>Lays of Ancient Rome</cite>. It is -dated 1832.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LVII">LVII</a>–<a href="#poemr_LVIII">LVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Alma and other Poems</cite> (1855), and <cite>Poems</cite> (New Edition, 2 -vols., Macmillan & Co., 1885). By permission of Mr. A. Chenevix -Trench.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LIX">LIX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Last Poems</cite> (Smith, Elder & Co., 1862). This volume was -published after the author’s death. By permission of the publishers.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LX">LX</a>–<a href="#poemr_LXVI">LXVI</a></h4> - -<p>The first two appeared in <cite>Poems</cite> (2 vols., Edward Moxon, 1842). -The third is from <cite>The Princess: a Medley</cite> (Edward Moxon, 1847). -The fourth is from the lines entitled, <cite>To the Queen</cite>, forming the -Dedication of the Seventh Edition of <cite>Poems</cite> (London: 1851). The -fifth and sixth first appeared in <cite>The Examiner</cite>, in 1852; the former -on January 31, and the latter on February 7. The seventh is from -the <cite>Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington</cite>, published -separately in November 1852 (Edward Moxon), and reprinted -with <cite>Maud</cite> (1855).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXVII">LXVII</a>–<a href="#poemr_LXVIII">LXVIII</a></h4> - -<p>The first appeared in <cite>The Examiner</cite>, December 9, 1854, and -was reprinted with <cite>Maud</cite> (1855). Written on December 2nd, in a -few minutes, after reading the description in <cite>The Times</cite>, in which -occurred the phrase ‘someone had blundered.’ (<cite>Memoir</cite>, i. p. -381.) The second is from <cite>Maud</cite>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_331">331</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXIX">LXIX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Return of the Guards and Other Poems</cite> (Macmillan & Co., -1866). By permission of the publishers. The poem deals with -an incident of the war with China (1860):—‘Some Seiks (Sikhs) -and a private of the Buffs (or East Kent Regiment) having remained -behind with the grog-carts, fell into the hands of the Chinese. On -the next morning they were brought before the authorities, and -commanded to perform the <cite>Ko tou</cite>. The Seiks obeyed; but Moyse, -the English soldier, declaring that he would not prostrate himself -before any Chinaman alive, was immediately knocked upon the -head, and his body thrown upon a dunghill.’ Quoted by the author -from <cite>The Times</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXX">LXX</a>–<a href="#poemr_LXXI">LXXI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Bells and Pomegranates</cite> (vii. 1845). The first was written in Italy. -The second was written in pencil on the cover of an Italian book -during Browning’s first journey to Italy. He sailed in a merchant -vessel from London to Trieste, and was the only passenger (1838). -A letter from the poet to Miss Haworth gives an account of the -voyage. (<cite>Life and Letters</cite>, edited by Mrs. Sutherland Orr, 2nd -edition, p. 97.)</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXII">LXXII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Songs for Music</cite> (Routledge, 1856), a reprint of a series of songs -from <cite>The Illustrated London News</cite> (1852–1855).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXIII">LXXIII</a>–<a href="#poemr_LXXIV">LXXIV</a></h4> - -<p>The first is from <cite>Songs in Absence</cite> (1852), and was probably composed -during the author’s voyage across the Atlantic. The second -appears in <cite>Poems with Memoir by F. T. Palgrave</cite> (Macmillan & -Co., 1862). By permission of Messrs. Macmillan & Co.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXV">LXXV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Andromeda and Other Poems</cite> (1858). Written in 1854.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXVI">LXXVI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Edinburgh Courant</cite>, 1852.</p> - -<p>l. 3. <i>The Vengeur’s crew.</i> The <i>Vengeur</i> was sunk in Lord -Howe’s action against the French fleet on ‘the glorious first of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_332">332</a></span> -June’ (1794), off the coast of Brittany. For the final account of -her sinking see Carlyle (<cite>Miscellanies</cite>—‘Sinking of the <i>Vengeur</i>’).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXVII">LXXVII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Ionica</cite> (George Allen, 1891). By permission of Mrs. Cory. The -poem was written in 1861, and was privately printed in 1877. The -‘School Fencibles’ are the members of the Volunteer Corps of -Eton College, whose grey uniform, with light-blue facings, is the -‘meek attire of blue and grey’ referred to in l. 10.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXVIII">LXXVIII</a></h4> - -<p>Verses 1, 2, 4, and 9 of Hymn No. 143 in <cite>Hymns Ancient and -Modern</cite>. By permission of the Society for Promoting Christian -Knowledge.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXIX">LXXIX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Sonnets and Other Poems</cite> (A. & C. Black, 1900). By permission -of author and publishers.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXX">LXXX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Points of War</cite> (Bell & Daldy, 1855), and <cite>Wagers of Battle</cite> (Macmillan -& Co., 1900). By permission of the author and Messrs. -Macmillan.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXXI">LXXXI</a>–<a href="#poemr_LXXXII">LXXXII</a></h4> - -<p>Both from <cite>Visions of England</cite> (Macmillan & Co., 1881). By -permission of the publishers.</p> - -<p> -l. 1. <cite>Isle of Roses.</cite> Within the temple of Athena at Lindus, in -the island of Rhodes, Pindar’s seventh Olympian Ode was -engraved in golden letters.</p> - -<p>40. <i>Changing at the font.</i> Alfred was god-father to Guthrun, -the Danish leader, when baptized after his defeat at -Ethandún (872). -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXXIII">LXXXIII</a></h4> - -<p><i>Balder</i> (Smith & Elder, 1854).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_333">333</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXXIV">LXXXIV</a></h4> - -<p>This poem first appeared in <cite>The Times</cite> (October 31, 1899), was -reprinted separately by Messrs. Skeffington & Sons, and is included -in the author’s last volume, <cite>The Finding of the Book and Other -Poems</cite> (Hodder & Stoughton, 1900). By permission of the author, -the editor of <cite>The Times</cite>, and the publishers above mentioned.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXXV">LXXXV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Legends and Lyrics</cite> (1858). Written in 1855.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXXVI">LXXXVI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Havelock’s March and Other Poems</cite> (Trübner & Co., 1859). By -permission of the author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXXVII">LXXXVII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Collected Poems</cite> (Macmillan & Co., 1900). By permission of the -publishers.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXXVIII">LXXXVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Songs and Rhymes</cite> (Elliot Stock, 1896). By permission of the -author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_LXXXIX">LXXXIX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poems Narrative and Lyrical</cite> (Pickering, 1853). By permission -of the author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XC">XC</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poems</cite> (Elkin Mathews, 1893). By permission of the author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XCI">XCI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Bab Ballads, with which are included Songs of a Savoyard</cite> -(George Routledge & Sons, 1897). By permission of the author. -This is one of the songs in the comic opera <cite>Utopia, Limited</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XCII">XCII</a>–<a href="#poemr_XCIII">XCIII</a></h4> - -<p>Both from <cite>A Jubilee Greeting at Spithead</cite> (John Lane, 1897). -By permission of the author.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_334">334</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XCIV">XCIV</a>–<a href="#poemr_XCVII">XCVII</a></h4> - -<p>The first three numbers are from <cite>Poems and Ballads</cite>, 3rd series -(Chatto & Windus, 1889). The first is part viii. section ii. of <cite>The -Armada</cite>.</p> - -<p>As to the second, Drumossie Muir (l. 16), in Inverness-shire, -was the scene of the battle of Culloden (1746).</p> - -<p> -l. 17. <i>ayont.</i> Beyond.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">25. <i>mool.</i> Mould.</span><br /> -<span class="notein4"><i>laps.</i> Wraps.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">40. <i>wotsna.</i> Knows not.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">45. <i>weird for dreeing.</i> To ‘dree a weird’ is to abide a fate.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">47. <i>thole.</i> To endure.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">65. <i>Wansbeck.</i> A Northumberland stream.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">69. <i>thae.</i> Those.</span> -</p> - -<p>The fourth number is from the dedicatory lines in <cite>Astrophel and -Other Poems</cite> (Chatto & Windus, 1894). By permission of author -and publishers.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XCVIII">XCVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Graphic</cite> (November 11, 1899). By permission of the author -and the editor of <cite>The Graphic</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_XCIX">XCIX</a>–<a href="#poemr_C">C</a></h4> - -<p>The first appeared in <cite>The St. James’s Magazine</cite> (now defunct), -October, 1877, and was included in the second edition of <cite>Proverbs -in Porcelain</cite> (1878), and in <cite>At the Sign of the Lyre</cite> (Kegan Paul, -1889). By permission of author and publisher.</p> - -<p><i>Gloriana</i> (l. 25)=Queen Elizabeth.</p> - -<p>The second appeared in <cite>The Sphere</cite> (February 3, 1900). By -permission of the author and the editor of <cite>The Sphere</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CI">CI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poetical Works</cite> (vol. ii., Smith, Elder & Co., 1899). By permission -of author and publishers.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CII">CII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CIII">CIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Songs of the Maid</cite> (A. Constable & Co., 1896). By permission -of author and publishers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_335">335</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CIV">CIV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>London Voluntaries and Other Poems</cite> (David Nutt, 1894), and -<cite>Poems</cite> (David Nutt, 1898). By permission of author and -publisher.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CV">CV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>A Song of the Sea and Other Poems</cite> (Methuen & Co., 1895). -By permission of Miss Marie Corelli and the publishers.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CVI">CVI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Literature</cite> (July 1, 1899). By permission of the author and the -editor of <cite>Literature</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CVII">CVII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Violet Crown and Songs of England</cite> (Edward Arnold, -1891). By permission of author and publishers. This poem is -dated ‘Athens, 1890.’</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CVIII">CVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Collected Poems</cite> (John Lane, 1895). By permission of the -publisher.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CIX">CIX</a>–<a href="#poemr_CX">CX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Songs of Action</cite> (Smith, Elder & Co., 1898). By permission of -author and publishers. <cite>The Song of the Bow</cite> first appeared in <cite>The -White Company</cite> (Smith, Elder & Co., 1891).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXI">CXI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Daily Chronicle</cite>, October 28, 1899. By permission of the -author and the editor of <cite>The Daily Chronicle</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXII">CXII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CXIV">CXIV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Admirals All</cite> (Elkin Matthews, 1897). By permission of author -and publisher. As to the <span class="locked">first:—</span></p> - -<p>l. 1. <i>Effingham.</i> Charles, Lord Howard of Effingham (1536–1624), -commanded the English fleet sent against the Spanish -Armada (1588).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_336">336</a></span> -<i>Grenville.</i> Sir Richard Grenville, naval commander (1541?-1591). -See Mr. Gerald Massey’s poem, <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">supra</i>, <a href="#poem_113">p. 113</a>.</p> - -<p><i>Raleigh.</i> Sir Walter Raleigh (1552–1616), soldier, sailor, courtier, -adventurer, and writer.</p> - -<p><i>Drake.</i> Sir Francis Drake (1540?-1596).</p> - -<p>3. <i>Benbow.</i> Vice-admiral John Benbow (1653–1702).</p> - -<p><i>Collingwood.</i> Vice-admiral Cuthbert, Lord Collingwood (1750–1810), -second in command at Trafalgar.</p> - -<p><i>Byron.</i> Vice-admiral John Byron (1723–1786), grandfather of -the poet.</p> - -<p><i>Blake.</i> Robert Blake (1599–1657), next to Nelson, the greatest -English admiral.</p> - -<p>8. <i>Nelson.</i> Horatio, Viscount Nelson (1758–1805).</p> - -<p>13. <i>Essex.</i> Robert Devereux, second Earl of Essex (1567–1601), -commanded the land attack on Cadiz (1596) when the city was -taken by the English.</p> - -<p>30. <i>Duncan.</i> Admiral Adam, Viscount Duncan (1731–1804), who -defeated the Dutch in the fight off Camperdown (October 11, -1797).</p> - -<p>31. <i>Texel.</i> One of the mouths of the Zuyder Zee.</p> - -<p>38. <i>The Sound.</i> The strait between Sweden and Denmark leading -into the Baltic Sea. The English fleet entered the Sound -on April 1, 1801, and next morning Nelson, acting under orders -from Sir Hyde Parker, attacked the Danish batteries.</p> - -<p>52. <i>Rodneys.</i> Admiral George Brydges, first Baron Rodney -(1719–1792).</p> - -<p>The third is an extract from the poem entitled <cite>Laudabunt Alii</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXV">CXV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Seven Seas.</cite> (Methuen & Co., 1896.) By permission of -author and publishers.</p> - -<p> -l. 9. <i>Bergen.</i> A town on the west coast of Norway.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">10. <i>Disko.</i> An island off the west coast of Greenland.</span><br /> -<span class="notein4"><i>floe.</i> The surface ice of polar seas.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">12. <i>Dogger.</i> A sandbank in the middle of the North Sea.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">18. <i>Musk-ox.</i> A long-haired animal of the ox tribe, found in -Arctic America.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">21. <i>Virgins.</i> A group of small islands in the West Indies.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">23. <i>sea-egg.</i> Sea-urchin.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">25. <i>Keys.</i> Islands near the coast (Spanish <i xml:lang="es" lang="es">cayo</i>, -a sandbank).</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">37. <i>Kuriles.</i> A group of islands in the North Pacific.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">39. <i>Praya.</i> Capital of the Cape Verde Islands.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_337">337</a></span> -<span class="notein4"><i>Kowloon.</i> A town in China, near Hong-Kong.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">43. <i>Hoogli.</i> The Ganges.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">50. <i>Winds.</i> Scents, smells.</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXVI">CXVI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Times</cite> (July 17, 1897). Suggested by the celebration of -Queen Victoria’s ‘Diamond Jubilee’ (June 22). By permission of -the author and the editor of <cite>The Times</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXVII">CXVII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Spectator</cite> (December 16, 1899). By permission of the author -and the editor of <cite>The Spectator</cite>. The poem is written to an old -Gaelic air.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXVIII">CXVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>A Gun-Room Ditty Box</cite> (Cassell & Co., 1898). By permission -of author and publishers. ‘Snotties’ is the naval equivalent of -‘midshipmen.’</p> - -<h3>II.—WALES</h3> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXIX">CXIX</a></h4> - -<p>Published (with <cite>The Progress of Poetry</cite>) in 1757.</p> - -<p> -l. 5. <i>hauberk.</i> Coat of mail.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">8. <i>Cambria.</i> Wales; a Latinised form of ‘Cymru.’</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">13–14. <i>Gloster.</i> <i>Mortimer.</i> English nobles and Lords -of the Welsh Marches.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">28. <i>Hoel.</i> King of Brittany and nephew of King Arthur.</span><br /> -<span class="notein4"><i>Llewellyn.</i> A famous Welsh prince of the eleventh century.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">29. <i>Cadwallo.</i> King of North Wales in the seventh century.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">31. <i>Urien.</i> A Welsh hero of the fifth century.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">33. <i>Mordred.</i> Nephew of Arthur.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">34. <i>Plinlimmon.</i> A mountain in Cardiganshire.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">35. <i>Arvon.</i> ‘The shores of Carnarvonshire opposite the Isle -of Anglesea.’—Gray.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">56. Edward II. was murdered in Berkeley Castle (September 21, -1327).</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">57. Isabella, wife of Edward II.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">67. Edward, the Black Prince.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">71, &c. The reign of Richard II.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_338">338</a></span><br /> -<span class="notein2">83–96. The Wars of the Roses.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">87. The Tower of London was said to have been begun by Julius -Cæsar.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">89. <i>Consort.</i> Margaret of Anjou.</span><br /> -<span class="notein4"><i>father.</i> Henry V.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">90. <i>meek usurper.</i> Henry VI.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">93. The silver boar was the badge of Richard III.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">115. Queen Elizabeth.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">121. <i>Taliessin.</i> A Welsh bard of the sixth century.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">126. Spenser’s <cite>Faerie Queene</cite>.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">128. Shakespeare’s plays.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">131. Milton.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">133. ‘The succession of poets after Milton’s time.’—Gray.</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXX">CXX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poetical Works</cite> (1832). Bodryddan is near Rhuddlan, in Flintshire.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXI">CXXI</a>–<a href="#poemr_CXXII">CXXII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Works, with a Memoir</cite> (Wm. Blackwood & Sons, 1839). As to -the <span class="locked">first,—</span></p> - -<p> -l. 2. <i>Hirlas.</i> From ‘hir,’ long, and ‘glas,’ blue or azure.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">14. Eryri is the Welsh name for the Snowdon Mountains.</span> -</p> - -<p>As to the <span class="locked">second,—</span></p> - -<p>Prince Madog, a natural son of Llywelyn, was the leader of the -Welsh Rebellion (1294–1295), occasioned by the levying of taxes by -Edward I. to pay for his projected expedition to Gascony.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXIII">CXXIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poems</cite> (Roberts, 1869). Translated from the Welsh.</p> - -<p>l. 1. <i>Glyndwr.</i> Owain ap Gruffydd, commonly called Owen -Glendower (1359?-1416?), joined the Percies and Mortimers in -their rebellion against Henry IV.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXIV">CXXIV</a></h4> - -<p>From the Ode written at the request of the Llywelyn Memorial -Committee (Bangor: Jarvis & Foster, 1895). By permission of the -author. Llywelyn ap Gruffydd (died 1282) was the last champion -of Welsh liberty.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_339">339</a></span> - -l. 29. <i>Lloegrian.</i> Lloegria was one of the ancient names of Britain.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">40. <i>Cwmhir.</i> Cwmhir Abbey in Radnorshire.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">67. <i>Iorwerth’s happier son.</i> Llywelyn ap Iorwerth (died 1240), -commonly called Llywelyn the Great.</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXV">CXXV</a></h4> - -<p>This translation of the famous Welsh poem, <cite>Morfa Rhuddlan</cite> -(<i>i.e.</i>, ‘Red Marsh’) is in the metre of the original. Published -(September, 1894) in <cite>Wales</cite>, a monthly magazine. By permission -of the editor of <cite>Wales</cite> and the author’s representatives. Three -stanzas (2, 5, and 6) are omitted. Morfa Rhuddlan, on the banks -of the Clwyd in Flintshire, was the scene of many battles between -Britons and Saxons. In the battle described in the poem (<span class="smcap smaller">A.D.</span> -795), the Britons under Caradoc were defeated and their leader -slain. Those who escaped the sword were driven into the -river. The original poem is said to have been composed by -Caradoc’s bard immediately after the battle.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXVI">CXXVI</a>–<a href="#poemr_CXXVII">CXXVII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Welsh Lyrics of the Nineteenth Century</cite>, First Series (Bangor: -Jarvis & Foster, 1896). By permission of author and publishers.</p> - -<p>As to the first,—Idris (=Cader Idris), Berwin, and Plynlimmon -(l. 8, &c.) are mountains in Wales.</p> - -<p>As to the second,—Cymru (l. 1)=Wales.</p> - -<h3>III.—SCOTLAND</h3> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXVIII">CXXVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Tea-Table Miscellany: a Collection of Choice Songs</cite> -(Edinburgh, 4 vols., 1724–7).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXIX">CXXIX</a></h4> - -<p>This ‘matchless wail’ (as Scott called it) was written in 1756. -For some time it was thought to be a genuine relic of the past. -Burns was one of the first to insist that it was a modern composition. -The ‘Forest’ is, of course, Ettrick Forest, that romantic -district comprising most of Selkirkshire and the neighbouring parts<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_340">340</a></span> -of Peebles and Edinburgh shires. A few straggling thorns and -solitary birches are the sole remaining traces of this ‘fein foreste,’ -once the favourite hunting-ground of the Scottish kings.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>bandsters.</i> Binders of sheaves.</p> - -<p><i>bogle.</i> ‘Hide and seek.’</p> - -<p><i>buchts.</i> Pen in which ewes are enclosed at milking-time.</p> - -<p><i>daffin’.</i> Making merry.</p> - -<p><i>dool.</i> Sorrow.</p> - -<p><i>dowie.</i> Doleful.</p> - -<p><i>fleechin’.</i> Coaxing.</p> - -<p><i>gabbin’.</i> Talking pertly.</p> - -<p><i>har’st.</i> Harvest.</p> - -<p><i>ilk, ilka.</i> Every.</p> - -<p><i>liltin’.</i> Singing.</p> - -<p><i>loanin’.</i> Lane.</p> - -<p><i>laighlin.</i> Milking pail.</p> - -<p><i>lyart.</i> Hoary-headed.</p> - -<p><i>mair.</i> More.</p> - -<p><i>runkled.</i> Wrinkled.</p> - -<p><i>swankies.</i> Lively young fellows.</p> - -<p><i>wae.</i> Sad.</p> - -<p><i>wede.</i> Weeded.</p></blockquote> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXX">CXXX</a></h4> - -<p>Written on the Marquess of Huntley’s departure for Holland, -with the English forces, under the command of Sir Ralph Abercromby, -in 1799.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXXI">CXXXI</a>–<a href="#poemr_CXXXIV">CXXXIV</a></h4> - -<p>The first is number 259 in vol. iii. of Johnson’s <cite>Musical Museum</cite> -(1790), signed ‘Z.’ ‘The first half stanza of this song is old—the -rest is mine.’—Author’s note in interleaved copy.</p> - -<p>The second was written in 1793, and first published in the -<cite>Morning Chronicle</cite> (May, 1794). The old air, <cite>Hey, tuttie, taitie</cite>, -to which Burns ‘fitted’ this poem, is said to have been Bruce’s -marching tune at Bannockburn.</p> - -<p>The third appeared in the <cite>Edinburgh Courant</cite> (May 4, 1795), -and in the <cite>Dumfries Journal</cite> (May 5, 1795), and is number 546 in -vol. ii. of Johnson’s <cite>Musical Museum</cite> (1803).</p> - -<p>The fourth was written in 1795 for the Irish air <cite>Humours of Glen</cite>, -and published in the <cite>Edinburgh Magazine</cite> (May, 1797), and in -vol. ii. of Thomson’s <cite>Scottish Airs</cite> (1799).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_341">341</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXXV">CXXXV</a>–<a href="#poemr_CXXXVII">CXXXVII</a></h4> - -<p>The first is the opening stanza of the sixth canto of <cite>The Lay of -the Last Minstrel</cite> (1805).</p> - -<p>The second consists of part of stanza 33, and the whole of stanza -34 of the sixth canto of <cite>Marmion</cite> (1808).</p> - -<p> -l. 5. <i>vaward.</i> Vanguard.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">7. The horn of Roland, nephew of Charlemagne, the sound of which -carried a fabulous distance.</span> -</p> - -<p>The third was written for <cite>Albyn’s Anthology</cite> (1816). ‘Donuil -Dhu’ means ‘Donald the Black.’</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXXXVIII">CXXXVIII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CXL">CXL</a></h4> - -<p>The first is from <cite>The Monastery</cite> (1820).</p> - -<p> -l. 8. <i>the Queen.</i> Mary, Queen of Scots.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">9. <i>hirsels.</i> Flocks.</span> -</p> - -<p>The second, written in 1825, first appeared in <cite>The Doom of -Devergoil</cite> (1830), Act ii. scene 2.</p> - -<p>‘The air of Bonnie Dundee running in my head to-day,’ Scott -writes (22nd December), ‘I wrote a few verses to it before dinner, -taking the keynote from the story of Clavers leaving the Scottish -Convention of Estates in 1688–9. <i>I wonder if they are good!</i>’ -(<cite>Journal</cite>, i. 60).</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>barkened.</i> Tanned.</p> - -<p><i>carline.</i> Old woman.</p> - -<p><i>couthie.</i> Kind.</p> - -<p><i>douce.</i> Quiet.</p> - -<p><i>duniewassals.</i> Yeomen.</p> - -<p><i>flyting.</i> Scolding.</p> - -<p><i>gang.</i> Go.</p> - -<p><i>ilk.</i> Every.</p> - -<p><i>pow.</i> Pate.</p> - -<p><i>target.</i> A round shield.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The full title of the third number is ‘War Song of the Royal -Edinburgh Light Dragoons.’ It was written under the apprehension -of a French invasion. The corps of volunteers to which the -song is addressed was raised in 1797, and consisted of Edinburgh -gentlemen mounted and armed at their own expense.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXLI">CXLI</a></h4> - -<p>From Scott’s <cite>Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border</cite>, 3 vols. (1802–1803). -The first four lines of the fourth stanza appear on the title-page -of <cite>Marmion</cite>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_342">342</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXLII">CXLII</a></h4> - -<p>First published in Cromek’s <cite>Remains of Nithisdale and Galloway -Song</cite> (1810), when the author was a working mason.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXLIII">CXLIII</a></h4> - -<p>Johnson’s <cite>Musical Museum</cite>, vol. iii. (1790). A similar song, <cite>The -Clans are Coming</cite>, is included in Ritson’s <cite>Scottish Songs</cite> (1794).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXLIV">CXLIV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Collected Works</cite>, edited by William Anderson (1851). I have -found many versions of this old song, but none to equal Gilfillan’s.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXLV">CXLV</a>–<a href="#poemr_CXLVI">CXLVI</a></h4> - -<p>Both from <cite>Songs of Travel</cite> (Chatto & Windus, 1896). By permission -of Charles Baxter, Esq., executor of the author.</p> - -<p>The second was written at Vailima, Samoa, and is addressed -‘To S. R. Crockett, Esq.’ The author writes from Vailima to Mr. -Crockett (May 17, 1893):—‘I shall never set my foot again upon -the heather. Here I am until I die, and here will I be buried. -The word is out, and the doom written.’—<cite>Letters</cite>, vol. ii. p. 287 -(Methuen & Co., 1899).</p> - -<p> -l. 3. <i>Whaups.</i> Curlews.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">11. <i>Peewees.</i> Lapwings.</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXLVII">CXLVII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Blackwood’s Magazine</cite> (January 1900). By permission of the -author and the editor of <cite>Blackwood’s Magazine</cite>.</p> - -<h3><span class="smaller">JACOBITE SONGS</span></h3> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXLVIII">CXLVIII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CLI">CLI</a></h4> - -<p>The first number is given in Hogg’s <cite>Jacobite Relics</cite>, Second Series -(Wm. Blackwood, 1821).</p> - -<p>As to the second,—there are many versions of this old song. -Hogg has two versions, both different to that given here.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_343">343</a></span> -The third number is attributed to Hogg by Chambers and other -critics.</p> - -<p>The fourth is said to have been written by Lady Keith (<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">née</i> Lady -Maria Drummond), daughter of the Earl of Perth, and mother of -James Francis Edward, commonly called Marshal Keith (1698–1758), -who fought under Frederick the Great in the Seven Years’ -War.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><i>birken.</i> Birch.</p> - -<p><i>laverock.</i> Lark.</p> - -<p><i>Moidart.</i> In Inverness.</p> - -<p><i>croo house.</i> Hovel.</p> - -<p><i>bike.</i> Family.</p> - -<p><i>lyart.</i> Hoary.</p> - -<p><i>eild.</i> Old age.</p> - -<p><i>clishmaclaver.</i> Idle discourse.</p></blockquote> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLII">CLII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CLV">CLV</a></h4> - -<p>The first is number 127 of vol. ii. of Johnson’s <cite>Musical Museum</cite> -(1788). Unsigned.</p> - -<p>The second is number 302 of vol. iv. of Johnson’s <cite>Musical -Museum</cite> (1792). Unsigned.</p> - -<p> -l. 2. <i>felly.</i> Relentless.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">5. <i>maun.</i> Must.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">9. <i>mirk.</i> Gloomy.</span> -</p> - -<p>The third is number 359 of vol. iv. of Johnson’s <cite>Musical Museum</cite> -(1792). Unsigned. This song has not been found in any earlier -collection.</p> - -<p>The fourth is number 497 of vol. v. of Johnson’s <cite>Musical Museum</cite> -(1796). Unsigned. Based on an old ballad, ‘Unkind Parents’ -(<cite>Roxburghe Ballads</cite>, vol. vii.).</p> - -<p> -l. 15. <i>gae.</i> Gave.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">28. <i>lee-lang.</i> Live-long.</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLVI">CLVI</a>–<a href="#poemr_CLVII">CLVII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Lays from Stratheam</cite> (1746). These new versions of old songs -were first published anonymously.</p> - -<p>As to the second, <i xml:lang="ga" lang="ga">gar mony ferlie</i> (l. 2)=‘cause great excitement.’</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLVIII">CLVIII</a></h4> - -<p>Given in Hogg (Second Series), and reprinted in <cite>Poetical Remains -of William Glen, with Memoir</cite> (1874). Written to the old tune, -‘Johnnie Faa.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_344">344</a></span> - -l. 12. <i>lilt o’ dool.</i> Song of grief.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">22. <i>maist.</i> Almost.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">38. <i>fairly.</i> Completely.</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLIX">CLIX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Songs of the North</cite>, vol. i. (Cramer & Co., 1885). By permission -of the author, who wrote the words to fit an old and stirring air -with which he became acquainted when on a visit to the Hebrides.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLX">CLX</a></h4> - -<p>By permission of the author and the editor of <cite>The Celtic Monthly</cite>, -in which publication (May, 1894) these verses first appeared.</p> - -<h3>IV.—IRELAND</h3> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXI">CLXI</a></h4> - -<p>Lines 83–97 of <cite>The Deserted Village</cite> (1769).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXII">CLXII</a></h4> - -<p>This, the best and most widely known of the Irish street ballads, -dates from the year 1798. <i>Caubeen</i> (l. 15)=hat.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXIII">CLXIII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CLXIX">CLXIX</a></h4> - -<p>All from the famous series of <cite>Irish Melodies</cite>, the publication of -which began in 1807, and continued at irregular intervals till 1834.</p> - -<p>As to the <span class="locked">second,—</span></p> - -<p> -l. 3. <i>Mononia.</i> Munster.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">4. <i>Kincora.</i> Brien’s Palace.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">22. <i>Ossory’s plain.</i> The ancient kingdom of Ossory comprised -parts of Queen’s County and Kilkenny.</span> -</p> - -<p>As to the <span class="locked">third,—</span></p> - -<p>l. 1. <i>Tara’s halls.</i> The hill of Tara, in Meath, was the meeting-place -for the election of the kings of Ireland; but most writers -on Irish antiquities are of opinion that there was no royal dwelling -there. It would seem, therefore, that ‘Tara’s halls’ never existed -but in the imagination of poets.</p> - -<p>As to the fifth, Robert Emmet (1778–1803), United Irishman, the -leader of ‘Emmet’s Rising’ (1803), was arrested by Major Sirr<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_345">345</a></span> -(the capturer of Lord Edward Fitzgerald), tried September 19, and -hanged next day (1803). He was engaged to be married to Sarah -Curran, daughter of the great lawyer, and it was to this lady Moore -addressed his famous poem. The lady subsequently (November 24, -1805) married Major Sturgeon of the Royal Staff Corps.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXX">CLXX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Minor Poems of Charlotte Elizabeth</cite> (1848). Published in the -author’s lifetime over the signature ‘Charlotte Elizabeth.’</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXI">CLXXI</a>–<a href="#poemr_CLXXII">CLXXII</a></h4> - -<p>Mangan’s poems appeared in Dublin magazines and journals—<cite>The -Dublin University Magazine</cite>, <cite>The Nation</cite>, and <cite>The Dublin -Penny Journal</cite>. There is no complete edition of his works.</p> - -<p>As to the second, ‘Dark Rosaleen,’ is, of course, a mystical -name for Ireland.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXIII">CLXXIII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CLXXIV">CLXXIV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Songs, Poems, and Verses</cite> (John Murray, 1884). By permission -of the Marquess of Dufferin and Ava. The second is dated 1845.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXV">CLXXV</a>–<a href="#poemr_CLXXVI">CLXXVI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Dublin University Magazine</cite> (1834). As to the first, Fiagh MacHugh -O’Byrne, one of the most powerful Irish chieftains in the -sixteenth century, was killed in a skirmish with the forces of the -Lord Deputy (1597). <i>Gall</i> (l. 17)=‘foreigners.’</p> - -<p>The second is the first two stanzas of a very close translation, in -the original metre, of an Irish song of unknown authorship, dating -from the seventeenth century. The refrain has never been satisfactorily -translated.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXVII">CLXXVII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CLXXVIII">CLXXVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Poems of Thomas Davis, now first collected</cite> (Dublin: James -Duffy, 1846). These poems made their first appearance in <cite>The -Nation</cite>.</p> - -<p>The second is a ‘Lament for the Death of Eoghan Ruadh O’Neill,’ -commonly called Owen Roe O’Neill (1590?-1649), patriot and -general, who led the Irish against the Scotch and Parliamentary -forces in Ireland (1642–1649).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_346">346</a></span> -The Author’s Note is as follows:—‘<i>Time.</i>—November 10, 1649. -<i>Scene.</i>—Ormond’s camp, county Waterford. <i>Speakers.</i>—A -veteran of Eoghan O’Neill’s clan, and one of the horsemen, just -arrived with an account of his death.’</p> - -<p> -l. 2. <i>Poison.</i> There is no truth in the assertion that O’Neill -was poisoned. He died a natural death.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">7. <span class="smcap">Sacsanach.</span> Saxon, English.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">8. <i xml:lang="ga" lang="ga">Cloc Uachtar.</i> Clough Oughter, in county Cavan, where the -O’Reillys had a stronghold.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">19. <i xml:lang="ga" lang="ga">Beinn Burb.</i> Benburb, on the Blackwater, where O’Neill -defeated the Scotch army under Monro (June 5, 1646).</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXIX">CLXXIX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Innisfail and Other Poems</cite> (Macmillan & Co., 1877), and <cite>Poetical -Works</cite>, six vols. (Macmillan & Co., 1884). By permission of author -and publishers.</p> - -<p>‘The Little Black Rose’ (l. 1) and ‘The Silk of the Kine’ (l. 5) -were mystical names applied to Ireland by the bards. Athenry -(l. 12), in county Galway, was the scene of a battle in which the -Irish under Felim O’Conor were defeated by the English forces -under Sir William de Burgh (1316).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXX">CLXXX</a>–<a href="#poemr_CLXXXI">CLXXXI</a></h4> - -<p>The first appeared in <cite>The Nation</cite>, 1st April 1843, and both are -included in <cite>Sonnets and Other Poems</cite> (A. & C. Black, 1900). By -permission of author and publishers.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXXII">CLXXXII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CLXXXIII">CLXXXIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Bards of the Gael and Gall</cite> (T. Fisher Unwin, 1897). By permission -of author and publisher. Both are translations from Irish -poems of the seventeenth century.</p> - -<p>As to the first,—O’Neill, Earl of Tyrone, and O’Donnell, Earl of -Tyrconnell, hearing that the Government had determined to seize -them on a charge of conspiracy, apparently groundless, suddenly -left Ireland, sailing from Rathmullan, on Lough Foyle, to France -(1607). Their estates were confiscated, and ‘The Plantation of -Ulster’ began.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_347">347</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXXIV">CLXXXIV</a></h4> - -<p>From <cite>Dublin Verses</cite> (Elkin Mathews, 1895)—a collection of -poems by members of Trinity College, Dublin. By permission -of author and publisher.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXXV">CLXXXV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Macmillan’s Magazine</cite> (September, 1900). By permission of the -author and the editor of <cite>Macmillan’s Magazine</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXXVI">CLXXXVI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Rising of the Moon and Other Poems</cite> (1869). By permission -of Messrs. Cameron & Ferguson, the present publishers.</p> - -<p> -l. 2. <i xml:lang="ga" lang="ga">ma bouchal.</i> My boy.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">11. <i>banshee.</i> The fairy spirit of doom (Irish, -<i xml:lang="ga" lang="ga">ban-sidhe</i>).</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXXVII">CLXXXVII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poems and Ballads of Young Ireland</cite> (Dublin: Gill & Son, -1888). By permission of the author. Clonmacnois, founded by -St. Kieran in the sixth century, was for many generations one of -the greatest ecclesiastical establishments and centres of learning -in Ireland. It was the chosen burial-place of many royal and noble -families.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXXVIII">CLXXXVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>The Wind in the Trees</cite> (Grant Richards, 1898). By permission -of the author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CLXXXIX">CLXXXIX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poems</cite> (Elkin Mathews, 1895). By permission of author and -publisher.</p> - -<p>l. 2. <i>Inisfail</i> (<i>i.e.</i> ‘The Isle of Destiny’), an ancient -name of Ireland.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_348">348</a></span></p> - -<h3>V.—CANADA</h3> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXC">CXC</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poems</cite> (Toronto: Dudley & Burns, 1888). By permission of the -author. The Nile Expeditionary Force for the relief of General -Gordon was conveyed up the river in flat-bottomed boats navigated -by Canadian Indians (<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">voyageurs</i>).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXCI">CXCI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Lays of Canada</cite> (Montreal: John Lovell & Son, 1890). By -permission of the author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXCII">CXCII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Laura Second and Other Poems</cite> (Toronto, 1887). By permission -of the author’s representatives.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXCII">CXCII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>A Treasury of Canadian Verse</cite> (J. M. Dent & Co., 1900). By -permission of the author’s representatives.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXCIV">CXCIV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Toronto Daily Mail</cite> (July 23, 1885). By permission of the -author. The call for volunteers was occasioned by the ‘Half-Breed -Rebellion’ in North-West Canada (1884–5).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXCV">CXCV</a></h4> - -<p>Published separately (McCorquodale & Co., 1900), and sold for -the benefit of the Canadian Patriotic Fund. By permission of the -author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXCVI">CXCVI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>In Divers Tones</cite> (Boston: Small, Maynard & Co., 1887). By -permission of the author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXCVII">CXCVII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CXCVIII">CXCVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Beyond the Hills of Dream</cite> (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co., -1899). By permission of author and publishers. The first had -previously appeared in <cite>The Westminster Gazette</cite> (August, 1897), -and the second in <cite>The Toronto Globe</cite> (Christmas Number, 1899).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_349">349</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CXCIX">CXCIX</a>–<a href="#poemr_CC">CC</a></h4> - -<p>The first is from <cite>Poems Old and New</cite> (Toronto: William -Briggs, 1900), and the second from <cite>The Soul’s Quest and Other -Poems</cite> (London: Kegan Paul & Co., 1888). By permission of -the author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCI">CCI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Canadian Monthly</cite> (August, 1897). By permission of the author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCII">CCII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Watchers of Twilight</cite> (Montreal: T. H. Warren, 1894). By -permission of the author. Line 2 is a quotation from William -Watson’s <cite>Last Words to the Colonies</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCIII">CCIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>In Various Moods</cite> (Toronto: William Briggs, 1894). By permission -of the author.</p> - -<h3>VI.—INDIA</h3> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCIV">CCIV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Miscellaneous Verses</cite> (Calcutta: Sanders, Cones & Co., 1848).</p> - -<p><i>Gunga</i> (l. 49)=the Ganges.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCV">CCV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Cornhill Magazine</cite> (September, 1868), and <cite>Verses Written in -India</cite> (Kegan Paul & Co., 1889). By permission of author and -publishers.</p> - -<p>The massacre which suggested this poem took place near -Mohundi, in Oudh (June, 1857). The lives of all the English -prisoners would have been spared had they consented to profess -Mahometanism by repeating the usual short formula.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCVI">CCVI</a>–<a href="#poemr_CCVIII">CCVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Indian Lyrics</cite> (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink & Co., 1884). By permission -of the author.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_350">350</a></span> -The Author’s Note on the second is as follows:—‘Over the well -rises a pedestal supporting a statue in white marble—the Angel of -Pity. Below is the inscription: <em>Sacred to the perpetual memory of -a great company of Christian people, chiefly women and children, -who near this spot were cruelly massacred by the followers of the -rebel Nana Dhoondoo Punth of Bithoor; and cast, the dying with -the dead, into the well below, on the 15th day of July 1857.</em>’</p> - -<p>As to the <span class="locked">third,—</span></p> - -<p> -l. 7. <i>peepuls.</i> The peepul (or pepul) tree.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="notein2">8. <i>poinsianas.</i> The <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">poinciana regia</i>, a flowering shrub -introduced from Madagascar.</span> -</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCIX">CCIX</a>–<a href="#poemr_CCXI">CCXI</a></h4> - -<p>All three appeared first in <cite>The Times of India</cite>, and are included -in <cite>Soldierin’</cite> (Bombay: Indian Textile Journal Co., 1899). By -permission of author and publishers.</p> - -<p>As to the second,—l. 28. <i>sangared.</i> Sangars are temporary stone -shelters for riflemen.</p> - -<p>As to the third,—During the operations in Tirah (1897) the pass -of Saransar (or Saran Sur) was the retreat of the hillmen known as -the Lakka Khels. On November 9, a reconnaissance in force was -made up the pass. The firing from the heights was deadly and -continuous, and, in the evening, when our troops were retreating -down the pass, a small party of the 48th (Northamptonshire Regiment) -under Second Lieutenant Macintyre and Colour-Sergeant -Luck, were cut off and surrounded by the enemy. It was found -impossible to save them, and the following morning their dead -bodies were found together.</p> - -<p>l. 9. <i>Talavera.</i> The 48th are known as ‘The Talavera Boys,’ -having distinguished themselves at the battle of Talavera, in the -Peninsular War (July 27 and 28, 1809).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXII">CCXII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Departmental Ditties</cite> (Calcutta: Thacker, Spink & Co., 1886. -London: George Newnes, Ltd., 1899). By permission of the author -and Messrs. George Newnes, Limited. ‘The Galley-Slave’ is -understood to be a mystical name for the Indian Civil Servant.</p> - -<h3>VII.—SOUTH AFRICA</h3> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXIII">CCXIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Ephemerides</cite> (London: 1828).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_351">351</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXIV">CCXIV</a></h4> - -<p>By permission of the author and the editor of <cite>Literature</cite>, in which -publication (December 9, 1899) the poem first appeared.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXV">CCXV</a></h4> - -<p>Published in G. W. Steevens’ posthumous volume, <cite>Things Seen: -with Memoir by W. E. Henley</cite> (Blackwood, 1900). By permission -of the author. The quatrain is inscribed ‘G. W. S., December 10, -1869—January 15, 1900.’ The lines were written of G. W. Steevens, -journalist and war correspondent, who died at Ladysmith during -the siege.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXVI">CCXVI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>England Revisited</cite> (Cape Town: J. C. Juta & Co., 1900). By -permission of the author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXVII">CCXVII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Cape Argus</cite> (May 6, 1901). By permission of the author and the -editor of the <cite>Cape Argus</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXVIII">CCXVIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Natal: The Land and its Story</cite> (Pietermaritzburg: Davis & Sons, -Fifth Edition, 1897). By permission of the author.</p> - -<p>l. 1. <i>Congella.</i> Hostilities having begun in Natal (1842), Captain -Smith led the English forces out of Durban for a night attack on -Pretorius’ position at Congella. It was a moonlight night, and -the advance was observed. Our men were shot down as they -marched along the shore without cover. The survivors retreated -to Durban, and the Boers immediately invested the town. A -despatch-rider having made his way through the Boer lines, reinforcements -were sent by sea, and the siege was raised (June 25, -1842). Natal was annexed the following year, and the Boer was -thus headed off from the sea.</p> - -<h3>VIII.—AUSTRALIA</h3> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXIX">CCXIX</a></h4> - -<p>From <cite>Dampier’s Dream: an Australian Foreshadowing</cite> (Melbourne: -George Robertson & Co., 1892). By permission of the -author’s representatives.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_352">352</a></span> -William Dampier (1652–1715), pirate, circumnavigator, and -captain in the navy, made several voyages to the South Seas.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXX">CCXX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Poems</cite> (Melbourne: A. H. Massina & Co., 1884). By permission -of the publishers.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXI">CCXXI</a></h4> - -<p>From <cite>Australia Federata</cite> (<cite>The Times</cite>, January 1, 1901). This -poem appeared the same day in the leading journals of all the -States of the Commonwealth of Australia. By permission of Sir -Horace Tozer, K.C.M.G., Agent-General for Queensland.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXII">CCXXII</a></h4> - -<p>First published in a Tasmanian newspaper. By permission of -the author.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXIII">CCXXIII</a></h4> - -<p><cite>In the Days when the World was Wide</cite> (Sydney: Angus & -Robertson. London: The Australian Book Co., 1895). By permission -of Messrs. Angus & Robertson.</p> - -<p><cite>Jackeroo</cite> (l. 24).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXIV">CCXXIV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Literature</cite> (November 11, 1899). By permission of the author -and the editor of <cite>Literature</cite>.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXV">CCXXV</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Maoriland and other Verses</cite> (Sydney: The Bulletin Newspaper -Co., 1899). By permission of the publishers.</p> - -<p>l. 2. <i>tussock.</i> ‘Tussock’ is a coarse grass.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXVI">CCXXVI</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Fair Girls and Grey Horses</cite> (Sydney: The Bulletin Newspaper -Co., 1899). By permission of the publishers. This poem first -appeared in the Sydney <cite>Bulletin</cite>.</p> - -<p>l. 9. <i>Macquarie.</i> The river Macquarie rises in the Blue Mountains, -eighty miles west of Sydney. After following a north-westerly -course of 280 miles its waters are lost in the Macquarie marshes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_353">353</a></span></p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXVII">CCXXVII</a></h4> - -<p>First appeared in <cite>The Brisbane Courier</cite> (August 8, 1899).</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXVIII">CCXXVIII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CCXXIX">CCXXIX</a></h4> - -<p>The first appeared in <cite>Songs of the South</cite> (Ward, Lock & Co., -1891), and the second is an extract from <cite>The Commonwealth: an -Ode</cite> (<cite>Melbourne Age</cite>, January 1901). By permission of the author.</p> - -<p>As to the first,—Matthew Flinders (1774–1814), discoverer and -captain in the navy, was one of the first surveyors of the east coast -of Australia. He spent many years in exploring the country adjacent -to the coast.</p> - -<h3>IX.—NEW ZEALAND</h3> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXX">CCXXX</a></h4> - -<p><cite>Musings in Maoriland</cite> (Sydney: Arthur T. Keirle & Co., 1890). -By permission of the publishers.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXXI">CCXXXI</a></h4> - -<p>First published in the Dunedin <cite>Saturday Advertiser</cite> (June 22, -1878), and included in <cite>Far South Fancies</cite> (Griffith, Farran & Co., -1889). By permission of the author.</p> - -<p>l. 15. <i>Parakeets’.</i> The parakeet resembles a parrot in appearance, -and is one of the native birds of New Zealand.</p> - -<p>16. <i>Tui’s.</i> The tui is a mocking-bird, and has two tufts of -white feathers on its neck, the rest of its plumage being jet black. -It is commonly called the ‘Parson Bird,’ from its supposed resemblance -to a clergyman in a white tie.</p> - -<h4><a href="#poemr_CCXXXII">CCXXXII</a>–<a href="#poemr_CCXXXIII">CCXXXIII</a></h4> - -<p>The first is from <cite>Songs of the Singing Shepherd</cite> (Wanganui, New -Zealand: A. D. Willis, 1885), and the second from <cite>The Pilgrim -of Eternity</cite> (Wanganui: Wanganui Herald Co., 1892). By permission -of the author.</p> - -<p>As to the second,—<i>Cooee</i> (l. 1). The signal-call of the aborigines -of New Zealand (‘cooee’ or ‘cooey’) can be heard at a great -distance.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_355">355</a><a class="hidev" id="Page_357">357</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a id="INDEX_OF_FIRST_LINES"></a>INDEX OF FIRST LINES</h2> -</div> - -<table summary="Index of First Lines"> - <tr class="small"> - <td> </td> - <td class="tdr">PAGE</td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Across the streaming flood, the deep ravine</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_286">286</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">After dead centuries</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_168">168</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Agincourt, Agincourt</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_3">3</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Ah, now we know the long delay</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_297">297</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Amid the loud ebriety of War</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_96">96</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">An effigy of brass</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_133a">133</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">A perfect peaceful stillness reigns</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_316">316</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_225">225</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Are you not weary in your distant places</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_196a">196</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Arvon’s heights hide the bright sun from our gazing</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_171">171</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">A terrible and splendid trust</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_239">239</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England’s praise</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_74">74</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Attend you, and give ear awhile</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_21">21</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Away with bayonet and with lance</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_63">63</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">A wee bird cam’ to our ha’ door</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_205a">205</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">A wonderful joy our eyes to bless</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_122">122</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_196">196</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Bonnie Charlie’s noo awa’</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_198">198</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Breathes there the man, with soul so dead</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_183">183</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Britain fought her sons of yore</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_85">85</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">By crag and lonely moor she stands</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_254">254</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">By the Boer lines at Congella</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_288">288</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">By this, though deep the evening fell</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_183a">183</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Cam’ ye by Athol, lad wi’ the philabeg</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_199a">199</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Come, all ye jolly sailors bold</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_44">44</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Come, cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_35">35</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_31a">31</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Come, my hearties—work will stand</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_302">302</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><em>Cooee!</em> I send my voice</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_318">318</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_17">17</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_24">24</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Daddy Neptune one day to Freedom did say</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_55">55</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_358">358</a></span>Dear Cymru, ’mid thy mountains soaring high</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_173">173</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Dear Harp of my country! in darkness I found thee</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_216">216</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Despond who will—<em class="padi">I</em> heard a voice exclaim</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_51">51</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Did they dare, did they dare to slay Owen Roe O’Neill</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_227">227</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Does haughty Gaul invasion threat</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_181">181</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Drake he’s in his hammock an’ a thousand mile away</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_149">149</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Drake’s luck to all that sail with Drake</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_150">150</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_147a">147</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">England, awake! awake! awake</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_45">45</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">England, England, England</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_252">252</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee round</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_125">125</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_215a">215</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Fair stood the wind for France</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_5">5</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Fareweel to Lochaber, fareweel to my Jean</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_177">177</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Far up among the forest-belted mountains</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_285">285</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Fierce on this bastion beats the noon-day sun</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_258">258</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">First pledge our Queen this solemn night</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_84">84</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Forests that beard the avalanche</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_121">121</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Frae the friends and land I love</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_202">202</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Free as the wind that leaps from out the North</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_139">139</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">From domes and palaces I bent my way</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_272">272</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Glyndwr, see thy comet flaming</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_167">167</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">God be with the Irish host</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_224">224</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">God of Nations! at Thy feet</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_315">315</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">God of our fathers, known of old</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_154">154</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">God save our Lord, the King</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_34a">34</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Green fields of England! wheresoe’er</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_93">93</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Green Flodden! on thy bloodstained head</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_190">190</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Growing to full manhood now</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_258a">258</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Half a league, half a league</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_87">87</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Harp of the mountain-land! sound forth again</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_166">166</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Have done with care, my hearts! aboard amain</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_4">4</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Heard ye the thunder of battle</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_104">104</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">He left his island home</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_308">308</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Her court was pure; her life serene</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_83a">83</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_39">39</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_46">46</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Here’s a health to the King and a lasting peace</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_34">34</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Here’s a health unto His Majesty</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_31">31</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_359">359</a></span>How great the loss is thy loss to me</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_233">233</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">‘How many?’ said our good captain</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_108">108</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">How sleep the brave who sink to rest</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_36">36</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">I know ’tis but a loom of land</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_117">117</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">I may sit in my wee croo house</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_200">200</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">I’m lonesome since I cross’d the hill</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_43">43</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">I’m sitting on the stile, Mary</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_222a">222</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">In all my wanderings round this world of care</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_211">211</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">In a quiet-water’d land, a land of roses</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_236">236</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">In the greyness of the dawning we have seen the pilot-star</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_307">307</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">In the Highlands, in the country places</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_195">195</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">In the ranks of the Austrian you found him</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_80">80</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">I remember the lowering wintry morn</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_295">295</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">I send to you</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_317">317</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">It is not to be thought of that the flood</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_47">47</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">It’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_193">193</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">It was a’ for our rightfu’ king</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_203">203</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">It wasna from a golden throne</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_207a">207</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">I’ve heard the lark’s cry thrill the sky o’er the meadows of Lusk</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_234">234</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">I’ve heard the liltin’ at our ewe-milkin’</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_177a">177</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Jack dances and sings, and is always content</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_40">40</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">King Philip had vaunted his claims</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_132">132</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Last night, among his fellow roughs</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_90">90</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Lest it be said</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_260">260</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Let rogues and cheats prognosticate</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_30">30</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Listen! my brothers of Eton and Harrow</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_157">157</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Lo, how they come to me</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_155">155</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Lo, our land this night is lone</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_231a">231</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Lo, ’tis the light of the morn</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_309">309</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Lying here awake, I hear the watchman’s warning</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_100">100</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_186">186</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Men of England! who inherit</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_62">62</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Men of the Hills and men of the Plains, men of the Isles and Sea</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_276">276</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Methinks already from this chymic flame</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_32">32</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">My England, island England, such leagues and leagues away</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_141a">141</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_180">180</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">My name, d’ye see, ’s Tom Tough, I’ve seed a little sarvice</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_41">41</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_360">360</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">New Year, be good to England. Bid her name</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_129">129</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-West died away</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_92">92</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_69">69</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Not ’mid the thunder of the battle guns</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_299">299</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Not tasselled palm or bended cypress wooing</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_233">233</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Now all the youth of England are on fire</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_12">12</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">O, Bay of Dublin! how my heart you’re troublin’</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_222">222</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_204">204</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O Child of Nations, giant-limbed</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_250">250</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O England, thou hast many a precious dower</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_99a">99</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Of Nelson and the North</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_60">60</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Of old sat Freedom on the heights</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_82">82</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Oft in the pleasant summer years</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_268">268</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O gallant was our galley from her carven steering-wheel</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_280">280</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O! he was lang o’ comin’</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_199">199</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O how comely it is, and how reviving</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_24a">24</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O, Kenmure’s on and awa, Willie</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_202a">202</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O land of Druid and of Bard</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_165">165</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O! my dark Rosaleen</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_219">219</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Once more upon the waters! yet once more</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_64">64</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">‘On with the charge!’ he cries, and waves his sword</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_244">244</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O, Paddy dear! an’ did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_211a">211</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O, the East is but West, with the sun a little hotter</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_243">243</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O, then, tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, tell me why you hurry so</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_235">235</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O, the red rose may be fair</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_237">237</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O, to be in England</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_91">91</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O, ’twas merry down to Looe when the news was carried through</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_118">118</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O undistinguished Dead</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_133">133</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Our second Richard Lion-Heart</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_113">113</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O, where, Kincora! is Brien the Great</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_218">218</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O, where’s the slave so lowly</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_214">214</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_178">178</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O! why left I my hame</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_194">194</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">O ye, who with your blood and sweat</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_246">246</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Pibroch of Donuil Dhu</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_185">185</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_361">361</a></span></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Rain came down drenchingly; but we unblenchingly</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_131">131</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Remember the glories of Brien the brave</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_213">213</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Ruin seize thee, ruthless King</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_161">161</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Sang one of England in his island home</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_262">262</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Say not the struggle naught availeth</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_94">94</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_180a">180</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">See, see where Royal Snowdon rears</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_172">172</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">She is a rich and rare land</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_226">226</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_215">215</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">She stands alone: ally nor friend has she</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_124">124</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">She stands, a thousand wintered tree</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_143">143</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Shy bird of the silver arrows of song</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_247">247</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_42">42</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Son of the Ocean Isle</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_72">72</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Sons in my gates of the West</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_136">136</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Speak gently, gently tread</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_273">273</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_207">207</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Steep is the soldier’s path; nor are the heights</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_58">58</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Still stand thy ruins ’neath the Indian sky</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_275">275</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Sun-showered land! largess of golden light</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_286b">286</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Sye, do yer ’ear thet bugle callin’</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_147">147</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_193a">193</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The camp-fire gleams resistance</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_305">305</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The cool and pleasant days are past</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_274">274</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The feast is spread through England</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_112">112</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The fifteenth day of July</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_18">18</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The forward youth that would appear</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_25">25</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The harp that once through Tara’s halls</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_213a">213</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_182">182</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The Isle of Roses in her Lindian shrine</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_103">103</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_65">65</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The Little Black Rose shall be red at last</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_229">229</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_212">212</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The news frae Moidart cam’ yestreen</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_205">205</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">There are boys to-day in the city slum and the home of wealth and pride</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_300">300</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">There’s a land, a dear land, where the rights of the free</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_92a">92</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">There was a sound of revelry by night</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_67">67</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_362">362</a></span>There was heard the sound of a coming foe</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_71">71</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The seaman slept—all nature sleeps; a sacred stillness there</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_293">293</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The waves are dashing proudly down</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_267">267</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">The weary day rins down and dies</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_126">126</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">They called Thee <span class="smcap">Merry England</span> in old time</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_50a">50</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">They lie unwatched, in waste and vacant places</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_303">303</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">They say that ‘war is hell,’ the ‘great accursed’</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_109">109</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">This England never did, nor never shall</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_11a">11</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">This royal throne of kings, this sceptr’d isle</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_11">11</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Thy voice is heard through rolling drums</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_83">83</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">To-day the people gather from the streets</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_120">120</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">To horse! to horse! the standard flies</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_189">189</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Toll for the Brave</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_38">38</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">To mute and to material things</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_51a">51</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">To my true king I offered free from stain</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_77">77</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">To Thee, our God, we fly</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_99">99</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">To the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_187">187</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Truth, winged and enkindled with rapture</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_129a">129</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Unhappy Erin, what a lot was thine</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_231">231</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_48">48</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">War-worn, sun-scorched, stained with the dust of toil</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_248">248</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">We cheered you forth—brilliant and kind and brave</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_286a">286</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">We come from tower and grange</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_134">134</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">We come in arms, we stand ten score</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_97">97</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Welcome, wild North-easter</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_94a">94</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">‘Well done!’ The cry goes ringing round the world</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_287">287</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">We’ll o’er the water, we’ll o’er the sea</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_201">201</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">What are the bugles saying</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_278">278</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Whate’er of woe the Dark may hide in womb</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_123">123</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">What have I done for you</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_137">137</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">What of the bow</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_143a">143</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">When Britain first at Heaven’s command</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_33">33</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">When I have borne in memory what has tamed</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_47a">47</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">When the British warrior queen</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_36a">36</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Where Foyle her swelling waters</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_216a">216</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Where the remote Bermudas ride</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_28">28</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Who ’as ’eard the Ram a callin’ on the green fields o’ the sea</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_141">141</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Who carries the gun</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_144">144</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_229a">229</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_363">363</a></span>Who is he that cometh, like an honour’d guest</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_85a">85</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_48a">48</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">‘Who’ll serve the King?’ cried the sergeant aloud</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_57">57</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Whom for thy race of heroes wilt thou own</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_78a">78</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Who to the murmurs of an earthly string</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_50">50</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? We have made them a curse</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_89">89</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Why is it that ye grieve, O weak in faith</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_249">249</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Why lingers my gaze where the last hues of day</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_166a">166</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Wide are the plains to the north and the westward</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_262a">262</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_150a">150</a></td></tr> - <tr class="newlet"> - <td class="tdl">Ye Mariners of England</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_59">59</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">Yes, let us own it in confession free</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_78">78</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">You ask me, why, tho’ ill at ease</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_81">81</a></td></tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdl">You brave heroic minds</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#poem_8">8</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class="p2 center smaller"> -Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantine, Hanson & Co.</span><br /> -Edinburgh & London -</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<h2 class="nobreak p1"><a id="Transcribers_Notes"></a>Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -<p>As this is a collection of poems written by many different people, -variations in punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were not changed, -although simple typographical errors were corrected.</p> - -<p>Index not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page references.</p> - -<p>Page <a href="#Page_xii">xii</a>: “like an individual” was printed as “like an admiral”, but -has been changed in accordance with the Erratum on page xiii.</p> - -<p>In the Contents, the lifespan dates for several poets were omitted.</p> - -<p>The book printed the names of the Poets at the top of each page; in this -eBook, their names precede their first poem.</p> - -<p>Accent marks have been retained, even though other books do not -necessarily use them in the same poems. One example of this may be -found on page 13, in the ninth line of “King Harry To His Soldiers”: -“aspèct”.</p> - -<p>Page <a href="#Page_78">78</a>: “who saw me tried too sorely” was misprinted as “tired”.</p> - -<p>Page <a href="#Page_186">186</a>: The verse “Knell for the onset!” was printed unindented, but -the pattern of the poem suggests that it should be indented, and other -books do indent it.</p> - -<p>Page <a href="#Page_261">261</a>: “I bid thee, Hail!” was misprinted as “the”.</p> - -<p>The hyphenation in some Index entries was changed to match the -referenced pages.</p> -</div></div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Patriotic Song, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATRIOTIC SONG *** - -***** This file should be named 52133-h.htm or 52133-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/1/3/52133/ - -Produced by Brian Coe, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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