Poems: New and Old — Story, Setting & Ideas

t was the goal Of thy self-conquering strife. The love of child and wife, The fields of Earth and the wide ways of Thought-- Did not thy purpose count them all as nought That in this moment thou thyself mayst give And in thy country's life for ever live?

Therefore rejoice That in thy passionate prime Youth's nobler hope disdained the spoils of Time And thine own choice Fore-earned for thee this day. Rejoice! rejoice to obey In the great hour of life that men call Death The beat that bids thee draw heroic breath, Deep-throbbing till thy mortal heart be dumb Come! . . . Come! . . . the time is come!

Mother, with unbowed head Hear thou across the sea The farewell of the dead, The dead who died for thee. Greet them again with tender words and grave, For, saving thee, themselves they could not save.

To keep the house unharmed Their fathers built so fair, Deeming endurance armed Better than brute despair, They found the secret of the word that saith, "Service is sweet, for all true life is death."

So greet thou well thy dead Across the homeless sea, And be thou comforted Because they died for thee. Far off they served, but now their deed is done For evermore their life and thine are one.

_Ode for Trafalgar Day, 1905_

"Partial firing continued until 4.30, when a victory having been reported to the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Nelson, K.B., and Commander-in-Chief, he then died of his wound."--Log of the _Victory_, October 21, 1805.

England! to-day let fire be in thine eyes And in thy heart the throb of leaping guns; Crown in thy streets the deed that never dies, And tell their fathers' fame to all thy sons! Behold! behold! on that unchanging sea Where day behind Trafalgar rises pale, How dread the storm to be Drifts up with ominous breath Cloud after towering cloud of billowy sail Full charged with thunder and the bolts of death.

Yet when the noon is past, and thy delight, More delicate for these good hundred years, Has drunk the splendour and the sound of fight And the sweet sting of long-since vanished fears, Then, England, come thou down with sterner lips From the bright world of thy substantial power, Forget thy seas, thy ships, And that wide echoing dome To watch the soul of man in his dark hour Redeeming yet his dear lost land of home.

What place is this? What under-world of pain All shadow-barred with glare of swinging fires? What writhing phantoms of the newly slain? What cries? What thirst consuming all desires? This is the field of battle: not for life, Not for the deeper life that dwells in love, Not for the savour of strife Or the far call of fame, Not for all these the fight: all these above The soul of this man cherished Duty's name.

His steadfast hope from self has turned away, For the Cause only must he still contend: "How goes the day with us? How goes the day?" He craves not victory, but to make an end. Therefore not yet thine hour, O Death: but when The weapons forged against his country's peace Lie broken round him--then Give him the kiss supreme; Then let the tumult of his warfare cease And the last dawn dispel his anguished dream.

"Drake, and Blake, and Nelson's mighty name."

The stars were faint in heaven That saw the Old Year die, The dream-white mist of Devon Shut in the seaward sky: Before the dawn's unveiling I heard three voices hailing, I saw three ships come sailing With lanterns gleaming high.

The first he cried defiance-- A full-mouthed voice and bold-- "On God be our reliance, Our hope the Spaniard's gold! With a still, stern ambuscado, With a roaring escalado, We'll sack their Eldorado And storm their dungeon hold!"

Then slowly spake the second-- A great sad voice and deep-- "When all your gold is reckoned, There is but this to keep:

To stay the foe from fooling, To learn the heathen schooling, To live and die sea-ruling, And home at last to sleep."

But the third matched in beauty The dawn that flushed afar; "O sons of England, Duty Is England's morning star: Then Fame's eternal splendour Be theirs who well defend her, And theirs who fain would bend her The night of Trafalgar!"

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' ruled 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!

The Fighting Téméraire

It was eight bells ringing, For the morning watch was done, And the gunner's lads were singing As they polished every gun. It was eight bells ringing, And the gunner's lads were singing, For the ship she rode a-swinging As they polished every gun.

_Oh! til see the linstock lighting, Téméraire! Téméraire! Oh! to hear the round shot biting, Téméraire! Téméraire! Oh! to see the linstock lighting, And to hear the round shot biting, For we're all in love with fighting On the Fighting Téméraire._

It was noontide ringing, And the battle just begun, When the ship her way was winging As they loaded every gun.

It was noontide ringing, When the ship her way was winging, And the gunner's lads were singing As they loaded every gun.

There'll be many grim and gory, Téméraire! Téméraire! There'll be few to tell the story, Téméraire! Téméraire! There'll be many grim and gory, There'll be few to tell the story, But we'll all be one in glory With the fighting Téméraire.

There's a far bell ringing At the setting of the sun, And a phantom voice is singing Of the great days done. There's a far bell ringing, And a phantom voice is singing Of renown for ever clinging To the great days done.

Now the sunset breezes shiver, Téméraire! Téméraire! And she's fading down the river, Téméraire! Téméraire! Now the sunset breezes shiver, And she's fading down the river, But in England's song for ever She's the Fighting Téméraire.

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!_

(A BALLAD OF THE BOLD MENELAUS)

It was morning at St. Helen's, in the great and gallant days, And the sea beneath the sun glittered wide, When the frigate set her courses, all a-shimmer in the haze, And she hauled her cable home and took the tide. She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more, Nine and forty guns in tackle running free; And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore, When the bold _Menelaus_ put to sea.

_She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more Nine and forty guns in tackle running free; And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fire, When the bold _Menelaus_ put to sea._

She was clear of Monte Cristo, she was heading for the land, When she spied a pennant red and white and blue; They were foemen, and they knew it, and they'd half a league in hand, But she flung aloft her royals and she flew.

She was nearer, nearer, nearer, they were caught beyond a doubt, But they slipped her, into Orbetello Bay, And the lubbers gave a shout as they paid their cables out, With the guns grinning round them where they lay.

Now Sir Peter was a captain of a famous fighting race, Son and grandson of an admiral was he; And he looked upon the batteries, he looked upon the chase, And he heard the shout that echoed out to sea. And he called across the decks, "Ay! the cheering might be late If they kept it till the _Menelaus_ runs; Bid the master and his mate heave the lead and lay her straight For the prize lying yonder by the guns."

When the summer moon was setting, into Orbetello Bay Came the _Menelaus_ gliding like a ghost; And her boats were manned in silence, and in silence pulled away, And in silence every gunner took his post. With a volley from her broadside the citadel she woke, And they hammered back like heroes all the night; But before the morning broke she had vanished through the smoke With her prize upon her quarter grappled tight.

It was evening at St. Helen's, in the great and gallant time, And the sky behind the down was flushing far; And the flags were all a-flutter, and the bells were all a-chime, When the frigate cast her anchor off the bar. She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more, Nine and forty guns in tackle running free; And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore, When the bold _Menelaus_ came from sea.

_She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more, Nine and forty guns in tackle running free; And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore, When the bold _Menelaus_ came from sea._

In seventeen hundred and fifty nine, When Hawke came swooping from the West, The French King's Admiral with twenty of the line, Was sailing forth, to sack us, out of Brest. The ports of France were crowded, the quays of France a-hum With thirty thousand soldiers marching to the drum, For bragging time was over and fighting time was come When Hawke came swooping from the West.

'Twas long past noon of a wild November day When Hawke came swooping from the West; He heard the breakers thundering in Quiberon Bay But he flew the flag for battle, line abreast. Down upon the quicksands roaring out of sight Fiercely beat the storm-wind, darkly fell the night, But they took the foe for pilot and the cannon's glare for light When Hawke came swooping from the West.

The Frenchmen turned like a covey down the wind When Hawke came swooping from the West; One he sank with all hands, one he caught and pinned, And the shallows and the storm took the rest.

The guns that should have conquered us they rusted on the shore, The men that would have mastered us they drummed and marched no more, For England was England, and a mighty brood she bore When Hawke came swooping from the West.

She's the daughter of the breeze, She's the darling of the seas, And we call her, if you please, the bright _Medu--sa_; From beneath her bosom bare To the snakes among her hair She's a flash o' golden light, the bright _Medu--sa_.

When the ensign dips above And the guns are all for love, She's as gentle as a dove, the bright _Medu--sa_; But when the shot's in rack And her forestay flies the Jack, He's a merry man would slight the bright _Medu--sa_.

When she got the word to go Up to Monte Video, There she found the river low, the bright _Medu--sa_; So she tumbled out her guns And a hundred of her sons, And she taught the Dons to fight the bright _Medu--sa_.

When the foeman can be found With the pluck to cross her ground, First she walks him round and round, the bright _Medu--sa_; Then she rakes him fore and aft Till he's just a jolly raft, And she grabs him like a kite, the bright _Medu--sa_.

She's the daughter of the breeze, She's the darling of the seas, And you'll call her, if you please, the bright _Medu--sa_; For till England's sun be set-- And it's not for setting yet-- She shall bear her name by right, the bright _Medu--sa_.

The wind was rising easterly, the morning sky was blue, The Straits before us opened wide and free; We looked towards the Admiral, where high the Peter flew, And all our hearts were dancing like the sea. "The French are gone to Martinique with four-and-twenty sail! The Old _Suberb_ is old and foul and slow, But the French are gone to Martinique, and Nelson's on the trail, And where he goes the Old _Suberb_ must go!"

_So Westward ho! for Trinidad and Eastward ho! for Spain, And "Ship ahoy!" a hundred times a day; Round the world if need be, and round the world again, With a lame duck lagging all the way!_

The Old _Suberb_ was barnacled and green as grass below, Her sticks were only fit for stirring grog; The pride of all her midshipmen was silent long ago, And long ago they ceased to heave the log.

Four year out from home she was, and ne'er a week in port, And nothing save the guns aboard her bright; But Captain Keats he knew the game, and swore to share the sport, For he never yet came in too late to fight.

_So Westward ho! for Trinidad and Eastward ho! for Spain, And "Ship ahoy!" a hundred times a day; Round the world if need be, and round the world again, With a lame duck lagging all the way!_

"Now up, my lads!" the Captain cried, "for sure the case were hard If longest out were first to fall behind. Aloft, aloft with studding sails, and lash them on the yard, For night and day the Trades are driving blind!" So all day long and all day long behind the fleet we crept, And how we fretted none but Nelson guessed; But every night the Old _Superb_ she sailed when others slept, Till we ran the French to earth with all the rest!

_Oh, 'twas Westward ho! for Trinidad and Eastward ho! for Spain, And "Ship ahoy!" a hundred times a day; Round the world if need be, and round the world again, With a lame duck lagging all the way!_

_The Quarter-Gunner's Yarn_

We lay at St. Helen's, and easy she rode With one anchor catted and fresh-water stowed; When the barge came alongside like bullocks we roared, For we knew what we carried with Nelson aboard.

Our Captain was Hardy, the pride of us all, I'll ask for none better when danger shall call; He was hardy by nature and Hardy by name, And soon by his conduct to honour he came.

The third day the Lizard was under our lee, Where the _Ajax_ and _Thunderer_ joined us at sea, But what with foul weather and tacking about, When we sighted the Fleet we were thirteen days out.

The Captains they all came aboard quick enough, But the news that they brought was as heavy as duff; So backward an enemy never was seen, They were harder to come at than Cheeks the Marine.

The lubbers had hare's lugs where seamen have ears, So we stowed all saluting and smothered our cheers, And to humour their stomachs and tempt them to dine, In the offing we showed them but six of the line.

One morning the topmen reported below The old _Agamemnon_ escaped from the foe. Says Nelson: "My lads, there'll be honour for some, For we're sure of a battle now Berry has come."

"Up hammocks!" at last cried the bo'sun at dawn; The guns were cast loose and the tompions drawn; The gunner was bustling the shot racks to fill, And "All hands to quarters!" was piped with a will.

We now saw the enemy bearing ahead, And to East of them Cape Trafalgar it was said, 'Tis a name we remember from father to son, That the days of old England may never be done.

The _Victory_ led, to her flag it was due, Tho' the _Téméraires_ thought themselves Admirals too; But Lord Nelson he hailed them with masterful grace: "Cap'n Harvey, I'll thank you to keep in your place."

To begin with we closed the _Bucentaure_ alone, An eighty-gun ship and their Admiral's own; We raked her but once, and the rest of the day Like a hospital hulk on the water she lay.

To our battering next the _Redoutable_ struck, But her sharpshooters gave us the worst of the luck: Lord Nelson was wounded, most cruel to tell. "They've done for me, Hardy!" he cried as he fell.

To the cockpit in silence they carried him past, And sad were the looks that were after him cast; His face with a kerchief he tried to conceal, But we knew him too well from the truck to the keel.

When the Captain reported a victory won, "Thank God!" he kept saying, "my duty I've done." At last came the moment to kiss him good-bye, And the Captain for once had the salt in his eye.

"Now anchor, dear Hardy," the Admiral cried; But before we could make it he fainted and died. All night in the trough of the sea we were tossed, And for want of ground-tackle good prizes were lost.

Then we hauled down the Hag, at the fore it was red, And blue at the mizzen was hoisted instead By Nelson's famed Captain, the pride of each tar, Who fought in the _Victory_ off Cape Trafalgar.

When England sets her banner forth And bids her armour shine, She'll not forget the famous North, The lads of moor and Tyne; And when the loving-cup's in hand, And Honour leads the cry, They know not old Northumberland Who'll pass her memory by.

When Nelson sailed for Trafalgar With all his country's best, He held them dear as brothers are, But one beyond the rest. For when the fleet with heroes manned To clear the decks began, The boast of old Northumberland He sent to lead the van.