ma
 
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 THE ISLAND RACE
 
 THE ISLAND RACE 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY NEWBOLT 
 
 LONDON 
 
 ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET 
 1907
 
 et 
 
 S/03 
 
 Sixth Thousand 
 
 Copyright in America 
 All Rights Reserved
 
 TO 
 ROBERT BRIDGES
 
 OF the forty-three pieces in this volume, twelve were 
 published in 1897 under the title of "Admirals All." Of 
 the remaining thirty-one, many have appeared in the 
 periodicals enumerated below : none were written earlier 
 than "Admirals All." The thanks of the Author for 
 permission to reprint are due to the Editors of 
 Longman's Magazine, the Spectator, the Daily Chronicle, 
 the St. James's Gazette, the Saturday Review, the Pall 
 Mall Magazine, the Windsor Magazitu, the Pall Mall 
 Gazette, the Speaker, the Outlook, and the Athenaum.
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Vigil I 
 
 Admiral Death ... .... 4 
 
 The Quarter-Gunner's Yarn 7 
 
 For a Trafalgar Cenotaph . . . . . .12 
 
 Craven 13 
 
 Messmates 16 
 
 The Death of Admiral Blake 18 
 
 Ve Victis 21 
 
 Minora Siclera . ...... 25 
 
 Laudabunt Alii 27 
 
 San Stefano -3
 
 vin CONTENTS 
 
 MM 
 
 Hawke 34 
 
 The Fighting Teme'rairc 
 
 Drake's Drum 40 
 
 Admirals All 42 
 
 The Old Superb 46 
 
 Homeward Round . 50 
 
 Gillespie 51 
 
 Seringapatam 55 
 
 A Ballad of John Nicholson 60 
 
 The Guides at Cabul, 1879 66 
 
 The Gay Gordons 7 
 
 He Fell Among Thieves ....... 72 
 
 lonicus . 7 
 
 The Non-Combatant 78 
 
 Clifton Chapel .... ... bo 
 
 England 83 
 
 The Echo 84 
 
 Vitai Lampada 86 
 
 April on Wagon Hill 88 
 
 A Song of hxmoor 91 
 
 Fidele's Grassy Tomb 95
 
 CONTENTS IX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Gavotte 100 
 
 Imogen 102 
 
 Nel Mezzo del Cammin . 104 
 
 The Invasion 105 
 
 Pereunt et Imputantur 108 
 
 Felix Antonius 1 10 
 
 The Last Word 112 
 
 Ireland, Ireland 116 
 
 Moonset 117 
 
 Hymn . . . . . . . . .119 
 
 The Building of the Temple 121 
 
 Notes .... ..... 126
 
 O STRENGTH DIVINE OF ROMAN DAYS, 
 
 O SPIRIT OF THE AGE OF FAITH, 
 GO WITH OUR SONS ON ALL THEIR WAYS, 
 
 WHEN WE LONG SINCE ARE DUST AND WRAITH.
 
 The Vigil 
 
 ENGLAND ! where the sacred flame 
 Burns before the inmost shrine, 
 Where the lips that love thy name 
 
 Consecrate their hopes and thine, 
 Where the banners of thy dead 
 Weave their shadows overhead, 
 Watch beside thine arms to-night, 
 Pray that God defend the Right.
 
 THE VIGIL 
 
 Think that when to-morrow comes 
 War shall claim command of all, 
 Thou must hear the roll of drums, 
 
 Thou must hear the trumpet's call. 
 Now before they silence ruth, 
 Commune with the voice of truth ; 
 England ! on thy knees to-night 
 Pray that God defend the Right. 
 
 Hast thou counted up the cost, 
 What to foeman, what to friend ? 
 
 Glory sought is Honour lost, 
 
 How should this be knighthood's end ? 
 
 Know'st thou what is Hatred's meed ? 
 
 What the surest gain of Greed ? 
 
 England ! wilt thou dare to-night 
 
 Pray that God defend the Right ?
 
 THE VIGIL 
 
 Single-hearted, unafraid, 
 
 Hither all thy heroes came, 
 On this altar's steps were laid 
 
 Gordon's life and Outram's fame. 
 England ! if thy will be yet 
 By their great example set, 
 Here beside thine arms to-night 
 Pray that God defend the Right. 
 
 So shalt thou when morning comes 
 
 Rise to conquer or to fall, 
 Joyful hear the rolling drums, 
 
 Joyful hear the trumpets call. 
 Then let Memory tell thy heart ; 
 " England I what thou wert, thou art I '* 
 Gird thee with thine ancient might, 
 Forth ! and God defend the Right !
 
 Admiral Death 
 
 BOYS, are ye calling a toast to-night ? 
 
 (Hear what the sea-wind saith) 
 Fill for a bumper strong and bright, 
 
 And here's to Admiral Death ! 
 He's sailed in a hundred builds o* boat, 
 He's fought in a thousand kinds o' coat, 
 He's the senior flag of all that float, 
 
 And his name's Admiral Death.
 
 ADMIRAL DEATH 
 
 Which of you looks for a service free ? 
 
 (Hear what the sea-wind saith) 
 The rules o' the service are but three 
 
 When ye sail with Admiral Death. 
 Steady your hand in time o' squalls, 
 Stand to the last by him that falls, 
 And answer clear to the voice that calls, 
 
 Ay, Ay ! Admiral Death ! " 
 
 How will ye know him among the rest ? 
 
 (Hear what the sea- wind saith) 
 By the glint o' the stars that cover his breast 
 
 Ye may find Admiral Death. 
 By the forehead grim with an ancient scar, 
 By the voice that rolls like thunder far, 
 By the tenderest eyes of all that are, 
 
 Ye may know Admiral Death.
 
 ADMIRAL DEATH 
 
 Where are the lads that sailed before ? 
 
 (Hear what the sea-wind saith) 
 Their bones are white by many a shore, 
 
 They sleep with Admiral Death. 
 Oh ! but they loved him, young and old, 
 For he left the laggard, and took the bold, 
 And the fight was fought, and the story's told, 
 
 And they sleep with Admiral Death.
 
 The Quarter-Gunner's Yarn 
 
 WE lay at St. Helen's, and easy she rode 
 With one anchor catted and freshwater 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.
 
 8 THE QUARTER-GUNNER'S YARN 
 
 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."
 
 THE QUARTER-GUNNER'S YARN 9 
 
 " 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 Traflagar 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 Te-meraires 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.
 
 IO THE QUARTER-GUNNERS YARN 
 
 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.
 
 THE QUARTER-GUNNER S YARN I I 
 
 Then we hauled down the flag, 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 Traflagar.
 
 For a Trafalgar Cenotaph 
 
 LOVER of England, stand awhile and gaze 
 With thankful heart, and lips refrained from praise ; 
 They rest beyond the speech of human pride 
 Who served with Nelson and with Nelson died.
 
 Craven 
 
 (MOBILE BAY, 1864) 
 
 OVER the turret, shut in his ironclad tower, 
 Craven was conning his ship through smoke and flame; 
 
 Gun to gun he had battered the fort for an hour, 
 Now was the time for a charge to end the game. 
 
 There lay the narrowing channel, smooth and grim, 
 A hundred deaths beneath it, and never a sign ; 
 
 There lay the enemy's ships, and sink or swim 
 The flag was flying, and he was head of the line.
 
 14 CRAVEN 
 
 The fleet behind was jamming ; the monitor hung 
 Beating the stream ; the roar for a moment hushed ; 
 
 Craven spoke to the pilot ; slow she swung ; 
 Again he spoke, and right for the foe she rushed. 
 
 Into the narrowing channel, between the shore 
 And the sunk torpedoes lying in treacherous rank ; 
 
 She turned but a yard too short ; a muffled roar, 
 
 A mountainous wave, and she rolled, righted, and sank. 
 
 Over the manhole, up in the ironclad tower, 
 Pilot and Captain met as they turned to fly : 
 
 The hundredth part of a moment seemed an hour, 
 For one could pass to be saved, and one must die. 
 
 They stood like men in a dream: Craven spoke, 
 
 Spoke as he lived and fought, with a Captain's pride, 
 
 " After you, Pilot : " the pilot woke, 
 Down the ladder he went, and Craven died.
 
 CRAVEN 1 5 
 
 All men praise the deed and the manner, but we 
 We set it apart from the pride that stoops to the proud, 
 
 The strength that is supple to serve the strong and free, 
 The grace of the empty hands and promises loud : 
 
 Sidney thirsting a humbler need to slake, 
 
 Nelson waiting his turn for the surgeon's hand, 
 
 Lucas crushed with chains for a comrade's sake, 
 Outram coveting right before command, 
 
 These were paladins, these were Craven's peers, 
 These with him shall be crowned in story and song, 
 
 Crowned with the glitter of steel and the glimmer of tears, 
 Princes of courtesy, merciful, proud and strong.
 
 Messmates 
 
 HE gave us all a good-bye cheerily 
 
 At the first dawn of day ; 
 We dropped him down the side full drearily 
 
 When the light died away. 
 It's a dead dark watch that he's a-keeping there, 
 And a long, long night that lags a-creeping there, 
 Where the Trades and the tides roll over him 
 
 And the great ships go by.
 
 MESSMATES I J 
 
 He's there alone with green seas rocking him 
 
 For a thousand miles round ; 
 He's there alone with dumb things mocking him, 
 
 And we're homeward bound. 
 It's a long, lone watch that he's a-keeping there, 
 And a dead cold night that lags a-creeping there, 
 While the months and the years roll over him 
 
 And the great ships go by. 
 
 I wonder if the tramps come near enough 
 
 As they thrash to and fro, 
 And the battleships' bells ring clear enough 
 
 To be heard down below ; 
 
 If through all the lone watch that he's a-keeping there, 
 And the long, cold night that lags a-creeping there, 
 The voices of the sailor- men shall comfort him 
 
 When the great ships go by.
 
 The Death of Admiral Blake 
 
 (AUGUST 7TH, 1657) 
 
 LADEN with spoil of the South, fulfilled with the glory 
 of achievement, 
 
 And freshly crowned with never-dying fame, 
 
 Sweeping by shores where the names are the names of 
 the victories of England, 
 
 Across the Bay the squadron homeward came. 
 
 Proudly they came, but their pride was the pomp of a 
 funeral at midnight, 
 
 When dreader yet the lonely morrow looms ; 
 
 Few are the words that are spoken, and faces are gaunt 
 beneath the torchlight 
 
 That does but darken more the nodding plumes.
 
 THE DEATH OF ADMIRAL BLAKE 19 
 
 Low on the field of his fame, past hope lay the Admiral 
 triumphant, 
 
 And fain to rest him after all his pain ; 
 
 Yet for the love that he bore to his own land, ever 
 unforgotten, 
 
 He prayed to see the Western hills again. 
 
 Fainter than stars in a sky long gray with the coming of 
 the daybreak, 
 
 Or sounds of night that fade when night is done, 
 
 So in the death-dawn faded the splendour and loud 
 renown of warfare, 
 
 And life of all its longings kept but one. 
 
 " Oh ! to be there for an hour when the shade draws in 
 beside the hedgerows, 
 
 And falling apples wake the drowsy noon : 
 
 Oh ! for the hour when the elms grow sombre and human 
 in the twilight, 
 
 And gardens dream beneath the rising moon.
 
 2O THE DEATH OF ADMIRAL BLAKE 
 
 41 Only to look once more on the land of the memories 
 of childhood, 
 
 Forgetting weary winds and barren foam : 
 
 Only to bid farewell to the combe and the orchard and 
 the moorland, 
 
 And sleep at last among the fields of home! " 
 
 So he was silently praying, till now, when his strength 
 was ebbing faster, 
 
 The Lizard lay before them faintly blue ; 
 
 Now on the gleaming horizon the white cliffs laughed 
 along the coast-line, 
 
 And now the forelands took the shapes they knew, 
 
 There lay the Sound and the Island with green leaves 
 down beside the water, 
 
 The town, the Hoe, the masts with sunset fired 
 
 Dreams ! ay, dreams of the dead I for the great heart 
 faltered on the threshold, 
 
 And darkness took the land his soul desired,
 
 Vae Victis 
 
 BESIDE the placid sea that mirrored her 
 
 With the old glory of dawn that cannot die, 
 The sleeping city began to moan and stir, 
 
 As one that fain from an ill dream would fly ; 
 
 Yet more she feared the daylight bringing nigh 
 Such dreams as know not sunrise, soon or late, 
 
 Visions of honour lost and power gone by, 
 Of loyal valour betrayed by factious hate, 
 
 And craven sloth that shrank from the labour of forging 
 fate.
 
 22 VM VICTIS 
 
 They knew and knew not, this bewildered crowd 
 That up her streets in silence hurrying passed, 
 
 What manner of death should make their anguish loud, 
 What corpse across the funeral pyre be cast, 
 For none had spoken it ; only, gathering fast 
 
 As darkness gathers at noon in the sun's eclipse, 
 A shadow of doom enfolded them, vague and vast, 
 
 And a cry was heard, unfathered of earthly lips, 
 
 " What of the ships, O Carthage ? Carthage, what of 
 the ships ? " 
 
 They reached the wall, and nowise strange it seemed 
 To find the gates unguarded and open wide ; 
 
 They climbed the shoulder, and meet enough they 
 deemed 
 
 The black that shrouded the seaward rampart's side 
 And veiled in drooping gloom the turrets' pride ; 
 But this was nought, for suddenly down the slope 
 
 They saw the harbour, and sense within them died ; 
 Keel nor mast was there, rudder nor rope ; 
 It lay like a sea-hawk's eyry spoiled of life and hope.
 
 V^E VICTIS 23 
 
 Beyond, where dawn was a glittering carpet, rolled 
 From sky to shore on level and endless seas, 
 
 Hardly their eyes discerned in a dazzle of gold 
 That here in fifties, yonder in twos and threes, 
 The ships they sought, like a swarm of drowning bees 
 
 By a wanton gust on the pool of a mill-dam hurled, 
 Floated forsaken of life-giving tide and breeze, 
 
 Their oars broken, their sails for ever furled, 
 
 For ever deserted the bulwarks that guarded the wealth 
 of the world. 
 
 A moment yet, with breathing quickly drawn 
 And hands agrip, the Carthaginian folk 
 
 Stared in the bright untroubled face of dawn, 
 
 And strove with vehement heaped denial to choke 
 Their sure surmise of fate's impending stroke ; 
 
 Vainly for even now beneath their gaze 
 A thousand delicate spires of distant smoke 
 
 Reddened the disc of the sun with a stealthy haze, 
 
 And the smouldering grief of a nation burst with the 
 kindling blaze.
 
 24 V& VICTIS 
 
 " O dying Carthage ! " so their passion raved, 
 
 " Would nought but these the conqueror's hate 
 assuage? 
 
 If these be taken, how may the land be saved 
 Whose meat and drink was empire, age by age ? " 
 And bitter memory cursed with idle rage 
 
 The greed that coveted gold above renown, 
 The feeble hearts that feared their heritage, 
 
 The hands that cast the sea-kings' sceptre down 
 And left to alien brows their famed ancestral crown. 
 
 The endless noon, the endless evening through, 
 
 All other needs forgetting, great or small, 
 They drank despair with thirst whose torment grew 
 
 As the hours died beneath that stifling pall. 
 
 At last they saw the fires to blackness fall 
 One after one, and slowly turned them home, 
 
 A little longer yet their own to call 
 A city enslaved, and wear the bonds of Rome, 
 With weary hearts foreboding all the woe to come.
 
 Minora Sidera 
 
 (THE DICTIONARY OF NATIONAL BIOGRAPHY) 
 
 SITTING at times over a hearth that burns 
 
 With dull domestic glow, 
 My thought, leaving the book, gratefully turns 
 
 To you who planned it so. 
 
 Not of the great only you deigned to tell 
 
 The stars by which we steer 
 But lights out of the night that flashed, and fell 
 
 To-night again, are here.
 
 26 MINORA SIDERA 
 
 Such as were those, dogs of an elder day, 
 
 Who sacked the golden ports, 
 And those later who dared grapple their prey 
 
 Beneath the harbour forts : 
 
 Some with flag at the fore, sweeping the world 
 
 To find an equal fight, 
 And some who joined war to their trade, and hurled 
 
 Ships of the line in flight. 
 
 Whether their fame centuries long should ring 
 
 They cared not over-much, 
 But cared greatly to serve God and the king, 
 
 And keep the Nelson touch ; 
 
 And fought to build Britain above the tide 
 
 Of wars and windy fate ; 
 And passed content, leaving to us the pride 
 
 Of lives obscurely great.
 
 Laudabunt Alii 
 
 (AFTER HORACE) 
 
 LET others praise, as fancy wills, 
 
 Berlin beneath her trees, 
 Or Rome upon her seven hills, 
 
 Or Venice by her seas ; 
 Stamboul by double tides embraced, 
 Or green Damascus in the waste.
 
 28 LAUDABUNT ALII 
 
 For me there's nought I would not leave 
 
 For the good Devon land, 
 Whose orchards down the echoing cleeve 
 
 Bedewed with spray-drift stand, 
 And hardly bear the red fruit up 
 That shall be next year's cider-cup. 
 
 You too, my friend, may wisely mark 
 How clear skies follow rain, 
 
 And lingering in your own green park 
 Or drilled on Laffan's Plain, 
 
 Forget not with the festal bowl 
 
 To soothe at times your weary soul. 
 
 When Drake must bid to Plymouth Hoe 
 
 Good-bye for many a day, 
 And some were sad that feared to go, 
 
 And some that dared not stay,
 
 LAUDABUNT ALII 
 
 Be sure he bade them broach the best, 
 And raised his tankard with the rest. 
 
 " 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 ! "
 
 San Stefano 
 
 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.
 
 SAN STEFANO 3! 
 
 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 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 ;
 
 32 SAN STEFANO 
 
 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.
 
 SAN STEFANO 33 
 
 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.
 
 Hawke 
 
 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.
 
 HAWKE 35 
 
 '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.
 
 The Fighting Tdme'raire 
 
 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-swmging, 
 
 As they polished every gun.
 
 THE FIGHTING TEMERAIRE 37 
 
 Oh I to see the linstock lighting, 
 
 Temeraire 1 Temeraire / 
 Oh I to hear the round shot biting, 
 
 Temeraire ! Temeraire I 
 Oh 1 to see the linstock lighting, 
 
 And to hear the round shot biting, 
 For we're all in love with fighting 
 
 On the Fighting Temeraire. 
 
 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.
 
 38 THE FIGHTING T^M^RAIRE 
 
 There'll be many grim and gory, 
 
 Timiraire t Tlmtraire f 
 There'll be few to tell the story, 
 
 Timtraire I Timlraire I 
 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 Temeraire. 
 
 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.
 
 THE FIGHTING T^M^RAIRE 39 
 
 Now the sunset breezes shiver, 
 
 Temeraire I Temeraire f 
 And she 1 s fading down the river, 
 
 Temeraire I Temeraire I 
 Now the sunset breezes shiver, 
 And she 1 s fading down the river, 
 But in England's song for ever 
 
 She's the Fighting Temeraire.
 
 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.
 
 DRAKES DRUM 4! 
 
 Drake he was a Devon man, an' rilled 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 !
 
 Admirals All 
 
 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 I
 
 ADMIRALS ALL 43 
 
 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.
 
 44 ADMIRALS ALL 
 
 
 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 45 
 
 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 !
 
 The Old Superb 
 
 THB 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 Superb 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 Superb must go ! "
 
 THE OLD SUPERB 47 
 
 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 Superb 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.
 
 48 THE OLD SUPERB 
 
 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 !
 
 THE OLD SUPERB 49 
 
 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 !
 
 Homeward Bound 
 
 AFTER long labouring in the windy ways, 
 On smooth and shining tides 
 Swiftly the great ship glides, 
 
 Her storms forgot, her weary watches past ; 
 Northward she glides, and through the enchanted 
 
 haze 
 Faint on the verge her far hope dawns at last. 
 
 The phantom sky-line of a shadowy down, 
 Whose pale white cliffs below 
 Through sunny mist aglow, 
 
 Like noon-day ghosts of summer moonshine gleam- 
 Soft as old fx>rrow, bright as old renown, 
 
 There lies the home of all our mortal dream.
 
 Gillespie 
 
 RIDING at dawn, riding alone, 
 
 Gillespie left the town behind ; 
 Before he turned by the Westward road 
 
 A horseman crossed him, staggering blind. 
 
 " The Devil's abroad in false Vellore, 
 The Devil that stabs by night," he said, 
 
 " Women and children, rank and file, 
 Dying and dead, dying and dead."
 
 52 i.ILLESPIE 
 
 Without a word, without a groan, 
 Sudden and swift Gillespie turned, 
 
 The blood roared in his ears like fire, 
 Like fire the road beneath him burned. 
 
 He thundered back to Arcot gate, 
 He thundered up through Arcot town, 
 
 Before he thought a second thought 
 In the barrack yard he lighted down. 
 
 " Trumpeter, sound for the Light Dragoons, 
 Sound to saddle and spur," he said ; 
 
 " He that is ready may ride with me, 
 And he that can may ride ahead." 
 
 Fierce and fain, fierce and fain, 
 
 Behind him went the troopers grim, 
 
 They rode as ride the Light Dragoons, 
 But never a man could ride with him.
 
 GILLESPIE 53 
 
 Their rowels ripped their horses' sides, 
 Their hearts were red with a deeper goad, 
 
 But ever alone before them all 
 Gillespie rode, Gillespie rode. 
 
 Alone he came to false Vellore, 
 
 The walls were lined, the gates were barred ; 
 Alone he walked where the bullets bit, 
 
 And called above to the Sergeant's Guard. 
 
 " Sergeant, Sergeant, over the gate, 
 Where are your officers all ? " he said ; 
 
 Heavily came the Sergeant's voice, 
 
 " There are two living and forty dead." 
 
 " A rope, a rope," Gillespie cried : 
 
 They bound their belts to serve his need ; 
 
 There was not a rebel behind the wall 
 But laid his barrel and drew his bead.
 
 54 GILLESPIE 
 
 There was not a rebel among them all 
 But pulled his trigger and cursed his aim, 
 
 For lightly swung and rightly swung 
 Over the gate Gillespie came. 
 
 He dressed the line, he led the charge, 
 They swept the wall like a stream in spate, 
 
 And roaring over the roar they heard 
 The galloper guns that burst the gate. 
 
 Fierce and fain, fierce and fain, 
 
 The troopers rode the reeking flight : 
 
 The very stones remember still 
 
 The end of them that stab by night. 
 
 They've kept the tale a hundred years, 
 They'll keep the tale a hundred more : 
 
 Riding at dawn, riding alone, 
 Gillespie came to false Vellore.
 
 Seringapatam 
 
 " THE sleep that Tippoo Sahib sleeps 
 
 Heeds not the cry of man ; 
 The faith that Tippoo Sahib keeps 
 
 No judge on earth may scan ; 
 He is the lord of whom ye hold 
 
 Spirit and sense and limb, 
 Fetter and chain are all ye gain 
 
 Who dared to plead with him."
 
 56 INGAPATAM 
 
 Baird was bonny and Baird was young, 
 
 His heart was strong as steel, 
 But life and death in the balance hung, 
 
 For his wounds were ill to heal. 
 " Of fifty chains the Sultan gave 
 
 We have filled but forty-nine : 
 We dare not fail of the perfect tale 
 
 For all Golconda's mine." 
 
 That was the hour when Lucas first 
 
 Leapt to his long renown ; 
 Like summer rains his anger burst, 
 
 And swept their scruples down. 
 " Tell ye the lord to whom ye crouch, 
 
 His fetters bite their fill : 
 To save your oath I'll wear them both, 
 
 And step the lighter still."
 
 SERINGAPATAM 57 
 
 The seasons came, the seasons passed, 
 
 They watched their fellows die ; 
 But still their thought was forward cast, 
 
 Their courage still was high. 
 Through tortured days and fevered nights 
 
 Their limbs alone were weak, 
 And year by year they kept their cheer, 
 
 And spoke as freemen speak. 
 
 But once a year, on the fourth of June, 
 
 Their speech to silence died, 
 And the silence beat to a soundless tune 
 
 And sang with a wordless pride ; 
 Till when the Indian stars were bright, 
 
 And bells at home would ring, 
 To the fetters' clank they rose and drank 
 
 " England ! God save the King ! "
 
 5*5 SERINGAPATAM 
 
 The years came, and the years went, 
 
 The wheel full-circle rolled ; 
 The tyrant's neck must yet be bent, 
 
 The price of blood be told : 
 The city yet must hear the roar 
 
 Of Baird's avenging guns, 
 And see him stand with lifted hand 
 
 By Tippoo Sahib's sons. 
 
 The lads were bonny, the lads were young, 
 
 But he claimed a pitiless debt ; 
 Life and death in the balance hung, 
 
 They watched it swing and set. 
 They saw him search with sombre eyes, 
 
 They knew the place he sought ; 
 They saw him feel for the hiked steel, 
 
 They bowed before his thought.
 
 SERINGAPATAM 59 
 
 But he he saw the prison there 
 
 In the old quivering heat, 
 Where merry hearts had met despair 
 
 And died without defeat ; 
 Where feeble hands had raised the cup 
 
 For feebler lips to drain, 
 And one had worn with smiling scorn 
 
 His double load of pain. 
 
 " The sleep that Tippoo Sahib sleeps 
 
 Hears not the voice of man ; 
 The faith that Tippoo Sahib keeps 
 
 No earthly judge may scan ; 
 For all the wrong your father wrought 
 
 Your father's sons are free ; 
 Where Lucas lay no tongue shall say 
 
 That Mercy bound not me."
 
 A Ballad of John Nicholson 
 
 IT fell in the year of Mutiny, 
 
 At darkest of the night, 
 John Nicholson by Jaldndhar came, 
 
 On his way to Delhi fight. 
 
 And as he by Jalandhar came 
 He thought what he must do, 
 
 And he sent to the Rajah fair greeting, 
 To try if he were true.
 
 A BALLAD OF JOHN NICHOLSON 6 1 
 
 " God grant your Highness length of days, 
 
 And friends when need shall be ; 
 And I pray you send your Captains hither, 
 
 That they may speak with me." 
 
 On the morrow through Jalandhar town 
 
 The Captains rode in state ; 
 They came to the house of John Nicholson 
 
 And stood before the gate. 
 
 The chief of them was Mehtab Singh, 
 
 He was both proud and sly ; 
 His turban gleamed with rubies red, 
 
 He held his chin full high. 
 
 He marked his fellows how they put 
 
 Their shoes from off their feet ; 
 " Now wherefore make ye such ado 
 
 These fallen lords to greet ?
 
 62 A BALLAD OF JOHN NICHOLSON 
 
 41 They have ruled us for a hundred years, 
 
 In truth I know not how, 
 But though they be fain of mastery, 
 
 They dare not claim it now." 
 
 Right haughtily before them all 
 
 The durbar hall he trod, 
 With rubies red his turban gleamed, 
 
 His feet with pride were shod. 
 
 They had not been an hour together, 
 
 A scanty hour or so, 
 When Mehtab Singh rose in his place 
 
 And turned about to go. 
 
 Then swiftly came John Nicholson 
 
 Between the door and him, 
 With anger smouldering in his eyes 
 
 That made the rubies dim.
 
 A BALLAD OF JOHN NICHOLSON 63 
 
 " You are overhasty, Mehtab Singh," 
 
 Oh, but his voice was low ! 
 He held his wrath with a curb of iron, 
 
 That furrowed cheek and brow. 
 
 " You are overhasty, Mehtab Singh, 
 
 When that the rest are gone, 
 I have a word that may not wait 
 
 To speak with you alone." 
 
 The Captains passed in silence forth 
 
 And stood the door behind ; 
 To go before the game was played 
 
 Be sure they had no mind. 
 
 But there within John Nicholson 
 
 Turned him on Mehtab Singh, 
 " So long as the soul is in my body 
 
 You shall not do this thing.
 
 64 A BALLAD OF JOHN NICHOLSON 
 
 " Have ye served us for a hundred years 
 And yet ye know not why ? 
 
 We brook no doubt of our mastery, 
 We rule until we die. 
 
 " Were I the one last Englishman 
 
 Drawing the breath of life, 
 And you the master-rebel of all 
 
 That stir this land to strife 
 
 t 
 " Were I," he said, " but a Corporal, 
 
 And you a Rajput King, 
 So long as the soul was in my body 
 You should not do this thing. 
 
 " Take off, take off those shoes of pride, 
 Carry them whence they came ; 
 
 Your Captains saw your insolence 
 And they shall see your shame."
 
 A BALLAD OF JOHN NICHOLSON 65 
 
 When Mehtab Singh came to the door 
 
 His shoes they burned his hand, 
 For there in long and silent lines 
 
 He saw the Captains stand. 
 
 When Mehtab Singh rode from the gate 
 
 His chin was on his breast : 
 The Captains said, " When the strong command 
 
 Obedience is best."
 
 The Guides at Cabul, 1879 
 
 SONS of the Island Race, wherever ye dwell, 
 
 Who speak of your fathers' battles with lips that burn, 
 
 The deed of an alien legion hear me tell, 
 
 And think not shame from the hearts ye tamed to learn, 
 When succour shall fail and the tide for a season turn 
 
 To fight with a joyful courage, a passionate pride, 
 
 To die at the last as the Guides at Cabul died.
 
 THE GUIDES AT CABUL, 1879 67 
 
 For a handful of seventy men in a barrack of mud, 
 
 Foodless, waterless, dwindling one by one, 
 Answered a thousand yelling for English blood 
 
 With stormy volleys that swept them gunner from 
 gun, 
 
 And charge on charge in the glare of the Afghan sun, 
 
 Till the walls were shattered wherein they crouched at 
 bay, 
 
 And dead or dying half of the seventy lay. 
 
 Twice they had taken the cannon that wrecked their 
 hold, 
 
 Twice toiled in vain to drag it back, 
 Thrice they toiled, and alone, wary and bold, 
 Whirling a hurricane sword to scatter the rack, 
 Hamilton, last of the English, covered their track. 
 " Never give in ! " he cried, and he heard them shout, 
 And grappled with death as a man that knows not doubt.
 
 68 THE GUIDES AT CABUL, 1879 
 
 And the Guides looked down from their smouldering 
 barrack again, 
 
 And behold, a banner of truce, and a voice that spoke : 
 " Come, for we know that the English all are slain, 
 
 We keep no feud with men of a kindred folk ; 
 
 Rejoice with us to be free of the conqueror's yoke." 
 Silence fell for a moment, then was heard 
 A sound of laughter and scorn, and an answering word. 
 
 " Is it we or the lords we serve who have earned this 
 wrong, 
 
 That ye call us to flinch from the battle they bade us 
 fight? 
 
 We that live do ye doubt that our hands are strong ? 
 
 They that have fallen ye know that their blood was 
 bright ! 
 
 Think ye the Guides will barter for lust of the light 
 The pride of an ancient people in warfare bred, 
 Honour of comrades living, and faith to the dead ? "
 
 THE GUIDES AT CABUL, 1879 69 
 
 Then the joy that spurs the warrior's heart 
 To the last thundering gallop and sheer leap 
 
 Came on the men of the Guides : they flung apart 
 The doors not all their valour could longer keep ; 
 They dressed their slender line ; they breathed deep, 
 
 And with never a foot lagging or head bent, 
 
 To the clash and clamour and dust of death they went.
 
 'J he Gay Gordons 
 
 (DARGAI, OCTOBER aoTH, 1897) 
 
 WHO'S for the Gathering, who's for the Fair ? 
 
 (Gay goes the Gordon to a fight) 
 The bravest of the brave are at deadlock there, 
 
 (Highlanders / march / by the right /) 
 There are bullets by the hundred buzzing in the air, 
 There are bonny lads lying on the hillside bare ; 
 But the Gordons know what the Gordons dare 
 
 When they hear the pipers playing !
 
 THE GAY GORDONS 'J I 
 
 The happiest English heart to-day 
 
 (Gay goes the Gordon to a fight] 
 Is the heart of the Colonel, hide it as he may 
 
 (Steady there I steady on the right f) 
 He sees his work and he sees the way, 
 He knows his time and the word to say, 
 And he's thinking of the tune that the Gordons play 
 
 When he sets the pipers playing ! 
 
 Rising, roaring, rushing like the tide, 
 
 (Gay goes the Gordon to a fight} 
 They're up through the fire-zone, not to be denied ; 
 
 (Bayonets ! and charge ! by the right !) 
 Thirty bullets straight where the rest went wide, 
 And thirty lads are lying on the bare hillside ; 
 But they passed in the hour of the Gordons' pride, 
 
 To the skirl of the pipers' playing.
 
 He Fell Among Thieves 
 
 " YB have robbed," said he, " ye have slaughtered and 
 made an end, 
 
 Take your ill-got plunder, and bury the dead : 
 What will ye more of your guest and sometime friend ? " 
 " Blood for our blood," they said. 
 
 He laughed : " If one may settle the score for five, 
 I am ready ; but let the reckoning stand till day : 
 
 I have loved the sunlight as dearly as any alive. 
 " You shall die at dawn," said they.
 
 HE FELL AMONG THIEVES 7 
 
 He flung his empty revolver down the slope, 
 
 He climbed alone to the Eastward edge of the trees ; 
 
 All night long in a dream untroubled of hope 
 He brooded, clasping his knees. 
 
 He did not hear the monotonous roar that fills 
 The ravine where the Yassin river sullenly flows ; 
 
 He did not see the starlight on the Laspur hills, 
 Or the far Afghan snows. 
 
 He saw the April noon on his books aglow, 
 The wisteria trailing in at the window wide ; 
 
 He heard his father's voice from the terrace below 
 Calling him down to ride. 
 
 He saw the gray little church across the park, 
 The mounds that hide the loved and honoured dead ; 
 
 The Norman arch, the chancel softly dark, 
 The brasses black and red.
 
 74 HE FELL AMONG THIEVES 
 
 He saw the School Close, sunny and green, 
 
 The runner beside him, the stand by the parapet wall, 
 The distant tape, and the crowd roaring between, 
 
 His own name over all. 
 
 He saw the dark wainscot and timbered roof, 
 The long tables, and the faces merry and keen ; 
 
 The College Eight and their trainer dining aloof, 
 The Dons on the dais serene. 
 
 He watched the liner's stem ploughing the foam, 
 
 He felt her trembling speed and the thrash of her 
 screw; 
 
 He heard her passengers' voices talking of home, 
 He saw the flag she flew. 
 
 And now it was dawn. He rose strong on his feet, 
 And strode to his ruined camp below the wood ; 
 
 He drank the breath of the morning cool and sweet ; 
 His murderers round him stood.
 
 HE FELL AMONG THIEVES 75 
 
 Light on the Laspur hills was broadening fast, 
 
 The blood-red snow-peaks chilled to a dazzling white : 
 
 He turned, and saw the golden circle at last, 
 Cut by the Eastern height. 
 
 " O glorious Life, Who dwellest in earth and sun, 
 
 I have lived, I praise and adore Thee." 
 
 A sword swept. 
 Over the pass the voices one by one 
 
 Faded, and the hill slept.
 
 lonicus 
 
 WITH failing feet and shoulders bowed 
 
 Beneath the weight of happier days, 
 He lagged among the heedless crowd, 
 
 Or crept along suburban ways. 
 But still through all his heart was young, 
 
 His mood a joy that nought could mar, 
 A courage, a pride, a rapture, sprung 
 
 Of the strength and splendour of England's war.
 
 IONICUS 77 
 
 From ill-requited toil he turned 
 
 To ride with Picton and with Pack, 
 Among his grammars inly burned 
 
 To storm the Afghan mountain-track. 
 When midnight chimed, before Quebec 
 
 He watched with Wolfe till the morning star ; 
 At noon he saw from Victory's deck 
 
 The sweep and splendour of England's war. 
 
 Beyond the book his teaching sped, 
 
 He left on whom he taught the trace 
 Of kinship with the deathless dead, 
 
 And faith in all the Island Race. 
 He passed : his life a tangle seemed, 
 
 His age from fame and power was far ; 
 But his heart was high to the end, and dreamed 
 
 Of the sound and splendour of England's war.
 
 The Non-Combatant 
 
 AMONG a race high-handed, strong of heart, 
 Sea-rovers, conquerors, builders in the waste, 
 He had his birth ; a nature too complete, 
 Eager and doubtful, no man's soldier sworn 
 And no man's chosen captain ; born to fail, 
 A name without an echo : yet he too 
 Within the cloister of his narrow days 
 Fulfilled the ancestral rites, and kept alive
 
 THE NON-COMBATANT 79 
 
 The eternal fire ; it may be, not in vain ; 
 For out of those who dropped a downward glance 
 Upon the weakling huddled at his prayers, 
 Perchance some looked beyond him, and then first 
 Beheld the glory, and what shrine it filled, 
 And to what Spirit sacred : or perchance 
 Some heard him chanting, though but to himself, 
 The old heroic names : and went their way : 
 And hummed his music on the march to death.
 
 Clifton Chapel 
 
 THIS is the Chapel : here, my son, 
 
 Your father thought the thoughts of youth, 
 And heard the words that one by one 
 
 The touch of Life has turned to truth. 
 Here in a day that is not far, 
 
 You too may speak with noble ghosts 
 Of manhood and the vows of war 
 
 You made before the Lord of Hosts.
 
 CLIFTON CHAPEL 8 1 
 
 To set the Cause above renown, 
 
 To love the game beyond the prize, 
 To honour, while you strike him down, 
 
 The foe that comes with fearless eyes ; 
 To count the life of battle good, 
 
 And dear the land that gave you birth, 
 And dearer yet the brotherhood 
 
 That binds the brave of all the earth 
 
 My son, the oath is yours : the end 
 
 Is His, Who built the world of strife, 
 Who gave His children Pain for friend, 
 
 And Death for surest hope of life. 
 To-day and here the fight's begun, 
 
 Of the great fellowship you're free ; 
 Henceforth the School and you are one, 
 
 And what You are, the race shall be.
 
 82 CLIFTON CHAPEL 
 
 God send you fortune : yet be sure, 
 
 Among the lights that gleam and pass, 
 You'll live to follow none more pure 
 
 Than that which glows on yonder brass. 
 "Qui procul hinc," the legend's writ, 
 
 The frontier-grave is far away 
 ' Qui ante diem periit : 
 
 Sed miles, sed pro patrid."
 
 England 
 
 PRAISE thou with praise unending, 
 The Master of the Wine ; 
 
 To all their portions sending 
 Himself he mingled thine : 
 
 The sea-born flush of morning, 
 The sea-born hush of night, 
 
 The East wind comfort scorning, 
 
 And the North wind driving right 
 
 The world for gain and giving, 
 The game for man and boy, 
 
 The life that joys in living, 
 The faith that lives in joy.
 
 The Echo 
 
 OF A BALLAD SUNG BY H. PLUNKET GREENE TO HIS 
 OLD SCHOOL 
 
 TWICE three hundred boys were we, 
 
 Long ago, long ago, 
 Where the Downs look out to the Severn Sea. 
 
 Clifton for aye I 
 
 We held by the game and hailed the team, 
 For many could play where few could dream. 
 
 Bonny St. Johnston stands on Tay. 
 
 Some were for profit and some for pride, 
 
 Long ago, long ago, 
 Some for the flag they lived and died. 
 
 Clifton for aye I
 
 THE ECHO 85 
 
 The work of the world must still be done, 
 
 And minds are many though truth be one. 
 
 Bonny St. Johnston stands on Tay. 
 
 But a lad there was to his fellows sang, 
 
 Long ago, long ago, 
 And soon the world to his music rang. 
 
 Clifton for aye I 
 
 Follow your Captains, crown your Kings, 
 But what will ye give to the lad that sings ? 
 
 Bonny St. Johnston stands on Tay. 
 
 For the voice ye hear is the voice of home, 
 
 Long ago, long ago, 
 And the voice of Youth with the world to roam. 
 
 Clifton for aye I 
 
 The voice of passion and human tears, 
 And the voice of the vision that lights the years. 
 
 Bonny St. Johnston stands on Tay.
 
 Vitai Lampada 
 
 THERE'S a breathless hush in the Close to-night- 
 Ten to make and the match to win 
 
 A bumping pitch and a blinding light, 
 An hour to play and the last man in. 
 
 And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat, 
 Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, 
 
 But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote 
 ' Play up ! play up ! and play the game ! "
 
 VITAI LAMPADA 87 
 
 The sand of the desert is sodden red, 
 
 Red with the wreck of a square that broke ; 
 The Catling's jammed and the Colonel dead, 
 
 And the regiment blind with dust and smoke. 
 The river of death has brimmed his banks, 
 
 And England's far, and Honour a name, 
 But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks : 
 
 " Play up ! play up ! and play the game ! " 
 
 This is the word that year by year, 
 
 While in her place the School is set, 
 Every one of her sons must hear, 
 
 And none that hears it dare forget. 
 This they all with a joyful mind 
 
 Bear through life like a torch in flame. 
 And falling fling to the host behind 
 
 " Play up ! play up ! and play the game ! "
 
 April on Wagon Hill 
 
 LAD, and can you rest now, 
 
 There beneath your hill ! 
 Your hands are on your breast now, 
 
 But is your heart so still ? 
 'Twas the right death to die, lad, 
 
 A gift without regret, 
 But unless truth's a lie, lad, 
 
 You dream of Devon yet.
 
 APRIL ON WAGON HILL 89 
 
 Ay, ay, the year's awaking, 
 
 The fire's among the ling, 
 The beechen hedge is breaking, 
 
 The curlew's on the wing ; 
 Primroses are out, lad, 
 
 On the high banks of Lee, 
 And the sun stirs the trout, lad, 
 
 From Brendon to the sea. 
 
 I know what's in your heart, lad, 
 
 The mare he used to hunt 
 And her blue market-cart, lad, 
 
 With posies tied in front 
 We miss them from the moor road, 
 
 They're getting old to roam, 
 The road they're on's a sure road 
 
 And nearer, lad, to home.
 
 9O APRIL ON WAGON HILL 
 
 Your name, the name they cherish ? 
 
 Twill fade, lad, 'tis true : 
 But stone and all may perish 
 
 With little loss to you. 
 While fame's fame you're Devon, lad, 
 
 The Glory of the West ; 
 Till the roll's called in heaven, lad, 
 
 You may well take your rest.
 
 A Song of Exmoor 
 
 THE Forest above and the Combe below, 
 
 On a bright September morn ! 
 He's the soul of a clod who thanks not God 
 
 That ever his body was born ! 
 So hurry along, the stag's afoot, 
 
 The Master's up and away ! 
 Halloo ! Halloo ! we'll follow it through 
 From Bratton to Porlock Bay ! 
 
 So hurry along, the stag's afoot, 
 
 The Master's up and away ! 
 Halloo 1 Halloo ! we'll follow it through 
 From Bratton to Porlock Bay I
 
 92 A SONG OF EXMOOR 
 
 Hark to the tufters' challenge true, 
 
 Tis a note that the red-deer knows ! 
 His courage awakes, his covert he breaks, 
 
 And up for the moor he goes ! 
 He's all his rights and seven on top, 
 
 His eye's the eye of a king, 
 And he'll beggar the pride of some that ride 
 
 Before he leaves the ling ! 
 
 Here comes Antony bringing the pack, 
 
 Steady ! he's laying them on ! 
 By the sound of their chime you may tell that it's time 
 
 To harden your heart and be gone. 
 Nightacort, Narracott, Hunnacott's passed, 
 
 Right for the North they race : 
 He's leading them straight for Blackmoor Gate, 
 
 And he's setting a pounding pace !
 
 A SONG OF EXMOOR 93 
 
 We're running him now on a breast-high scent, 
 
 But he leaves us standing still ; 
 When we swing round by Westland Pound 
 
 He's far up Challacombe Hill. 
 The pack are a string of struggling ants, 
 
 The quarry's a dancing midge, 
 They're trying their reins on the edge of the Chains 
 
 While he's on Cheriton Ridge. 
 
 He's gone by Kittuck and Lucott Moor, 
 
 He's gone by Woodcock's Ley ; 
 By the little white town he's turned him down, 
 
 And he's soiling in open sea. 
 So hurry along, we'll both be in, 
 
 The crowd are a parish away ! 
 We're a field of two, and we've followed it through 
 
 From Bratton to Porlock Bay !
 
 94 A SONG OF EXMOOR 
 
 So hurry along, we'll both be in, 
 The crowd are a parish away I 
 We're a field of two, and we've followed it through 
 From Bratton to Porlock Bay I
 
 Fidele's Grassy Tomb 
 
 THE Squire sat propped in a pillowed chair, 
 His eyes were alive and clear of care, 
 But well he knew that the hour was come 
 To bid good-bye to his ancient home. 
 
 He looked on garden, wood, and hill, 
 He looked on the lake, sunny and still ! 
 The last of earth that his eyes could see 
 Was the island church of Orchardleigh.
 
 96 FIDELE'S GRASSY TOMB 
 
 The last that his heart could understand 
 
 Was the touch of the tongue that licked his hand 
 
 " Bury the dog at my feet," he said, 
 
 And his voice dropped, and the Squire was dead. 
 
 Now the dog was a hound of the Danish breed, 
 Staunch to love and strong at need : 
 He had dragged his master safe to shore 
 When the tide was ebbing at Elsinore. 
 
 From that day forth, as reason would, 
 He was named " Fidele," and made it good : 
 When the last of the mourners left the door 
 Fidele was dead on the chantry floor. 
 
 They buried him there at his master's feet, 
 And all that heard of it deemed it meet : 
 The story went the round for years, 
 Till it came at last to the Bishop's ears.
 
 FIDELES GRASSY TOMB 97 
 
 Bishop of Bath and Wells was he, 
 
 Lord of the lords of Orchardleigh ; 
 
 And he wrote to the Parson the strongest screed 
 
 That Bishop may write or Parson read. 
 
 The sum of it was that a soulless hound 
 
 Was known to be buried in hallowed ground : 
 
 From scandal sore the Church to save 
 
 They must take the dog from his master's grave. 
 
 The heir was far in a foreign land, 
 The Parson was wax to my Lord's command : 
 He sent for the Sexton and bade him make 
 A lonely grave by the shore of the lake. 
 
 The Sexton sat by the water's brink 
 Where he used to sit when he used to think : 
 He reasoned slow, but he reasoned it out, 
 And his argument left him free from doubt.
 
 $ FIDELES GRASSY TOMB 
 
 " A Bishop," he said, " is the top of his trade : 
 But there's others can give him a start with the spade 
 Yon dog, he carried the Squire ashore, 
 And a Christian couldn't ha' done no more." 
 
 The grave was dug ; the mason came 
 And carved on stone Fidele's name : 
 But the dog that the Sexton laid inside 
 Was a dog that never had lived or died. 
 
 So the Parson was praised, and the scandal stayed, 
 Till, a long time after, the church decayed, 
 And, laying the floor anew, they found 
 In the tomb of the Squire the bones of a hound. 
 
 As for the Bishop of Bath and Wells 
 No more of him the story tells ; 
 Doubtless he lived as a Prelate and Prince, 
 And died and was buried a century since.
 
 FIDELE S GRASSY TOMB 99 
 
 And whether his view was right or wrong 
 Has little to do with this my song ; 
 Something we owe him, you must allow ; 
 And perhaps he has changed his mind by now. 
 
 The Squire in the family chantry sleeps, 
 The marble still his memory keeps; 
 Remember, when the name you spell, 
 There rest Fidele's bones as well. 
 
 For the Sexton's grave you need not search, 
 'Tis a nameless mound by the island church : 
 An ignorant fellow, of humble lot 
 But he knew one thing that a Bishop did not.
 
 Gavotte 
 
 (OLD FRENCH) 
 
 MEMORIES long in music sleeping, 
 
 No more sleeping, 
 No more dumb : 
 Delicate phantoms softly creeping 
 
 Softly back from the old-world come. 
 
 Faintest odours around them straying, 
 
 Suddenly straying 
 
 In chambers dim ; 
 Whispering silks in order swaying, 
 
 Glimmering gems on shoulders slim :
 
 GAVOTTE IOI 
 
 Courage advancing strong and tender, 
 Grace untender 
 
 Fanning desire ; 
 Suppliant conquest, proud surrender, 
 
 Courtesy cold of hearts on fire 
 
 Willowy billowy now they're bending, 
 
 Low they're bending 
 Down-dropt eyes ; 
 Stately measure and stately ending, 
 
 Music sobbing, and a dream that dies.
 
 Imogen 
 
 (A LADY OF TENDER AGE) 
 
 LADIES, where were your bright eyes glancing, 
 Where were they glancing yesternight ? 
 
 Saw ye Imogen dancing, dancing, 
 Imogen dancing all in white ? 
 Laughed she not with a pure delight, 
 Laughed she not with a joy serene, 
 
 Stepped she not with a grace entrancing, 
 Slenderly girt in silken sheen ?
 
 IMOGEN 10; 
 
 All through the night from dusk to daytime 
 
 Under her feet the hours were swift, 
 Under her feet the hours of playtime 
 
 Rose and fell with a rhythmic lift : 
 
 Music set her adrift, adrift, 
 
 Music eddying towards the day 
 Swept her along as brooks in Maytime 
 
 Carry the freshly falling May. 
 
 Ladies, life is a changing measure, 
 
 Youth is a lilt that endeth soon ; 
 Pluck ye never so fast at pleasure, 
 
 Twilight follows the longest noon. 
 
 Nay, but here is a lasting boon, 
 
 Life for hearts that are old and chill, 
 Youth undying for hearts that treasure 
 
 Imogen dancing, dancing still.
 
 Nel Mezzo del Cammin 
 
 WHISPER it not that late in years 
 
 Sorrow shall fade and the world be brighter, 
 
 Life be freed of tremor and tears, 
 
 Heads be wiser and hearts be lighter. 
 
 Ah ! but the dream that all endears, 
 
 The dream we sell for your pottage of truth 
 
 Give us again the passion of youth, 
 
 Sorrow shall fade and the world be brighter.
 
 The Invasion 
 
 SPRING, they say, with his greenery 
 Northward marches at last, 
 Mustering thorn and elm ; 
 Breezes rumour him conquering, 
 Tell how Victory sits 
 
 High on his glancing helm.
 
 1O6 THE INVASION 
 
 Smit with sting of his archery, 
 Hardest ashes and oaks 
 
 Burn at the root below : 
 Primrose, violet, daffodil, 
 
 Start like blood where the shafts 
 Light from his golden bow. 
 
 Here where winter oppresses us 
 Still we listen and doubt, 
 
 Dreading a hope betrayed : 
 Sore we long to be greeting him, 
 Still we linger and doubt 
 
 " What if his march be stayed ? " 
 
 Folk in thrall to the enemy, 
 Vanquished, tilling a soil 
 Hateful and hostile grown :
 
 THE INVASION IO7 
 
 Always wearily, warily, 
 Feeding deep in the heart 
 Passion they dare not own 
 
 So we wait the deliverer ; 
 Surely soon shall he come, 
 
 Soon shall his hour be due ; 
 Spring shall come with his greenery, 
 Life be lovely again, 
 
 Earth be the home we knew.
 
 Pereunt et Imputantur 
 
 (AFTER MARTIAL) 
 
 BERNARD, if to you and me 
 Fortune all at once should give 
 
 Years to spend secure and free, 
 With the choice of how to live, 
 
 Tell me, what should we proclaim 
 
 Life deserving of the name ? 
 
 Winning some one else's case ? 
 
 Saving some one else's seat ? 
 Hearing with a solemn face 
 
 People of importance bleat ? 
 No, I think we should not still 
 Waste our time at others' will.
 
 PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR I 09 
 
 Summer noons beneath the limes, 
 
 Summer rides at evening cool, 
 Winter's tales and home-made rhymes, 
 
 Figures on the frozen pool 
 These would we for labours take, 
 
 And of these our business make. 
 
 Ah ! but neither you nor I 
 
 Dare in earnest venture so ; 
 Still we let the good days die 
 
 And to swell the reckoning go. 
 What are those that know the way, 
 Yet to walk therein delay ?
 
 Felix Antpnius 
 
 (AFTER MARTIAL) 
 
 TO-DAY, my friend is seventy-five ; 
 
 He tells his tale with no regret ; 
 
 His brave old eyes are steadfast yet, 
 His heart the lightest heart alive. 
 
 He sees behind him green and wide 
 The pathway of his pilgrim years ; 
 He sees the shore, and dreadless hears 
 
 The whisper of the creeping tide.
 
 FELIX ANTONIUS HI 
 
 For out of all his days, not one 
 
 Has passed and left its unlaid ghost 
 To seek a light for ever lost, 
 
 Or wail a deed for ever done. 
 
 So for reward of life-long truth 
 
 He lives again, as good men can, 
 
 Redoubling his allotted span 
 With memories of a stainless youth.
 
 The Last Word 
 
 BEFORE the April night was late 
 
 A rider came to the castle gate ; 
 
 A rider breathing human breath, 
 
 But the words he spoke were the words of Death. 
 
 " Greet you well from the King our lord, 
 He marches hot for the eastward ford ; 
 Living or dying, all or one, 
 Ye must keep the ford till the race be run."
 
 THE LAST WORD I I $ 
 
 Sir Alain rose with lips that smiled, 
 He kissed his wife, he kissed his child : 
 Before the April night was late 
 Sir Alain rode from the castle gate. 
 
 He called his men-at-arms by name, 
 But one there was uncalled that came : 
 He bade his troop behind him ride, 
 But there was one that rode beside. 
 
 " Why will you spur so fast to die ? 
 Be wiser ere the night go by. 
 A message late is a message lost ; 
 For all your haste the foe had crossed. 
 
 " Are men such small unmeaning things 
 To strew the board of smiling Kings ? 
 With life and death they play their game, 
 And life or death, the end's the same"
 
 I 14 THE LAST WORD 
 
 Softly the April air above 
 
 Rustled the woodland homes of love : 
 
 Softly the April air below 
 
 Carried the dream of buds that blow. 
 
 " Is he that bears a warrior's fame 
 To shun the pointless stroke of shame ? 
 Will he that propped a trembling throne 
 Not stand for right when right's his own ? 
 
 " Your oath on the four gospels sworn ? 
 What oath can bind resolves unborn ? 
 You lose that far eternal life ? 
 Is it yours to lose ? Is it child and wife ? ' 
 
 But now beyond the pathway's bend, 
 Sir Alain saw the forest end, 
 And winding wide beneath the hill, 
 The glassy river lone and still.
 
 THE LAST WORD 115 
 
 And now he saw with lifted eyes 
 The East like a great chancel rise, 
 And deep through all his senses drawn, 
 Received the sacred wine of dawn. 
 
 He set his face to the stream below, 
 He drew his axe from the saddle bow : 
 " Farewell, Messire, the night is sped ; 
 There lies the ford, when all is said."
 
 Ireland, Ireland 
 
 DOWN thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland, 
 Down thy valleys green and sad, 
 
 Still thy spirit wanders wailing, 
 Wanders wailing, wanders mad. 
 
 Long ago that anguish took thee, 
 Ireland, Ireland, green and fair, 
 
 Spoilers strong in darkness took thee, 
 Broke thy heart and left thee there. 
 
 Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland, 
 Still thy spirit wanders mad ; 
 
 All too late they love that wronged thee, 
 Ireland, Ireland, green and sad.
 
 Moonset 
 
 PAST seven o'clock : time to be gone ; 
 Twelfth-night's over and dawn shivering up : 
 A hasty cut of the loaf, a steaming cup, 
 Down to the door, and there is Coachman John. 
 
 Ruddy of cheek is John and bright of eye ; 
 
 But John it appears has none of your grins and winks ; 
 
 Civil enough, but short : perhaps he thinks : 
 
 Words come once in a mile, and always dry. 
 
 Has he a mind or not ? I wonder ; but soon 
 We turn through a leafless wood, and there to the right, 
 Like a sun bewitched in alien realms of night, 
 Mellow and yellow and rounded hangs the moon.
 
 I I 8 MOONSET 
 
 Strangely near she seems, and terribly great : 
 The world is dead : why are we travelling still ? 
 Nightmare silence grips my struggling will ; 
 We are driving for ever and ever to find a gate. 
 
 " When you come to consider the moon," says John at 
 last, 
 
 And stops, to feel his footing and take his stand ; 
 " And then there's some will say there's never a hand 
 That made the world ! " 
 
 A flick, and the gates are passed. 
 
 Out of the dim magical moonlit park, 
 
 Out to the workday road and wider skies : 
 
 There's a warm flush in the East where day's to rise, 
 
 And I'm feeling the better for Coachman John's remark.
 
 Hymn 
 
 IN THE TIME OF WAR AND TUMULTS 
 
 O LORD Almighty, Thou whose hands 
 
 Despair and victory give ; 
 In whom, though tyrants tread their lands, 
 
 The souls of nations live ; 
 
 Thou wilt not turn Thy face away 
 From those who work Thy will, 
 
 But send Thy peace on hearts that pray, 
 And guard Thy people still. 
 
 Remember not the days of shame, 
 
 The hands with rapine dyed, 
 The wavering will, the baser aim, 
 
 The brute material pride :
 
 I2O HYMN 
 
 Remember, Lord, the years of faith, 
 
 The spirits humbly brave, 
 The strength that died defying death, 
 
 The love that loved the slave : 
 
 The race that strove to rule Thine earth 
 
 With equal laws unbought : 
 Who bore for Truth the pangs of birth, 
 
 And brake the bonds of Thought. 
 
 Remember how, since time began, 
 
 Thy dark eternal mind 
 Through lives of men that fear not man 
 
 Is light for all mankind. 
 
 Thou wilt not turn Thy face away 
 From those who work Thy will, 
 
 But send Thy strength on hearts that pray 
 For strength to serve Thee still.
 
 The Building of the Temple 
 
 (AN ANTHEM HEARD IN CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL) 
 
 The Organ. 
 
 O LORD our God, we are strangers before Thee, and 
 sojourners, as were all our fathers : our days on the 
 earth are as a shadow, and there is none abiding. 
 
 O Lord God of our fathers, keep this for ever in the 
 imagination of the thoughts of Thy people, and prepare 
 their heart unto Thee. 
 
 And give unto Solomon my son a perfect heart to 
 keep Thy commandments, and to build the palace for 
 the which I have made provision. 
 
 Boys' voices. 
 
 O come to the Palace of Life, 
 Let us build it again.
 
 122 THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE 
 
 It was founded on terror and strife, 
 
 It was laid in the curse of the womb, 
 
 And pillared on toil and pain, 
 
 And hung with veils of doom, 
 
 And vaulted with the darkness of the tomb. 
 
 Men's voices. 
 O Lord our God, we are sojourners here for a day, 
 
 Strangers and sojourners, as all our fathers were : 
 Our years on the earth are a shadow that fadeth away ; 
 
 Grant us light for our labour, and a time for prayer. 
 
 Boys. 
 
 But now with endless song, 
 And joy fulfilling the Law ; 
 Of passion as pure as strong 
 And pleasure undimmed of awe ; 
 With garners of wine and grain 
 Laid up for the ages long,
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE 123 
 
 Let us build the Palace again 
 
 And enter with endless song, 
 
 Enter and dwell secure, forgetting the years of wrong. 
 
 Men. 
 O Lord our God, we are strangers and sojourners here, 
 
 Our beginning was night, and our end is hid in Thee : 
 Our labour on the earth is hope redeeming fear, 
 
 In sorrow we build for the days we shall not see. 
 
 Boys. 
 
 Great is the name 
 
 Of the strong and skilled, 
 
 Lasting the fame 
 
 Of them that build : 
 
 The tongues of many nations 
 
 Shall speak of our praise, 
 
 And far generations 
 
 Be glad for our days.
 
 124 THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE 
 
 Men. 
 We are sojourners here as all our fathers were, 
 
 As all our children shall be, forgetting and forgot : 
 The fame of man is a murmur that passeth on the air, 
 We perish indeed if Thou remember not 
 
 We are sojourners here as all our fathers were, 
 Strangers travelling down to the land of death : 
 
 There is neither work nor device nor knowledge there, 
 O grant us might for our labour, and to rest in faith. 
 
 Boys. 
 In joy, in the joy of the light to be, 
 
 Men. 
 O Father of Lights, unvarying and true, 
 
 Boys. 
 Let us build the Palace of Life anew. 
 
 Men. 
 Let us build for the years we shall not see.
 
 THE BUILDING OF THE TEMPLE 125 
 
 Boys. 
 
 Lofty of line and glorious of hue, 
 With gold and pearl and with the cedar tree, 
 
 Men. 
 
 With silence due 
 And with service free, 
 
 Boys. 
 Let us build it for ever in splendour new. 
 
 Men. 
 Let us build in hope and in sorrow, and rest in Thee.
 
 Notes 
 
 The Quarter-Gunners Yarn. This ballad is founded on 
 fragmentary lines communicated to the author by Admiral Sir 
 Windham Hornby, K.C.B., who served under Sir Thomas 
 Hardy in 1827. 
 
 Vce Victis. See Lt'vy, xxx., 43, Diodorus Siculus, xix., 106. 
 
 San Stefano. Sir Peter Parker was the son of Admiral 
 Christopher Parker, grandson of Admiral Sir Peter Parker 
 (the life-long friend and chief mourner of Nelson), and great- 
 grandson of Admiral Sir William Parker. On his mother's 
 side he was grandson of Admiral Byron, and first cousin of 
 Lord Byron, the poet. He was killed in action near Baltimore 
 in 1814, and buried in St. Margaret's, Westminster, where may 
 be seen the monument erected to his memory by the officers 
 of the Menelaus. 
 
 The Fighting TtnUraire. The two last stanzas have been 
 misunderstood. It seems, therefore, necessary to state that 
 they are intended to refer to Turner's picture in the National 
 Gallery of "The Fighting Ttmtraire Tugged to her Last 
 Berth." 
 
 Drake's Drum. A state drum, painted with the arms of 
 Sir Francis Drake, is preserved among other relics at Buck- 
 land Abbey, the seat of the Drake family in Devon.
 
 NOTES 127 
 
 Seringapatam. In 1780, while attempting to relieve Arcot, 
 a British force of three thousand men was cut to pieces by 
 Hyder Ali. Baird, then a young captain in the 73rd, was left 
 for dead on the field. He was afterwards, with forty-nine other 
 officers, kept in prison at Seringapatam, and treated with 
 Oriental barbarity and treachery by Hyder Ali and his son 
 Tippoo Sahib, Sultans of Mysore. Twenty-three of the 
 prisoners died by poison, torture, and fever; the rest were 
 surrendered in 1784. In 1799, at the siege of Seringapatam, 
 Major-General Baird commanded the first European brigade, 
 and volunteered to lead the storming column. Tippoo Sahib, 
 with eight thousand of his men, fell in the assault, but the 
 victor spared the lives of his sons and forbade a general sack 
 of the city. 
 
 Clifton Chapel. Clifton is one of the schools from which the 
 largest number of boys pass direct into the R.M.A., Woolwich, 
 and R.M.C., Sandhurst. Thirty-five Old Cliftonian officers 
 served in the campaign of 1897 on the Indian Frontier, of whom 
 twenty-two were mentioned in despatches and six recommended 
 for the Distinguished Service Order. Of the three hundred 
 Cliftonians who served in the war in South Africa, thirty were 
 killed in action and fourteen died of wounds or fever. 
 
 Clifton, remember these thy sons who fell 
 
 Fighting far over sea ; 
 For they in a dark hour remembered well 
 
 Their warfare learned of thee. 
 
 The Echo. The ballad was " The Twa Sisters of Binnorie," 
 as set by Arthur Somervell.
 
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