Poems of To-Day: an Anthology Part 2

Vanquished in life, his death By beauty made amends: The pa.s.sing of his breath Won his defeated ends.

Brief life and hapless? Nay: Through death, life grew sublime.

_Speak after sentence?_ Yea: And to the end of time.

Armoured he rides, his head Bare to the stars of doom: He triumphs now, the dead, Beholding London's gloom.

Our wearier spirit faints, Vexed in the world's employ:

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His soul was of the saints; And art to him was joy.

King, tried in fires of woe!

Men hunger for thy grace: And through the night I go, Loving thy mournful face.

Yet when the city sleeps; When all the cries are still: The stars and heavenly deeps Work out a perfect will.

_Lionel Johnson._

10. TO THE FORGOTTEN DEAD

To the forgotten dead, Come, let us drink in silence ere we part.

To every fervent yet resolved heart That brought its tameless pa.s.sion and its tears, Renunciation and laborious years, To lay the deep foundations of our race, To rear its stately fabric overhead And light its pinnacles with golden grace.

To the unhonoured dead.

To the forgotten dead, Whose dauntless hands were stretched to grasp the rein Of Fate and hurl into the void again Her thunder-hoofed horses, rus.h.i.+ng blind Earthward along the courses of the wind.

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Among the stars, along the wind in vain Their souls were scattered and their blood was shed, And nothing, nothing of them doth remain.

To the thrice-perished dead.

_Margaret L. Woods._

11. 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 s.h.i.+ps, Wi' sailor-lads a-dancin' heel-an'-toe, An' the sh.o.r.e-lights flas.h.i.+n', an' the night-tide das.h.i.+n', 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 sh.o.r.e, 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.

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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._

12. THE MOON IS UP

The moon is up: the stars are bright The wind is fresh and free!

We're out to seek for gold to-night Across the silver sea!

The world was growing grey and old: Break out the sails again!

We're out to seek a Realm of Gold Beyond the Spanish Main.

We're sick of all the cringing knees, The courtly smiles and lies!

G.o.d, let Thy singing Channel breeze Lighten our hearts and eyes!

Let love no more be bought and sold For earthly loss or gain; We're out to seek an Age of Gold Beyond the Spanish Main.

Beyond the light of far Cathay, Beyond all mortal dreams, Beyond the reach of night and day Our El Dorado gleams,

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Revealing--as the skies unfold-- A star without a stain, The Glory of the Gates of Gold Beyond the Spanish Main.

_Alfred Noyes._

13. MINORA SIDERA

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.

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 s.h.i.+ps of the line in flight.

Whether their fame centuries long should ring They cared not over-much, But cared greatly to serve G.o.d and the king, And keep the Nelson touch;

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And fought to build Britain above the tide Of wars and windy fate; And pa.s.sed content, leaving to us the pride Of lives obscurely great.