Collected Poems 1897 - 1907, by Henry Newbolt Part 1

Collected Poems 1897 - 1907.

by Henry Newbolt.

Drake's Drum

Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand miles 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-dancing' heel-an'-toe, An' the sh.o.r.e-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?) Roving' 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.

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 Temeraire

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! to see the linstock lighting, Temeraire! Temeraire!

Oh! to hear the round shot biting, Temeraire! Temeraire!

Oh! 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.

There'll be many grim and gory, Temeraire! Temeraire!

There'll be few to tell the story, Temeraire! Temeraire!

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.

Now the sunset breezes shiver, Temeraire! Temeraire!

And she's fading down the river, Temeraire! Temeraire!

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

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!

Ess.e.x was fretting in Cadiz Bay With the galleons fair in sight; Howard at last must give him his way, And the word was pa.s.sed 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 anch.o.r.ed 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 gla.s.s to his sightless eye, And "I'm d.a.m.ned 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!

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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e 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; 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!"