Over the warring waters, beneath the wandering skies,
The heart of Britain roameth, the Chivalry of the sea,
Where Spring never bringeth a flower, nor bird singeth in a tree;
Far, afar, O beloved, beyond the sight of our eyes,
Over the warring waters, beneath the stormy skies.
The heart of Britain roameth, the Chivalry of the sea,
Where Spring never bringeth a flower, nor bird singeth in a tree;
Far, afar, O beloved, beyond the sight of our eyes,
Over the warring waters, beneath the stormy skies.
Staunch and valiant-hearted, to whom our toil were play,
Ye man with armour’d patience the bulwarks night and day,
Or on your iron coursers plough shuddering through the Bay,
Or neath the deluge drive the skirmishing sharks of war:
Venturous boys who leapt on the pinnace and row’d from shore,
A mother’s tear in the eye, a swift farewell to say,
And a great glory at heart that none can take away.
Ye man with armour’d patience the bulwarks night and day,
Or on your iron coursers plough shuddering through the Bay,
Or neath the deluge drive the skirmishing sharks of war:
Venturous boys who leapt on the pinnace and row’d from shore,
A mother’s tear in the eye, a swift farewell to say,
And a great glory at heart that none can take away.
Seldom is your home-coming; for aye your pennon flies
In unrecorded exploits on the tumultuous wave;
Till, in the storm of battle, fast-thundering upon the foe,
Ye add your kindred names to the heroes of long-ago,
And mid the blasting wrack, in the glad sudden death of the brave,
Ye are gone to return no more.—Idly our tears arise;
Too proud for praise as ye lie in your unvisited grave,
The wide-warring water, under the starry skies.
In unrecorded exploits on the tumultuous wave;
Till, in the storm of battle, fast-thundering upon the foe,
Ye add your kindred names to the heroes of long-ago,
And mid the blasting wrack, in the glad sudden death of the brave,
Ye are gone to return no more.—Idly our tears arise;
Too proud for praise as ye lie in your unvisited grave,
The wide-warring water, under the starry skies.
FOR “PAGES INÉDITES,” Etc.
April, 1916.
By our dear sons’ graves, fair France, thou’rt now to us, endear’d;
Since no more as of old stand th’ English against thee in fight,
But rallying to defend thee they die guarding thy beauty
From blind envious Hate and Perfidy leagued with Might.
Since no more as of old stand th’ English against thee in fight,
But rallying to defend thee they die guarding thy beauty
From blind envious Hate and Perfidy leagued with Might.
GHELUVELT.
EPITAPH ON THE WORCESTERS. OCTOBER 31, 1914.
Askest thou of these graves? They’ll tell thee,
O stranger, in England
How we Worcesters lie where we redeem’d the battle.
O stranger, in England
How we Worcesters lie where we redeem’d the battle.
THE WEST FRONT.
AN ENGLISH MOTHER, ON LOOKING INTO MASEFIELD’S “OLD FRONT LINE.”
No country know I so well
as this landscape of hell.
Why bring you to my pain
these shadow’d effigys
Of barb’d wire, riven trees,
the corpse-strewn blasted plain?
as this landscape of hell.
Why bring you to my pain
these shadow’d effigys
Of barb’d wire, riven trees,
the corpse-strewn blasted plain?
And the names—Hebuterne
Bethune and La Bassée—
I have nothing to learn—
Contalmaison, Boisselle,
And one where night and day
my heart would pray and dwell;
Bethune and La Bassée—
I have nothing to learn—
Contalmaison, Boisselle,
And one where night and day
my heart would pray and dwell;
A desert sanctuary,
where in holy vigil
Year-long I have held my faith
against th’ imaginings
Of horror and agony
in an ordeal above
where in holy vigil
Year-long I have held my faith
against th’ imaginings
Of horror and agony
in an ordeal above
The tears of suffering
and took aid of angels:
This was the temple of God:
no mortuary of kings
Ever gathered the spoils
of such chivalry and love:
and took aid of angels:
This was the temple of God:
no mortuary of kings
Ever gathered the spoils
of such chivalry and love:
No pilgrim shrine soe’er
hath assembled such prayer—
With rich incense-wafted
ritual and requiem
Not beauteous batter’d Rheims
nor lorn Jerusalem.
hath assembled such prayer—
With rich incense-wafted
ritual and requiem
Not beauteous batter’d Rheims
nor lorn Jerusalem.
TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
April, 1917.
Brothers in blood! They who this wrong began
To wreck our commonwealth, will rue the day
When first they challenged freemen to the fray,
And with the Briton dared the American.
Now are we pledged to win the Rights of man;
Labour and justice now shall have their way,
And in a League of Peace—God grant we may—
Transform the earth, not patch up the old plan.
To wreck our commonwealth, will rue the day
When first they challenged freemen to the fray,
And with the Briton dared the American.
Now are we pledged to win the Rights of man;
Labour and justice now shall have their way,
And in a League of Peace—God grant we may—
Transform the earth, not patch up the old plan.
Sure is our hope since he, who led your nation,
Spake for mankind; and ye arose in awe
Of that high call to work the world’s salvation;
Clearing your minds of all estranging blindness
In the vision of Beauty, and the Spirit’s law,
Freedom and Honour and sweet Loving-kindness.
Spake for mankind; and ye arose in awe
Of that high call to work the world’s salvation;
Clearing your minds of all estranging blindness
In the vision of Beauty, and the Spirit’s law,
Freedom and Honour and sweet Loving-kindness.
TRAFALGAR SQUARE
September, 1917.
Fool that I was: my heart was sore,
Yea sick for the myriad wounded men,
The maim’d in the war: I had grief for each one:
And I came in the gay September sun
To the open smile of Trafalgar Square;
Where many a lad with a limb fordone
Loll’d by the lion-guarded column
That holdeth Nelson statued thereon
Upright in the air.
Yea sick for the myriad wounded men,
The maim’d in the war: I had grief for each one:
And I came in the gay September sun
To the open smile of Trafalgar Square;
Where many a lad with a limb fordone
Loll’d by the lion-guarded column
That holdeth Nelson statued thereon
Upright in the air.
The Parliament towers and the Abbey towers,
The white Horseguards and grey Whitehall,
He looketh on all,
Past Somerset House and the river’s bend
To the pillar’d dome of St. Paul,
That slumbers confessing God’s solemn blessing
On England’s glory, to keep it ours—
While children true her prowess renew
And throng from the ends of the earth to defend
Freedom and honour—till Earth shall end.
The white Horseguards and grey Whitehall,
He looketh on all,
Past Somerset House and the river’s bend
To the pillar’d dome of St. Paul,
That slumbers confessing God’s solemn blessing
On England’s glory, to keep it ours—
While children true her prowess renew
And throng from the ends of the earth to defend
Freedom and honour—till Earth shall end.
The gentle unjealous Shakespeare, I trow,
In his country tomb of peaceful fame,
Must feel exiled from life and glow
If he think of this man with his warrior claim,
Who looketh o’er London as if ’twere his own,
As he standeth in stone, aloft and alone,
Sailing the sky with one arm and one eye.
In his country tomb of peaceful fame,
Must feel exiled from life and glow
If he think of this man with his warrior claim,
Who looketh o’er London as if ’twere his own,
As he standeth in stone, aloft and alone,
Sailing the sky with one arm and one eye.
CHRISTMAS EVE, 1917
Many happy returns, sweet Babe, of the day!
Didst not thou sow good seed in the world, thy field?
Cam’st thou to save the poor? Thy poor yet pine.
Thousands to-day suffer death-pangs like thine;
Our jewels of life are spilt on the ground as dross;
Ten thousand mothers stand beneath the cross.
Peace to men of goodwill was the angels’ song:
Now there is fiercer war, worse filth and wrong.
If thou didst sow good seed, is this the yield?
Shall not thy folk be quell’d in dead dismay?
Didst not thou sow good seed in the world, thy field?
Cam’st thou to save the poor? Thy poor yet pine.
Thousands to-day suffer death-pangs like thine;
Our jewels of life are spilt on the ground as dross;
Ten thousand mothers stand beneath the cross.
Peace to men of goodwill was the angels’ song:
Now there is fiercer war, worse filth and wrong.
If thou didst sow good seed, is this the yield?
Shall not thy folk be quell’d in dead dismay?
Nay, with a larger hope we are fed and heal’d
Than e’er was reveal’d to the saints who died so strong;
For while men slept the seed had quicken’d unseen.
England is as a field whereon the corn is green.
Than e’er was reveal’d to the saints who died so strong;
For while men slept the seed had quicken’d unseen.
England is as a field whereon the corn is green.
Of trial and dark tribulation this vision is born—
Britain as a field green with the springing corn.
While we slumber’d the seed was growing unseen.
Happy returns of the day, dear Babe, we say.
Britain as a field green with the springing corn.
While we slumber’d the seed was growing unseen.
Happy returns of the day, dear Babe, we say.
England has buried her sins with her fathers’ bones.
Thou shalt be throned on the ruin of kingly thrones.
The wish of thine heart is rooted in carnal mind;
For good seed didst thou sow in the world thy field:
It shall ripen in gold and harvest an hundredfold.
Peace shall come as a flood upon all mankind;
Love shall comfort and succour the poor that are pined.
Thou shalt be throned on the ruin of kingly thrones.
The wish of thine heart is rooted in carnal mind;
For good seed didst thou sow in the world thy field:
It shall ripen in gold and harvest an hundredfold.
Peace shall come as a flood upon all mankind;
Love shall comfort and succour the poor that are pined.
Wherever our gentle children are wander’d and sped,
Simple apostles thine of the world to come,
They carried the living seed of the living Bread.
The angel-song and the gospel of Christendom,
That while the nation slept was springing unseen.
Simple apostles thine of the world to come,
They carried the living seed of the living Bread.
The angel-song and the gospel of Christendom,
That while the nation slept was springing unseen.
So tho’ we be sorely stricken we feel no dread:
Our thousand sons suffer death-pangs like thine:
It shall ripen in gold and harvest an hundredfold:
Peace and Love shall hallow our care and teen,
Shall bind in fellowship all the folk of the earth
To kneel at thy cradle, Babe, and bless thy birth.
Our thousand sons suffer death-pangs like thine:
It shall ripen in gold and harvest an hundredfold:
Peace and Love shall hallow our care and teen,
Shall bind in fellowship all the folk of the earth
To kneel at thy cradle, Babe, and bless thy birth.
Ring we the bells up and down in country and town,
And keep the old feast unholpen of preacher or priest,
Wishing thee happy returns, and thy Mother May,
Ever happier and happier returns, dear Christ, of thy day!
And keep the old feast unholpen of preacher or priest,
Wishing thee happy returns, and thy Mother May,
Ever happier and happier returns, dear Christ, of thy day!
TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
August, 1918.
See England’s stalwart daughter, who made emprise
’Gainst her own mother, freeborn of the free,
Who slew her sons for her slaves’ liberty,
See for mankind her majesty arise!
From her new world her unattainted eyes
Espy deliverance, and her bold decree
Speaks for Great Britain’s wide confederacy:
The folk shall rule, if only they be wise.
’Gainst her own mother, freeborn of the free,
Who slew her sons for her slaves’ liberty,
See for mankind her majesty arise!
From her new world her unattainted eyes
Espy deliverance, and her bold decree
Speaks for Great Britain’s wide confederacy:
The folk shall rule, if only they be wise.
Ambition, hate, revenge, the secret sway
Of priest and kingcraft shall be done away
By faith in beauty, chivalry and good.
One God made all, and will all wrongs forgive
Save their hell-heart who stab man’s hope to live
In mutual freedom, peace and brotherhood.
Of priest and kingcraft shall be done away
By faith in beauty, chivalry and good.
One God made all, and will all wrongs forgive
Save their hell-heart who stab man’s hope to live
In mutual freedom, peace and brotherhood.
OUR PRISONERS OF WAR IN GERMANY
October, 1918.
Prisoners to a foe inhuman, Oh! but our hearts rebel:
Defenceless victims ye are, in claws of spite a prey,
Conquering your torturers, enduring night and day
Malice, year-long drawn out your noble spirits to quell.
Fearsomer than death this rack they ranged, and reckon’d well
’Twould harrow our homes, and plied, such devilish aim had they,
That England roused to rage should wrong with wrong repay,
And smirch her envied honour in deeds unspeakable.
Defenceless victims ye are, in claws of spite a prey,
Conquering your torturers, enduring night and day
Malice, year-long drawn out your noble spirits to quell.
Fearsomer than death this rack they ranged, and reckon’d well
’Twould harrow our homes, and plied, such devilish aim had they,
That England roused to rage should wrong with wrong repay,
And smirch her envied honour in deeds unspeakable.
Nor trouble we just Heaven that quick revenge be done
On Satan’s chamberlains highseated in Berlin;
Their reek floats round the world on all lands ’neath the sun:
Tho’ in craven Germany was no man found, not one
With spirit enough to cry Shame!—Nay, but on such sin
Follows Perdition eternal ... and it has begun.
On Satan’s chamberlains highseated in Berlin;
Their reek floats round the world on all lands ’neath the sun:
Tho’ in craven Germany was no man found, not one
With spirit enough to cry Shame!—Nay, but on such sin
Follows Perdition eternal ... and it has begun.
HARVEST-HOME
VERSES TO THE AMERICANS ON THEIR THANKSGIVING DAY, CELEBRATED IN ENGLAND NOVEMBER 28, 1918.
A toast for West and East
Drink on this Thursday feast
Last in November,
The year when Albion’s lands
Across the sea join hands—
Drink and remember!
Drink on this Thursday feast
Last in November,
The year when Albion’s lands
Across the sea join hands—
Drink and remember!
Nineteen-eighteen fulfill’d
The kindly purpose will’d
By the Ever-living,
When first in hope upstay’d
The Pilgrim Fathers made
Harvest thanksgiving.
The kindly purpose will’d
By the Ever-living,
When first in hope upstay’d
The Pilgrim Fathers made
Harvest thanksgiving.
And since the seed bore fruit,
Which they went forth to root
In the wildernesses,
Ye now return to find
The Rose that they resigned
With their distresses.
Which they went forth to root
In the wildernesses,
Ye now return to find
The Rose that they resigned
With their distresses.
’Twas when the wide world o’er,
Whatever peaceful shore
Britons inherit,
Britons claim’d right of birth,
And fought hell in the mirth
Of Shakespeare’s spirit.
Whatever peaceful shore
Britons inherit,
Britons claim’d right of birth,
And fought hell in the mirth
Of Shakespeare’s spirit.
Then your true heart was stirr’d,
Your arm raised, and your word
Went forth, forecasting
That the great war should cease
In British bonds of peace,
Peace everlasting.
Your arm raised, and your word
Went forth, forecasting
That the great war should cease
In British bonds of peace,
Peace everlasting.
The good God bless this day,
And we for ever and aye
Keep our love living,
Till all men ’neath heaven’s dome
Sing Freedom’s Harvest-home
In one Thanksgiving!
And we for ever and aye
Keep our love living,
Till all men ’neath heaven’s dome
Sing Freedom’s Harvest-home
In one Thanksgiving!
TO AUSTRALIA
WITH THE WOUNDED AND THE SURVIVORS OF 1914 RETURNING HOME IN AUTUMN, 1918.
A loving message at Christmastide,
Sent round the world to the underside
A-sail in the ship that across the foam
Carries the wounded Aussies home,
Who rallied at War’s far-thundering call,
When England stood with her back to the wall,
To fight for Freedom, that ne’er shall die
So long as on earth the old flag fly.
Sent round the world to the underside
A-sail in the ship that across the foam
Carries the wounded Aussies home,
Who rallied at War’s far-thundering call,
When England stood with her back to the wall,
To fight for Freedom, that ne’er shall die
So long as on earth the old flag fly.
O hearts so loving, eager and bold—
Whose praise hath claim to be writ on the sky
In letters of gold, of fire and gold—
Never shall prouder tale be told,
Than how ye fought as the knights of old
“Against the heathen in Turkye
In Flanders Artois and Picardie:”
But above all triumph that else ye have won
This is the goodliest deed ye have done,
To have seal’d with blood in a desperate day
The love-bond that binds us for ever and aye.
Whose praise hath claim to be writ on the sky
In letters of gold, of fire and gold—
Never shall prouder tale be told,
Than how ye fought as the knights of old
“Against the heathen in Turkye
In Flanders Artois and Picardie:”
But above all triumph that else ye have won
This is the goodliest deed ye have done,
To have seal’d with blood in a desperate day
The love-bond that binds us for ever and aye.
THE EXCELLENT WAY
Man’s mind that hath this earth for home
Hath too its far-spread starry dome
Where thought is lost in going free,
Prison’d but by infinity.
He first in slumbrous babyhood
Took conscience of his heavenly good;
Then with his sins grown up to youth
Wept at the vision of God’s truth.
Hath too its far-spread starry dome
Where thought is lost in going free,
Prison’d but by infinity.
He first in slumbrous babyhood
Took conscience of his heavenly good;
Then with his sins grown up to youth
Wept at the vision of God’s truth.
Soon in his heart new hopes awoke
As poet sang or prophet spoke:
Temples arose and stone he taught
To stand agaze in trancèd thought:
He won the trembling air to tell
Of far passions ineffable,
Feeding the hungry things of sense
With instincts of omniscience,
Immortal modes that should abide
Cherish’d by love and pious pride,
That unborn children might inherit
The triumph of his holy spirit,
Outbidding Nature, to entice
Her soul from her own Paradise,
Till her wild face had fallen to shame
Had he not praised her in God’s name.
As poet sang or prophet spoke:
Temples arose and stone he taught
To stand agaze in trancèd thought:
He won the trembling air to tell
Of far passions ineffable,
Feeding the hungry things of sense
With instincts of omniscience,
Immortal modes that should abide
Cherish’d by love and pious pride,
That unborn children might inherit
The triumph of his holy spirit,
Outbidding Nature, to entice
Her soul from her own Paradise,
Till her wild face had fallen to shame
Had he not praised her in God’s name.
Alas! poor man, what blockish curse
Would violate thy universe,
To enchain thy freedom and entomb
Thy pleasance in devouring gloom?
Behold thy savage foes of yore
With woes of pestilence and war,
Siva and Moloch, Odin and Thor,
Rise from their graves to greet amain
The deeds that give them life again.
Would violate thy universe,
To enchain thy freedom and entomb
Thy pleasance in devouring gloom?
Behold thy savage foes of yore
With woes of pestilence and war,
Siva and Moloch, Odin and Thor,
Rise from their graves to greet amain
The deeds that give them life again.
Poor man, sunk deeper than thy slime
In blood and hate, in terror and crime,
Thou who wert lifted on the wings
Of thy desire, the king of kings,
In promise beyond ken sublime:
O thou man-soul, who mightest climb
To heavenly happiness, whereof
Thine easy path were Mirth and Love!
In blood and hate, in terror and crime,
Thou who wert lifted on the wings
Of thy desire, the king of kings,
In promise beyond ken sublime:
O thou man-soul, who mightest climb
To heavenly happiness, whereof
Thine easy path were Mirth and Love!
ENGLAND TO INDIA
Christmas, 1918.
Beautiful is man’s home: how fair,
Wrapt in her robe of azurous air,
The Earth thro’ stress of ice and fire
Came on the path of God’s desire,
Redeeming Chaos, to compose
Exquisite forms of lily and rose,
With every creature a design
Of loveliness or craft divine
Searchable and unsearchable,
And each insect a miracle!
Wrapt in her robe of azurous air,
The Earth thro’ stress of ice and fire
Came on the path of God’s desire,
Redeeming Chaos, to compose
Exquisite forms of lily and rose,
With every creature a design
Of loveliness or craft divine
Searchable and unsearchable,
And each insect a miracle!
Truth is as Beauty unconfined:
Various as Nature is man’s Mind:
Each race and tribe is as a flower
Set in God’s garden with its dower
Of special instinct; and man’s grace
Compact of all must all embrace.
China and Ind, Hellas or France,
Each hath its own inheritance;
And each to Truth’s rich market brings
Its bright divine imaginings,
In rival tribute to surprise
The world with native merchandise.
Nor least in worth nor last in years
Of artists, poets, saints and seers,
England, in her far northern sea,
Fashion’d the jewel of Liberty,
Fetch’d from the shore of Palestine
(Land of the Lily and mystic Vine).
Where once in the everlasting dawn
Christ’s Love-star flamed, that heavenly sign
Whereto all nations shall be drawn,
Unfabled Magi, and uplift
Each to Love’s cradle his own gift.
Various as Nature is man’s Mind:
Each race and tribe is as a flower
Set in God’s garden with its dower
Of special instinct; and man’s grace
Compact of all must all embrace.
China and Ind, Hellas or France,
Each hath its own inheritance;
And each to Truth’s rich market brings
Its bright divine imaginings,
In rival tribute to surprise
The world with native merchandise.
Nor least in worth nor last in years
Of artists, poets, saints and seers,
England, in her far northern sea,
Fashion’d the jewel of Liberty,
Fetch’d from the shore of Palestine
(Land of the Lily and mystic Vine).
Where once in the everlasting dawn
Christ’s Love-star flamed, that heavenly sign
Whereto all nations shall be drawn,
Unfabled Magi, and uplift
Each to Love’s cradle his own gift.
Thou who canst dream and understand,
Dost thou not dream for thine own land
This dream of Truth, and contemplate
That happier world, Love’s free Estate?
Say, didst thou dream, O Sister fair,
How hand in hand we entered there?
Dost thou not dream for thine own land
This dream of Truth, and contemplate
That happier world, Love’s free Estate?
Say, didst thou dream, O Sister fair,
How hand in hand we entered there?
BRITANNIA VICTRIX
Careless wast thou in thy pride,
Queen of seas and countries wide,
Glorying on thy peaceful throne:—
Can thy love thy sins atone?
What shall dreams of glory serve,
If thy sloth thy doom deserve,
When the strong relentless foe
Storm thy gates to lay thee low?
Queen of seas and countries wide,
Glorying on thy peaceful throne:—
Can thy love thy sins atone?
What shall dreams of glory serve,
If thy sloth thy doom deserve,
When the strong relentless foe
Storm thy gates to lay thee low?
Careless, ah! he saw thee leap
Mighty from thy startled sleep,
Heard afar thy challenge ring:
’Twas the world’s awakening.
Mighty from thy startled sleep,
Heard afar thy challenge ring:
’Twas the world’s awakening.
Welcome to thy children all
Rallying to thee without call
Oversea, the sportive sons
From thy vast dominions!
Stern in onset or defence,
Terrible in their confidence.
Rallying to thee without call
Oversea, the sportive sons
From thy vast dominions!
Stern in onset or defence,
Terrible in their confidence.
Dauntless wast thou, fair goddess,
’Neath the cloud of thy distress;
Fierce and mirthful wast thou seen
In thy toil and in thy teen;
While the nations looked to thee,
Spent in worldwide agony.
’Neath the cloud of thy distress;
Fierce and mirthful wast thou seen
In thy toil and in thy teen;
While the nations looked to thee,
Spent in worldwide agony.
Oft, throughout that long ordeal
Dark with horror-stricken duty,
Nature on thy heart would steal
Beckoning thee with heavenly beauty,
Heightening ever on thine isle
All her seasons’ tranquil smile;
Till thy soul anew converted,
Roaming o’er the fields deserted,
By thy sorrow sanctified,
Found a place wherein to hide.
Dark with horror-stricken duty,
Nature on thy heart would steal
Beckoning thee with heavenly beauty,
Heightening ever on thine isle
All her seasons’ tranquil smile;
Till thy soul anew converted,
Roaming o’er the fields deserted,
By thy sorrow sanctified,
Found a place wherein to hide.
Soon fresh beauty lit thy face,
Then thou stood’st in Heaven’s high grace:
Sudden in air on land and sea
Swell’d the voice of victory.
Then thou stood’st in Heaven’s high grace:
Sudden in air on land and sea
Swell’d the voice of victory.
Now when jubilant bells resound
And thy sons come laurel-crown’d,
After all thy years of woe
Thou no longer canst forgo,
Now thy tears are loos’d to flow.
And thy sons come laurel-crown’d,
After all thy years of woe
Thou no longer canst forgo,
Now thy tears are loos’d to flow.
Land, dear land, whose sea-built shore
Nurseth warriors evermore,
Land, whence Freedom far and lone
Round the earth her speech has thrown
Like a planet’s luminous zone,—
In thy strength and calm defiance
Hold mankind in love’s alliance!
Nurseth warriors evermore,
Land, whence Freedom far and lone
Round the earth her speech has thrown
Like a planet’s luminous zone,—
In thy strength and calm defiance
Hold mankind in love’s alliance!
Beauteous art thou, but the foes
Of thy beauty are not those
Who lie tangled and dismay’d;
Fearless one, be yet afraid
Lest thyself thyself condemn
In the wrong that ruin’d them.
Of thy beauty are not those
Who lie tangled and dismay’d;
Fearless one, be yet afraid
Lest thyself thyself condemn
In the wrong that ruin’d them.
God, who chose thee and upraised
’Mong the folk (His name be praised!),
Proved thee then by chastisement
Worthy of His high intent,
Who, because thou could’st endure,
Saved thee free and purged thee pure,
Won thee thus His grace to win,
For thy love forgave thy sin,
For thy truth forgave thy pride,
Queen of seas and countries wide,—
He who led thee still will guide.
’Mong the folk (His name be praised!),
Proved thee then by chastisement
Worthy of His high intent,
Who, because thou could’st endure,
Saved thee free and purged thee pure,
Won thee thus His grace to win,
For thy love forgave thy sin,
For thy truth forgave thy pride,
Queen of seas and countries wide,—
He who led thee still will guide.
Hark! thy sons, those spirits fresh
Dearly housed in dazzling flesh,
Thy full brightening buds of strength,
Ere their day had any length
Crush’d, and fallen in torment sorest,
Hark! the sons whom thou deplorest
Call—I hear one call; he saith:
“Mother, weep not for my death:
’Twas to guard our home from hell,
’Twas to make thy joy I fell
Praising God, and all is well.
What if now thy heart should quail
And in peace our victory fail!
If low greed in guise of right
Should consume thy gather’d might,
And thy power mankind to save
Fall and perish on our grave!
On my grave, whose legend be
Fought with the brave and joyfully
Died in faith of victory.
Follow on the way we won!
Thou hast found, not lost thy son.”
Dearly housed in dazzling flesh,
Thy full brightening buds of strength,
Ere their day had any length
Crush’d, and fallen in torment sorest,
Hark! the sons whom thou deplorest
Call—I hear one call; he saith:
“Mother, weep not for my death:
’Twas to guard our home from hell,
’Twas to make thy joy I fell
Praising God, and all is well.
What if now thy heart should quail
And in peace our victory fail!
If low greed in guise of right
Should consume thy gather’d might,
And thy power mankind to save
Fall and perish on our grave!
On my grave, whose legend be
Fought with the brave and joyfully
Died in faith of victory.
Follow on the way we won!
Thou hast found, not lost thy son.”
DER TAG: NELSON AND BEATTY
A BROADSHEET.
1.
No doubt ’twas a truly Christian sight
When the German ships came out of the Bight,
But it can’t be said it was much of a fight
That grey November morning;
The wonderful day, the great Der Tag,
Which Prussians had vow’d with unmannerly brag
Should see Old England lower her flag
Some grey November morning.
When the German ships came out of the Bight,
But it can’t be said it was much of a fight
That grey November morning;
The wonderful day, the great Der Tag,
Which Prussians had vow’d with unmannerly brag
Should see Old England lower her flag
Some grey November morning.
2.
The spirit of Nelson, that haunts the Fleet,
Had come whereabouts the ships must meet,
But he fear’d there was some decoy or cheat
That grey November morning,
When the enemy led by a British scout
Stole ’twixt our lines ... and never a shout
Or a signal; and never a gun spoke out
That grey November morning.
Had come whereabouts the ships must meet,
But he fear’d there was some decoy or cheat
That grey November morning,
When the enemy led by a British scout
Stole ’twixt our lines ... and never a shout
Or a signal; and never a gun spoke out
That grey November morning.
3.
So he shaped his course to the Admiral’s ship,
Where Beatty stood with hand on hip
Impassive, nor ever moved his lip
That grey November morning;
And touching his shoulder he said: “My mate,
Am I come too soon or am I too late?
Is it friendly manœuvres or pageant of State
This grey November morning?”
Where Beatty stood with hand on hip
Impassive, nor ever moved his lip
That grey November morning;
And touching his shoulder he said: “My mate,
Am I come too soon or am I too late?
Is it friendly manœuvres or pageant of State
This grey November morning?”
4.
Then Beatty said: “As Admiral here
In the name of the King I bid you good cheer:
It’s not my fault that it looks so queer
This grey November morning;
But there come the enemy all in queues;
They can fight well enough if only they choose;
Small blame to me if the fools refuse,
This grey November morning.
In the name of the King I bid you good cheer:
It’s not my fault that it looks so queer
This grey November morning;
But there come the enemy all in queues;
They can fight well enough if only they choose;
Small blame to me if the fools refuse,
This grey November morning.
5.
“That’s Admiral Reuter, surrendering nine
Great Dreadnoughts, all first-rates of the line;
Beyond, in the haze that veils the brine
This grey November morning,
Loom five heavy Cruisers, and light ones four,
With a tail of Destroyers, fifty or more,
Each squadron under its Commodore,
This grey November morning.
Great Dreadnoughts, all first-rates of the line;
Beyond, in the haze that veils the brine
This grey November morning,
Loom five heavy Cruisers, and light ones four,
With a tail of Destroyers, fifty or more,
Each squadron under its Commodore,
This grey November morning.
6.
“The least of all those captive queens
Could have knock’d your whole navy to smithereens,
And nothing said of the other machines,
On a grey November morning,
The aeroplanes and the submarines,
Bombs, torpedoes, and Zeppelins,
Their floating mines and their smoky screens,
Of a grey November morning.
Could have knock’d your whole navy to smithereens,
And nothing said of the other machines,
On a grey November morning,
The aeroplanes and the submarines,
Bombs, torpedoes, and Zeppelins,
Their floating mines and their smoky screens,
Of a grey November morning.
7.
“They’ll rage like bulls sans reason or rhyme,
And next day, as if ’twere a pantomime,
They walk in like cows at milking-time,
On a grey November morning.
We’re four years sick of the pestilent mob;
—You’ve heard of our biblical Battle in Gob?—
At times it was hardly a gentleman’s job
Of a grey November morning.”
And next day, as if ’twere a pantomime,
They walk in like cows at milking-time,
On a grey November morning.
We’re four years sick of the pestilent mob;
—You’ve heard of our biblical Battle in Gob?—
At times it was hardly a gentleman’s job
Of a grey November morning.”
8.
Then Nelson said: “God bless my soul!
How things are changed in this age of coal;
For the spittle it isn’t with you I’d condole
This grey November morning.
By George! you’ve netted a monstrous catch:
You’ll be able to pen the best dispatch
That ever an Admiral wrote under hatch
On a grey November morning.
How things are changed in this age of coal;
For the spittle it isn’t with you I’d condole
This grey November morning.
By George! you’ve netted a monstrous catch:
You’ll be able to pen the best dispatch
That ever an Admiral wrote under hatch
On a grey November morning.
9.
“I like your looks and I like your name:
My heart goes out to the old fleet’s fame,
And I’m pleased to find you so spry at the game
This grey November morning.
Your ships, tho’ I don’t half understand
Their build, are stouter and better mann’d
Than anything I ever had in command
Of a grey November morning.”
My heart goes out to the old fleet’s fame,
And I’m pleased to find you so spry at the game
This grey November morning.
Your ships, tho’ I don’t half understand
Their build, are stouter and better mann’d
Than anything I ever had in command
Of a grey November morning.”
10.
Then Beatty spoke: “Sir! none of my crew,
All bravest of brave and truest of true,
Is thinking of me so much as of you
This grey November morning.”
And Nelson replied: “Well, thanks f’ your chat.
Forgive my intrusion! I take off my hat
And make you my bow ... we’ll leave it at that,
This grey November morning.”
All bravest of brave and truest of true,
Is thinking of me so much as of you
This grey November morning.”
And Nelson replied: “Well, thanks f’ your chat.
Forgive my intrusion! I take off my hat
And make you my bow ... we’ll leave it at that,
This grey November morning.”
“TO BURNS”
TOAST FOR THE GREENOCK CLUB DINNER, JANUARY, 1914.
To Burns! brave Scotia’s laurel’d son
Who drove his plough on Helicon—
Who with his Doric rhyme erewhile
Taught English bards to mend their style—
And by the humour of his pen
Fairly befool’d auld Nickie-ben ...
Blithe Robbie Burns! we love thee well
Because thou wert so like thysel’,
And in full cups with festive cheer
We toast thy fame from year to year.
Who drove his plough on Helicon—
Who with his Doric rhyme erewhile
Taught English bards to mend their style—
And by the humour of his pen
Fairly befool’d auld Nickie-ben ...
Blithe Robbie Burns! we love thee well
Because thou wert so like thysel’,
And in full cups with festive cheer
We toast thy fame from year to year.
POOR CHILD
On a mournful day
When my heart was lonely,
O’er and o’er my thought
Conned but one thing only,
When my heart was lonely,
O’er and o’er my thought
Conned but one thing only,
Thinking how I lost
Wand’ring in the wild-wood
The companion self
Of my careless childhood.
Wand’ring in the wild-wood
The companion self
Of my careless childhood.
How, poor child, it was
I shall ne’er discover,
But ’twas just when he
Grew to be thy lover,
I shall ne’er discover,
But ’twas just when he
Grew to be thy lover,
With thine eyes of trust
And thy mirth, whereunder
All the world’s hope lay
In thy heart of wonder.
And thy mirth, whereunder
All the world’s hope lay
In thy heart of wonder.
Now, beyond regrets
And faint memories of thee.
Saddest is, poor child,
That I cannot love thee.
And faint memories of thee.
Saddest is, poor child,
That I cannot love thee.
TO PERCY BUCK
Folk alien to the Muse have hemm’d us round
And fiends have suck’d our blood: our best delight
Is poison’d, and the year’s infective blight
Hath made almost a silence of sweet sound.
But you, what fortune, Percy, have you found
At Harrow? doth fair hope your toil requite?
Doth beauty win her praise and truth her right,
Or hath the good seed fal’n on stony ground?
And fiends have suck’d our blood: our best delight
Is poison’d, and the year’s infective blight
Hath made almost a silence of sweet sound.
But you, what fortune, Percy, have you found
At Harrow? doth fair hope your toil requite?
Doth beauty win her praise and truth her right,
Or hath the good seed fal’n on stony ground?
Ply the art ever nobly, single-soul’d
Like Brahms, or as you ruled in Wells erewhile,
—Nor yet the memory of that zeal is cold—
Where lately I, who love the purer style,
Enter’d, and felt your spirit as of old
Beside me, listening in the chancel-aisle.
Like Brahms, or as you ruled in Wells erewhile,
—Nor yet the memory of that zeal is cold—
Where lately I, who love the purer style,
Enter’d, and felt your spirit as of old
Beside me, listening in the chancel-aisle.
TO HARRY ELLIS WOOLDRIDGE
Love and the Muse have left their home, now bare
Of memorable beauty, all is gone,
The dedicated charm of Yattendon,
Which thou wert apt, dear Hal, to build and share.
What noble shades are flitting, who while-ere
Haunted the ivy’d walls, where time ran on
In sanctities of joy by reverence won,
Music and choral grace and studies fair!
Of memorable beauty, all is gone,
The dedicated charm of Yattendon,
Which thou wert apt, dear Hal, to build and share.
What noble shades are flitting, who while-ere
Haunted the ivy’d walls, where time ran on
In sanctities of joy by reverence won,
Music and choral grace and studies fair!
These on some kindlier field may Fate restore,
And may the old house prosper, dispossest
Of her whose equal it can nevermore
Hold till it crumble: O nay! and the door
Will moulder ere it open on a guest
To match thee in thy wisdom and thy jest.
And may the old house prosper, dispossest
Of her whose equal it can nevermore
Hold till it crumble: O nay! and the door
Will moulder ere it open on a guest
To match thee in thy wisdom and thy jest.
FORTUNATUS NIMIUM
I have lain in the sun
I have toil’d as I might
I have thought as I would
And now it is night.
I have toil’d as I might
I have thought as I would
And now it is night.
My bed full of sleep
My heart of content
For friends that I met
The way that I went.
My heart of content
For friends that I met
The way that I went.
I welcome fatigue
While frenzy and care
Like thin summer clouds
Go melting in air.
While frenzy and care
Like thin summer clouds
Go melting in air.
Or death—were it death—
To what should I wake
Who loved in my home
All life for its sake?
To what should I wake
Who loved in my home
All life for its sake?
What good have I wrought?
I laugh to have learned
That joy cannot come
Unless it be earned;
I laugh to have learned
That joy cannot come
Unless it be earned;
For a happier lot
Than God giveth me
It never hath been
Nor ever shall be.
Than God giveth me
It never hath been
Nor ever shall be.
DEMOCRITUS
Joy of your opulent atoms! wouldst thou dare
Say that Thought also of atoms self-became,
Waving to soul as light had the eye in aim;
And so with things of bodily sense compare
Those native notions that the heavens declare,
Space and Time, Beauty and God—Praise we his name!—
Real ideas, that on tongues of flame
From out mind’s cooling paste leapt unaware?
Say that Thought also of atoms self-became,
Waving to soul as light had the eye in aim;
And so with things of bodily sense compare
Those native notions that the heavens declare,
Space and Time, Beauty and God—Praise we his name!—
Real ideas, that on tongues of flame
From out mind’s cooling paste leapt unaware?
Thy spirit, Democritus, orb’d in the eterne
Illimitable galaxy of night
Shineth undimm’d where greater splendours burn
Of sage and poet: by their influence bright
We are held; and pouring from his quenchless urn
Christ with immortal love-beams laves the height.
Illimitable galaxy of night
Shineth undimm’d where greater splendours burn
Of sage and poet: by their influence bright
We are held; and pouring from his quenchless urn
Christ with immortal love-beams laves the height.
NOTES
Poem 3.—As the metre or scansion of this poem was publicly discussed and wrongly analysed by some who admired its effects, it may be well to explain that it and the three other poems in similar measure, “Flowering Tree,” “In der Fremde,” “The West Front,” are strictly syllabic verse on the model left by Milton in “Samson Agonistes”; except that his system, which depended on exclusion of extra-metrical syllables (that is, syllables which did not admit of resolution by “elision” into a disyllabic scheme) from all places but the last, still admitted them in that place, thereby forbidding inversion of the last foot. It is natural to conclude that, had he pursued his inventions, his next step would have been to get rid of this anomaly; and if that is done, the result is the new rhythms that these poems exhibit. In this sort of prosody rhyme is admitted, like alliteration, as an ornament at will; it is not needed. My four experiments are confined to the twelve-syllable verse. It is probably agreed that there are possibilities in that long six-foot line which English poetry has not fully explored.
Poem 12, “Hell and Hate.”—This poem was written December 16, 1913. It is the description of a little picture hanging in my bedroom; it had been painted for me as a New Year’s gift more than thirty years before, and I described it partly because I never exactly knew what it meant. When the war broke out I remembered my poem and sent it to The Times, where it appeared in the Literary Supplement September 24, 1914.
Poem 13, “Wake up, England!”—This motto is the King’s well-known call to the country in 1901 at the Guildhall.
The verses appeared in The Times on August 8, 1914. There were three other stanzas, which are better omitted; and the last two lines, which were printed in capitals and ran thus,