Hope The Hornblower
"Hark ye, hark to the winding horn;
Sluggards, awake, and front the morn!
Hark ye, hark to the winding horn; The sun's on meadow and mill.
Follow me, hearts that love the chase;
Follow me, feet that keep the pace:
Stirrup to stirrup we ride, we ride, We ride by moor and hill."Huntsman, huntsman, whither away?
What is the quarry afoot to-day?
Huntsman, huntsman, whither away, And what the game ye kill?
Is it the deer, that men may dine?
Is it the wolf that tears the kine?
What is the race ye ride, ye ride, Ye ride by moor and hill?"Ask not yet till the day be
What is the game that's forward fled,
Ask not yet till the day be dead The game we follow still.
An echo it may be, floating past;
A shadow it may be, fading fast:
Shadow or echo, we ride, we ride, We ride by moor and hill"
Sir Henry Newbolt
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Ionicus
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,
Drakes 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,
Balade
(from the French of Wenceslas, Duke of Brabant and Luxembourg, who died in 1384 )I cannot tell, of twain beneath this bond, Which one in grief the other goes beyond,---Narcissus, who to end the pain he
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 s...
