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,
A courage, a pride, a rapture, sprung Of the strength and splendour of England's war.
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 he 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 night to the end, and dreamed Of the sound and splendour of England's war.
Sir Henry Newbolt
Other author posts
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
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<b...
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
The Vikings Song
When I thy lover first Shook out my canvas And like a pirate burst Into that dreaming sea, The land knew no such thirst As then tormented me Now when at eve returned I near that shore divine,