Sir Henry Newbolt

(from the French of Wenceslas,
Duke of Brabant and Luxembourg, who died in 1384.)Long ago to thee I
Body, soul, and all I have---  Nothing in the world I keep:
All that in return I

"When Lieutenant Murray fell, the only words he spoke were,'Forward,
Grenadiers!'"---Press Telegram.
Here they halted, here once more  Hand from hand was rent;
Here his voice above the roar  Rang, and on they went.

He leap to arms unbidden,
Unneeded, over-bold;
His face by earth is hidden,
His heart in earth is cold.

"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;

(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

His beauty bore no token, No sign our gladness shook;
With tender strength unbroken The hand of Life he took:
But the summer flowers were falling, Falling and fading away,
And mother birds were calling

(A Lady of Tender Age)Ladies, where were your bright eyes glancing, Where were they glancing yester-night?
Saw ye Imogen dancing, dancing, Imogen dancing all in white? Laughed she not with a pure delight, Laughed she not with a joy…

(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
Died of the love that could…

A thousand years by sea and land Our race hath served the island kings,
But not by custom's dull command To-day with song her Empire rings:
Not all the glories of her birth, Her armed renown and ancient throne,
Could make her less…

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

Dreary lay the long road, dreary lay the town,
Lights out and never a glint o' moon:
Weary lay the stragglers, half a thousand down,
Sad sighed the weary big Dragoon. "Oh! if I'd a drum here to make them take the road again

(After Martial)To-day, my friend is seventy-five; He tells his tale with no regret; His brave old eyes are steadfast yet,
His heart the .
lightest heart alive.
He sees behind him green and wide The pathway of his pilgrim years; He…

She's the daughter of the breeze,
She's the darling of the seas,  And we call her, if you please, the bright
Medu--sa_;
From beneath her bosom

He gave us all a good-bye cheerily  At the first dawn of day;
We dropped him down the side full drearily  When the light died away.
It's a dead dark watch that he's a-keeping there,
And a long, long night that lags a-creeping there

The Squire sat propped in a pillowed chair,
His eyes were alive and clear of care,
But well he knew that the hour was
To bid good-bye to his ancient home.

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…

(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.

O bitter wind toward the sunset blowing,
What of the dales tonight?
In yonder gray old hall what fires are glowing,
What ring of festal lights?

It's good to see the school we knew,
the land of youth and dream.
To greet again the rule we knew,
before we took the stream.

O Son of mine, when dusk shall find thee bending Between a gravestone and a cradle's head---Between the love whose name is loss unending And the young love whose thoughts are liker dread,---Thou too shalt groan at heart that all thy spending…

Lover of England, stand awhile and
With thankful heart, and lips refrained from praise;
They rest beyond the speech of human
Who served with Nelson and with Nelson died.

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

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

I.
When late I watched the arrows of the
Against the windows of the Tavern beat,  I heard a Rose that murmured from her Pot:"Why trudge thy fellows yonder in the Street?
II."Before the phantom of False Morning dies