O sea, our sea that hadst him for thy star, A hundred years that fall upon thee are Even as a hundred flakes of rain or snow: No storm of battle signs thee with a scar.
But never more may ship that sails thee show, But never may the sun that loves thee know, But never may thine England give thee more, A man whose life and death shall praise thee so.
The Nile, the sea, the battle, and the sh.o.r.e, Heard as we hear one word arise and soar, Beheld one name above them tower and glow-- Nelson: a light that time bows down before.
TRAFALGAR DAY
Sea, that art ours as we are thine, whose name Is one with England"s even as light with flame, Dost thou as we, thy chosen of all men, know This day of days when death gave life to fame?
Dost thou not kindle above and thrill below With rapturous record, with memorial glow, Remembering this thy festal day of fight, And all the joy it gave, and all the woe?
Never since day broke flowerlike forth of night Broke such a dawn of battle. Death in sight Made of the man whose life was like the sun A man more G.o.dlike than the lord of light.
There is none like him, and there shall be none.
When England bears again as great a son, He can but follow fame where Nelson led.
There is not and there cannot be but one.
As earth has but one England, crown and head Of all her glories till the sun be dead, Supreme in peace and war, supreme in song, Supreme in freedom, since her rede was read,
Since first the soul that gave her speech grew strong To help the right and heal the wild world"s wrong, So she hath but one royal Nelson, born To reign on time above the years that throng.
The music of his name puts fear to scorn, And thrills our twilight through with sense of morn: As England was, how should not England be?
No tempest yet has left her banner torn.
No year has yet put out the day when he Who lived and died to keep our kingship free Wherever seas by warring winds are worn Died, and was one with England and the sea.
_October 21, 1895._
CROMWELL"S STATUE[1]
What needs our Cromwell stone or bronze to say His was the light that lit on England"s way The sundawn of her time-compelling power, The noontide of her most imperial day?
His hand won back the sea for England"s dower; His footfall bade the Moor change heart and cower; His word on Milton"s tongue spake law to France When Piedmont felt the she-wolf Rome devour.
From Cromwell"s eyes the light of England"s glance Flashed, and bowed down the kings by grace of chance, The priest-anointed princes; one alone By grace of England held their hosts in trance.
The enthroned Republic from her kinglier throne Spake, and her speech was Cromwell"s. Earth has known No lordlier presence. How should Cromwell stand With kinglets and with queenlings hewn in stone?
Incarnate England in his warrior hand Smote, and as fire devours the blackening brand Made ashes of their strengths who wrought her wrong, And turned the strongholds of her foes to sand.
His praise is in the sea"s and Milton"s song; What praise could reach him from the weakling throng That rules by leave of tongues whose praise is shame-- Him, who made England out of weakness strong?
There needs no clarion"s blast of broad-blown fame To bid the world bear witness whence he came Who bade fierce Europe fawn at England"s heel And purged the plague of lineal rule with flame.
There needs no witness graven on stone or steel For one whose work bids fame bow down and kneel; Our man of men, whose time-commanding name Speaks England, and proclaims her Commonweal.
_June 20, 1895._
[Footnote 1: Refused by the party of reaction and disunion in the House of Commons on the 17th of June, 1895.]
A WORD FOR THE NAVY
I
Queen born of the sea, that hast borne her The mightiest of seamen on earth, Bright England, whose glories adorn her And bid her rejoice in thy birth As others made mothers Rejoice in births sublime, She names thee, she claims thee, The lordliest child of time.
II
All hers is the praise of thy story, All thine is the love of her choice The light of her waves is thy glory, The sound of thy soul is her voice.
They fear it who hear it And love not truth nor thee: They sicken, heart-stricken, Who see and would not see.
III
The lords of thy fate, and thy keepers Whose charge is the strength of thy ships, If now they be dreamers and sleepers, Or sluggards with lies at their lips, Thy haters and traitors, False friends or foes descried, Might scatter and shatter Too soon thy princely pride.
IV
Dark Muscovy, reptile in rancour, Base Germany, blatant in guile, Lay wait for thee riding at anchor On waters that whisper and smile.
They deem thee or dream thee Less living now than dead, Deep sunken and drunken With sleep whence fear has fled.
V
And what though thy song as thine action Wax faint, and thy place be not known, While faction is grappling with faction, Twin curs with thy corpse for a bone?
They care not, who spare not The noise of pens or throats; Who bl.u.s.ter and muster Blind ranks and bellowing votes.
VI
Let populace jangle with peerage And ministers shuffle their mobs; Mad pilots who reck not of steerage Though tempest ahead of them throbs.
That throbbing and sobbing Of wind and gradual wave They hear not and fear not Who guide thee toward thy grave.