id="id00108">  Then slowly spake the second—
    A great sad voice and deep—
  "When all your gold is reckoned,
    There is but this to keep:

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  To stay the foe from fooling,
  To learn the heathen schooling,
  To live and die sea-ruling,
    And home at last to sleep."

  But the third matched in beauty
    The dawn that flushed afar;
  "O sons of England, Duty
    Is England's morning star:
  Then Fame's eternal splendour
  Be theirs who well defend her,
  And theirs who fain would bend her
    The night of Trafalgar!"

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Drake's Drum

  Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand mile 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,
    Wi' sailor lads a dancin' heel-an'-toe,
  An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin',
    He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago.

  Drake he was a Devon man, an' ruled the Devon seas,
    (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?),
  Rovin' tho' his death fell, he went wi' heart at ease,
    An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
  "Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore,
    Strike et when your powder's runnin' low;
  If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven,
    An' drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago."

  Drake he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come,
    (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?),
  Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum,
    An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.

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  Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound,
    Call him when ye sail to meet the foe;
  Where the old trade's plyin' an' the old flag flyin'
    They shall find him ware an' wakin', as they found him long ago!

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The Fighting Téméraire

  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,
  And the gunner's lads were singing,
  For the ship she rode a-swinging
    As they polished every gun.

      Oh! til see the linstock lighting,
        Téméraire! Téméraire!
      Oh! to hear the round shot biting,
        Téméraire! Téméraire!
      Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
        And to hear the round shot biting,
      For we're all in love with fighting
        On the Fighting Téméraire.

  It was noontide ringing,
    And the battle just begun,
  When the ship her way was winging
    As they loaded every gun.

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  It was noontide ringing,
  When the ship her way was winging,
  And the gunner's lads were singing
    As they loaded every gun.

      There'll be many grim and gory,
        Téméraire! Téméraire!
      There'll be few to tell the story,
        Téméraire! Téméraire!
      There'll be many grim and gory,
        There'll be few to tell the story,
      But we'll all be one in glory
        With the fighting Téméraire.

  There's a far bell ringing
    At the setting of the sun,
  And a phantom voice is singing
    Of the great days done.
  There's a far bell ringing,
  And a phantom voice is singing
  Of renown for ever clinging
    To the great days done.

      Now the sunset breezes shiver,
        Téméraire! Téméraire!
      And she's fading down the river,
        Téméraire! Téméraire!
      Now the sunset breezes shiver,
        And she's fading down the river,
      But in England's song for ever
        She's the Fighting Téméraire.

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Admirals All

  Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake,
    Here's to the bold and free!
  Benbow, Collingwood, Byron, Blake,
    Hail to the Kings of the Sea!
  Admirals all, for England's sake,
    Honour be yours and fame!
  And honour, as long as waves shall break,
    To Nelson's peerless name!

      Admirals all, for England's sake,
        Honour be yours and fame!
      And honour, as long as waves shall break,
        To Nelson's peerless name!

  Essex was fretting in Cadiz Bay
    With the galleons fair in sight;
  Howard at last must give him his way,
    And the word was passed to fight.
  Never was schoolboy gayer than he,
    Since holidays first began:
  He tossed his bonnet to wind and sea,
    And under the guns he ran.

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  Drake nor devil nor Spaniard feared,
    Their cities he put to the sack;
  He singed his Catholic Majesty's beard,
    And harried his ships to wrack.
  He was playing at Plymouth a rubber of bowls
    When the great Armada came;
  But he said, "They must wait their turn, good souls,"
    And he stooped, and finished the game.

  Fifteen sail were the Dutchmen bold,
    Duncan he had but two;
  But he anchored them fast where the Texel shoaled
    And his colours aloft he flew.
  "I've taken the depth to a fathom," he cried,
    "And I'll sink with a right good will,
  For I know when we're all of us under the tide,
    My flag will be fluttering still."

  Splinters were flying above, below,
    When Nelson sailed the Sound:
  "Mark you, I wouldn't be elsewhere now,"
    Said he, "for a thousand pound!"
  The Admiral's signal bade him fly,
    But he wickedly wagged his head,
  He clapped the glass to his sightless eye
    And "I'm damned if I see it," he said.

  Admirals all, they said their say
    (The echoes are ringing still),
  Admirals all, they went their way
    To the haven under the hill.

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  But they left us a kingdom none can take,
    The realm of the circling sea,
  To be ruled by the rightful sons of Blake
    And the Rodneys yet to be.

      Admirals all, for England's sake,
        Honour be yours and fame!
      And honour, as long as waves shall break,
        To Nelson's peerless name!

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San Stefano

(A BALLAD OF THE BOLD MENELAUS)

  It was morning at St. Helen's, in the great and gallant days,
    And the sea beneath the