Then sang the souls of the gentlemen-adventurers— "Ho, we revel in our chains O'er the sorrow that was Spain's; Heave or sink it, leave or drink it, we were masters of the sea!" Up spake the soul of a grey Gothavn 'speckshioner- "Oh, the ice-blink white and near, And the bowhead breaching clear! Will Ye whelm them all for wantonness that wallow in the sea?" Loud sang the souls of the jolly, jolly mariners, Crying, "Under Heaven, here is neither lead nor lee! Must we sing forevermore" On the windless, glassy floor? Take back your golden fiddles and we'll beat to open sea!" Then stooped the Lord, and He called the good sea up to Him, And 'stablished its borders unto all eternity, That such as have no pleasure For to praise the Lord by measure, They may enter into galleons and serve Him on the sea. Sun, wind, and cloud shall fail not from the face of it, And the ships shall go abroad To the Glory of the Lord Who heard the silly sailor-folks and gave them back their sea! RECESSIONAL (1897) GOD of our fathers, known of old, The tumult and the shouting dies; An humble and a contrite heart. Far-called, our navies melt away; On dune and headland sinks the fire: Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget-lest we forget! If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Or lesser breeds without the Law- For heathen heart that puts her trust Amen. INDEX OF FIRST LINES Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! . A golden gilliflower to-day Ah, Sunflower, weary of time Ah what avails the sceptred race, All in a moment through the gloom were seen And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, And wilt thou leave me thus? An hideous hole all vast, withouten shape, 45 As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow, 79 A stately pallace built of squared bricke, 61 As two whose love, first foolish, widening scope, 495 As under cover of departing day. 447 A sweet disorder in the dress 131 At Beauty's bar as I did stand, 43 A tear bedews my Delia's eye, 235 At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time, 470 Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughtered Saints, whose bones 179 Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art- Calme was the day, and through the trembling ayre 55 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, 51 418 Cupid and my Campaspe play'd. 76 |