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The Schoolfellow

Our game was his but yesteryear;

We wished him back; we could not know

The self-same hour we missed him here

He led the line that broke the foe.

Blood-red behind our guarded posts

Sank as of old and dying day;

The battle ceased; the mingled hosts

Weary and cheery went their way:

by Sir Henry Newbolt

Gillespie

Riding at dawn, riding alone,

Gillespie left the town behind;

Before he turned by the Westward road

A horseman crossed him, staggering blind.

"The Devil's abroad in false Vellore,

The Devil that stabs by night," he said,

"Women and children, rank and file,

Dying and dead, dying and dead."

by Sir Henry Newbolt

A Song Of Exmoor

The Forest above and the Combe below,

On a bright September morn!

He's the soul of a clod who thanks not God

That ever his body was born!

So hurry along, the stag's afoot,

The Master's up and away!

Halloo! Halloo! we'll follow it through

From Bratton to Porlock Bay!

by Sir Henry Newbolt

The Only Son

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?

In the great window as the day was dwindlingI saw an old man stand;His head was proudly held and his eyes kindling,But the list shook in his hand."

O wind of twilight, was there no word uttered,

No sound of joy or wail?

'A great fight and a good death,' he muttered;'Trust him, he would not fail.'"

by Sir Henry Newbolt

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.

The phantom sky-line of a shadowy down,

Whose pale white cliffs below

by Sir Henry Newbolt

From Generation To Generation

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

Cannot repay the dead, the hungry dead.

by Sir Henry Newbolt

For A Trafalgar Cenotaph

Lover of England, stand awhile and gaze

With thankful heart, and lips refrained from praise;

They rest beyond the speech of human pride

Who served with Nelson and with Nelson died.

by Sir Henry Newbolt

The Toy Band

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,

Oh! if I'd a fife to wheedle, Come, boys, come!

You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,

Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!

by Sir Henry Newbolt

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!

by Sir Henry Newbolt

The Volunteer

He leap to arms unbidden,

Unneeded, over-bold;

His face by earth is hidden,

His heart in earth is cold.

Curse on the reckless daring

That could not wait the call,

The proud fantastic bearing

That would be first to fall!

by Sir Henry Newbolt

Craven

Over the turret, shut in his iron-clad tower,

Craven was conning his ship through smoke and flame;

Gun to gun he had battered the fort for an hour,

Now was the time for a charge to end the game.

There lay the narrowing channel, smooth and grim,

A hundred deaths beneath it, and never a sign;

There lay the enemy's ships, and sink or swim

The flag was flying, and he was head of the line.

by Sir Henry Newbolt

Ireland, Ireland

Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,

Down thy valleys green and sad,

Still thy spirit wanders wailing,

Wanders wailing, wanders mad.

Long ago that anguish took thee,

Ireland, Ireland, green and fair,

Spoilers strong in darkness took thee,

Broke thy heart and left thee there.

by Sir Henry Newbolt