MASCOTS

UP the well-remembered fairway, past the buoys and forts we drifted—Saw the houses, roads, and churches as they were a year ago.Far astern were wars and battles, all the dreary clouds were lifted,As we turned the Elbow Ledges—felt the engines ease to "Slow."Rusty side and dingy paintwork, stripped for war and cleared for battle—Saw the harbour-tugs around us—smelt the English fields again,—English fields and English hedges—sheep and horses, English cattle,Like a screen unrolled before us, through the mist of English rain.Slowly through the basin entrance—twenty thousand tons a-crawlingWith a thousand men aboard her, all a-weary of the War—Warped her round and laid alongside with the cobble-stones a-calling—"There's a special train awaiting, just for you to come ashore."Out again as fell the evening, down the harbour in the gloamingWith the sailors on the fo'c'sle looking wistfully a-lee—Just another year of waiting—just another year of roamingFor the Majesty of England—for the Freedom of the Sea.

UP the well-remembered fairway, past the buoys and forts we drifted—

Saw the houses, roads, and churches as they were a year ago.

Far astern were wars and battles, all the dreary clouds were lifted,

As we turned the Elbow Ledges—felt the engines ease to "Slow."

Rusty side and dingy paintwork, stripped for war and cleared for battle—Saw the harbour-tugs around us—smelt the English fields again,—English fields and English hedges—sheep and horses, English cattle,Like a screen unrolled before us, through the mist of English rain.

Rusty side and dingy paintwork, stripped for war and cleared for battle—

Saw the harbour-tugs around us—smelt the English fields again,—

English fields and English hedges—sheep and horses, English cattle,

Like a screen unrolled before us, through the mist of English rain.

Slowly through the basin entrance—twenty thousand tons a-crawlingWith a thousand men aboard her, all a-weary of the War—Warped her round and laid alongside with the cobble-stones a-calling—"There's a special train awaiting, just for you to come ashore."

Slowly through the basin entrance—twenty thousand tons a-crawling

With a thousand men aboard her, all a-weary of the War—

Warped her round and laid alongside with the cobble-stones a-calling—

"There's a special train awaiting, just for you to come ashore."

Out again as fell the evening, down the harbour in the gloamingWith the sailors on the fo'c'sle looking wistfully a-lee—Just another year of waiting—just another year of roamingFor the Majesty of England—for the Freedom of the Sea.

Out again as fell the evening, down the harbour in the gloaming

With the sailors on the fo'c'sle looking wistfully a-lee—

Just another year of waiting—just another year of roaming

For the Majesty of England—for the Freedom of the Sea.

WHENthe galleys of Phœnicia, through the gates of Hercules,SteeredSouth and West along the coast to seek the Tropic Seas,When they rounded Cape Agulhas, putting out from Table Bay,They started trading North again, as steamers do to-day.They dealt in gold and ivory and ostrich feathers too,With a little private trading by the officers and crew,Till rounding Guardafui, steering up for Aden town,The tall Phœnician Captain called the First Lieutenant down."By all the Tyrian purple robes that you will never wear,By the Temples of Zimbabwe, by King Solomon I swear,The ship is like a stable, like a Carthaginian sty.I am Captain here—confound you!—or I'll know the reason why.Every sailor in the galley has a monkey or a goat;There are parrots in the eyes of her and serpents in the boat.By the roaring fire of Baal, I'll not have it any more:Heave them over by the sunset, or I'll hang you at the fore!""What is that, sir?Notas cargo?Nota bit of private trade?Well, of all the dumbest idiots you're the dumbest ever made,Standing there and looking silly:leave the animals alone."(Sailors with a tropic liver always have a brutal tone.)"By the crescent of Astarte, I am not religious—yet—I would sooner spill the table salt than kill a sailor's pet."

WHENthe galleys of Phœnicia, through the gates of Hercules,

SteeredSouth and West along the coast to seek the Tropic Seas,

When they rounded Cape Agulhas, putting out from Table Bay,

They started trading North again, as steamers do to-day.

They dealt in gold and ivory and ostrich feathers too,

With a little private trading by the officers and crew,

Till rounding Guardafui, steering up for Aden town,

The tall Phœnician Captain called the First Lieutenant down.

"By all the Tyrian purple robes that you will never wear,

By the Temples of Zimbabwe, by King Solomon I swear,

The ship is like a stable, like a Carthaginian sty.

I am Captain here—confound you!—or I'll know the reason why.

Every sailor in the galley has a monkey or a goat;

There are parrots in the eyes of her and serpents in the boat.

By the roaring fire of Baal, I'll not have it any more:

Heave them over by the sunset, or I'll hang you at the fore!"

"What is that, sir?Notas cargo?Nota bit of private trade?

Well, of all the dumbest idiots you're the dumbest ever made,

Standing there and looking silly:leave the animals alone."

(Sailors with a tropic liver always have a brutal tone.)

"By the crescent of Astarte, I am not religious—yet—

I would sooner spill the table salt than kill a sailor's pet."

YOU wrote a pretty hymn of Hate,That won the Kaiser's praise,Which showed your nasty mental state,And made us laugh for days.I can't compete with such as youIn doggerel of mine,But this is certain—andit's true,You bloody-handed swine—We do not mouth a song of hate, or talk about you—much,We do not mention things like you—it wouldn't be polite;One doesn't talk in drawing-rooms of Prussian dirt and such,We only want to kill you off—so roll along and fight.For men like you with filthy minds, you leave a nasty taste,We can't forget your triumphs with the girls you met in France.By your standards of morality, gorillas would be chaste,And you consummate your triumphs with the bayonet and the lance.You give us mental pictures of your officers at play,With naked girls a-dancing on the table as you dine,With their mothers cut to pieces, in the knightly German way,In the corners of the guard-room in a pool of blood and wine.You had better stay in Germany, and never go abroad,For wherever you may wander you will find your fame has gone,For you are outcasts from the lists, with rust upon your sword—The blood of many innocents—of children newly born.You are bestial men and beastly, and we would not ask you homeTo meet our wives and daughters, for we doubt that you are clean;You will find your fame in front of you wherever you may roam,You—who came through burning Belgium with the ladies for a screen.You—who love to hear the screaming of a girl beneath the knife,In the midst of your companions, with their craning, eager necks;When you crown your German mercy, and you take a sobbing life—You are not exactly gentlemen towards the gentle sex.With your rapings in the market-place and slaughter of the weak,With your gross and leering conduct, and your utter lack of shame,—When we note in all your doings such a nasty yellow streak,You show surprise at our disgust, and say you're not to blame.We don't want any whinings, and we'd sooner wait for peaceTill you realise your position, and you know you whine in vain;And you stand within a circle of the Cleaner World's Police,And we goad you into charging—and we clean the world again.For you should know that never shall you meet us as before,That none will take you by the hand or greet you as a friend;So stay with it, and finish it—who brought about the War—And when you've paid for all you've done—well, that will be the End.

YOU wrote a pretty hymn of Hate,

That won the Kaiser's praise,

Which showed your nasty mental state,

And made us laugh for days.

I can't compete with such as you

In doggerel of mine,

But this is certain—andit's true,

You bloody-handed swine—

We do not mouth a song of hate, or talk about you—much,We do not mention things like you—it wouldn't be polite;One doesn't talk in drawing-rooms of Prussian dirt and such,We only want to kill you off—so roll along and fight.

We do not mouth a song of hate, or talk about you—much,

We do not mention things like you—it wouldn't be polite;

One doesn't talk in drawing-rooms of Prussian dirt and such,

We only want to kill you off—so roll along and fight.

For men like you with filthy minds, you leave a nasty taste,We can't forget your triumphs with the girls you met in France.By your standards of morality, gorillas would be chaste,And you consummate your triumphs with the bayonet and the lance.

For men like you with filthy minds, you leave a nasty taste,

We can't forget your triumphs with the girls you met in France.

By your standards of morality, gorillas would be chaste,

And you consummate your triumphs with the bayonet and the lance.

You give us mental pictures of your officers at play,With naked girls a-dancing on the table as you dine,With their mothers cut to pieces, in the knightly German way,In the corners of the guard-room in a pool of blood and wine.

You give us mental pictures of your officers at play,

With naked girls a-dancing on the table as you dine,

With their mothers cut to pieces, in the knightly German way,

In the corners of the guard-room in a pool of blood and wine.

You had better stay in Germany, and never go abroad,For wherever you may wander you will find your fame has gone,For you are outcasts from the lists, with rust upon your sword—The blood of many innocents—of children newly born.

You had better stay in Germany, and never go abroad,

For wherever you may wander you will find your fame has gone,

For you are outcasts from the lists, with rust upon your sword—

The blood of many innocents—of children newly born.

You are bestial men and beastly, and we would not ask you homeTo meet our wives and daughters, for we doubt that you are clean;You will find your fame in front of you wherever you may roam,You—who came through burning Belgium with the ladies for a screen.

You are bestial men and beastly, and we would not ask you home

To meet our wives and daughters, for we doubt that you are clean;

You will find your fame in front of you wherever you may roam,

You—who came through burning Belgium with the ladies for a screen.

You—who love to hear the screaming of a girl beneath the knife,In the midst of your companions, with their craning, eager necks;When you crown your German mercy, and you take a sobbing life—You are not exactly gentlemen towards the gentle sex.

You—who love to hear the screaming of a girl beneath the knife,

In the midst of your companions, with their craning, eager necks;

When you crown your German mercy, and you take a sobbing life—

You are not exactly gentlemen towards the gentle sex.

With your rapings in the market-place and slaughter of the weak,With your gross and leering conduct, and your utter lack of shame,—When we note in all your doings such a nasty yellow streak,You show surprise at our disgust, and say you're not to blame.

With your rapings in the market-place and slaughter of the weak,

With your gross and leering conduct, and your utter lack of shame,—

When we note in all your doings such a nasty yellow streak,

You show surprise at our disgust, and say you're not to blame.

We don't want any whinings, and we'd sooner wait for peaceTill you realise your position, and you know you whine in vain;And you stand within a circle of the Cleaner World's Police,And we goad you into charging—and we clean the world again.

We don't want any whinings, and we'd sooner wait for peace

Till you realise your position, and you know you whine in vain;

And you stand within a circle of the Cleaner World's Police,

And we goad you into charging—and we clean the world again.

For you should know that never shall you meet us as before,That none will take you by the hand or greet you as a friend;So stay with it, and finish it—who brought about the War—And when you've paid for all you've done—well, that will be the End.

For you should know that never shall you meet us as before,

That none will take you by the hand or greet you as a friend;

So stay with it, and finish it—who brought about the War—

And when you've paid for all you've done—well, that will be the End.

THE way of a ship at racing speedIn a bit of a rising gale,The way of a horse of the only breedAt a Droxford post-and-rail,The way of a brand-new aeroplaneOn a frosty winter dawn.You'll come back to those again;Wheel or cloche or slender reinWill keep you young and clean and sane,And glad that you were born.The power and drive beneath me now are above the power of kings,It's mine the word that lets her loose and in my ear she sings—"Mark now the way I sport and play with the rising hunted sea,Across my grain in cold disdain their ranks are hurled at me;But down my wake is a foam-white lake, the remnant of their line,That broke and died beneath my pride—your foemen, man, and mine."The perfect tapered hull below is a dream of line and curve,An artist's vision in steel and bronze for gods and men to serve.If ever a statue came to life, you quivering slender thing,It ought to be you—my racing girl—as the Amazon song you sing.Down the valley and up the slope we run from scent to view."Steady, you villain—you know too much—I'm not so wild as you;You'll get me cursed if you catch him first—there's at least a mile to go,So swallow your pride and ease your stride, and take your fences slow.Your high-pricked ears as the jump appears are comforting things to see;Your easy gallop and bending neck are signals flying to me.You wouldn't refuse if it was wire with calthrops down in front,And there we are with a foot to spare—you best of all the Hunt!"Great sloping shoulders galloping strong, and a yard of floating tail,A fine old Irish gentleman, and a Hampshire post-and-rail.The sun on the fields a mile below is glinting off the grassThat slides along like a rolling map as under the clouds I pass.The early shadows of byre and hedge are dwindling dark belowAs up the stair of the morning air on my idle wheels I go,—Nothing to do but let her alone—she's flying herself to-day;Unless I chuck her about a bit—there isn't a bump or sway.Sothere'sa bank at ninety-five—and here's a spin and a spiral dive,And here we are again.Andthat'sa roll and twist around, and that's the sky and there's the ground,And I and the aeroplaneAre doing a glide, but upside down, and that's a village and that's a town—And now we're rolling back.Andthisis the way we climb and stall and sit up and beg on nothing at all,The wires and strainers slack.And now we'll try and be good some more, and open the throttle and hear her roarAnd steer for London Town.For there never a pilot yet was born who flew a machine on a frosty mornBut started stunting soon,To feel if his wires were really there, or whether he flewon ice or air,Or whether his hands were gloved or bare,Or he sat in a free balloon.

THE way of a ship at racing speed

In a bit of a rising gale,

The way of a horse of the only breed

At a Droxford post-and-rail,

The way of a brand-new aeroplane

On a frosty winter dawn.

You'll come back to those again;

Wheel or cloche or slender rein

Will keep you young and clean and sane,

And glad that you were born.

The power and drive beneath me now are above the power of kings,It's mine the word that lets her loose and in my ear she sings—"Mark now the way I sport and play with the rising hunted sea,Across my grain in cold disdain their ranks are hurled at me;But down my wake is a foam-white lake, the remnant of their line,That broke and died beneath my pride—your foemen, man, and mine."The perfect tapered hull below is a dream of line and curve,An artist's vision in steel and bronze for gods and men to serve.If ever a statue came to life, you quivering slender thing,It ought to be you—my racing girl—as the Amazon song you sing.

The power and drive beneath me now are above the power of kings,

It's mine the word that lets her loose and in my ear she sings—

"Mark now the way I sport and play with the rising hunted sea,

Across my grain in cold disdain their ranks are hurled at me;

But down my wake is a foam-white lake, the remnant of their line,

That broke and died beneath my pride—your foemen, man, and mine."

The perfect tapered hull below is a dream of line and curve,

An artist's vision in steel and bronze for gods and men to serve.

If ever a statue came to life, you quivering slender thing,

It ought to be you—my racing girl—as the Amazon song you sing.

Down the valley and up the slope we run from scent to view."Steady, you villain—you know too much—I'm not so wild as you;You'll get me cursed if you catch him first—there's at least a mile to go,So swallow your pride and ease your stride, and take your fences slow.Your high-pricked ears as the jump appears are comforting things to see;Your easy gallop and bending neck are signals flying to me.You wouldn't refuse if it was wire with calthrops down in front,And there we are with a foot to spare—you best of all the Hunt!"Great sloping shoulders galloping strong, and a yard of floating tail,A fine old Irish gentleman, and a Hampshire post-and-rail.

Down the valley and up the slope we run from scent to view.

"Steady, you villain—you know too much—I'm not so wild as you;

You'll get me cursed if you catch him first—there's at least a mile to go,

So swallow your pride and ease your stride, and take your fences slow.

Your high-pricked ears as the jump appears are comforting things to see;

Your easy gallop and bending neck are signals flying to me.

You wouldn't refuse if it was wire with calthrops down in front,

And there we are with a foot to spare—you best of all the Hunt!"

Great sloping shoulders galloping strong, and a yard of floating tail,

A fine old Irish gentleman, and a Hampshire post-and-rail.

The sun on the fields a mile below is glinting off the grassThat slides along like a rolling map as under the clouds I pass.The early shadows of byre and hedge are dwindling dark belowAs up the stair of the morning air on my idle wheels I go,—Nothing to do but let her alone—she's flying herself to-day;Unless I chuck her about a bit—there isn't a bump or sway.Sothere'sa bank at ninety-five—and here's a spin and a spiral dive,And here we are again.Andthat'sa roll and twist around, and that's the sky and there's the ground,And I and the aeroplaneAre doing a glide, but upside down, and that's a village and that's a town—And now we're rolling back.Andthisis the way we climb and stall and sit up and beg on nothing at all,The wires and strainers slack.And now we'll try and be good some more, and open the throttle and hear her roarAnd steer for London Town.For there never a pilot yet was born who flew a machine on a frosty mornBut started stunting soon,To feel if his wires were really there, or whether he flewon ice or air,Or whether his hands were gloved or bare,Or he sat in a free balloon.

The sun on the fields a mile below is glinting off the grass

That slides along like a rolling map as under the clouds I pass.

The early shadows of byre and hedge are dwindling dark below

As up the stair of the morning air on my idle wheels I go,—

Nothing to do but let her alone—she's flying herself to-day;

Unless I chuck her about a bit—there isn't a bump or sway.

Sothere'sa bank at ninety-five—and here's a spin and a spiral dive,

And here we are again.

Andthat'sa roll and twist around, and that's the sky and there's the ground,

And I and the aeroplane

Are doing a glide, but upside down, and that's a village and that's a town—

And now we're rolling back.

Andthisis the way we climb and stall and sit up and beg on nothing at all,

The wires and strainers slack.

And now we'll try and be good some more, and open the throttle and hear her roar

And steer for London Town.

For there never a pilot yet was born who flew a machine on a frosty morn

But started stunting soon,

To feel if his wires were really there, or whether he flew

on ice or air,

Or whether his hands were gloved or bare,

Or he sat in a free balloon.

BACK from battle, torn and rent,Listing bridge and stanchions bentBy the angry sea.By Thy guiding mercy sent,Fruitful was the road we went—Back from battle we.If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm,If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home,When against us men arose and sought to work us harm,We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam.Heaving sea and cloudy skySaw the battle flashing byAs Thy foemen ran.By Thy grace, that made them fly,We have seen two hundred dieSince the fight began.If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right,If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord!If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fight,We never should have closed with them—Thy seas are dark and broad.Through the iron rain they fled,Bearing home the tale of dead,Flying from Thy sword.After-hatch to fo'c'sle head,We have turned their decks to red,By Thy help, O Lord!It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown,But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud;It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone,When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud.Sixty miles of running fight,Finished at the dawning light,Off the Zuider Zee.Thou that helped throughout the nightWeary hand and aching sight,Praise, O Lord, to Thee.

BACK from battle, torn and rent,Listing bridge and stanchions bentBy the angry sea.By Thy guiding mercy sent,Fruitful was the road we went—Back from battle we.

BACK from battle, torn and rent,

Listing bridge and stanchions bent

By the angry sea.

By Thy guiding mercy sent,

Fruitful was the road we went—

Back from battle we.

If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm,If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home,When against us men arose and sought to work us harm,We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam.

If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm,

If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home,

When against us men arose and sought to work us harm,

We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam.

Heaving sea and cloudy skySaw the battle flashing byAs Thy foemen ran.By Thy grace, that made them fly,We have seen two hundred dieSince the fight began.

Heaving sea and cloudy sky

Saw the battle flashing by

As Thy foemen ran.

By Thy grace, that made them fly,

We have seen two hundred die

Since the fight began.

If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right,If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord!If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fight,We never should have closed with them—Thy seas are dark and broad.

If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right,

If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord!

If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fight,

We never should have closed with them—Thy seas are dark and broad.

Through the iron rain they fled,Bearing home the tale of dead,Flying from Thy sword.After-hatch to fo'c'sle head,We have turned their decks to red,By Thy help, O Lord!

Through the iron rain they fled,

Bearing home the tale of dead,

Flying from Thy sword.

After-hatch to fo'c'sle head,

We have turned their decks to red,

By Thy help, O Lord!

It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown,But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud;It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone,When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud.

It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown,

But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud;

It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone,

When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud.

Sixty miles of running fight,Finished at the dawning light,Off the Zuider Zee.Thou that helped throughout the nightWeary hand and aching sight,Praise, O Lord, to Thee.

Sixty miles of running fight,

Finished at the dawning light,

Off the Zuider Zee.

Thou that helped throughout the night

Weary hand and aching sight,

Praise, O Lord, to Thee.

WEare coming from the ranch, from the city and the mine,And the word has gone before us to the towns upon the Rhine;As the rising of the tideOn the Old-World side,We are coming to the battle, to the Line.From the valleys of Virginia, from the Rockies in the North,We are coming by battalions, for the word was carried forth:"We have put the pen away,And the sword is out to-day,For the Lord has loosed the Vintages of Wrath."We are singing in the ships as they carry us to fight,As our fathers sang before us by the camp-fires' light;In the wharf-light glareThey can hear us Over There,When the ships come steaming through the night.Right across the deep Atlantic where theLusitaniapassed,With the battle-flag of Yankeeland a-floating at the mast,We are coming all the while,Over twenty hundred mile,And were staying to the finish, to the last.We are many—we are one—and we're in it overhead,We are coming as an Army that has seen its women dead,And the old Rebel YellWill be loud above the shellWhen we cross the top together, seeing red.

WEare coming from the ranch, from the city and the mine,

And the word has gone before us to the towns upon the Rhine;

As the rising of the tide

On the Old-World side,

We are coming to the battle, to the Line.

From the valleys of Virginia, from the Rockies in the North,We are coming by battalions, for the word was carried forth:"We have put the pen away,And the sword is out to-day,For the Lord has loosed the Vintages of Wrath."

From the valleys of Virginia, from the Rockies in the North,

We are coming by battalions, for the word was carried forth:

"We have put the pen away,

And the sword is out to-day,

For the Lord has loosed the Vintages of Wrath."

We are singing in the ships as they carry us to fight,As our fathers sang before us by the camp-fires' light;In the wharf-light glareThey can hear us Over There,When the ships come steaming through the night.

We are singing in the ships as they carry us to fight,

As our fathers sang before us by the camp-fires' light;

In the wharf-light glare

They can hear us Over There,

When the ships come steaming through the night.

Right across the deep Atlantic where theLusitaniapassed,With the battle-flag of Yankeeland a-floating at the mast,We are coming all the while,Over twenty hundred mile,And were staying to the finish, to the last.

Right across the deep Atlantic where theLusitaniapassed,

With the battle-flag of Yankeeland a-floating at the mast,

We are coming all the while,

Over twenty hundred mile,

And were staying to the finish, to the last.

We are many—we are one—and we're in it overhead,We are coming as an Army that has seen its women dead,And the old Rebel YellWill be loud above the shellWhen we cross the top together, seeing red.

We are many—we are one—and we're in it overhead,

We are coming as an Army that has seen its women dead,

And the old Rebel Yell

Will be loud above the shell

When we cross the top together, seeing red.

WHENthe pitiless gong rings out again, and they whip your chair away,When you feel you'd like to take the floor, whatever the crowd should say,When the hammering gloves come back again, and the world goes round your head,When you know your arms are only wax, your hands of useless lead,When you feel you'd give your heart and soul for a chance to clinch and rest,And through your brain the whisper comes,"Give in, you've done your best,"—Why, stiffen your knees and brace your back, and take my word as true—If the man in front has got you weak, he's just as tired as you.He can't attack through a gruelling fight and finish as he began;He's done more work than you to-day—you're just as fine a man.So call your last reserve of pluck—he's careless with his chin—You'll put it across him every time—Go in—Go in—Go in!

WHENthe pitiless gong rings out again, and they whip your chair away,

When you feel you'd like to take the floor, whatever the crowd should say,

When the hammering gloves come back again, and the world goes round your head,

When you know your arms are only wax, your hands of useless lead,

When you feel you'd give your heart and soul for a chance to clinch and rest,

And through your brain the whisper comes,

"Give in, you've done your best,"—

Why, stiffen your knees and brace your back, and take my word as true—

If the man in front has got you weak, he's just as tired as you.

He can't attack through a gruelling fight and finish as he began;

He's done more work than you to-day—you're just as fine a man.

So call your last reserve of pluck—he's careless with his chin—

You'll put it across him every time—Go in—Go in—Go in!

Imustn't look up from the compass-card, nor look at the seas at all,I must watch the helm and compass-card,—If I heard the trumpet-callOf Gabriel sounding Judgment Day to dry the Seas again,I must hold her bow to windward now till I'm relieved again—To the pipe and wail of a tearing gale,Carrying Starboard Ten.I must stare and frown at the compass-card, that chases round the bowl,North and South and back again with every lurching roll.By the feel of the ship beneath I know the way she's going to swing,But I mustn't look up to the booming wind however the halliards sing—In a breaking sea with the land a-lee,Carrying Starboard Ten.And I stoop to look at the compass-card as closes in the night,For it's hard to see by the shaded glow of half a candle-light;But the spokes are bright, and I note beside in the corner of my eyeA shimmer of light on oilskin wet that shows the Owner nigh—Foggy and thick and a windy trick,Carrying Starboard Ten.Heave and sway or dive and roll can never disturb me now;Though seas may sweep in rivers of foam across the straining bow,I've got my eyes on the compass-card, and though she broke her keelAnd hit the bottom beneath us now, you'd find me at the wheel—In Davy's realm, still at the helm,Carrying Starboard Ten.

Imustn't look up from the compass-card, nor look at the seas at all,

I must watch the helm and compass-card,—If I heard the trumpet-call

Of Gabriel sounding Judgment Day to dry the Seas again,

I must hold her bow to windward now till I'm relieved again—

To the pipe and wail of a tearing gale,

Carrying Starboard Ten.

I must stare and frown at the compass-card, that chases round the bowl,North and South and back again with every lurching roll.By the feel of the ship beneath I know the way she's going to swing,But I mustn't look up to the booming wind however the halliards sing—In a breaking sea with the land a-lee,Carrying Starboard Ten.

I must stare and frown at the compass-card, that chases round the bowl,

North and South and back again with every lurching roll.

By the feel of the ship beneath I know the way she's going to swing,

But I mustn't look up to the booming wind however the halliards sing—

In a breaking sea with the land a-lee,

Carrying Starboard Ten.

And I stoop to look at the compass-card as closes in the night,For it's hard to see by the shaded glow of half a candle-light;But the spokes are bright, and I note beside in the corner of my eyeA shimmer of light on oilskin wet that shows the Owner nigh—Foggy and thick and a windy trick,Carrying Starboard Ten.

And I stoop to look at the compass-card as closes in the night,

For it's hard to see by the shaded glow of half a candle-light;

But the spokes are bright, and I note beside in the corner of my eye

A shimmer of light on oilskin wet that shows the Owner nigh—

Foggy and thick and a windy trick,

Carrying Starboard Ten.

Heave and sway or dive and roll can never disturb me now;Though seas may sweep in rivers of foam across the straining bow,I've got my eyes on the compass-card, and though she broke her keelAnd hit the bottom beneath us now, you'd find me at the wheel—In Davy's realm, still at the helm,Carrying Starboard Ten.

Heave and sway or dive and roll can never disturb me now;

Though seas may sweep in rivers of foam across the straining bow,

I've got my eyes on the compass-card, and though she broke her keel

And hit the bottom beneath us now, you'd find me at the wheel—

In Davy's realm, still at the helm,

Carrying Starboard Ten.

THEY called us up from England at the breaking of the day,And the wireless whisper caught us from a hundred leagues away—"Sentries at the Outer Line,All that hold the countersign,Listen in the North Sea—news for you to-day."All across the waters, at the paling of the morn,The wireless whispered softly ere the summer day was born—"Be you near or ranging far,By the Varne or Weser bar,The Fleet is out and steaming to the Eastward and the dawn."Far and away to the North and West, in the dancing glare of the sunlit ocean,Just a haze, a shimmer of smoke-cloud, grew and broadened many a mile;Low and long and faint and spreading, banner and van of a world in motion,Creeping out to the North and West, it hung in the skies alone awhile.Then from over the brooding haze the roar of murmuring engines swelled,And the men of the air looked down to us, a mile below their feet;Down the wind they passed above, their course to the silver sun-track held,And we looked back to the West again, and saw the English Fleet.Over the curve of the rounded sea, in ordered lines as the ranks of Rome,Over the far horizon steamed a power that held us dumb,—Miles of racing lines of steel that flattened the sea to a field of foam,Rolling deep to the wash they made,We saw, to the threat of a German blade,The Shield of England come.

THEY called us up from England at the breaking of the day,

And the wireless whisper caught us from a hundred leagues away—

"Sentries at the Outer Line,

All that hold the countersign,

Listen in the North Sea—news for you to-day."

All across the waters, at the paling of the morn,The wireless whispered softly ere the summer day was born—"Be you near or ranging far,By the Varne or Weser bar,The Fleet is out and steaming to the Eastward and the dawn."

All across the waters, at the paling of the morn,

The wireless whispered softly ere the summer day was born—

"Be you near or ranging far,

By the Varne or Weser bar,

The Fleet is out and steaming to the Eastward and the dawn."

Far and away to the North and West, in the dancing glare of the sunlit ocean,Just a haze, a shimmer of smoke-cloud, grew and broadened many a mile;Low and long and faint and spreading, banner and van of a world in motion,Creeping out to the North and West, it hung in the skies alone awhile.

Far and away to the North and West, in the dancing glare of the sunlit ocean,

Just a haze, a shimmer of smoke-cloud, grew and broadened many a mile;

Low and long and faint and spreading, banner and van of a world in motion,

Creeping out to the North and West, it hung in the skies alone awhile.

Then from over the brooding haze the roar of murmuring engines swelled,And the men of the air looked down to us, a mile below their feet;Down the wind they passed above, their course to the silver sun-track held,And we looked back to the West again, and saw the English Fleet.

Then from over the brooding haze the roar of murmuring engines swelled,

And the men of the air looked down to us, a mile below their feet;

Down the wind they passed above, their course to the silver sun-track held,

And we looked back to the West again, and saw the English Fleet.

Over the curve of the rounded sea, in ordered lines as the ranks of Rome,Over the far horizon steamed a power that held us dumb,—Miles of racing lines of steel that flattened the sea to a field of foam,Rolling deep to the wash they made,We saw, to the threat of a German blade,The Shield of England come.

Over the curve of the rounded sea, in ordered lines as the ranks of Rome,

Over the far horizon steamed a power that held us dumb,—

Miles of racing lines of steel that flattened the sea to a field of foam,

Rolling deep to the wash they made,

We saw, to the threat of a German blade,

The Shield of England come.

THE sentries at the Castle Gate,We hold the outer wall,That echoes to the roar of hateAnd savage bugle-call—Of those that seek to enter in with steel and eager flame,To leave you with but eyes to weep the day the Germans came.Though we may catch from out the KeepA whining voice of fear,Of one who whispers "Rest and sleep,And lay aside the spear,"We pay no heed to such as he, as soft as we are hard;We take our word from men alone—the men that rule the guard.We hear behind us now and thenThe voices of the grooms,And bickerings of serving-menCome faintly from the rooms;But let them squabble as they please, we will not turn aside,But—curse to think it was for them that fighting men have died.Whatever they may say or try,We shall not pay them heed;And though they wail and talk and lie,We hold our simple Creed—No matter what the cravens say, however loud the din,Our Watch is on the Castle Gate, and none shall enter in.

THE sentries at the Castle Gate,

We hold the outer wall,

That echoes to the roar of hate

And savage bugle-call—

Of those that seek to enter in with steel and eager flame,

To leave you with but eyes to weep the day the Germans came.

Though we may catch from out the KeepA whining voice of fear,Of one who whispers "Rest and sleep,And lay aside the spear,"We pay no heed to such as he, as soft as we are hard;We take our word from men alone—the men that rule the guard.

Though we may catch from out the Keep

A whining voice of fear,

Of one who whispers "Rest and sleep,

And lay aside the spear,"

We pay no heed to such as he, as soft as we are hard;

We take our word from men alone—the men that rule the guard.

We hear behind us now and thenThe voices of the grooms,And bickerings of serving-menCome faintly from the rooms;But let them squabble as they please, we will not turn aside,But—curse to think it was for them that fighting men have died.

We hear behind us now and then

The voices of the grooms,

And bickerings of serving-men

Come faintly from the rooms;

But let them squabble as they please, we will not turn aside,

But—curse to think it was for them that fighting men have died.

Whatever they may say or try,We shall not pay them heed;And though they wail and talk and lie,We hold our simple Creed—No matter what the cravens say, however loud the din,Our Watch is on the Castle Gate, and none shall enter in.

Whatever they may say or try,

We shall not pay them heed;

And though they wail and talk and lie,

We hold our simple Creed—

No matter what the cravens say, however loud the din,

Our Watch is on the Castle Gate, and none shall enter in.

WHENthe battle-worn Horatius, 'midst the cheering Roman throng—All flushed with pride and triumph as they carried him along—Reached the polished porch of marble at the doorway of his home,He felt himself an Emperor—the bravest man of Rome.The people slapped him on the back and knocked his helm askew,Then drifted back along the road to look for something new.Then Horatius sobered down a bit—as you would do to-day—And straightened down his tunic in a calm, collected way.He hung his battered helmet up and wiped his sandals dry,And set a parting in his hair—the same as you and I.His lady kissed him carefully and looked him up and down,And gently disengaged his arm to spare her snowy gown.Youarea real disgrace, you know, the worst I've ever seen;Now go and put your sword away, Iknowit isn't clean.And you must change your clothes at once, you're simply wringing wet;You've been doing something mischievous, I hope you lost your bet....Why! you're bleeding on the carpet. Who's the brute that hurt you so?Did you kill him?There's a darling!Serve him right for hitting low."Then she hustled lots of water, turning back her pretty sleeves,And she set him on the sofa (having taken off his greaves).And bold Horatius purred aloud, the stern Horatius smiled,And didn't seem to mind that he was treated like a child.Though she didn't call him Emperor, or cling to him and cry,Yet I rather think he liked it—just the same as you and I.

WHENthe battle-worn Horatius, 'midst the cheering Roman throng—

All flushed with pride and triumph as they carried him along—

Reached the polished porch of marble at the doorway of his home,

He felt himself an Emperor—the bravest man of Rome.

The people slapped him on the back and knocked his helm askew,

Then drifted back along the road to look for something new.

Then Horatius sobered down a bit—as you would do to-day—

And straightened down his tunic in a calm, collected way.

He hung his battered helmet up and wiped his sandals dry,

And set a parting in his hair—the same as you and I.

His lady kissed him carefully and looked him up and down,

And gently disengaged his arm to spare her snowy gown.

Youarea real disgrace, you know, the worst I've ever seen;

Now go and put your sword away, Iknowit isn't clean.

And you must change your clothes at once, you're simply wringing wet;

You've been doing something mischievous, I hope you lost your bet....

Why! you're bleeding on the carpet. Who's the brute that hurt you so?

Did you kill him?There's a darling!Serve him right for hitting low."

Then she hustled lots of water, turning back her pretty sleeves,

And she set him on the sofa (having taken off his greaves).

And bold Horatius purred aloud, the stern Horatius smiled,

And didn't seem to mind that he was treated like a child.

Though she didn't call him Emperor, or cling to him and cry,

Yet I rather think he liked it—just the same as you and I.

I'Mthe donkey-man of a dingy trampThey launched in 'Eighty-one,Rickety, old, and leaky too—but some o' the rivets are shining newBeneath our after-gun.An' she an' meself are off to seaFrom out o' the breaker's hands,An' we laugh to find such an altered game, for devil a thing we found the sameWhen we came off the land.We used to carry a freight of trashThat younger ships would scorn,But now we're running a decent trade—howitzer-shell and hand-grenade,Or best Alberta corn.We used to sneak an' smouch alongWi' rusty side an' rails,Hoot an' bellow of liners proud—"Give us the room that we're allowed;Get out o' the track—the Mails!"We sometimes met—an' took their wash—The 'aughty ships o' war,An' we dips to them—an' they to us—an' on they went in a tearin' fuss,But now they count us more.For now we're "England's Hope and Pride"—The Mercantile Marine,—"Bring us the goods and food we lack, because we're hungry, Merchant Jack"(As often I have been)."You're the man to save us now,We look to you to win;Wot'd yer like? A rise o' pay? We'll give whatever you like to say,But bring the cargoes in."An' here we are in the danger zone,Wi' escorts all around,Destroyers a-racing to and fro—"We will show you the way to go,An' guide you safe an' sound.""An' did you cross in a comfy way,Or did you have to run?An' is the patch on your hull we see the mark of a bump in 'Ninety-three,Or the work of a German gun?""We'll lead you now, and keep beside,An' call to all the Fleet,Clear the road and sweep us in—he carries a freight we need to win,A golden load of wheat."Yes, we're the hope of England now,And rank wi' the Navy too;An' all the papers speak us fair—"Nothing he will not lightly dare,Nothing he fears to do.""Be polite to Merchant Jack,Who brings you in the meat,For if he went on a striking lay, you'd have to go on your knees and pray,With never a bone to eat."But you can lay your papers downAn' set your fears aside,For we will keep the ocean free—we o' the clean an' open sea—To break the German pride.We won't go canny or strike for pay,Or say we need a rest;But you get on wi' the blinkin' War—an' not so much o' your strikes ashore,Or givin' the German best.

I'Mthe donkey-man of a dingy trampThey launched in 'Eighty-one,Rickety, old, and leaky too—but some o' the rivets are shining newBeneath our after-gun.

I'Mthe donkey-man of a dingy tramp

They launched in 'Eighty-one,

Rickety, old, and leaky too—but some o' the rivets are shining new

Beneath our after-gun.

An' she an' meself are off to seaFrom out o' the breaker's hands,An' we laugh to find such an altered game, for devil a thing we found the sameWhen we came off the land.

An' she an' meself are off to sea

From out o' the breaker's hands,

An' we laugh to find such an altered game, for devil a thing we found the same

When we came off the land.

We used to carry a freight of trashThat younger ships would scorn,But now we're running a decent trade—howitzer-shell and hand-grenade,Or best Alberta corn.

We used to carry a freight of trash

That younger ships would scorn,

But now we're running a decent trade—howitzer-shell and hand-grenade,

Or best Alberta corn.

We used to sneak an' smouch alongWi' rusty side an' rails,Hoot an' bellow of liners proud—"Give us the room that we're allowed;Get out o' the track—the Mails!"

We used to sneak an' smouch along

Wi' rusty side an' rails,

Hoot an' bellow of liners proud—"Give us the room that we're allowed;

Get out o' the track—the Mails!"

We sometimes met—an' took their wash—The 'aughty ships o' war,An' we dips to them—an' they to us—an' on they went in a tearin' fuss,But now they count us more.

We sometimes met—an' took their wash—

The 'aughty ships o' war,

An' we dips to them—an' they to us—an' on they went in a tearin' fuss,

But now they count us more.

For now we're "England's Hope and Pride"—The Mercantile Marine,—"Bring us the goods and food we lack, because we're hungry, Merchant Jack"(As often I have been).

For now we're "England's Hope and Pride"—

The Mercantile Marine,—

"Bring us the goods and food we lack, because we're hungry, Merchant Jack"

(As often I have been).

"You're the man to save us now,We look to you to win;Wot'd yer like? A rise o' pay? We'll give whatever you like to say,But bring the cargoes in."

"You're the man to save us now,

We look to you to win;

Wot'd yer like? A rise o' pay? We'll give whatever you like to say,

But bring the cargoes in."

An' here we are in the danger zone,Wi' escorts all around,Destroyers a-racing to and fro—"We will show you the way to go,An' guide you safe an' sound."

An' here we are in the danger zone,

Wi' escorts all around,

Destroyers a-racing to and fro—"We will show you the way to go,

An' guide you safe an' sound."

"An' did you cross in a comfy way,Or did you have to run?An' is the patch on your hull we see the mark of a bump in 'Ninety-three,Or the work of a German gun?"

"An' did you cross in a comfy way,

Or did you have to run?

An' is the patch on your hull we see the mark of a bump in 'Ninety-three,

Or the work of a German gun?"

"We'll lead you now, and keep beside,An' call to all the Fleet,Clear the road and sweep us in—he carries a freight we need to win,A golden load of wheat."

"We'll lead you now, and keep beside,

An' call to all the Fleet,

Clear the road and sweep us in—he carries a freight we need to win,

A golden load of wheat."

Yes, we're the hope of England now,And rank wi' the Navy too;An' all the papers speak us fair—"Nothing he will not lightly dare,Nothing he fears to do."

Yes, we're the hope of England now,

And rank wi' the Navy too;

An' all the papers speak us fair—"Nothing he will not lightly dare,

Nothing he fears to do."

"Be polite to Merchant Jack,Who brings you in the meat,For if he went on a striking lay, you'd have to go on your knees and pray,With never a bone to eat."

"Be polite to Merchant Jack,

Who brings you in the meat,

For if he went on a striking lay, you'd have to go on your knees and pray,

With never a bone to eat."

But you can lay your papers downAn' set your fears aside,For we will keep the ocean free—we o' the clean an' open sea—To break the German pride.

But you can lay your papers down

An' set your fears aside,

For we will keep the ocean free—we o' the clean an' open sea—

To break the German pride.

We won't go canny or strike for pay,Or say we need a rest;But you get on wi' the blinkin' War—an' not so much o' your strikes ashore,Or givin' the German best.

We won't go canny or strike for pay,

Or say we need a rest;

But you get on wi' the blinkin' War—an' not so much o' your strikes ashore,

Or givin' the German best.

WHENthe foe is pressing and the shells come downIna stream like maxim fire,When the long grey ranks seem to thicken all the while,And they stamp on the last of the wire,When all along the line comes a whisper on the windThat you hear through the drumming of the guns:"They are through over there and the right is in the air,And there isn't any end to the Huns,"—Then keep along a-shooting till you can't shoot more,And hit 'em with a shovel on the head.Don't forget a lot of folk have beaten them before,And a Hun'll never hurt you if he's dead.If you're in a hole and your hopes begin to fail,If you're in a losing fight,Think a bit of Jonah in the belly of the whale,'Cause-he-got-out-all-right.

WHENthe foe is pressing and the shells come down

Ina stream like maxim fire,

When the long grey ranks seem to thicken all the while,

And they stamp on the last of the wire,

When all along the line comes a whisper on the wind

That you hear through the drumming of the guns:

"They are through over there and the right is in the air,

And there isn't any end to the Huns,"—

Then keep along a-shooting till you can't shoot more,

And hit 'em with a shovel on the head.

Don't forget a lot of folk have beaten them before,

And a Hun'll never hurt you if he's dead.

If you're in a hole and your hopes begin to fail,

If you're in a losing fight,

Think a bit of Jonah in the belly of the whale,

'Cause-he-got-out-all-right.

WHENthe Spartan heroes triedTohold the broken gate,When—roaring like the rising tide—The Persian horsemen charged and diedIn foaming waves of hate.When with armour hacked and tornThey gripped their shields of brass,And hailed the gods that light the mornWith battle-cry of hope forlorn,"We shall not let them pass."While they combed their hair for deathBefore the Persian line,They spoke awhile with easy breath,"What think ye the Athenian saithIn Athens as they dine?""Doth he repent that we aloneAre here to hold the way,That he must reap what he hath sown—That only valour may atoneThe fault of yesterday?"Is he content that thou and I—Three hundred men in line—Should show him thus how man may tryTo stay the foemen passing byTo Athens, where they dine?"Ah! now the clashing cymbal rings,The mighty host is nigh;Let Athens talk of passing things—But here, three hundred Spartan kingsShall greet the fame the Persian bringsTo men about to die."

WHENthe Spartan heroes triedTohold the broken gate,When—roaring like the rising tide—The Persian horsemen charged and diedIn foaming waves of hate.

WHENthe Spartan heroes tried

Tohold the broken gate,

When—roaring like the rising tide—

The Persian horsemen charged and died

In foaming waves of hate.

When with armour hacked and tornThey gripped their shields of brass,And hailed the gods that light the mornWith battle-cry of hope forlorn,"We shall not let them pass."

When with armour hacked and torn

They gripped their shields of brass,

And hailed the gods that light the morn

With battle-cry of hope forlorn,

"We shall not let them pass."

While they combed their hair for deathBefore the Persian line,They spoke awhile with easy breath,"What think ye the Athenian saithIn Athens as they dine?"

While they combed their hair for death

Before the Persian line,

They spoke awhile with easy breath,

"What think ye the Athenian saith

In Athens as they dine?"

"Doth he repent that we aloneAre here to hold the way,That he must reap what he hath sown—That only valour may atoneThe fault of yesterday?

"Doth he repent that we alone

Are here to hold the way,

That he must reap what he hath sown—

That only valour may atone

The fault of yesterday?

"Is he content that thou and I—Three hundred men in line—Should show him thus how man may tryTo stay the foemen passing byTo Athens, where they dine?

"Is he content that thou and I—

Three hundred men in line—

Should show him thus how man may try

To stay the foemen passing by

To Athens, where they dine?

"Ah! now the clashing cymbal rings,The mighty host is nigh;Let Athens talk of passing things—But here, three hundred Spartan kingsShall greet the fame the Persian bringsTo men about to die."

"Ah! now the clashing cymbal rings,

The mighty host is nigh;

Let Athens talk of passing things—

But here, three hundred Spartan kings

Shall greet the fame the Persian brings

To men about to die."

THERE'S a whistle of the wind in the rigging overhead,And the tune is as plain as can be."Hey! down below there—d'you know it's going to blow there,All across the cold North Sea?"And along comes the gale from the locker in the NorthBy the Storm-King's hand set free,And the wind and the snow and the sleet come forth,Let loose to the cold North Sea.Tumble out the oilskins, the seas are running white,There's a wet watch due for me,For we're heading to the east, and a long wet nightAs we drive at the cold North Sea.See the water foaming as the waves go byLike the tide on the sands of Dee;Hear the gale a-piping in the halliards highTo the tune of the cold North Sea.See how she's meeting them, plunging all the while,Till I'm wet to the sea-boot knee;See how she's beating them—twenty to the mile—The waves of the cold North Sea.Right across from Helgoland to meet the English coast,Lie better than the likes of we,—Men that lived in many ways, but went to join the hostThat are buried by the cold North Sea.Rig along the life-lines, double-stay the rails,Lest the Storm-King call for a fee;For if any man should slip, through the rolling of the ship,He'd be lost in the cold North Sea.We are heading to the gale, and the driving of the sleet,And we're far to the east of Three.Hey! you German sailormen, here's the British FleetWaiting in the cold North Sea.

THERE'S a whistle of the wind in the rigging overhead,And the tune is as plain as can be."Hey! down below there—d'you know it's going to blow there,All across the cold North Sea?"

THERE'S a whistle of the wind in the rigging overhead,

And the tune is as plain as can be.

"Hey! down below there—d'you know it's going to blow there,

All across the cold North Sea?"

And along comes the gale from the locker in the NorthBy the Storm-King's hand set free,And the wind and the snow and the sleet come forth,Let loose to the cold North Sea.

And along comes the gale from the locker in the North

By the Storm-King's hand set free,

And the wind and the snow and the sleet come forth,

Let loose to the cold North Sea.

Tumble out the oilskins, the seas are running white,There's a wet watch due for me,For we're heading to the east, and a long wet nightAs we drive at the cold North Sea.

Tumble out the oilskins, the seas are running white,

There's a wet watch due for me,

For we're heading to the east, and a long wet night

As we drive at the cold North Sea.

See the water foaming as the waves go byLike the tide on the sands of Dee;Hear the gale a-piping in the halliards highTo the tune of the cold North Sea.

See the water foaming as the waves go by

Like the tide on the sands of Dee;

Hear the gale a-piping in the halliards high

To the tune of the cold North Sea.

See how she's meeting them, plunging all the while,Till I'm wet to the sea-boot knee;See how she's beating them—twenty to the mile—The waves of the cold North Sea.

See how she's meeting them, plunging all the while,

Till I'm wet to the sea-boot knee;

See how she's beating them—twenty to the mile—

The waves of the cold North Sea.

Right across from Helgoland to meet the English coast,Lie better than the likes of we,—Men that lived in many ways, but went to join the hostThat are buried by the cold North Sea.

Right across from Helgoland to meet the English coast,

Lie better than the likes of we,—

Men that lived in many ways, but went to join the host

That are buried by the cold North Sea.

Rig along the life-lines, double-stay the rails,Lest the Storm-King call for a fee;For if any man should slip, through the rolling of the ship,He'd be lost in the cold North Sea.

Rig along the life-lines, double-stay the rails,

Lest the Storm-King call for a fee;

For if any man should slip, through the rolling of the ship,

He'd be lost in the cold North Sea.

We are heading to the gale, and the driving of the sleet,And we're far to the east of Three.Hey! you German sailormen, here's the British FleetWaiting in the cold North Sea.

We are heading to the gale, and the driving of the sleet,

And we're far to the east of Three.

Hey! you German sailormen, here's the British Fleet

Waiting in the cold North Sea.

Along low ship from the Orkneys' sailed,With a full gale driving her along,Three score sailormen singing as they baledTo the tune of a Viking song—We have a luck-charmCarved on the tiller,Cut in the fore-roomSee we Thor's Hammer;Gods will protect usUnder a shield-burgh,Carved in the mast we—The Runes of Yggdrasil!But the Earl called down from the kicking tiller-head,"Six hands lay along to me!Tumble out the hawsers there, Skallagrim the Red!For a battle with a Berserk sea;Sing a song of work, of a well-stayed mast,Of clinch and rivet and pine,Of a bull's-hide sail we can carry to the lastOf a well-built ship like mine.Never mind the Runes on the bending treeOr the charms on the tiller that I hold,Trust to your hands and the Makers of the Sea,To the gods of the Viking bold!Thor of the Hammer—King of the Warriors,We are not thralls here—Men of the sea;We are not idle,Fight we as seamen,Worthy your aid then—Men of the Sea!"

Along low ship from the Orkneys' sailed,With a full gale driving her along,Three score sailormen singing as they baledTo the tune of a Viking song—

Along low ship from the Orkneys' sailed,

With a full gale driving her along,

Three score sailormen singing as they baled

To the tune of a Viking song—

We have a luck-charmCarved on the tiller,Cut in the fore-roomSee we Thor's Hammer;Gods will protect usUnder a shield-burgh,Carved in the mast we—The Runes of Yggdrasil!

We have a luck-charm

Carved on the tiller,

Cut in the fore-room

See we Thor's Hammer;

Gods will protect us

Under a shield-burgh,

Carved in the mast we—

The Runes of Yggdrasil!

But the Earl called down from the kicking tiller-head,"Six hands lay along to me!Tumble out the hawsers there, Skallagrim the Red!For a battle with a Berserk sea;Sing a song of work, of a well-stayed mast,Of clinch and rivet and pine,Of a bull's-hide sail we can carry to the lastOf a well-built ship like mine.Never mind the Runes on the bending treeOr the charms on the tiller that I hold,Trust to your hands and the Makers of the Sea,To the gods of the Viking bold!

But the Earl called down from the kicking tiller-head,

"Six hands lay along to me!

Tumble out the hawsers there, Skallagrim the Red!

For a battle with a Berserk sea;

Sing a song of work, of a well-stayed mast,

Of clinch and rivet and pine,

Of a bull's-hide sail we can carry to the last

Of a well-built ship like mine.

Never mind the Runes on the bending tree

Or the charms on the tiller that I hold,

Trust to your hands and the Makers of the Sea,

To the gods of the Viking bold!

Thor of the Hammer—King of the Warriors,We are not thralls here—Men of the sea;We are not idle,Fight we as seamen,Worthy your aid then—Men of the Sea!"

Thor of the Hammer—

King of the Warriors,

We are not thralls here

—Men of the sea;

We are not idle,

Fight we as seamen,

Worthy your aid then

—Men of the Sea!"

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