Imágenes de página

We bridge across the dark and bid the helmsman have

a care,

The flash that wheeling inland wakes his sleeping wife

to prayer;

From our vexed eyries, head to gale, we bind in burning chains

The lover from the sea-rim drawn-his love in English lanes.

We greet the clippers wing-and-wing that race the Southern wool;

We warn the crawling cargo-tanks of Bremen, Leith, and Hull;

To each and all our equal lamp at peril of the seaThe white wall-sided warships or the whalers of Dundee!

Come up, come in from Eastward, from the guard-ports of the Morn!

Beat up, beat in from Southerly, O gipsies of the Horn! Swift shuttles of an Empire's loom that weave us, main to main,

The Coastwise Lights of England give you welcome back again!

Go, get you gone up-Channel with the sea-crust on your


Go, get you into London with the burden of your freights!

Haste, for they talk of Empire there, and say, if any


The Lights of England sent you and by silence shall ye




Hear now the Song of the Dead-in the North by the torn berg-edges

They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hidestripped sledges.

Song of the Dead in the South-in the sun by their skeleton horses,

Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust of the sere river-courses.

Song of the Dead in the East-in the heat-rotted jungle hollows,

Where the dog-ape barks in the kloof-in the brake of the buffalo-wallows.

Song of the Dead in the West-in the Barrens, the waste that betrayed them,

Where the wolverine tumbles their packs from the camp and the grave-mound they made them;

Hear now the Song of the Dead!


We were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled town;

We yearned beyond the sky-line where the strange roads go down.

Came the Whisper, came the Vision, came the Power with the Need,

Till the Soul that is not man's soul was lent us to lead. As the deer breaks-as the steer breaks-from the herd

where they graze,

In the faith of little children we went on our ways.

Then the wood failed-then the food failed-then the last water dried

In the faith of little children we lay down and died.
On the sand-drift-on the veldt-side-in the fern-scrub

we lay,

That our sons might follow after by the bones on the


Follow after-follow after! We have watered the root,
And the bud has come to blossom that ripens for fruit!
Follow after-we are waiting, by the trails that we lost,
For the sounds of many footsteps, for the tread of a host.
Follow after-follow after-for the harvest is sown:
By the bones about the wayside ye shall come to your

When Drake went down to the Horn

And England was crowned thereby,
'Twixt seas unsailed and shores unhailed
Our Lodge-our Lodge was born
(And England was crowned thereby!)

Which never shall close again

By day nor yet by night,

While man shall take his life to stake

At risk of shoal or main
(By day nor yet by night)

But standeth even so

As now we witness here,

While men depart, of joyful heart,
Adventure for to know

(As now bear witness here!)



We have fed our sea for a thousand years
And she calls us, still unfed,

Though there's never a wave of all her waves
But marks our English dead:

We have strawed our best to the weed's unrest,
To the shark and the sheering gull.
If blood be the price of admiralty,
Lord God, we ha' paid in full!

There's never a flood goes shoreward now
But lifts a keel we manned;

There's never an ebb goes seaward now
But drops our dead on the sand-
But slinks our dead on the sands forlore,
From the Ducies to the Swin.

If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
Lord God, we ha' paid it in!

We must feed our sea for a thousand years,
For that is our doom and pride,

As it was when they sailed with the 'Golden Hind,'
Or the wreck that struck last tide-

Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef

Where the ghastly blue-lights flare.

If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,
If blood be the price of admiralty,

Lord God, we ha' bought it fair!


The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from afar

Down to the dark, to the utter dark, where the blind

white sea-snakes are.

There is no sound, no echo of sound, in the deserts of the deep,

Or the great gray level plains of ooze where the shellburred cables creep.

Here in the womb of the world-here on the tie-ribs of earth

Words, and the words of men, flicker and flutter and beat

Warning, sorrow and gain, salutation and mirth—

For a Power troubles the Still that has neither voice nor feet.

They have wakened the timeless Things; they have killed their father Time;

Joining hands in the gloom, a league from the last of

the sun.

Hush! Men talk to-day o'er the waste of the ultimate slime,

And a new Word runs between: whispering, 'Let us be one!'


One from the ends of the earth-gifts at an open doorTreason has much, but we, Mother, thy sons have more! From the whine of a dying man, from the snarl of a wolf-pack freed,

« AnteriorContinuar »