Twix' the Lizard and Dover

We hand our stuff over,

Though I may not inform how we do it, nor when;

But a light on each quarter

Low down on the water

Is well understanded by poor honest men!

Even then we have dangers

From meddlesome strangers

Who spy on our business and are not content

To take a smooth answer,

Except with a handspike

And they say they are murdered by poor honest men!

To be drowned or be shot

Is our natural lot,

Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the end-
After all our great pains

For to dangle in chains

As though we were smugglers, not poor honest men?

T

THE BOATS OF NEWHAVEN

HE boats of Newhaven and Folkestone and Dover
To Dieppe and Boulogne and to Calais cross over;

And in each of those runs there is not a square yard Where the English and French haven't fought and fought hard!

If the ships that were sunk could be floated once more,
They'd stretch like a raft from the shore to the shore,
And we'd see, as we crossed, every pattern and plan
Of ship that was built since sea-fighting began.

There'd be biremes and brigantines, cutters and sloops,
Cogs, carracks and galleons with gay gilded poops—
Hoys, caravels, ketches, corvettes and the rest,
As thick as regattas, from Ramsgate to Brest.

But the galleys of Cæsar, the squadrons of Sluys,
And Nelson's crack frigates are hid from our eyes,
Where the high Seventy-fours of Napoleon's days
Lie down with Deal luggers and French chasse-marees.

They'll answer no signal--they rest on the ooze
With their honeycombed guns and their skeleton crews-
And racing above them, through sunshine or gale,
The Cross-Channel packets come in with the Mail.

Then the poor sea-sick passengers, English and French,
Must open their trunks on the Custom-house bench,
While the officers rummage for smuggled cigars
And nobody thinks of our bloodthirsty wars!

'WHEN THE GREAT ARK'

WHEN the Great Ark, in Vigo Bay,

WH

Rode stately through the half-manned fleet, From every ship about her way

She heard the mariners entreat

'Before we take the seas again

Let down your boats and send us men!

'We have no lack of victual here

With work-God knows!-enough for all,
To hand and reef and watch and steer,

Because our present strength is small.
While your three decks are crowded so
Your crews can scarcely stand or go.
'In war, your numbers do but raise
Confusion and divided will;
In storm, the mindless deep obeys
Not multitudes but single skill;
In calm, your numbers, closely pressed,
Do breed a mutiny or pest.

'We, even on unchallenged seas,

Dare not adventure where we would,

But forfeit brave advantages

For lack of men to make 'em good; Whereby, to England's double cost, Honour and profit both are lost!'

THE SONG OF VALLEY FORGE

T

WAS not while England's sword unsheathed
Put half a world to flight,

Nor while their new-built cities breathed
Secure behind her might;

Not while she poured from Pole to Line
Treasure and ships and men-
These worshippers at Freedom's shrine
They did not quit her then!

Not till their foes were driven forth
By England o'er the main-
Not till the Frenchman from the North
Had gone, with shattered Spain;
Not till the clean-swept ocean showed
No hostile flag unrolled,

Did they remember what they owed
To Freedom-and were bold!

The snow lies thick on Valley Forge,

The ice on the Delaware,

But the poor dead soldiers of King George
They neither know nor care-

Not though the earliest primrose break
On the sunny side of the lane,
And scuffling rookeries awake
Their England's spring again.