. . . . . .
And now, her flanks of steel apulse with all the
power of hell,
Forth from the darkness leaps in pride a hateful
miracle,
The flagship of their Admiral—and now God help
and save!—
We challenge Death at Death's own game; we
sink beneath the wave!
. . . . . .
Ah, steady now—and one good blow—one straight
stab through the gloom—
Ah, good!—the thrust went home!—she founders—
flounders to her doom!—
Full speed ahead!—those damned quick-firing guns
—but let them bark—
What's that—the dynamos?—they've got us, men!
—Christ! in the dark!
NICHOLAS OF MONTENEGRO
(1912)
HE speaks as straight as his rifles shot,
As straight as a thrusting blade,
Waiting the deed that shall trouble the truce
His savage guns have made.
"You have dared the wrath of a dozen states,"
Was the challenge that he heard;
"We can die but once!" said the grim old King
As he gripped his mountain sword.
"For I paid in blood for the town I took,
The blood of my brave men slain,—
And if you covet the town I took
You must buy it with blood again!"
Stern old King of the stark, black hills,
Where the lean, fierce eagles breed,
Your speech rings true as your good sword rings—
And you are a king indeed!