By a foemen's blade.

Far above the masts where the wireless showed,

Traced out against a star-lit sky,

A voice called down from the Whist-hound's road

Where the clouds went by—

Listen down below—In the High Sea Fleet,

For a signal that was shouted up to me

By the sailors that I left on the old, old beat,

Far out in the cold North Sea.

They shouted up to me as the glass went down,