Thy oaken keel, O “Fighting Temeraire,”
Shall forth beyond the busy harbour fare.
Still mayest thou the battle royal wage
To show a people to itself; to gauge
The depth and quality peculiar there;
Of its humanity to catch the air
And croon its plaintiveness upon the stage.
Nay, great and simple seer of Erin’s seers,
How we rejoice that thou wouldst not remain
Beside thy hearth, bemoaning useless years,