Feet of the Captains hurry through the stillness,
Ghostly sails of galleons are drifting to and fro,
Voices of mariners sound across the shadows,
Waiting the word that shall bid them up and go.
"Lo now," they say, "for the grey old Mother calls us,"
(Listening to the thunder of the guns about her shore)
"Death shall not hold us, nor years that lie between us,
Sail we to England, to strike for her once more."
Captains adventurous, rest ye in your havens,
Pipe your ghostly mariners to keep their watch below;
Sons of your sons are here to strike for England,
Heirs of your glory—Beatty, Jellicoe.
Yet shall your names ring on in England's story,
You, who were the prophets of the mighty years to be;
Drake, Blake, and Nelson, thundering down the ages,
Captains adventurous, the Masters of the Sea.
DRAKE'S DRUM
Drake's drum is beating along the coasts of Devon:
"Mariners, O Mariners, who warred so well with Spain,
Lo, the foe is here once more! Leave the ports of Heaven,
Haste across the jasper sea, and drive them home again."
All the streets of Paradise echo to its rattle—
Golden roads a-tremble to the chime of tramping feet;
Hawkins, Drake and Frobisher are marching forth to battle:
"Peter, open wide the gates. We're out to join the fleet."
Pinnace, caravel, caracque—many a galleon drifting—
Shadowy sails of old renown upon the shadowy sea;
Ghostly voices through the mists; "Lo, the white cliffs lifting;
Heaven's streets for those who will, but Devon's shores for me."
Drake's drum is beating along the coasts of Devon,
Calling, as in days of old it called to vanquish Spain;
Drake and Blake and Raleigh, they have left the ports of Heaven,
Homing back across the stars to England's cliffs again.