SONG OF THE SOLDIERS Another marching poem. Thomas Hardy knew that in 1914 England was right in standing up to the great power that tried to rule by war. WHAT of the faith and fire within us Ere the barn-cocks say Night is growing gray, To hazards whence no tears can win us; Is it a purblind prank, O think you, With doubt and dolorous sigh? Nay. We see well what we are doing, Her distress would set us rueing: Nay. We see well what we are doing, In our heart of hearts believing March we to the field ungrieving, Hence the faith and fire within us Ere the barn-cocks say To hazards whence no tears can win us; Men who march away. THOMAS HARDY. PRO REGE NOSTRO Love of England, gratitude to one's country, is the happy duty of all of us. There is perhaps too much war and too much boasting in this resounding song. But it is a noble song, nevertheless, and the poet is ready, is eager, to do and suffer something for his England. How splendidly all the stanzas end! What a resounding note! WHAT have I done for you, What is there I would not do, With your glorious eyes austere, As the song on your bugles blown, Round the world on your bugles blown ! Where shall the watchful sun, England, my England, Match the master-work you've done, When shall he rejoice agen As come forward, one to ten, To the song on your bugles blown, Down the years on your bugles blown? " Ever the faith endures, England, my England: Take and break us: we are yours, Life is good, and joy runs high To the song on your bugles blown, To the stars on your bugles blown!" Mother of ships whose might, Is the fierce old Sea's delight, Chosen daughter of the Lord, In the song on your bugles blown, Out of heaven on your bugles blown! WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY. "OVER THE SEA TO SKYE" Stevenson was great in poetry and prose. Rum, Mull, Eigg are the oddly-named islands off the Highland coast. Who would not set sail with that lad in the far-off sea, with a fresh wind, to such a poem ? SING me a song of the lad that is gone, Merry of soul he sailed on a day Mull was astern, Rum on the port, Give me again all that was there. Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, Merry of soul he sailed on a day ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. AS HAPPY AS KINGS THE world is so full of a number of things I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. |