Part 23 (2/2)

It was our war-s.h.i.+p _Clampherdown_, Swung round upon the tide.

Her two dumb guns glared south and north, And the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth, And she ground the cruiser's side.

”Captain, they cry the fight is done, They bid you send your sword.”

And he answered, ”Grapple her stern and bow.

They have asked for the steel. They shall have it now; Out cutla.s.ses and board!”

It was our war-s.h.i.+p _Clampherdown_, Spewed up four hundred men; And the scalded stokers yelped delight, As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight, Stamp o'er their steel-walled pen.

They cleared the cruiser end to end, From conning-tower to hold.

They fought as they fought in Nelson's fleet; They were stripped to the waist, they were bare to the feet, As it was in the days of old.

It was the sinking _Clampherdown_ Heaved up her battered side-- And carried a million pounds in steel, To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel, And the scour of the Channel tide.

It was the crew of the _Clampherdown_ Stood out to sweep the sea, On a cruiser won from an ancient foe, As it was in the days of long-ago, And as it still shall be.

RUDYARD KIPLING.

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.

”The Destruction of Sennacherib,” by Lord Byron, finds a place in this collection because Johnnie, a ten-year-old, and many of his friends say, ”It's great.” (1788-1824.)

The a.s.syrian came down like a wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when the Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pa.s.sed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail, And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

LORD BYRON.

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups-- Those flowers made of light!

The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday,-- The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy.

<script>