Part 15 (1/2)
EARLY POEMS
(_Not Published Hitherto in America_)
THE PHANTOM FLEET (1904)
The sunset lingered in the pale green West: In rosy wastes the low soft evening star Woke; while the last white sea-mew sought for rest; And tawny sails came stealing o'er the bar.
But, in the hillside cottage, through the panes The light streamed like a thin far trumpet-call, And quickened, as with quivering battle-stains, The printed s.h.i.+ps that decked the parlour wall.
From oaken frames old admirals looked down: They saw the lonely slumberer at their feet: They saw the paper, headed _Talk from Town; Our rusting trident, and our phantom fleet_:
And from a neighbouring tavern surged a song Of England laughing in the face of war, With eyes unconquerably proud and strong, And lips triumphant from her Trafalgar.
But he, the slumberer in that glimmering room, Saw distant waters glide and heave and gleam; Around him in the softly coloured gloom The pictures cl.u.s.tered slowly to a dream.
He saw how England, resting on her past, Among the faded garlands of her dead, Woke; for a whisper reached her heart at last, And once again she raised her steel-clad head.
Her eyes were filled with sudden strange alarms; She heard the westering waters change and chime; She heard the distant tumult of her arms Defeated, not by courage, but by Time.
Knowledge had made a deadlier pact with death, Nor strength nor steel availed against that bond: Slowly approached--and Britain held her breath-- The battle booming from the deeps beyond.
O, then what darkness rolled upon the wind, Threatening the torch that Britain held on high?
Where all her navies, baffled, broken, blind, Slunk backward, snarling in their agony!
_Who guards the gates of Freedom now?_ The cry Stabbed heaven! _England, the shattered ramparts fall!_ Then, like a trumpet s.h.i.+vering through the sky O, like white lightning rending the black pall Of heaven, an answer pealed: _Her dead shall hear that call._
Then came a distant light of great waves breaking That brought the sunset on each crumbling crest, A rumour as of buried ages waking, And mighty spirits rising from their rest; Then ghostly clouds arose, with billowing breast, White clouds that turned to sails upon their way, Red clouds that burned like flags against the West, Till even the conquering fleet in silence lay Dazed with that strange old light, and night grew bright as day.
_We come to fight for Freedom!_ The great East Heard, and was rent asunder like a veil.
Host upon host out of the night increased Its towering clouds and crowded zones of sail: _England, our England, canst thou faint or fail?
We come to fight for Freedom yet once more!_ This, this is ours at least! Count the great tale Of all these dead that rise to guard thy sh.o.r.e By right of the red life they never feared to pour.
_We come to fight for Freedom!_ On they came, One cloud of beauty sweeping the wild sea; And there, through all their thousands, flashed like flame That star-born signal of the Victory: _Duty_, that deathless lantern of the free; _Duty_, that makes a G.o.d of every man.
And there was Nelson, watching silently As through the phantom fleet the message ran; And his tall frigate rushed before the stormy van.
Nelson, our Nelson, frail and maimed and blind, Stretched out his dead cold face against the foe: And England's Raleigh followed hard behind, With all his eager fighting heart aglow; Glad, glad for England's sake once more to know The old joy of battle and contempt of pain; Glad, glad to die, if England willed it so, The traitor's and the coward's death again; But hurl the world back now as once he hurled back Spain.
And there were all those others, Drake and Blake, Rodney and Howard, Byron, Collingwood; With deathless eyes aflame for England's sake, As on their ancient decks they proudly stood,-- Decks washed of old with England's purplest blood; And there, once more, each rus.h.i.+ng oaken side Bared its dark-throated, thirsty, gleaming brood Of cannon, watched by laughing lads who died Long, long ago for England and her ancient pride.
_We come to fight for England!_ The great sea In a wild light of song began to break Round that tall phantom of the Victory And all the foam was music in her wake: s.h.i.+p after phantom s.h.i.+p, with guns a-rake And shot-rent flags a-stream from every mast Moved in a deepening splendour, not to make A s.h.i.+eld for England of her own dead past; But, with a living dream to arm her soul at last.
_We come to die for England_: through the hush Of gathered nations rose that regal cry, From naked oaken walls one word could crush If those vast armoured throats dared to reply: But there the most implacable enemy Felt his eyes fill with gladder, prouder tears, As Nelson's calm eternal face went by, Gazing beyond all perishable fears To some diviner goal above the waste of years.
Through the hushed fleets the vision streamed away, Then slowly turned once more to that deep West, While voices cried, O, England, the new day Is dawning, but thy soul can take no rest.
Thy freedom and thy peace are only thine By right of toil on every land and sea And by that crimson sacrificial wine Of thine own heart and thine own agony.
Peace is not slumber. Peace, in every hour, Throbs like the heart of music. This alone Can save thy heritage and confirm that power Whereof the past is but the cus.h.i.+oned throne.