In Cornwall and Across the Sea With Poems Written in Devonshire. By Douglas B. W. Sladen |
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WAITING FOR WAR. |
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 | In Cornwall and Across the Sea |  |
254
WAITING FOR WAR.
April 1885.
Yes, we are waiting for war,
Not in old England alone
Swelleth the ominous roar,
Oft in the centuries known,
But from our sons overseas
Echoes are borne on the breeze.
Not in old England alone
Swelleth the ominous roar,
Oft in the centuries known,
But from our sons overseas
Echoes are borne on the breeze.
Thought ye the blood of the North
Beat in our pulses no more,
The storm-loving blood which sent forth
Rollo and William of yore,
The blood of the race who were gods,
In scorn of what men reckon odds?
Beat in our pulses no more,
The storm-loving blood which sent forth
Rollo and William of yore,
The blood of the race who were gods,
In scorn of what men reckon odds?
255
II.
We slept till the Muscovite deemed
That the Berserking spirit had died,
But while we were sleeping we dreamed
Of our deeds in the days of our pride,
And now with a wrench for the rust
Our sword from its scabbard is thrust.
That the Berserking spirit had died,
But while we were sleeping we dreamed
Of our deeds in the days of our pride,
And now with a wrench for the rust
Our sword from its scabbard is thrust.
We've wealth for the sinews of war,
We've hunger that heroes creates,
We've waited till Patience no more
Could palter with foes at the gates,
And now we are ready to fight,
With hearts that clear conscience makes light.
We've hunger that heroes creates,
We've waited till Patience no more
Could palter with foes at the gates,
And now we are ready to fight,
With hearts that clear conscience makes light.
256
III.
Yes, we are longing to fight.
Peace, with her tortuous ways,
Robs the upright of his right,
Lost in diplomacy's maze
Much have we been, but we know
How to hit out at a foe.
Peace, with her tortuous ways,
Robs the upright of his right,
Lost in diplomacy's maze
Much have we been, but we know
How to hit out at a foe.
Soldier and stayer-at-home,
Sailor and settler-abroad,
Yearn on that pathway to roam,
Oft by our ancestors trod,
Which through the battle-field leads
Either to death or great deeds.
Sailor and settler-abroad,
Yearn on that pathway to roam,
Oft by our ancestors trod,
Which through the battle-field leads
Either to death or great deeds.
| In Cornwall and Across the Sea | |