 | English Roses |  |
ENGLAND'S FRONTIERS.
Others may boast lines
More scientific,
Chosen and charted with painting and talk;
But where the enemy, proud or pacific,
Lies, are our coast lines—
England's free walk.
We know no map-stuff,
Parchment or pap-stuff,
We honour none;
Only the frontiers ruled by our rifles,
Wrung by the sword sway,
Held in the Lord's way,
When there are great deeds of history done
And hearts feel hearts and they cease from their trifles.
We bend to no man,
Give us the foeman
Thousands of miles from our shelter and shores,
Armed to the teeth and with cannon that bristles
Saucily guarding his jewels and stores;
England is there, lads—
England is where, lads,
Rude strokes are falling and iron rain whistles
Down the poor ruin of pasteboard and wrongs—
Hammer and tongs.
More scientific,
Chosen and charted with painting and talk;
But where the enemy, proud or pacific,
Lies, are our coast lines—
England's free walk.
We know no map-stuff,
Parchment or pap-stuff,
We honour none;
Only the frontiers ruled by our rifles,
Wrung by the sword sway,
Held in the Lord's way,
When there are great deeds of history done
And hearts feel hearts and they cease from their trifles.
224
Give us the foeman
Thousands of miles from our shelter and shores,
Armed to the teeth and with cannon that bristles
Saucily guarding his jewels and stores;
England is there, lads—
England is where, lads,
Rude strokes are falling and iron rain whistles
Down the poor ruin of pasteboard and wrongs—
Hammer and tongs.
Others are tarriers,
Weighing the peril
Coldly with scales and an eye to the till,
Doomed to a policy stupid and sterile;
England no barriers
Heeds, but her will.
We have weighed anchor,
While they but hanker
Idly for gains;
We are at blows, lads, and in the red middle
Rolled by the battle,
Careless of tattle,
Bathed in the spatter of blood and of brains
While they are dreaming of what they may fiddle.
We often tread first,
Plunging in head first
Hitting our hardest before we have thought;
Trying the metal of folks and their measure,
With our good blades out of liberty wrought.
England is willing—
England, when killing
Fails and the fun, likes to judge things at leisure;
Only she must do her work her own way—
Buffet and pray.
Weighing the peril
Coldly with scales and an eye to the till,
Doomed to a policy stupid and sterile;
England no barriers
Heeds, but her will.
We have weighed anchor,
While they but hanker
Idly for gains;
We are at blows, lads, and in the red middle
Rolled by the battle,
Careless of tattle,
Bathed in the spatter of blood and of brains
While they are dreaming of what they may fiddle.
We often tread first,
Plunging in head first
Hitting our hardest before we have thought;
Trying the metal of folks and their measure,
With our good blades out of liberty wrought.
England is willing—
England, when killing
Fails and the fun, likes to judge things at leisure;
Only she must do her work her own way—
Buffet and pray.
Others their fingers
Timid and fumbling
Stretch to the prize that they gladly would steal,
Then to draw back in hot haste with a humbling;
England but lingers,
Over her meal.
We dropping flattery,
Run out a battery
Right to the front;
Full on the spot, where the shrapnel is shrieking
Murder and hell, lads,
Pounding them well, lads.
Such are our old island weapons and wont,
Action that wins ere the fools have left speaking.
We are for doing,
Straight without wooing,
Just what we fancy and picking the best;
Be it a banquet or plucking a pigeon,
Be it a world or a maiden's white breast.
England is in it,
England a minute
Waits not, but strikes, and that is her religion.
Yes, we are pious and proper and kneel—
Bible and steel.
Timid and fumbling
Stretch to the prize that they gladly would steal,
Then to draw back in hot haste with a humbling;
225
Over her meal.
We dropping flattery,
Run out a battery
Right to the front;
Full on the spot, where the shrapnel is shrieking
Murder and hell, lads,
Pounding them well, lads.
Such are our old island weapons and wont,
Action that wins ere the fools have left speaking.
We are for doing,
Straight without wooing,
Just what we fancy and picking the best;
Be it a banquet or plucking a pigeon,
Be it a world or a maiden's white breast.
England is in it,
England a minute
Waits not, but strikes, and that is her religion.
Yes, we are pious and proper and kneel—
Bible and steel.
Others a border
Make of their own land,
Trusting in fortress and fencing of might,
Daring not venture away from the known land;
England is order
Always, and right.
Look at her giant
Vessels reliant,
Ploughing the deep;
Carving the earth which is pliant and plastic
But to her moulding
Touch and enfolding
Arms of the iron and infinite sweep,
Growing each day yet more grim and elastic.
Force leaves its furrows
Lasting, and burrows
Down in the awful abysses of blue,
Binding above and below with a fetter
Both worlds to which it alone has the clue.
England uncaring, lads,
England unsparing lads,
Fashions the globe as she passes the better.
We keep our powder and bullet reply,
Ready and dry.
Make of their own land,
Trusting in fortress and fencing of might,
Daring not venture away from the known land;
England is order
Always, and right.
Look at her giant
Vessels reliant,
Ploughing the deep;
Carving the earth which is pliant and plastic
But to her moulding
Touch and enfolding
Arms of the iron and infinite sweep,
Growing each day yet more grim and elastic.
Force leaves its furrows
Lasting, and burrows
Down in the awful abysses of blue,
Binding above and below with a fetter
Both worlds to which it alone has the clue.
226
England unsparing lads,
Fashions the globe as she passes the better.
We keep our powder and bullet reply,
Ready and dry.
Others have truckled
Tamely to fortune;
These write no record to live on the main,
Though the fair breezes to triumph importune;
England was suckled
Sternly on pain.
Seas and their herring-pond
Are her unerring pond,
Curled at her feet;
Where in her glory she sails, as in blindness
Earthquakes might thunder,
Treading all under
(Foes in the path) as a native his street,
Yet with the shout of a boisterous kindness.
Here in her homely
Element comely,
Marshalling war-ships she rides on her way,
Cursing, and blessing the Lord for the beauty
Granted a Queen of imperial sway.
England, in harness, lads,
England by far ness, lads,
And at the inshore would die for her duty.
Only be sure she has, rather than think,
Worship and drink.
Tamely to fortune;
These write no record to live on the main,
Though the fair breezes to triumph importune;
England was suckled
Sternly on pain.
Seas and their herring-pond
Are her unerring pond,
Curled at her feet;
Where in her glory she sails, as in blindness
Earthquakes might thunder,
Treading all under
(Foes in the path) as a native his street,
Yet with the shout of a boisterous kindness.
Here in her homely
Element comely,
Marshalling war-ships she rides on her way,
Cursing, and blessing the Lord for the beauty
Granted a Queen of imperial sway.
England, in harness, lads,
England by far ness, lads,
And at the inshore would die for her duty.
Only be sure she has, rather than think,
Worship and drink.
Others may toast lives
Pretty on paper,
Boundaries all that the feeble expects
Cut by diplomacy's elegant caper—
England such coast lines
Calmly corrects.
Laughing she nuzzles
Close to the muzzles,
Pointed by foes;
Here is the frontier, here is the slaughter-mark
Made by her cannon,
If but one man on
Ships that though shattered outlive the worst woes,
Here is her single acknowledged high water mark.
Winds and rough weather
Comrades together
Shake her and shape her to victory sure,
Holding the treasures and loves we adore most
And in the jaws of disaster secure.
England must win, lads,
England romps in, lads,
And with a rush ever rides out the foremost.
Give her her head, and full canvas to bear—
Searoom to swear.
Pretty on paper,
Boundaries all that the feeble expects
Cut by diplomacy's elegant caper—
England such coast lines
Calmly corrects.
Laughing she nuzzles
Close to the muzzles,
Pointed by foes;
227
Made by her cannon,
If but one man on
Ships that though shattered outlive the worst woes,
Here is her single acknowledged high water mark.
Winds and rough weather
Comrades together
Shake her and shape her to victory sure,
Holding the treasures and loves we adore most
And in the jaws of disaster secure.
England must win, lads,
England romps in, lads,
And with a rush ever rides out the foremost.
Give her her head, and full canvas to bear—
Searoom to swear.
| English Roses | |