Poetry Archives

Sitting at times over a hearth that burns
  With dull domestic glow,
My thought, leaving the book, gratefully turns
  To you who planned it so.

Not of the great only you deigned to tell——
  The stars by which we steer——
But lights out of the night that flashed, and fell
  Tonight again, are here.

Such as were those, dogs of an elder day,
  Who sacked the golden ports,
And those later who dared grapple their prey
  Beneath the harbour forts:

Some with flag at the fore, sweeping the world
  To find an equal fight,
And some who joined war to their trade, and hurled
  Ships of the line in flight.

Whether their fame centuries long should ring
  They cared not over-much,
But cared greatly to serve God and the king,
  And keep the Nelson touch;

And fought to build Britain above the tide
  Of wars and windy fate;
And passed content, leaving to us the pride
  Of lives obscurely great.