Collected Poems 1897 - 1907, by Henry Newbolt

Excerpt

Drake's Drum

Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand miles away,
  (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)
Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay,
  An' dreamin' arl the time O' Plymouth Hoe.
Yarnder lumes the Island, yarnder lie the ships,
  Wi' sailor lads a-dancing' heel-an'-toe,
An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin',
  He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago.

Drake he was a Devon man, an' rüled the Devon seas,
  (Capten, art tha' sleepin' there below?)
Roving' tho' his death fell, he went wi' heart at ease,
  An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
"Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore,
  Strike et when your powder's runnin' low;
If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven,
  An' drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago."

Drake he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come,
  (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)
Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum,
  An' dreamin arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound,
  Call him when ye sail to meet the foe;
Where the old trade's plyin' an' the old flag flyin'
  They shall find him ware an' wakin', as they found him long ago!

The Fighting Téméraire

It was eight bells ringing,
  For the morning watch was done,
And the gunner's lads were singing
  As they polished every gun.
It was eight bells ringing,
And the gunner's lads were singing,
For the ship she rode a-swinging,
  As they polished every gun.

    Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
      Téméraire! Téméraire!
    Oh! to hear the round shot biting,
      Téméraire! Téméraire!

    Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
      And to hear the round shot biting,
    For we're all in love with fighting
      On the fighting Téméraire.

It was noontide ringing,
  And the battle just begun,
When the ship her way was winging,
  As they loaded every gun.
It was noontide ringing,
When the ship her way was winging,
And the gunner's lads were singing
  As they loaded every gun.

    There'll be many grim and gory,
      Téméraire! Téméraire!
    There'll be few to tell the story,
      Téméraire! Téméraire!

    There'll be many grim and gory,
      There'll be few to tell the story,
    But we'll all be one in glory
      With the Fighting Téméraire.

There's a far bell ringing
  At the setting of the sun,
And a phantom voice is singing
  Of the great days done.
There's a far bell ringing,
And a phantom voice is singing
Of renown for ever clinging
  To the great days done.

    Now the sunset breezes shiver,
      Téméraire! Téméraire!
    And she's fading down the river,
      Téméraire! Téméraire!

    Now the sunset's breezes shiver,
      And she's fading down the river,
    But in England's song for ever
      She's the Fighting Téméraire.

Admirals All

Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake,
  Here's to the bold and free...!