(_To the tune--more or less--of "In the Bay."_)
I.
Beyond the bellowing onset of base war,
Their latest wearer wendeth! With wild zest.
Fulfilled of windy resonance, the rest
Of the bard-mob must hotly joust and jar
To win the wreath that he beyond the bar
Bare not away athwart the bland sea's breast.
II.
And sooth the soft sheen of that deathless bay
Gleams glamorous! Amorous was I in my day,
Clamorous were Gath's goose-critics. But my fire,
Chastened from To-phet-fumes, burns purer, higher;
My thoughts on courtier-wings _might_ make their way
Did my brow bear the laurels all these desire.
III.
For I, to the proprieties reconciled.
Who hymned Dolores, sing the "weanling child."
At "home-made treacle" I made mocking mirth;
That was before my better self had birth.
At virtue's lilies and languors then I smiled,
But Hertha's _not_ thine only goddess, O Earth!
IV.
For surely brother, and master, and lord, and king,
Though vice's roses and raptures did not spring
In thy poetic garden's trim parterre;
Though thou wert fond of sunshine and sweet air,
More than of kisses, that burn, and bite, and sting;
Some living love our England for thee bare.
V.
Thou, too, couldst sing about her sweet salt sea,
And trumpet paeans loud to Liberty,
With clamour of all applausive throats. Thy feet,
Not wine-press red, yet left the flowers more sweet,
From the pure passage of the god to be;
And then couldst thunder praises of England's Fleet.
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