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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373974" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Song Of Trafalgar</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">LIKE an angry sun, like a splendid star, <br>War gleams down the long years' track; <br>They strain at the leash, the dogs of war, <br>And who shall hold them back? <br>'Let loose the pack: we are English bred, <br>We will meet them full and fair <br>With the flag of England over our head, <br>And his hand to keep it there!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>So spake our fathers. Our flag, unfurled, <br>Blew brave to the north and south; <br>An iron answer we gave the world, <br>For we spoke by the cannon's mouth. <br>But he who taught us the word to say <br>Grew dumb as his Victory sang, <br>And England mourned on her triumph day, <br>And wept while her joy-bells rang. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Long hour by hour, and long day by day, <br>The swift years crept apace, <br>The patient, the coral-insect way, <br>To cover the dear dead face. <br>O foolish rabble of envious years, <br>Who wist not the dead must rise, <br>His name is music still in our ears, <br>His face a light to our eyes! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Bring hither your laurels, the fading sign <br>Of a deathless love and pride; <br>These cling more close than the laurels twine, <br>They are strong as the world is wide: <br>At the feet of Virtue in Valour clad <br>Shall glory and love be laid, <br>While Glory sings to an English lad, <br>Or Love to an English maid. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Wherever the gleams of an English fire <br>On an English roof-tree shine, <br>Wherever the fire of a youth's desire <br>Is laid upon Honour's shrine, <br>Wherever brave deeds are treasured and told, <br>In the tale of the deeds of yore <br>Like jewels of price in a chain of gold <br>Are the name and the fame he bore. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Wherever the track of our English ships <br>Lies white on the ocean foam, <br>His name is sweet to our English lips <br>As the names of the flowers at home; <br>Wherever the heart of an English boy <br>Grows big with a deed of worth, <br>Such names as his name have begot the same, <br>Such hearts will bring it to birth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>They say that his England, grown tired and old, <br>Lies drunk by her heavy hoard; <br>They say her hands have the grasp of the gold <br>But not the grip of the sword, <br>That her robe of glory is rent and shred, <br>And that winds of shame blow through: <br>Speak for your England, O mighty Dead, <br>In the deeds you would have her do! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Small skill have we to fight with the pen <br>Who fought with the sword of old, <br>For the sword that is wielded of Englishmen <br>Is as much as one hand can hold. <br>Yet the pen and the tongue are safe to use, <br>And the coward and the wise choose these; <br>But fools and brave were our English crews <br>When Nelson swept the seas. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>'Tis the way of a statesman to fear and fret, <br>To ponder and pause and plan, <br>But the way of Nelson was better yet, <br>For that was the way of a man; <br>They would teach us smoothness, who once were rough, <br>They have bidden us palter and pray, <br>But the way of Nelson was good enough, <br>For that was the fighting way. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>If Nelson's England must stoop to bear <br>What never honour should brook, <br>In vain does the tomb of her hero wear <br>The laurel his brow forsook; <br>In vain was the speech from the lips of her guns, <br>If now must her lips refrain; <br>In vain has she made us, her living sons, <br>Her dead have made her in vain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>So here with your bays be the dear head crowned, <br>Lay flowers where the dear dust lies, <br>And wreathe his column with laurel round <br>To point his fame to the skies; <br>But the greenest laurel that ever grew <br>Is the laurel that's yet to win; <br>Crowned with his laurels he waits for You <br>To bring Your laurels in!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edith+Nesbit">Edith Nesbit</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=373974" data-title="A Song Of Trafalgar de Edith Nesbit" data-description="LIKE an angry sun, like a splendid star, 
War gleams down the long years' track; 
They strain at the leash, the dogs of war, 
And who shall hold them back? 
'Let loose the pack: we are English bred, 
We will meet them full and fair 
With the flag ..."></div>
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