THE SONG OF THE LARBOARD BERTH

When moonlight flecks the cruiser's decks

And engines rumble slow,

When Drake's own star is bright above

And Time has gone below,

They may hear who list the far-off sound

Of a long-dead never-dead mirth,

In the mid watch still they may hear who will

The song of the Larboard Berth.

In a dandy frigate or a well-found brig,

In a sloop or a seventy-four,

In a great First-rate with an Admiral's flag,

And a hundred guns or more,

In a fair light air, in a dead foul wind,

At midnight or midday,

Till the good ship sink her mids shall drink

To the King and the King's Highway!

The mids they hear—no fear, no fear!

They know their own ship's ghost:

Their young blood beats to the same old song

And roars to the same old toast.

So long as the sea-wind blows unbound

And the sea-wave breaks in spray,

For the Island's sons the word still runs

"The King, and the King's Highway!"

HENRY NEWBOLT.

August 1914.