‘You have said many wise and true and beautiful things in rhyme. Yours is patriotism of the fine sort – patriotism that lays burdens on a man, and not the patriotism that takes burdens off.’
W. B. YEATS (1902)
Barrister and man of letters, Newbolt is now chiefly remembered for his nautical ballads – ‘Drake’s drum’ appeared in Admirals All and Other Verses (1897), published on 21 October, the anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar. The volume was an instantaneous success and launched Newbolt’s career. Four more editions appeared within a fortnight. The songs were sung and recited across Britain and the Empire, schoolchildren learned them by heart, MPs quoted them in the House of Commons and bishops referred to them in the pulpit. The patriotic nature of these poems continued the tradition started by Henley’s Lyra Heroica (1891) and Kipling’s Barrack-Room Ballads (1892). As Quiller-Couch observed, the poems exuded a Roman stoicism and a sense of service suffused with Christianity – the sort of values promulgated in the British public schools of the time. The rather sentimental way in which Newbolt expressed such themes in poems like ‘Vitaï Lampada’, with its refrain of ‘Play up! play up! and play the game!’, is now hardly acceptable to modern sensibilities, yet his ability to write skilfully crafted poetry drew approbation from no lesser figures than Hardy, Bridges, Yeats and Sassoon. Newbolt’s ambition to write a new sort of poetry, which might reflect his private rather than public spirit, foundered. What he was trying to do is evident from two of the five poems (‘The linnet’s nest’ and ‘The nightjar’) that he included in the anthology New Paths on Helicon (1927), which published verse by thirty-eight different poets, with a critical commentary on each. While editor of the Monthly Review, from 1900 to 1904, he introduced the reading public to the work of Walter de la Mare. He was knighted in 1915 and made a CH in 1922. His autobiography, My World as in My Time, appeared in 1932.
Other composers who have set Newbolt’s verse include Baines, Bantock, Burrows, Davies, Fould, Ireland and Parry.
Drake he’s in his hammock an’ a thousand mile away,
(Capten, art tha sleepin’ there below?),
Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay,2
An’ dreamin’ arl the time o’ Plymouth Hoe3.
Yarnder lumes the Island4, yarnder lie the ships,
Wi’ sailor lads a-dancin’ 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?),
Rovin’ 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 Dons5 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 of 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.
(Bantock, Coleridge-Taylor)
The wind was rising easterly, the morning sky was blue,
The Straits before us opened wide and free;
We looked towards the Admiral, where high the Peter flew,
And all our hearts were dancing like the sea.
‘The French are gone to Martinique with four-and-twenty sail!
The Old Superb is old and foul and slow,
But the French are gone to Martinique, and Nelson’s on the trail,
And where he goes the Old Superb must go!’
So Westward ho! for Trinidad and Eastward ho! for Spain,
And ‘Ship ahoy!’ a hundred times a day;
Round the world if need be, and round the world again,
With a lame duck lagging all the way!
The Old Superb was barnacled and green as grass below,
Her sticks2 were only fit for stirring grog;
The pride of all her midshipmen was silent long ago,
And long ago they ceased to heave the log.
Four year out from home she was, and ne’er a week in port,
And nothing save the guns aboard her bright;
But Captain Keats3 he knew the game, and swore to share the sport,
For he never yet came in too late to fight.
So Westward ho! for Trinidad and Eastward ho! for Spain,
And ‘Ship ahoy!’ a hundred times a day;
Round the world if need be, and round the world again,
With a lame duck lagging all the way!
‘Now up, my lads!’ the Captain cried, ‘for sure the case were hard
If longest out were first to fall behind;
Aloft, aloft with studding sails4, and lash them on the yard,
For night and day the Trades are driving blind!’
So all day long and all day long behind the fleet we crept,
And how we fretted none but Nelson guessed;
But every night the Old Superb she sailed when others slept,
Till we ran the French to earth with all the rest!
Oh, ’twas Westward ho! for Trinidad and Eastward ho! for Spain,
And ‘Ship ahoy!’ a hundred times a day;
Round the world if need be, and round the world again,
With a lame duck lagging all the way!
Memories long in music sleeping,
No more sleeping,
No more dumb;
Delicate phantoms softly creeping
Softly back from the old-world come.
Faintest odours around them straying,
Suddenly straying
In chambers dim;
Whispering silks in order swaying,
Glimmering gems on shoulders slim:
Courage advancing strong and tender,
Grace untender
Fanning desire;
Suppliant conquest, proud surrender,
Courtesy cold of hearts on fire –
Willowy billowy now they’re bending,
Low they’re bending
Down-dropt eyes;
Stately measure and stately ending,
Music sobbing, and a dream that dies.