A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/The Battle of the Bight
THE BATTLE OF THE BIGHT
HAD I that fabled herb
Which brought to life the dead,
Whom would I dare disturb
In his eternal bed?
Great Grenville would I wake,
And with glad tidings make
The soul of mighty Drake
Upheave a glorying head.
As rose the misty sun,
Our men the North Sea scanned,
And each rejoicing gun
Welcomed a foe at hand,
Eager, with thunderous throat,
To sound, for all afloat,
The world-awakening note
The world can understand.
For ev'n as birds of night,
Hoary and tawny owl,
Do sometimes brave the light,
Like bolder, nobler fowl,
So did the foe that day
Come venturing forth for prey,
Where, on the ocean way,
Our ocean watchdogs prowl.
But brief and plain, 'mid men
Not born to yield or flee,
Our cannon spoke out then
The speech that keeps us free,
And battered, with hoarse boom,
Four warships to their doom,
While one, to a fiercer tomb,
Fled blazing down the sea.
Sleep on, O Drake, sleep well,
In days not wholly dire!
Grenville, whom nought could quell,
Unquenched is still thy fire.
And thou that hadst no peer,
Nelson, thou need'st not fear!
Thy sons and heirs are here,
And shall not shame their sire.