They scarred me and pocked my beauty with the bursts of their well-aimed shell,
When they found me showing my colour to the westward of Coronel;
I hated being torn and tattered; they gave me no time to mend,
But they saw my honour untarnished, for my halliards held to the end.
I covered the sleeping corpses, for they slept there for my sake,
And I tethered myself to the shingle, till my country bade me wake;
Then I once more danced to the wind's tune and the Southern oceans knew
That the men and the ships they carried were safer because I flew.
I strained at my bow-taut halliards from Messina to Cape Matapan[1];
It wasn't the wind that frayed me, but the speed of the ships in the van;
And for many a long day after, I flew midst despair and loss,
But none disputed the honour of my jack and my great red cross.[2]
