REQUIEM

UNDER the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave, and let me lie.
Glad did I live, and gladly die,

And I laid me down with a will.

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This be the verse you grave for me :
Here he lies where he longed to be ;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.

Robert Louis Stevenson,

THE VOICE OF THE SEA

In the hush of the autumn night
I hear the voice of the sea,
In the hush of the autumn night
It seems to say to me :
Mine are the winds above,
Mine are the caves below,
Mine are the dead of yesterday,
And the dead of long ago!

And I think of the fleet that sailed
From the lovely Gloucester shore,
I think of the fleet that sailed
And came back nevermore ;
My eyes are filled with tears,
And
my

It seems as if 't were yesterday,
And it all was long ago.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

THE “OLD, OLD SONG”

WHEN all the world is young, lad,

And all the trees are green ;
And every goose a swan, lad,

And every lass a queen,
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,

And round the world away ;
Young blood must have its course, lad,

And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,

And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale, lad,

And all the wheels run down,
Creep home, and take your place there,

The spent and maimed among:
God grant you find one face there
You loved when all was young.

Charles Kingsley.

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT

FAIR stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance

Longer will tarry ;

But putting to the main,
At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,

Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marcheth towards Agincourt

In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopped his way,
Where the French general lay
With all his

power ;

Which in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide

To the King sending ;
Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile,

Their fall portending.

And turning to his men, Quoth our brave Henry then, “ Though they to one be ten,

Be not amazed !
Yet have we well begun,
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun

By fame been raised.

“And for myself," quoth he,
“ This my full rest shall be ;
England, ne'er mourn for me,

Nor more esteem me.
Victor I will remain,
Or on this earth lie slain;
Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

66 Poitiers and Cressy tell,

When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell :

No less our skill is Then when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat, By many a warlike feat

Lopped the French lilies.”

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;
With the main, Henry sped

Amongst his henchmen.
Exeter had the rear,
A braver man not there;
Oh, Lord ! how hot they were

On the false Frenchmen !

They now to fight are gone:
Armor on armor shone,
Drum now to drum did groan,

To hear was wonder:

When down their bows they threw,
And forth their bilbows drew,
And on the French they flew,

Not one was tardy ;
Arms were from shoulders sent;
Scalps to the teeth were rent ;
Down the French peasants went :

Our men were hardy.