A doublet of the Lincoln green, No more of me you knew, No more of me you knew. "The morn is merry June, I trow, He turned his charger as he spake NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, We buried him darkly at dead of night, No useless coffin inclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; 1 Note 16. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 205 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, Few and short were the prayers we said, We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, But little he 'll reck, if they let him sleep on But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock tolled the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory! Charles Wolfe. REQUIEM UNDER the wide and starry sky And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: THE VOICE OF THE SEA IN the hush of the autumn night Mine are the dead of yesterday, And I think of the fleet that sailed THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT 207 It seems as if 't were yesterday, 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, lass a queen, every And Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; When all the world is old, lad, And all the wheels run down, God grant you find one face there 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, And taking many a fort, With those that stopped his way, Which in his height of pride, 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, Yet have we well begun, Have ever to the sun By fame been raisèd. |