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The Coastwise Lights. Our brows are wreathed with spindrift and the

weed is on our knees; Our loins are battered 'neath us by the swinging,

smoking seas. From reef and rock and skerry-over headland,

ness and voeThe Coastwise Lights of England watch the ships

of England go!

Through the endless summer evenings, on the line

less, level floors; Through the yelling Channel tempest when the

syren hoots and roarsBy day the dipping house-flag and by night the

rocket's trailAs the sheep that graze behind us so we know

them where they hail.

We bridge across the dark, and bid the helmsman

have a care, The flash that wheeling inland wakes his sleeping

wife to prayer;

From our vexed eyries, head to gale, we bind in

burning chains The lover from the sea-rim drawn—his love in

English lanes.

We greet the clippers wing-and-wing that race

the Southern wool; We warn the crawling cargo-tanks of Bremen,

Leith and Hull; To each and all our equal lamp at peril of the

sea— The white wall-sided warships or the whalers of

Dundee!

Come up, come in from Eastward, from the guard

ports of the Morn! Beat up, beat in from Southerly, O gipsies of the

Horn! Swift shuttles of an Empire's loom that weave us

main to main, The Coastwise Lights of England give you wel

come back again!

Go, get you gone up-Channel with the sea-crust

on your plates; Go, get you into London with the burden of your

freights!

Haste, for they talk of Empire there, and say, if

any seek, The Lights of England sent you and by silence

shall ye speak.

Ehe Song of the Wead.

Hear now the Song of the Dead-in the North by

the torn berg-edgesThey that look still to the Pole, asleep by their

hide-stripped sledges. Song of the Dead in the South-in the sun by their

skeleton horses, Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through

the dust of the sere river-courses.

Song of the Dead in the East-in the heat-rotted

jungle hollows, Where the dog-ape barks in the kloof-in the brake

of the buffalo-wallows. Song of the Dead in the West-in the Barrens, the

snow that betrayed them, Where the wolverine tumbles their packs from the

camp and the grave-mound they made them;

Hear now the Song of the Dead !

We were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man

stifled town; We yearned beyond the sky-line where the strange

roads go down. Came the Whisper, came the Vision, came the

Power with the Need. Till the Soul that is not man's soul was lent us to

lead. As the deer breaks—as the steer breaks—from the

herd where they graze, In the faith of little children we went on our

ways. Then the wood failed—then the food failed—then

the last water driedIn the faith of little children we lay down and

died. On the sand-drift-on the veldt-side—in the fern

scrub we lay, That our sons might follow after by the bones on

the way. Follow after—follow after! We have watered the

root, And the bud has come to blossom that ripens for

fruit!

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Follow after-we are waiting by the trails that

we lost : For the sound of many footsteps, for the tread of a

host. Follow after-follow after—for the harvest is

sown: By the bones about the wayside ye shall come to

your own!

When Drake went down to the Horn

And England was crowned thereby,
'Twixt seas unsailed and shores unhailed

Our Lodgeour Lodge was born
(And England was crowned thereby).

Which never shall close again

By day nor yet by night,
While man shall take his life to stake

At risk of shoal or main
(By day nor yet by night),

But standeth even so

As now we witness here,
While men depart, of joyful heart,

Adventure for to know.
(As now bear witness here).

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