Captains adventurous, rest ye in your havens,
Pipe your ghostly mariners to keep their watch below,
Sons of your sons are here to strike for England,
Heirs of your glory—Beatty, Jellicoe.
Yet shall your names ring on in England's story,
You who were the prophets of the mighty years to be,
Drake, Blake and Nelson, thundering down the ages,
Captains adventurous, the Masters of the Sea.
DAWN on the drab North Sea!—
Colourless, cold, and depressing,
With the sun that we long to see
Refraining from his blessing.
To the westward—sombre as doom:
To the eastward—grey and foreboding:
Comes a low, vibrating boom—
The sound of a mine exploding.
Day on the drear North Sea!—
Wearisome, drab, and relentless.
The low clouds swiftly flee;
Bitter the sky, and relentless.
Nothing at all in sight
Save the mast of a sunken trawler,
Fighting her long, last fight
With the waves that mouth and maul her.
Gale on the bleak North Sea!—
Howling a dirge in the rigging.
Slowly and toilfully
Through the great, grey breakers digging,
Thus we make our way,
Hungry, wet, and weary,
Soaked with the sleet and spray,
Desolate, damp, and dreary.