  All day, amid the masts and shrouds, They hung above the wave; The sky o'erhead was dark with clouds, And dark beneath, their grave. The water leaped against its prey, Breaking with heavy crash, And when some slack'ning hands gave way, They fell with dull, low splash. Captain and man ne'er thought to swerve; The boats went to and fro; With cheery face and tranquil nerve, Each saw his brother go. Each saw his brother go, and knew, As night came swiftly on, That less and less his own chance grew— Night fell, and hope was gone. The saved stood on the steamer's deck, Straining their eyes to see Their comrades clinging to the wreck Upon that surging sea; And still they gazed into the dark Till, on their startled ears, There came from that swift-sinking bark A sound of gallant cheers. Again, and yet again it rose; Then silence round them fell— Silence of death—and each man knows It was a last farewell. No cry of anguish, no wild shriek Of men in agony— No dropping down of watchers weak, Weary and glad to die, But death met with three British cheers— Cheers of immortal fame; For us the choking, blinding tears— For them a glorious name. Oh England, while thy sailor-host Can live and die like these, Be thy broad lands or won or lost, Thou'rt mistress of the seas! C.A.L. |
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