Listen! my brothers of Eton and Harrow,
Hearken! my brothers of over the seas,
Say! do your class-rooms seem dingy and narrow?
List to the sound of the sea-scented breeze.
Now for a moment if dreary your lot is,
Wet bob or dry bob whichever you be,
List to the tale and the song of the snotties,
The song of the snotties who sail on the sea.
The song of the snotties
(The poor little snotties),
Good luck to the snotties wherever they be,
The dirk and the patches,
The bruises and scratches,
The song of the snotties who sail on the sea!
Early we left you and late are returning
Back to the land of our story and birth,
Back to the land of our glory and yearning,
Back from the uttermost ends of the earth.
Hear you the bucket and clang of the brasses
Working together by perfect decree?
That is the tale of the glory which passes—
That is the song of the snotties at sea!
Often at noon when the gale’s at its strongest,
Sadly we think of the days that are gone;
Often at night when the watches are longest
Have your remembrances heartened us on.
And in the mazes of dim recollection,
Still we’ll remember the days that are past,
Till, on the hopes of a schoolboy affection,
Death and his angels shall trample at last.
What though the enemy taunt and deride us!
Have we forgotten the triumphs of yore?
What if the oceans may seem to divide us!
Brothers, remember the friendship we bore.
Lo! it is finished—the day of probations.
Up! and we stand for the England to be.
Then, as the Head and the Front of the Nations,
Brothers, your health!—from the snotties at sea!
‘Stand well,’ say the snotties
(‘Good luck,’ say the snotties),
‘And wisely and firmly and great shall we be;
For monarchies tremble,
And empires dissemble,
But Britain shall stand’—say the snotties at sea!
George Frederic Stewart Bowles.
