For me there's nought I would not leave For the good Devon land, Whose orchards down the echoing cleeve Bedewed with spray-drift stand, And hardly bear the red fruit up That shall be next year's cider-cup. You too, my friend, may wisely mark How clear skies follow rain, And, lingering in your own green park Or drilled on Laffan's Plain, Forget not with the festal bowl To soothe at times your weary soul. When Drake must bid to Plymouth Hoe Good-bye for many a day, And some were sad and feared to go, And some that dared not stay, Be sure he bade them broach the best, And raised his tankard with the rest. "Drake's luck to all that sail with Drake For promised lands of gold! Brave lads, whatever storms may break, We've weathered worse of old! To-night the loving-cup we'll drain, To-morrow for the Spanish Main!" Admiral Death Boys, are ye calling a toast to-night? (Hear what the sea-wind saith) Fill for a bumper strong and bright, And here's to Admiral Death! He's sailed in a hundred builds o' boat, He's fought in a thousand kinds o' coat, He's the senior flag of all that float, And his name's Admiral Death! Which of you looks for a service free? (Hear what the sea-wind saith) The rules o' the service are but three When ye sail with Admiral Death. Steady your hand in time o' squalls, Stand to the last by him that falls, And answer clear to the voice that calls, "Ay, Ay! Admiral Death!" How will ye know him among the rest? (Hear what the sea-wind saith) By the glint o' the stars that cover his breast Ye may find Admiral Death. By the forehead grim with an ancient scar, By the voice that rolls like thunder far, By the tenderest eyes of all that are, Ye may know Admiral Death. Where are the lads that sailed before? (Hear what the sea-wind saith) Their bones are white by many a shore, They sleep with Admiral Death. Oh! but they loved him, young and old, For he left the laggard, and took the bold, And the fight was fought, and the story's told, And they sleep with Admiral Death. Homeward Bound After long labouring in the windy ways, On smooth and shining tides Swiftly the great ship glides, Her storms forgot, her weary watches past; Northward she glides, and through the enchanted haze Faint on the verge her far hope dawns at last. The phantom sky-line of a shadowy down, Whose pale white cliffs below Through sunny mist aglow, Like noon-day ghosts of summer moonshine gleam--- Soft as old sorrow, bright as old renown, There lies the home, of all our mortal dream. Gillespie. Riding at dawn, riding alone, Gillespie left the town behind; Before he turned by the Westward road A horseman crossed him, staggering blind. "The Devil's abroad in false Vellore, The Devil that stabs by night," he said, "Women and children, rank and file, Dying and dead, dying and dead."