"O Captains unforgot," they cried, "Come you again or come no more, Across the world you keep the pride, Across the world we mark the score." By The Hearth-Stone By the hearth-stone She sits alone, The long night bearing: With eyes that gleam Into the dream Of the firelight staring. Low and more low The dying glow Burns in the embers; She nothing heeds And nothing needs--- Only remembers. Peace No more to watch by Night's eternal shore, With England's chivalry at dawn to ride; No more defeat, faith, victory---O! no more A cause on earth for which we might have died. April On Waggon Hill Lad, and can you rest now, There beneath your hill! Your hands are on your breast now, But is your heart so still? 'Twas the right death to die, lad, A gift without regret, But unless truth's a lie, lad, You dream of Devon yet. Ay, ay, the year's awaking, The fire's among the ling, The beechen hedge is breaking, The curlew's on the wing; Primroses are out, lad, On the high banks of Lee, And the sun stirs the trout, lad; From Brendon to the sea. I know what's in your heart, lad,--- The mare he used to hunt--- And her blue market-cart, lad, With posies tied in front--- We miss them from the moor road, They're getting old to roam, The road they're on's a sure road And nearer, lad, to home. Your name, the name they cherish? 'Twill fade, lad, 'tis true: But stone and all may perish With little loss to you. While fame's fame you're Devon, lad, The Glory of the West; Till the roll's called in heaven, lad, You may well take your rest. Commemoration I sat by the granite pillar, and sunlight fell Where the sunlight fell of old, And the hour was the hour my heart remembered well, And the sermon rolled and rolled As it used to roll when the place was still unhaunted, And the strangest tale in the world was still untold. And I knew that of all this rushing of urgent sound That I so clearly heard, The green young forest of saplings clustered round Was heeding not one word: Their heads were bowed in a still serried patience Such as an angel's breath could never have stirred. For some were already away to the hazardous pitch, Or lining the parapet wall, And some were in glorious battle, or great and rich, Or throned in a college hall: And among the rest was one like my own young phantom, Dreaming for ever beyond my utmost call. "O Youth," the preacher was crying, "deem not thou Thy life is thine alone; Thou bearest the will of the ages, seeing how They built thee bone by bone, And within thy blood the Great Age sleeps sepulchred Till thou and thine shall roll away the stone. "Therefore the days are coming when thou shalt burn With passion whitely hot; Rest shall be rest no more; thy feet shall spurn All that thy hand hath got; And One that is stronger shall gird thee, and lead thee swiftly Whither, O heart of Youth, thou wouldest not."