English

They fought south of the Castle,
They died north of the wall.
They died in the moors and were not buried.
Their flesh was the food of crows.
"Tell the crows we are not afraid;
We have died in the moors and cannot be buried.
Crows, how can our bodies escape you?"
The waters flowed deep
And the rushes in the pool were dark.
The riders fought and were slain:
Their horses wander neighing.
By the bridge there was a house.
Was it south, was it north?
The harvest was never gathered.
How can we give you your offerings?

There's heaven above, and night by night
I look right through its gorgeous roof;
No suns and moons though e'er so bright
Avail to stop me; splendour-proof
I keep the broods of stars aloof:
For I intend to get to God,
For 'tis to God I speed so fast,
For in God's breast, my own abode,
Those shoals of dazzling glory passed,
I lay my spirit down at last.
I lie where I have always lain,
God smiles as he has always smiled;
Ere suns and moons could wax and wane,
Ere stars were thundergirt, or piled

There's a graveyard near the White House
Where the Unknown Soldier lies,
And the flowers there are sprinkled
With the tears from mother's eyes.

I stood there not so long ago
With roses for the brave,
And suddenly I heard a voice
Speak from out the grave:

“I am the Unknown Soldier,”
The spirit voice began,
“And I think I have the right
To ask some questions man to man.

“Are my buddies taken care of?
Was their victory so sweet?
Is that big reward you offered
Selling pencils on the street?

There went most passionately to Life, Impellance,
And thrilled it with the high perception of divines;
And through a blight of gloom its request fought for
Heaven, its hospice, light, investure ante-natal,
And hope, impact of fathom, lucid suavity.

Sum speiks of Lords, sum speiks of Lairds,
And siclyke Men of hie Degrie,
Of a Gentleman I sing a Sang,
Sumtyme calld Laird of Gilnockie.
The King he wrytes a luving Letter
With his ain Hand sae tenderly,
And he hath sent it to Johny Armstrang,
To cum and speik with him speidily.

The Eliots and Armstrangs did convene;
They were a gallant Company:
Weill ryde and meit our lawful King,
And bring him safe to Gilnockie.
Make Kinnen and Capon ready then,
And Venison in great Plenty,
Weill welcome Hame our Royal King,

The strong sob of the chafing stream
That seaward fights its way
Down crags of glitter, dells of gleam,
Is in the hills to-day.

But far and faint, a grey-winged form
Hangs where the wild lights wane--
The phantom of a bygone storm,
A ghost of wind and rain.

The soft white feet of afternoon
Are on the shining meads,
The breeze is as a pleasant tune
Amongst the happy reeds.

The fierce, disastrous, flying fire,
That made the great caves ring,
And scarred the slope, and broke the spire,

Stand by the Flag! Its stars like meteors gleaming,
—Have lighted Arctic icebergs, southern seas,
And shone responsive to the stormy beaming
—Of old Arcturus and the Pleiades.

Stand by the Flag! Its stripes have streamed in glory,
—To foes a fear, to friends a festal robe,
And spread in rhythmic lines the sacred story
—Of Freedom's triumphs over all the globe.

Stand by the Flag! On land and ocean billow
—By it your fathers stood unmoved and true,
Living defended; dying, from their pillow,

Space , and the twelve clean winds of heaven,
And this sharp exultation, like a cry, after the slow six thousand steps of climbing!
This is Tai Shan, the beautiful, the most holy.

Below my feet the foot-hills nestle, brown with flecks of green; and lower down the flat brown plain, the floor of earth, stretches away to blue infinity.
Beside me in this airy space the temple roofs cut their slow curves against the sky,
And one black bird circles above the void.

Space, and the twelve clean winds are here;

So cruel prison how could betide, alas,
As proud Windsor, Where I in lust and joy
With a king's son my childish years did pass
In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy?
Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour;
The large green courts where we were wont to hove
With eyes cast up unto the maidens' tower,
And easy sighs, such as folk draw in love;
The stately sails, the ladies bright of hue,
The dances short, long tales of great delight,
With words and looks that tigers could but rue,

Sleep , little baby, sleep and rest,
The moon hangs low in the crimson west;
As the Christ-child slept at Mary's breast,
Sleep, little baby, sleep!

Hush, little baby, hush and dream
Of golden boats on a silver stream,
And let my love creep in between.
Hush, little baby, hush!

Rest, little baby, rest and sleep,
Far in the fields are the little white sheep.
Safe in my arms in slumber deep
Rest, little baby, rest!