Vagabond and Other Poems from Punch | Page 7

lands apart these fighters
came.
An equal courage nerved each arm,
And stirred each
generous heart to flame.
Now, greatly dead, they lie below;
Their creed or language no man
heeds,
Since for their colour they can show
The blood-red blazon of
their deeds!
TO FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT ROBINSON, V.C.
You with the hawk's eyes and the nerves of steel,
How was it with
you when the hurried word
Roused you and sent you swiftly forth to
deal
A blow for justice? Sure your pulses stirred,
And all your
being leapt to meet the call
Which bade you strike nor spare
Where poised in air
Murder and

ravening flame were hid intent to fall.
Alone upon your fearful task you flew,
Where in the vault of heaven
the high stars swing,
Alone and upward, lost to mortal view,

Winding about the assassin craft a ring
Of fateful motion, till at last
you sped
Through the far tracts of gloom
The bolt of doom,
Shattering the
dastard foe to earth with all his dead.
For this we thank you, and we bid you know
That henceforth in the
air, by day or night,
A myriad hopes of ours, where'er you go,
Rise
as companions of your soaring flight;
And well we know that when
there comes the need
A host of men like you,
As staunch, as true,
Will rush to prove the
daring of the island breed.
PAGAN FANCIES
Blow, Father Triton, blow your wreathéd horn
Cheerly, as is your
wont, and let the blast
Circle our island on the breezes borne;
Blow,
while the shining hours go swiftly past.
Rise, Proteus, from the cool
depths rise, and be
A friend to them that breast your ancient sea.
I shall be there to greet you, for I tire
Of the dull meadows and the
crawling stream.
Now with a heart uplifted and a-fire
I come to
greet you and to catch the gleam
Of jocund Nereids tossing in the air

The sportive tresses of their amber hair.
High on a swelling upland I shall stand
Stung by the buffets of the
wind-borne spray;
Or join the troops that sport upon the sand,
With
shouts and laughter wearing out the day;
Or pace apart and listen to
the roar
Of the great waves that beat the crumbling shore.
Then, when the children all are lapped in sleep
The pretty Nymphlets

of the sea shall rise,
And we shall know them as they flit and creep

And peep and glance and murmur lullabies;
While the pale moon
comes up beyond the hill,
And Proteus rests and Triton's horn is still.
ROBIN, THE SEA-BOY
Ho, ruddy-cheeked boys and curly maids,
Who deftly ply your pails
and spades,
All you who sturdily take your stand
On your
pebble-buttressed forts of sand,
And thence defy
With a fearless eye
And a burst of rollicking
high-pitched laughter
The stealthy trickling waves that lap you
And
the crested breakers that tumble after
To souse and batter you, sting
and sap you--
All you roll-about rackety little folk,
Down-again,
up-again, not-a-bit brittle folk,
Attend, attend,
And let each girl and boy
Join in a loud "Ahoy!"

For, lo, he comes, your tricksy little friend,
From the clear caverns of
his crystal home
Beyond the tossing ridges of the foam:
Planner of
sandy romps and wet delights,
Robin the Sea-boy, prince of
ocean-sprites,
Is come, is come to lead you in your play
And fill
your hearts with mirth and jocund sport to-day!
What! Can't you see him? There he stands
On a sheer rock and lifts
his hands,
A little lad not three feet high,
With dancing mischief in
his eye.
His body gleams against the light,
A clear-cut shape of
dazzling white
Set off and topped by golden hair
That streams and
tosses in the air.
A moment poised, he dares the leap
And cuts the
wind and cleaves the deep.
Down through the emerald vaults
self-hurled
That roof the sea-god's awful world.
Another moment
sees him rise
And beat the salt spray from his eyes.
He breasts the
waves, he spurns their blows;

Then, like a rocket, up he goes,
Up,
up to where the gusty wind
With all its wrath is left behind;
Still up
he soars and high and high
A speck of light that dots the sky.
Then

watch him as he slowly droops
Where the great sea-birds wheel their
troops.
Three broad-winged gulls, himself their lord,
He hitches to a
silken cord,
Bits them and bridles them with skill
And bids them
draw him where he will.
Above the tumult of the shores
He floats,
he stoops, he darts, he soars;
From near and far he calls the rest
And
waves them forward for a quest;
Then straight, without a check, he
speeds
Across the azure tracts and leads
With apt reproof and
cheering words
As on a chase his cry of birds.
And when he has finished his airy fun
And all his flights and his
swoops are done
He will drop to the shore and lend a hand
In
building a castle of weed and sand.
He will cover with flints its
frowning face
To keep the tide in its proper place,
And the waves
shall employ their utmost damp art
In vain to abolish your moated
rampart.
And nobody's nurse shall make a fuss,
As is far too often
the case with us;
Instead of the usual how-de-do
She will