Drake
I
England,
my
mother,
Lift
to
my
western
sweetheart
One
full
cup
of
English
mead,
breathing
of
the
may!
Pledge
the
may-flower
in
her
face
that
you
and
ah,
none
other,
Sent
her
from
the
mother-land
Across
the
dashing
spray.
II
Hers
and
yours
the
story:
Think
of
it,
oh,
think
of
it--
That
immortal
dream
when
El
Dorado
flushed
the
skies!
Fill
the
beaker
full
and
drink
to
Drake's
undying
glory,
Yours
and
hers
(Oh,
drink
of
it!)
The
dream
that
never
dies.
III
Yours
and
hers
the
free-men
Who
scanned
the
stars
and
westward
sung
When
a
king
commanded
and
the
Atlantic
thundered
"Nay!"
Hers
as
yours
the
pride
is,
for
Drake
our
first
of
seamen
First
upon
his
bow-sprit
hung
That
bunch
of
English
may.
IV
Pledge
her
deep,
my
mother;
Through
her
veins
thy
life-stream
runs!
Spare
a
thought,
too,
sweetheart,
for
my
mother
o'er
the
sea!
Younger
eyes
are
yours;
but
ah,
those
old
eyes
and
none
other
Once
bedewed
the
may-flower;
once,
As
yours,
were
clear
and
free.
V
Once!
Nay,
now
as
ever
Beats
within
her
ancient
heart
All
the
faith
that
took
you
forth
to
seek
your
heaven
alone:
Shadows
come
and
go;
but
let
no
shade
of
doubt
dissever,
Cloak,
or
cloud,
or
keep
apart
Two
souls
whose
prayer
is
one.
VI
Sweetheart,
ah,
be
tender--
Tender
with
her
prayer
to-night!
Such
a
goal
might
yet
be
ours!--the
battle-flags
be
furled,
All
the
wars
of
earth
be
crushed,
if
only
now
your
slender
Hand
should
grasp
her
gnarled
old
hand
And
federate
the
world.
VII
Foolish
it
may
seem,
sweet!
Still
the
battle
thunder
lours:
Darker
look
the
Dreadnoughts
as
old
Europe
goes
her
way!
Yet
your
hand,
your
hand,
has
power
to
crush
that
evil
dream,
sweet;
You,
with
younger
eyes
than
ours
And
brows
of
English
may.
VIII
If
a
singer
cherishes
Idle
dreams
or
idle
words,
You
shall
judge--and
you'll
forgive:
for,
far
away
or
nigh,
Still
abides
that
Vision
without
which
a
people
perishes:
Love
will
strike
the
atoning
chords!
Hark--there
comes
a
cry!
IX
Over
all
this
earth,
sweet,
The
poor
and
weak
look
up
to
you--
Lift
their
burdened
shoulders,
stretch
their
fettered
hands
in
prayer:
You,
with
gentle
hands,
can
bring
the
world-wide
dream
to
birth,
sweet,
While
I
lift
this
cup
to
you
And
wonder--will
she
care?
X
Kindle,
eyes,
and
beat,
heart!
Hold
the
brimming
breaker
up!
All
the
may
is
burgeoning
from
East
to
golden
West!
England,
my
mother,
greet
America,
my
sweetheart:
—Ah,
but
ere
I
drained
the
cup
I
found
her
on
your
breast.
