Poems by Henry Newbolt

also known as: Sir Henry Newbolt

Sorted by title, showing title and first line

It fell in the year of Mutiny,
The Forest above and the Combe below,
With sanguine looks
Think not thy little fountain's rain
Boys, are ye calling a toast to-night?
Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake,
Cities drowned in olden time
She is a lady fair and wise,
Since thou and I have wandered from the highway
'Tis hard to say if greater waste of time
Lad, and can you rest now,
I left behind the ways of care,
I cannot tell, of twain beneath this bond,
Though I see within thine eyes
By the hearth-stone
This is the Chapel: here, my son,
I sat by the granite pillar, and sunlight fell
(Mobile Bay, 1864)
Deep-wooded combes, clear-mounded hills of morn,
Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand miles away,
Her thought that, like a brook beside the way,
Praise thou with praise unending,
(After Martial)
The Squire sat propped in a pillowed chair,
O youth, beside thy silver-springing fountain,
Lover of England, stand awhile and gaze
O Son of mine, when dusk shall find thee bending
(Old French)
Riding at dawn, riding alone,
In seventeen hundred and fifty-nine,
"Ye have robbed," said he, "ye have slaughtered and made an end,
After long labouring in the windy ways,
"Hark ye, hark to the winding horn;
In The Time Of War And Tumults
Alas! alas! what impious hands are these?
(A Lady of Tender Age)
His beauty bore no token,
With failing feet and shoulders bowed
Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
(After Horace)
One day, when Love and Summer both were young,
Do ye ken hoo to fush for the salmon?
He gave us all a good-bye cheerily
Turn back, my Soul, no longer set
(The Dictionary Of National Biography)
Past seven o'clock: time to be gone;
Pilgrim, no shrine is here, no prison, no inn:
Whisper it not that late in years
Whisper it not that late in years
"The Old and Bold"
O Saint whose thousand shrines our feet have trod
"Partial firing continued until 4.30, when a victory having been reported to the Right Honourable Lord Viscount Nelson, K.B., and Commander-in-Chief, he then died of his wound."--Log of the Victory, October 21, 1805.
Foremost of all on battle's fiery steep
Time, when thou shalt bring again
Dear Earth, near Earth, the clay that made us men,
No more to watch by Night's eternal shore,
(After Martial)
Grasshoppers four a-fiddling went,
Long ago to thee I gave
Though I wander far-off ways,
It was morning at St. Helen's, in the great and gallant days,
"The sleep that Tippoo Sahib sleeps
Mother, with unbowed head
One by one the pale stars die before the day now,
Stand by to reckon up your battleships
In a blue dusk the ship astern
Oh hear! Oh hear!
The sun was lost in a leaden sky,
Deep embowered beside the forest river,
Over the downs in sunlight clear
It's good to see the school we knew,
(An Anthem Heard In Canterbury Cathedral)
(August 7th, 1657)
Of A Ballad Sung By H. Plunket Greene To His Old School
Yesterday I thought to roam
It was eight bells ringing,
This myth, of Egyptian origin, formed part of the instruction given to those initiated in the Orphic mysteries, and written versions of it were buried with the dead.
(Dargai, October 20, 1897)
"When Lieutenant Murray fell, the only words he spoke were,
"Drake, and Blake, and Nelson's mighty name."
While I within her secret garden walked,
Spring, they say, with his greenery
(June 24th, 1902)
Before the April night was late
Walking to-day in your garden, O gracious lady,
Out of the unknown South,
Among a race high-handed, strong of heart,
The wind was rising easterly, the morning sky was blue,
O Bitter wind toward the sunset blowing,
I tramped among the townward throng
When in the womb of Time our souls' own son
We lay at St. Helen's, and easy she rode
(October, 1899)
Once, when beside me in that sacred place
All night before the brink of death
Our game was his but yesteryear;
England! where the sacred flame
When I thy lover first
"He leapt to arms unbidden,
To Youth there comes a whisper out of the west:
Call me no more, O gentle stream,
(MARCH 31ST, 1909)
(June 21st, 1897*)
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night---
Beside the placid sea that mirrored her
Drake in the North Sea grimly prowling,
When I remember that the day will come
Among the woods and tillage
His song of dawn outsoars the joyful bird,