Ode for Trafalgar Day, 1905

"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.         England! to-day let fire be in thine eyes             And in thy heart the throb of leaping guns;         Crown in thy streets the deed that never dies,             And tell their fathers' fame to all thy sons!         Behold! behold! on that unchanging sea             Where day behind Trafalgar rises pale,                 How dread the storm to be                 Drifts up with ominous breath             Cloud after towering cloud of billowy sail                 Full charged with thunder and the bolts of death.         Yet when the noon is past, and thy delight,             More delicate for these good hundred years,         Has drunk the splendour and the sound of fight             And the sweet sting of long-since vanished fears,         Then, England, come thou down with sterner lips             From the bright world of thy substantial power,                 Forget thy seas, thy ships,                 And that wide echoing dome             To watch the soul of man in his dark hour                 Redeeming yet his dear lost land of home.         What place is this?    What under-world of pain             All shadow-barred with glare of swinging fires?         What writhing phantoms of the newly slain?             What cries?    What thirst consuming all desires?         This is the field of battle: not for life,             Not for the deeper life that dwells in love,                 Not for the savour of strife                 Or the far call of fame,             Not for all these the fight: all these above                 The soul of this man cherished Duty's name.         His steadfast hope from self has turned away,             For the Cause only must he still contend:         "How goes the day with us?    How goes the day?"             He craves not victory, but to make an end.         Therefore not yet thine hour, O Death: but when             The weapons forged against his country's peace                 Lie broken round him--then                 Give him the kiss supreme;             Then let the tumult of his warfare cease                 And the last dawn dispel his anguished dream.