��But by the pathless sea, by peak and plain,
Bright-eyed, stern-lipped, all day, all night, they go
Forth as a fire that snatches and devours
Wind-withered woods, so go they swift and fell,
Warring with principalities and powers.
Hunting through space the swart, old bands of Hell ;
And all the sounding causeways of the spheres Ring like white iron with the rhythmic tread
Of these and their innumerable peers ;
But most round England muster England's dead,
Round England cradled in her roaring seas.
With Arctic snows white-girdled, bathed in suns
Asian and Australasian, there go these ; And where one solitary trader nms
His English keel, and where one lonely sword Glimmers for England, one unsleeping brain
Watches and works for England, thitherward Gather the bright souls of her servants slain
For her, and lock their shimmering ranks, and sweep Round England's child as sweeps the northern gale
Round some stark pine-tree on the moorland steep, And from the flash and rattle of their mail
�� �
