Page:McClure's Magazine v10 no3 to v11 no2.djvu/465



The strength of twice three thousand horse
 * That seek the single goal—

The line that holds the signalled course,
 * The hate that swings the whole:

The stripped hulls, slinking through the gloom,'
 * Half guessed and gone again—

The brides of death that wait the groom—
 * The Choosers of the Slain!

Offshore where sea and skyline blend
 * In rain, the daylight dies;

The sullen, shouldering swells attend
 * Night and our sacrifice.

Adown the stricken capes no flare—
 * No mark on spit or bar,—

Darkling and desperate we dare
 * The blind-fold game of war.

Nearer the wheeling beams that spell
 * The council of our foes;

Clearer the anxious guns that tell
 * Their scattered flank to close.