Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu/211

 ��OFF HELIGOLAND

Ghostly ships in a ghostly sea,

(Here's to Drake in the Spanish main !) Hark to the turbines, running free.

Oil-cups full and the orders plain. Plunging into the misty night,

Surging into the rolling brine. Never a word, and never a light,

Look ! a gleam on the starboard bow,

(Here's to the Fighting Temeraire !) Quartermaster be ready now.

Two points over, and keep her there. Ghostly ships — let the foemen grieve.

Yen's the Admiral tight and trim, And one more — with an empty sleeve —

Standing a little aft of him !

Slender, young in a coat of blue, (Here's to the Agamemnon's pride !)

Out of the mists that long he knew. Out of the Victory, where he died.

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