Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/289

Rh And always here of old Such gentle hearts and bold Our land has bred: How durst her eye rest else on The glory shed from Nelson Quick and dead?

Shame were it, if but one Such once were born her son, That one to have borne, And brought him ne’er a brother: His praise should bring his mother Shame and scorn.

A child high-souled as he Whose manhood shook the sea Smiles haply here: His face, where love lies basking, With bright shut mouth seems asking, What is fear?

The sunshine-coloured fists Beyond his dimpling wrists Were never closed For saving or for sparing— For only deeds of daring Predisposed

Unclenched, the gracious hands Let slip their gifts like sands Made rich with ore