She opened fire at seven miles—

As ye shoot at a bobbing cork—

And once she fired and twice she fired,
Till the bow-gun drooped like a lily tired
That lolls upon the stalk.

'Captain, the bow-gun melts apace,
"The deck-beams break below,
"Twere well to rest for an hour or twain,
'And botch the shattered plates again.'
And he answered, ‘Make it so.'

She opened fire within the mile

As ye shoot at the flying duck—

And the great stern-gun shot fair and true,

With the heave of the ship, to the stainless blue,

And the great stern-turret stuck.

'Captain, the turret fills with steam,
"The feed-pipes burst below-
'You can hear the hiss of helpless ram,
'You can hear the twisted runners jam.
And he answered, 'Turn and go!'

E

It was our war-ship ‘Clampherdown,'

And grimly did she roll;

Swung round to take the cruiser's fire

As the White Whale faces the Thresher's ire, When they war by the frozen Pole.

'Captain, the shells are falling fast, 'And faster still fall we;

'And it is not meet for English stock, "To bide in the heart of an eight-day clock, "The death they cannot see.'

'Lie down, lie down my bold A.B.,

'We drift upon her beam; 'We dare not ram for she can run;

'And dare ye fire another gun,

'And die in the peeling steam?'

It was our war-ship 'Clampherdown'
That carried an armour-belt;

But fifty feet at stern and bow,

Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow, To the hail of the Nordenfeldt.

'Captain, they lack us through and through; 'The chilled steel bolts are swift!

'We have emptied the bunkers in open sea,

'Their shrapnel bursts where our coal should be.' And he answered, 'Let her drift.'

It was our war-ship 'Clampherdown,'

Swung round upon the tide,

Her two dumb guns glared south and north,

And the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth,

And she ground the cruiser's side.

'Captain, they cry, the fight is done, "They bid you send your sword.'

And he answered, 'Grapple her stern and bow.

"They have asked for the steel. They shall have it

now;

'Out cutlasses and board!'

It was our war-ship 'Clampherdown,'
Spewed up four hundred men;

And the scalded stokers yelped delight,

As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight,

Stamp o'er their steel-walled pen.

They cleared the cruiser end to end,

From conning-tower to hold.

They fought as they fought in Nelson's fleet;

They were stripped to the waist, they were bare to

the feet,

As it was in the days of old.

It was the sinking 'Clampherdown'
Heaved up her battered side-
And carried a million pounds in steel,
To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel,
And the scour of the Channel tide.

It was the crew of the 'Clampherdown'
Stood out to sweep the sea,

On a cruiser won from an ancient foe,
As it was in the days of long-ago,

And as it still shall be.

THE BALLAD OF THE 'BOLIVAR'

Seven men from all the world, back to Docks again, Rolling down the Ratcliffe Road drunk and raising Cain:

Give the girls another drink 'fore we sign away— We that took the 'Bolivar' out across the Bay!

We put out from Sunderland loaded down with rails;

We put back to Sunderland 'cause our cargo

shifted;

We put out from Sunderland-met the winter

gales—

Seven days and seven nights to the Start we drifted.

Racketing her rivets loose, smoke-stack white

as snow,

All the coals adrift a deck, half the rails below