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Sir Henry Newbolt - Laudabunt Alii
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(After Horace)

Let others praise, as fancy wills,
  Berlin beneath her trees,
Or Rome upon her seven hills,
  Or Venice by her seas;
Stamboul by double tides embraced,
Or green Damascus in the waste.

For me there`s nought I would not leave
  For the good Devon land,
Whose orchards down the echoing cleeve
  Bedewed with spray-drift stand,
And hardly bear the red fruit up
That shall be next year`s cider-cup.

You too, my friend, may wisely mark
  How clear skies follow rain,
And, lingering in your own green park
  Or drilled on Laffan`s Plain,
Forget not with the festal bowl
To soothe at times your weary soul.

When Drake must bid to Plymouth Hoe
  Good-bye for many a day,
And some were sad and feared to go,
  And some that dared not stay,
Be sure he bade them broach the best,
And raised his tankard with the rest.

"Drake`s luck to all that sail with Drake
  For promised lands of gold!
Brave lads, whatever storms may break,
  We`ve weathered worse of old!
To-night the loving-cup we`ll drain,
To-morrow for the Spanish Main!"
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