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It fell in the year of Mutiny, At darkest of the night, John Nicholson by Jalándhar came, On his way to Delhi fight.…
Born in Bilston, Staffordshire in 1862, Newbolt was educated at Clifton School and Oxford University. After his studies Newbolt became a barrister. Higly respected, Newbolt was a lawyer, novelist, playwright and magazine editor. Above all, he was a poet who championed the virtues of chivalry and sportsmanship combined in the service of the British Empire. Although his first novel, Taken from the Enemy, was published in time for his thirtieth birthday in 1892, Newbolt’s reputation was established in 1897 in a poem written about a schoolboy cricketer who grows up to fight in Africa, Vitai Lampada. The poem was well received both critically and publicly at the time. Shortly after war was declared Newbolt was recruited by the head of Britain’s War Propaganda Bureau (WPB), Charles Masterman, to help shape and maintain public opinion in favour of the war effort. Newbolt, who was appointed controller of telecommunications during the war, was knighted in 1915. The Companion of Honour followed in 1922. Newbolt authored two official volumes of the naval history of the war in the 1920s. His autobiography, My World as in My Time was published in 1932. Sir Henry Newbolt died in 1938.)
Sir Henry Newbolt şiirleri
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Boys, are ye calling a toast to-night? (Hear what the sea-wind saith) Fill for a bumper strong and bright, And here's to Admiral Death!…
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Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake, Here's to the bold and free! Benbow, Collingwood, Byron, Blake, Hail to the Kings of the Sea!…
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I was out early to-day, spying about From the top of a haystack -- such a lovely morning -- And when I mounted again to canter back I saw across a field in the broad sunlight…
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She is a lady fair and wise, Her heart her counsel keeps, And well she knows of time that flies And tide that onward sweeps;…
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Lad, and can you rest now, There beneath your hill! Your hands are on your breast now, But is your heart so still?…
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The Forest above and the Combe below, On a bright September morn! He's the soul of a clod who thanks not God That ever his body was born!…
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With sanguine looks And rolling walk Among the rooks He loved to stalk,…
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(from the French of Wenceslas, Duke of Brabant and Luxembourg, who died in 1384.) I cannot tell, of twain beneath this bond, Which one in grief the other goes beyond,--- Narcissus,…
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By the hearth-stone She sits alone, The long night bearing: With eyes that gleam…
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This is the Chapel: here, my son, Your father thought the thoughts of youth, And heard the words that one by one The touch of Life has turn’d to truth.…
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I sat by the granite pillar, and sunlight fell Where the sunlight fell of old, And the hour was the hour my heart remembered well, And the sermon rolled and rolled…
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Over the turret, shut in his iron-clad tower, Craven was conning his ship through smoke and flame; Gun to gun he had battered the fort for an hour, Now was the time for a charge to…
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Drake he's in his hammock an' a thousand miles away, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?) Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay, An' dreamin' arl the time O' Plymouth H…
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Praise thou with praise unending, The Master of the Wine; To all their portions sending Himself he mingled thine:…
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