The Destroyers
The strength of twice three thousand horse
That seeks the single goal;
The line that holds the rending course,
The hate that swings the whole;
The stripped hulls, slinking through the gloom,
At gaze and gone again
The Brides of Death that wait the groom
The Choosers of the Slain!
Offshore where sea and skyline blend
In rain, the daylight dies;
The sullen, shouldering sweels attend
Night and our sacrifice.
Adown the stricken capes no flare
No mark on spit or bar,
Birdled and desperate we dare
The blindfold game of war.
Nearer the up-flung beams that spell
The council of our foes;
Clearer the barking guns that tell
Their scattered flank to close.
Sheer to the trap they crowd their way
From ports for this unbarred.
Quiet, and count our laden prey,
The convoy and her guard!
On shoal with carce a foot below,
Where rock and islet throng,
Their anxious lights along.
Not here, not here your danger lies
(Stare hard, O hooded eyne!)
Save were the dazed rock-pigeons rise
The lit cliffs give no sign.
Therefore to break the rest ye seek,
The Narrow Seas to clear
Hark to the siren’s whimpering shriek
The driven death is here!
Look to your van a league away,
What midnight terror stays
The bulk that checks against the spray
Her crackling tops ablaze?
Hit, and hard hit! The blow went home,
The muffled, knocking stroke
The steam that overruns the foam
The foam that thins to smoke
The smoke that clokes the deep aboil
The deep that chokes her throes
Till, streaked with ash and sleeked with oil,
The lukewarm whirlpools close!
A shadow down the sickened wave
Long since
But hear their chattering quick-fires rave
Astern, abeam, ahead!
Panic that shells the drifting spar
Loud waste with none to check
Mad fear that rakes a scornful star
Or sweeps a consort’s deck.
Now, while their silly smoke hangs thick,
Now ere their wits they find,
Lay in and lance them to the quick
Our gallied whales are blind!
Good luck to those that see end end,
Good-bye to those that drown
For each his chance as chance shall send
And God for all! Shut down!
The strength of twice three thousand horse
That serve the one command;
The hand that heaves the headlong force,
The hate that backs the hand:
The doom-bolt in the darkness freed,
The mine that splits the main;
The white-hot wake, the ‘wildering speed
The Choosers of the Slain!
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