I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
      I slide by hazel covers;
    I move the sweet forget-me-nots
      That grow for happy lovers.

    I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
      Among my skimming swallows;
    I make the netted sunbeams dance
      Against my sandy shallows.

    I murmur under moon and stars
      In brambly wildernesses;
    I linger by my shingly bars;
      I loiter round my cresses.

    And out again I curve and flow
      To join the brimming river;
    For men may come and men may go,
      But I go on forever.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

 THE BALLAD OF THE “CLAMPHERDOWN.”

“The Ballad of the Clampherdown,” by Rudyard Kipling, is included because my boys always like it.  It needs a great deal of explanation, and few boys will hold out to the end in learning it.  But “it pays.” (1865-.)

    It was our war-ship Clampherdown
      Would sweep the Channel clean,
    Wherefore she kept her hatches close
    When the merry Channel chops arose,
      To save the bleached marine.

    She had one bow-gun of a hundred ton,
      And a great stern-gun beside;
    They dipped their noses deep in the sea,
    They racked their stays and stanchions free
      In the wash of the wind-whipped tide.

    It was our war-ship Clampherdown,
      Fell in with a cruiser light
    That carried the dainty Hotchkiss gun
    And a pair o’ heels wherewith to run,
      From the grip of a close-fought fight.

    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!”

    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.”