And the second, “Ay, here is the narrow home,
To which our tired hearts are come!”

And the third, “We are all that are left, Glyndwr,
To guard thee now on Gamellyn moor.”

Straightway I saw the dead forth-stand,
His good sword bright in his right hand,

And the marsh-reeds with a whistling sound,
To a thousand gray swordsmen were turned around.

The moon did shake in the south to see,
The dead man stand with his soldiery.

But the brighter his sword, the grave before,
Turn’d its gate of death to a radiant door.

Therein the thousand, before their Lord,
Marched at the summons of his bright sword.

Then the night grew strange, the blood left my brain,
And I stood alone by the grave again.

But brightly his sword still before me shone,
Across the dark moor as I passed alone.

And still it shines, a silver flame,
Across the dark night of the Cymraec shame.

THE LOOKING-GLASS:  RUDYARD KIPLING

The Queen was in her chamber, and she was middling old,
Her petticoat was of satin, and her stomacher was gold. 
Backwards and forwards and sideways did she pass,
Making up her mind to face the cruel looking-glass. 
The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass
As comely or as kindly or as young as what she was!

The Queen was in her chamber, a-combing of her hair. 
There came Queen Mary’s spirit and It stood behind her chair,
Singing, “Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pass,
But I will stand beside you till you face the looking-glass. 
The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass
As lovely or unlucky or as lonely as I was.”

The Queen was in her chamber, a-weeping very sore,
There came Lord Leicester’s spirit and It scratched upon the door,
Singing, “Backwards and forwards and sideways may you pass,
But I will walk beside you till you face the looking-glass. 
The cruel looking-glass that will never show a lass,
As hard and unforgiving and as wicked as you was!”

The Queen was in her chamber, her sins were on her head. 
She looked the spirits up and down and statelily she said:—­
“Backwards and forwards and sideways though I’ve been,
Yet I am Harry’s daughter and I am England’s Queen!”
And she faced the looking-glass (and whatever else there was)
And she saw her day was over and she saw her beauty pass
In the cruel looking-glass, that can always hurt a lass
More hard than any ghost there is or any man there was!

DRAKE’S DRUM:  HENRY NEWBOLT

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 Hoe. 
Yarnder lumes the Island, yarnder lie the ships,
    Wi’ sailor lads a dancin’ heel-an’-toe,
An’ the shore light flashin’ an’ the night-tide dashin’
    He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago.