 Poetry: October 06, 2021 Issue [#11010] |
This week: Sir Henry Newbolt Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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The War Films
By Sir Henry Newbolt
O living pictures of the dead,
O songs without a sound,
O fellowship whose phantom tread
Hallows a phantom ground —
How in a gleam have these revealed
The faith we had not found.
We have sought God in a cloudy Heaven,
We have passed by God on earth:
His seven sins and his sorrows seven,
His wayworn mood and mirth,
Like a ragged cloak have hid from us
The secret of his birth.
Brother of men, when now I see
The lads go forth in line,
Thou knowest my heart is hungry in me
As for thy bread and wine;
Thou knowest my heart is bowed in me
To take their death for mine.
Ireland, Ireland
by Sir Henry Newbolt
Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
Down thy valleys green and sad,
Still thy spirit wanders wailing,
Wanders wailing, wanders mad.
Long ago that anguish took thee,
Ireland, Ireland, green and fair,
Spoilers strong in darkness took thee,
Broke thy heart and left thee there.
Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
Still thy spirit wanders mad;
All too late they love that wronged thee,
Ireland, Ireland, green and sad.
Rev. Henry Francis Newbolt and Emily Newbolt welcomed son Henry Newbolt to their family on June 6, 1862. The Newbolt family lived in Bilston, Staffordshire. His father died when Sir Henry was only 4 years-old. His family moved to Walsall shortly there after. Sir Henry went to Caistor Grammar School. He did very well in his studies and received a scholarship to Clifton College. At the college Sir Henry Newbolt became an editor for the schools magazine. He then went on to graduate from Oxford University. He was a lawyer and a poet. He practiced law from 1887 to 1899.
Sir Henry Newbolt married Margaret Duckworth in 1889. The two had only one child, a daughter named Celia. His first novel Taken from the Enemy, was published in 1892. Two years later, in 1897, he published a book of ballads Admirals All, The Island Race in was published in 1898. Fallowed by The Sailing of the Long-ship in 1902 and in 1904 Songs of the Sea. Then in 1914 Sir Henry Newbolt published a fantasy novel Aladore.
When World War 1 started Sir Henry Newbolt was recruited by Charles Masterman. He was in charge of communications and he was to help the public see that war was going favorable for them. Sir Henry was knighted in 1915. He then published to volumes of naval history of the war in the 1920’s. He was made a Companion of Honor in 1922.
Sir Henry Newbolt died on April 19, 1938 at the age of seventy-six.
The Toy Band
by Sir Henry Newbolt
A Song of the Great Retreat
Dreary lay the long road, dreary lay the town,
Lights out and never a glint o' moon:
Weary lay the stragglers, half a thousand down,
Sad sighed the weary big Dragoon.
"Oh! if I'd a drum here to make them take the road again,
Oh! if I'd a fife to wheedle, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!
"Hey, but here's a toy shop, here's a drum for me,
Penny whistles too to play the tune!
Half a thousand dead men soon shall hear and see
We're a band!" said the weary big Dragoon.
Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake and take the road again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!"
Cheerly goes the dark road, cheerly goes the night,
Cheerly goes the blood to keep the beat;
Half a thousand dead men marching on to fight
With a little penny drum to lift their feet.
Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake, and take the raod again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife and drum!
As long as there's an Englishman to ask a tale of me,
As long as I can tell the tale aright,
We'll not forget the penny whistle's wheedle-deedle-dee
And the big Dragoon a-beating down the night,
Rubadub! Rubadub! Wake and take the road again,
Wheedle-deedle-deedle-dee, Come, boys, come!
You that mean to fight it out, wake and take your load again,
Fall in! Fall in! Follow the fife, and drum!
The Nightjar
by Sir Henry Newbolt
We loved our nightjar, but she would not stay with us.
We had found her lying as dead, but soft and warm,
Under the apple tree beside the old thatched wall.
Two days we kept her in a basket by the fire,
Fed her, and thought she well might live – till suddenly
I the very moment of most confiding hope
She arised herself all tense, qivered and drooped and died.
Tears sprang into my eyes- why not? The heart of man
Soon sets itself to love a living companion,
The more so if by chance it asks some care of him.
And this one had the kind of loveliness that goes
Far deeper than the optic nerve- full fathom five
To the soul’socean cave, where Wonder and Reason
Tell their alternate dreams of how the world was made.
So wonderful she was-her wings the wings of night
But powdered here and therewith tiny golden clouds
And wave-line markings like sea-ripples on the sand.
O how I wish I might never forget that bird-
Never!
But even now, like all beauty of earth,
She is fading from me into the dusk of Time.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
Leaves in red, gold, orange, and yellow
entice one out to meet with fellows.
A time for old friends to gather 'round,
spread woolen blankets upon the ground
under apple trees of laden limb
holding cups of cider filled to the brim.
Crops have been harvested from the fields
let us celebrate a bountiful yield
with a festival in the cool Fall air.
Would you like to meet me there?
Honorable mention:
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