Faint against the twilight, dim against the evening,
Fading into darkness against the lapping sea,
She sailed away from harbour, from safety into danger,
The ship that took him from me — my sailor boy from me.
He went away to join her, from me that loved and bore him,
Loved him ere I bore him, that was all the world to me.
“No time for leave, mother, must be back this evening,
Time for our patrol again, across the winter sea.”
Six times over, since he went to join her,
Came he to see me, to run back again.
“Four hours’ leave, mother — still got the steam up,
Going on patrol to-night — the old East lane.”
“Seven times lucky, and perhaps we'll have a battle,
Then I'll bring a medal back and give it you to keep.”
And his name is in the paper, with close upon a hundred,
Who lie there beside him, many fathom deep.
And beside him in the paper, somebody is writing,
— God! but how I hate him — a liar and a fool,—
“Where is the British Navy — is it staying in the harbours?
Has the Nelson spirit in the Fleet begun to cool?”