Wardens Of The Wave poem – Alfred Austin

Not to exult in braggart vein

Over a gallant foe,

Or boast of triumphs on the main,

The Gods alone bestow;

Vainglorious clarion, clamorous drum,

For which the vulgar crave,

Not these, not any such, become

The Wardens of the Wave.

No, but when slumbering war-dogs wake,

To the last gasp of breath

Face combat for one’s Country’s sake,

With male disdain of death;

For this did Nelson live and die,

Far from his Land and home,

Making his roof-tree of the sky,

His pillow on the foam.

And if our race to-day recall

His last triumphant doom,

Place wreaths on his unfading pall,

And flowers upon his tomb,

‘Tis to remind us still to keep

Aggression’s lust in awe,

And with dominion of the deep

Guard Freedom, Peace, and Law.

And not alone upon the waves

That sentinel our shore,

Service that disciplines, not enslaves,

Should rule us, as of yore;

So that our Island Citadel

May tranquilly respond

With the calm signal, “All is well,”

To every Sea Beyond.