FURTHER and further we leave the scene Of war—and of England's care; I try to keep my mind serene— But my heart stays there; For a distant song of pain and wrong My spirit doth deep confuse, And I sit all day on the deck, and long— And long for news! I seem to see them in battle-line— Heroes with hearts of gold, But of their victory a sign The Fates withhold; And the hours too tardy-footed pass, The voiceless hush grows dense 'Mid the imaginings, alas! That feed suspense. Oh, might I lie on the wind, or fly In the wilful sea-bird's track, Would I hurry on, with a homesick cry— Or hasten back? |