<h2><SPAN name="page105"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>THE HOME-COMING OF THE ‘EURYDICE’</h2>
<p>[<i>Lost, with her crew of three hundred boys, on the last day
of her voyage</i>, <i>March</i> 23, 1876. <i>She foundered
off Portsmouth</i>, <i>from which town many of the boys
came</i>.]</p>
<p class="poetry">Up with the royals that top the white spread of
her!<br/>
Press her and dress her, and drive through the
foam;<br/>
The Island’s to port, and the mainland ahead of her,<br/>
Hey for the Warner and Hayling and Home!</p>
<p class="poetry">Bo’sun, O Bo’sun, just look at the
green of it!<br/>
Look at the red cattle down by the hedge!<br/>
<SPAN name="page106"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>Look at
the farmsteading—all that is seen of it,<br/>
One little gable end over the edge!’</p>
<p class="poetry">‘Lord! the tongues of them clattering,
clattering,<br/>
All growing wild at a peep of the Wight;<br/>
Aye, sir, aye, it has set them all chattering,<br/>
Thinking of home and their mothers
to-night.’</p>
<p class="poetry">Spread the topgallants—oh, lay them out
lustily!<br/>
What though it darken o’er Netherby Combe?<br/>
’Tis but the valley wind, puffing so gustily—<br/>
On for the Warner and Hayling and Home!</p>
<p class="poetry">‘Bo’sun, O Bo’sun, just see
the long slope of it!<br/>
Culver is there, with the cliff and the light.<br/>
<SPAN name="page107"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>Tell us,
oh tell us, now is there a hope of it?<br/>
Shall we have leave for our homes for
to-night?’</p>
<p class="poetry">‘Tut, the clack of them!
Steadily! Steadily!<br/>
Aye, as you say, sir, they’re little ones
still;<br/>
One long reach should open it readily,<br/>
Round by St. Helens and under the hill.</p>
<p class="poetry">‘The Spit and the Nab are the gates of
the promise,<br/>
Their mothers to them—and to us it’s our
wives.<br/>
I’ve sailed forty years, and—By God it’s upon
us!<br/>
Down royals, Down top’sles, down, down, for
your lives!’</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page108"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
108</span>A grey swirl of snow with the squall at the back of
it,<br/>
Heeling her, reeling her, beating her down!<br/>
A gleam of her bends in the thick of the wrack of it,<br/>
A flutter of white in the eddies of brown.</p>
<p class="poetry">It broke in one moment of blizzard and
blindness;<br/>
The next, like a foul bat, it flapped on its way.<br/>
But our ship and our boys! Gracious Lord, in your
kindness,<br/>
Give help to the mothers who need it to-day!</p>
<p class="poetry">Give help to the women who wait by the
water,<br/>
Who stand on the Hard with their eyes past the
Wight.<br/>
Ah! whisper it gently, you sister or daughter,<br/>
‘Our boys are all gathered at home for
to-night.’</p>
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