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Poem by Henry Newbolt The Bright Medusa She's the daughter of the breeze, She's the darling of the seas, And we call her, if you please, the bright Medu—sa; From beneath her bosom bare To the snakes among her hair She's a flash o' golden light, the bright Medu—sa. When the ensign dips above And the guns are all for love, She's as gentle as a dove, the bright Medu—sa; But when the shot's in rack And her forestay flies the Jack, He's a merry man would slight the bright Medu—sa. When she got the word to go Up to Monte Video, There she found the river low, the bright Medu—sa; So she tumbled out her guns And a hundred of her sons, And she taught the Dons to fight the bright Medu—sa. When the foeman can be found With the pluck to cross her ground, First she walks him round and round, the bright Medu—sa; Then she rakes him fore and aft Till he's just a jolly raft, And she grabs him like a kite, the bright Medu—sa. She's the daughter of the breeze, She's the darling of the seas, And you'll call her, if you please, the bright Medu—sa; For till England's sun be set— And it's not for setting yet— She shall bear her name by right, the bright Medu—sa. Henry Newbolt Henry Newbolt's other poems: 1192 Views |
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