Poem of the day: for England

[pallas_athena]

Vitaï Lampada
by Henry Newbolt

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night--
Ten to make and the match to win--
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play, and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote--
"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red--
Red with the wreck of a square that broke;
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks--
"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the School is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind--
"Play up! Play up! And play the game!"

Comments

It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,

[nineveh-uk.livejournal.com]

But, oh, I do like it when we beat them 3 - 1, and innings defeats at that.

Re: It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,

[artnouveauho.livejournal.com]

Bounce bounce bounce! I just love the incredulous joy on the side's faces in the end-of-match photos.

[megamole.livejournal.com]

Yay for the end of 24 years of hurt.

Boo for a really trivialising poem; in no way is a game of cricket similar to being shot at in the Somme or Mafeking, even if you're facing Mikey Holding or Waqar Younis and least of all in an English public school.

I say this as a public schoolboy ex-cricketer.

[artnouveauho.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I actually really dislike Newbolt-- his imperial bombast is worse than Kipling's.

[library-keeper.livejournal.com]

I don't much like 'Vitai Lampada' (even Newbolt himself came to dislike it, describing it as a 'Frankenstein's monster that I created'), but 'He Fell Among Thieves' never fails to make me shed a manly tear. I wouldn't describe Newbolt as a poet of 'imperial bombast' -- imperial melancholy, more like.

[breltard95.livejournal.com]

Mr. Kipling puts a teaspoon of imperial bombast into each mince pie. It acts as a preservative.

[artnouveauho.livejournal.com]

MR. KIPLING'S EXCEEDINGLY GOOD METRICAL IMPERIALISM. So tasty!