(After Horace) <br /> <br />Let others praise, as fancy wills, <br />Berlin beneath her trees, <br />Or Rome upon her seven hills, <br />Or Venice by her seas; <br />Stamboul by double tides embraced, <br />Or green Damascus in the waste. <br /> <br />For me there's nought I would not leave <br />For the good Devon land, <br />Whose orchards down the echoing cleeve <br />Bedewed with spray-drift stand, <br />And hardly bear the red fruit up <br />That shall be next year's cider-cup. <br /> <br />You too, my friend, may wisely mark <br />How clear skies follow rain, <br />And, lingering in your own green park <br />Or drilled on Laffan's Plain, <br />Forget not with the festal bowl <br />To soothe at times your weary soul. <br /> <br />When Drake must bid to Plymouth Hoe <br />Good-bye for many a day, <br />And some were sad and feared to go, <br />And some that dared not stay, <br />Be sure he bade them broach the best, <br />And raised his tankard with the rest. <br /> <br />'Drake's luck to all that sail with Drake <br />For promised lands of gold! <br />Brave lads, whatever storms may break, <br />We've weathered worse of old! <br />To-night the loving-cup we'll drain, <br />To-morrow for the Spanish Main!'<br /><br />Sir Henry Newbolt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/laudabunt-alii-2/
