This is the King of all the world
Upon His Cross of Love.

DRAKE

_DEDICATED TO RUDOLPH CHAMBERS LEHMANN_

PROLOGUE TO AMERICAN EDITION

I

England, my mother,
Lift to my western sweetheart
One full cup of English mead, breathing of the may!
Pledge the may-flower in her face that you and ah, none other,
Sent her from the mother-land
Across the dashing spray.

II

Hers and yours the story:
Think of it, oh, think of it--
That immortal dream when El Dorado flushed the skies!
Fill the beaker full and drink to Drake's undying glory,
Yours and hers (Oh, drink of it!)
The dream that never dies.

III

Yours and hers the free-men
Who scanned the stars and westward sung
When a king commanded and the Atlantic thundered "Nay!"
Hers as yours the pride is, for Drake our first of seamen
First upon his bow-sprit hung
That bunch of English may.

IV

Pledge her deep, my mother;
Through her veins thy life-stream runs!
Spare a thought, too, sweetheart, for my mother o'er the sea!
Younger eyes are yours; but ah, those old eyes and none other
Once bedewed the may-flower; once,
As yours, were clear and free.

V

Once! Nay, now as ever
Beats within her ancient heart
All the faith that took you forth to seek your heaven alone:
Shadows come and go; but let no shade of doubt dissever,
Cloak, or cloud, or keep apart
Two souls whose prayer is one.

VI

Sweetheart, ah, be tender--
Tender with her prayer to-night!
Such a goal might yet be ours!--the battle-flags be furled,
All the wars of earth be crushed, if only now your slender
Hand should grasp her gnarled old hand
And federate the world.

VII

Foolish it may seem, sweet!
Still the battle thunder lours:
Darker look the Dreadnoughts as old Europe goes her way!
Yet your hand, your hand, has power to crush that evil dream, sweet;
You, with younger eyes than ours
And brows of English may.

VIII

If a singer cherishes
Idle dreams or idle words,
You shall judge--and you'll forgive: for, far away or nigh,
Still abides that Vision without which a people perishes:
Love will