A CHILD'S BATTLES.
271
And always here of old
Such gentle hearts and bold
Our land has bred:
How durst her eye rest else on
The glory shed from Nelson
Quick and dead?
Shame were it, if but one
Such once were born her son,
That one to have borne,
And brought him ne’er a brother:
His praise should bring his mother
Shame and scorn.
A child high-souled as he
Whose manhood shook the sea
Smiles haply here:
His face, where love lies basking,
With bright shut mouth seems asking,
What is fear?
The sunshine-coloured fists
Beyond his dimpling wrists
Were never closed
For saving or for sparing—
For only deeds of daring
Predisposed
Unclenched, the gracious hands
Let slip their gifts like sands
Made rich with ore
