English poem
The Troopship
by Lionel Johnson (1867–1902)
At early morning, clear and cold, Still in her English harbour lay The long, white ship: while winter gold Shone pale upon her outward way.
Slowly she moved, slowly she stirred, Stately and slow, she went away: Sounds of farewell, the harbour heard; Music on board began to play.
Old, homely airs were thine, great ship! Breaking from laughter into tears: And through them all good fellowship Spoke of a trust beyond all fears.
Still, as the gray mists gathered round, Embracing thee, concealing thine; Still, faintly from the Outward Bound Came melodies of Auld Lang Syne.
Oh, sad to part! Oh, brave to go Between the Piers of Hercules, And through the seas of fame, and so Meet eastern sun on eastern seas!
O richly laden! swiftly bear, And surely, thy two thousand men; Till round them burn the Indian air: And English lips will hail them then.