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Peter, as he turned down the street, was cold perhaps because Knightsbridge had been blazing with sunshine and the light here was hidden.... No, it was more than that.... "They say," he thought, "that Cornishmen always know when a disaster's coming. If that's true, something ought to be going to happen to me."
No leader to shirk the boasting foe, And to march and countermarch our brave Till they fall like ghosts in the marshes low, And swamp-grass covers each nameless grave; Nor another, whose fatal banners wave Aye in Disaster's shameful van; Nor another, to bluster, and lie, and rave, Abraham Lincoln, give us a MAN!
Now, Terraitorr, yield or die!" When the poor hero flounders in despair, Some dear lost uncle turns up millionnaire, Clasps the young scapegrace with paternal joy, Sobs on his neck, "MY BOY! MY BOY!! MY BOY!!!" Ours, then, sweet friends, the real world to-night. Of love that conquers in disaster's spite. Ladies, attend!
Now, Terraitorr, yield or die!" When the poor hero flounders in despair, Some dear lost uncle turns up millionnaire, Clasps the young scapegrace with paternal joy, Sobs on his neck, "MY BOY! MY BOY!! MY BOY!!!" Ours, then, sweet friends, the real world to-night. Of love that conquers in disaster's spite. Ladies, attend!
The ships have sailed from Marathon On swift disaster's wings; And an evil dream hath fetched a groan From the heart of the king of kings. But through Pentelicus' winding vales The hymn triumphal runs, And high-shrined Athens proudly hails Her free-returning sons.
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