Clear-throated minstrel! what desires can move
Thee, in thy branchy, mist-empurpled swing,
When woods are cold, and winds are sorrowing,
Thus to rehearse thy last year notes of love;
To thrill with all thy heart the listening grove;
To sit, and, with no surety of the Spring,
To answer every voice the breezes bring;
And thine excelling championship to prove?
In the dead Winter of an early sorrow,
No thought of quickening Spring my spirit cheers!
But as I hearken, of thy strength I borrow;
Hope with thy music mingles in mine ears!
Thou, that so cheerly settest forth the morrow,
While round thee million buds are wet with tears!
(A Book of Bristol Sonnets, p. 74)
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Who perished in scuttling Submarine U18
When from their womb of death we saved the crew
And safe aboard the six-and-twenty came,
One man remained, to win a deathless name—
One man aside all hope of living threw,
Went down and dared the scuttling-valves unscrew,
And sank a prisoner in that iron frame
He thus would save from capture and from shame
By doing the last duty that he knew.
Uncover heads, and bow before his deed,
Speak well, ye Britons, of a race that rears
Such sons to serve their country to the death.
A time shall come when wounds will cease to bleed,
Such heroes do but seal with latest breath
Our brotherhood in far-off happier years.
The British Destroyer Garry, off the North Coast of Scotland, rammed the German submarine U 18, but saved all but one of the crew. He heroically went below to open the scuttling valves, and so, by sinking the submarine, to save it from the hands of the British.
(The European War 1914-1915 Poems, p. 128)
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Light-hearted dweller in the voiceless wood,
Pricking thy tasselled ears in hope to tell
Where, under, in thy haste, the acorn fell:
Now, for excess of summer in thy blood,
Running through all thy tricksy change of mood,
Or vaulting upward to thy citadel
To seek the mossy nest, thy miser-cell,
And chuckle o’er the winter’s hoard of food.
Miser? I do thee wrong to call thee so,
For, from the swinging larch-plumes overhead,
In showers of whispering music thou dost shed
Gold, thick as dust, where’er thy light feet go:
Keep, busy Almoner, thy gifts of gold!
Be still! Mine eyes ask only to behold.
(Sonnets at the English Lakes, p. 36)
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Sir,—I cannot speak for the “Beautiful Carlisle Society” for we have not yet met; but I can speak for several of my fellow citizens who have written on the subject, and am confident that there will be a great sigh of relief amongst those who are proud of their ancient castle, if they can be assured that the Corporation will not sanction the erection of the Tank on that beautiful site opposite the Salvation Army Barracks, till they have sought in vain for other more suitable sites…. I yield to none in my admiration for the ingenuity of the Tank, or for the intrepidity with which it has fought. I recognise that it contributed much to the winning of the war, but that is no reason why the most beautiful approach to the castle in years to come shall be marred by an object which, however much we may respect it, cannot by any known laws of form be thought a thing of beauty or a joy for ever. Surely some site might be chosen in the Park, where by a little judicious planting its unwieldly bulk might be shrouded, and where even without this, the spaciousness of the ground round it, would somewhat lessen its scale.
(Carlisle Journal, 20 February 1920, p. 7)
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Sir,—There can be no more patriotic movement if we look at the future “stamina” of our people than a recall from the anaemic loaf of to-day to the wheat flour as God Almighty gave it for the building of bone and muscle and nerve….
Here in Cumberland another very important food-stuff, which in old days contributed to the bone and muscle of our dalesmen, has almost passed away. I allude to the delicious “Haver” bread, a very thin cake of fine oatmeal, which up to thirty years ago was the staple bread at every farm, and for the storing of which—for only two bakings took place in the year—the oak kists were part of the household furniture….
The “Haver bread” not only helped to produce good teeth but helped to keep them good, for the eating of it acted as a toothbrush. The report of our school medical officer of health and the report of our Chief Constable upon the condition of teeth of the fine strapping young fellows who, volunteering for the Metropolitan Police Force, were obliged to be rejected a year ago, by reason of their teeth, shows that something is radically wrong with the present food of the people. I am assured that one of the inner cuticles of the wheat corn which is cast aside in the manufacture of refined white flour by the steel roller process, contains a particular “calcium” salt which goes to give enamel to the teeth. If this is so, one cannot hope to arrest decay and cannot wonder that such a large percentage of our children are shown to be suffering from bad teeth. This means that a large percentage of our children at the most critical portion of their growth are ill-supplied with the very instruments that most tend to good nutrition.
My experience of the stone-ground flour is that the mere fragrance and scent of it, if one becomes accustomed to it, makes it impossible for one to return to the scentless and tasteless flour that is in fashion. I am told that one of the cuticles of the wheat grain which is cast out in the new milling process contains certain essential oils which give this nutty fragrance, and that this essential oil has a peculiar power to promote the flow of saliva and therefore is an important aid to digestion.
(London Daily News, 16 January 1911, p. 4]
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