Читать книгу The Seven Seas - Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг - Страница 8

We have fed our sea for a thousand years

And she calls us, still unfed,

Though there's never a wave of all her waves

But marks our English dead:

We have strawed our best to the weed's unrest

To the shark and the sheering gull.

If blood be the price of admiralty,

Lord God, we ha' paid in full!

There's never a flood goes shoreward now

But lifts a keel we manned;

There's never an ebb goes seaward now

But drops our dead on the sand—

But slinks our dead on the sands forlore,

From The Ducies to the Swin.

If blood be the price of admiralty,

If blood be the price of admiralty,

Lord God, we ha' paid it in!

We must feed our sea for a thousand years,

For that is our doom and pride,

As it was when they sailed with the Golden Hind Or the wreck that struck last tide— Or the wreck that lies on the spouting reef Where the ghastly blue-lights flare. If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we ha' bought it fair!