CHRIST and his Mother, heavenly maid, | |
| Mary, in whose fair name was laid | |
| Eton’s corner, bless our youth | |
| With Truth, and Purity, mother of truth! | |
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O ye, ’neath breezy skies of June, | 5 |
| By silver Thames’s lulling tune, | |
| In shade of willow or oak, who try | |
| The golden gates of poesy; | |
| |
| Or on the tabled sward all day | |
| Match your strength in England’s play, | 10 |
| Scholars of Henry, giving grace | |
| To toil and force in game or race; | |
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| Exceed the prayer and keep the fame | |
| Of him, the sorrowful king, who came | |
| Here in his realm a realm to found, | 15 |
| Where he might stand for ever crown’d. | |
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Or whether with naked bodies flashing | |
| Ye plunge in the lashing weir; or dashing | |
| The oars of cedar skiffs, ye strain | |
| Round the rushes and home again;— | 20 |
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| Or what pursuit soe’er it be | |
| That makes your mingled presence free, | |
| When by the school gate ’neath the limes | |
| Ye muster, waiting the lazy chimes; | |
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| May Peace, that conquereth sin and death, | 25 |
| Temper for you her sword of faith; | |
| Crown with honour the loving eyes, | |
| And touch with mirth the mouth of the wise. | |
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Here is eternal spring: for you | |
| The very stars of heaven are new; | 30 |
| And aged Fame again is born, | |
| Fresh as a peeping flower of morn. | |
| |
| For you shall Shakespeare’s scene unroll, | |
| Mozart shall steal your ravish’d soul, | |
| Homer his bardic hymn rehearse, | 35 |
| Virgil recite his maiden verse. | |
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| Now learn, love, have, do, be the best; | |
| Each in one thing excel the rest: | |
| Strive; and hold fast this truth of heaven— | |
| To him that hath shall more be given. | 40 |
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Slow on your dial the shadows creep, | |
| So many hours for food and sleep, | |
| So many hours till study tire, | |
| So many hours for heart’s desire. | |
| |
| These suns and moons shall memory save, | 45 |
| Mirrors bright for her magic cave; | |
| Wherein may steadfast eyes behold | |
| A self that groweth never old. | |
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| O in such prime enjoy your lot, | |
| And when ye leave regret it not; | 50 |
| With wishing gifts in festal state | |
| Pass ye the angel-sworded gate. | |
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Then to the world let shine your light, | |
| Children in play be lions in fight, | |
| And match with red immortal deeds | 55 |
| The victory that made ring the meads: | |
| |
| Or by firm wisdom save your land | |
| From giddy head and grasping hand: | |
| IMPROVE THE BEST; so shall your sons | |
| Better what ye have better’d once. | 60 |
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| Send them here to the court of grace | |
| Bearing your name to fill your place: | |
| Ye in their time shall live again | |
| The happy dream of Henry’s reign: | |
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And on his day your steps be bent | 65 |
| Where, saint and king, crown’d with content, | |
| He biddeth a prayer to bless his youth | |
| With Truth, and Purity, mother of Truth. | |
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