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The Bright Medusa

She's the daughter of the breeze,
She's the darling of the seas,
And we call her, if you please, the bright _Medu--sa_;
From beneath her bosom bare
To the snakes among her hair
She's a flash o' golden light, the bright _Medu--sa_.

When the ensign dips above
And the guns are all for love,
She's as gentle as a dove, the bright _Medu--sa_;
But when the shot's in rack
And her forestay flies the Jack,
He's a merry man would slight the bright _Medu--sa_.

When she got the word to go
Up to Monte Video,
There she found the river low, the bright _Medu--sa_;
So she tumbled out her guns
And a hundred of her sons,
And she taught the Dons to fight the bright _Medu--sa_.

When the foeman can be found
With the pluck to cross her ground,
First she walks him round and round, the bright _Medu--sa_;
Then she rakes him fore and aft
Till he's just a jolly raft,
And she grabs him like a kite, the bright _Medu--sa_.

She's the daughter of the breeze,
She's the darling of the seas,
And you'll call her, if you please, the bright _Medu--sa_;
For till England's sun be set--
And it's not for setting yet--
She shall bear her name by right, the bright _Medu--sa_.

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
Added by Poetry Lover
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