Why Do Sports

With slow wail and convulsive throb leading the officers funeral;
Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may then by them be said
Your mission is fulfilldbut I, more warlike
O sight of pity, shame and dole!

Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering
Produce great Persons, the rest follows
Or Beat! Beat! Drums! or To the Leavend Soil they Trod
Rifles, some sit on logs
Sleepless amid her ships, her houses, her incalculable wealth

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