VI

Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their decks

and laugh'd,

Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft

Running on and on, till delay'd

By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred

tons,

40

And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers

of guns,

Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd.

VII

And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud

Whence the thunderbolt will fall

Long and loud,

Four galleons drew away

From the Spanish fleet that day,

45

And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard

lay,

And the battle-thunder broke from them all.

VIII

But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and

went

50

Having that within her womb that had left her ill

content;

And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand,

For a dozen times they came with their pikes and mus

queteers,

And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes

his ears

When he leaps from the water to the land.

55

IX

And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea,

But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the

fifty-three.

Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came,

Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battlethunder and flame;

Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame.

60

For some were sunk and many were shatter'd, and so could fight us no more

God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?

X

For he said 'Fight on! fight on!'

Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck;

And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night

was gone,

65

With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly

dead,

And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head,

And he said 'Fight on! fight on!'

ΧΙ

And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea,

70

And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us

all in a ring;

But they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that

we still could sting,

So they watch'd what the end would be.
And we had not fought them in vain,
But in perilous plight were we,

Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain,
And half of the rest of us maim'd for life

75

In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold,

And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent ;

80

And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; But Sir Richard cried in his English pride,

'We have fought such a fight for a day and a night

As may never be fought again!

We have won great glory, my men!

And a day less or more

At sea or ashore,

85

We die-does it matter when?

Sink me the ship, Master Gunner-sink her, split her

in twain!

89

Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!'

XII

And the gunner said 'Ay, ay,' but the seamen made reply: 'We have children, we have wives,

And the Lord hath spared our lives.

We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let

us go;

94

We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow.' And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe.

XIII

And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then,

Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught

at last,

And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign

grace;

But he rose upon their decks, and he cried :

100

'I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true;

I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do:
With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die!'
And he fell upon their decks, and he died.

XIV

And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true,

105

And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap That he dared her with one little ship and his English few; Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew, But they sank his body with honour down into the deep, And they mann'd the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew,

110

And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own: When a wind from the land they had ruin'd awoke from sleep,

And the water began to heave and the weather to moan,
And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,
And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earth-
quake grew,

115

Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags,

And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy of Spain,

And the little Revenge herself went down by the island

crags

To be lost evermore in the main.

LORD TENNYSON (1809-1892).

13. DRAKE'S DRUM.
(1596.)

IN August, 1595, Drake sailed from Plymouth on his last expedition to the West Indies. Ill fortune attended him, and on January 28, 1595-6, he died of dysentery off Porto Bello. His body was put in a leaden coffin, and next day committed to the deep. A drum, painted with his arms, is preserved at Buckland Abbey in Devon, the seat of the Drake family.

DRAKE he's in his hammock an' a thousand mile away, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)

Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios bay,
An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
Yarnder lumes the island, yarnder lie the ships,
Wi' sailor lads a-dancin' heel-an'-toe,

An' the shore-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin',
He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago.

Drake he was a Devon man, an' ruled the Devon seas, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)

Rovin' tho' his death fell, he went wi' heart at ease,
An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.
'Take my drum to England, hang et by the shore,

Strike et when your powder's runnin' low;

5

10

If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven, 15 An drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago.'

Drake he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come, (Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)

Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum,

An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe. Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound, Call him when ye sail to meet the foe;

Where the old trade's plyin' an' the old flag flyin'

20

They shall find him ware an' wakin', as they found him long ago.

HENRY NEWBOLT (1862- ).