Collected Poems Volume I Part 40

II

The soft aegean heard her sigh,-- _N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_-- Heard the Spartan hills reply, _Je vous en prie_, pity me; Spain was aware of her drawing nigh Foot-gilt from the blossoms of Italy; _N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_

III

In France they heard her voice go by,-- _N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_ --And on the May-wind droop and die, _Je vous en prie_, pity me; Your maidens choose their loves, but I-- White as I came from the foam-white sea, _N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_--

IV

The warm red-meal-winged b.u.t.terfly,-- _N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_-- Beat on her breast in the golden rye,-- _Je vous en prie_, pity me,-- Stained her breast with a dusty dye Red as the print of a kiss might be!

_N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_

V

Is there no land, afar or nigh-- _N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_-- But dreads the kiss o' the sea? Ah, why-- _Je vous en prie_, pity me!-- Why will ye cling to the loves that die?

Is earth all Adon to my plea?

_N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_

VI

Under the warm blue summer sky,-- _N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_ With outstretched arms and a low long sigh,-- _Je vous en prie_, pity me;-- Over the Channel they saw her fly To the white-cliffed island that crowns the sea, _N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_

VII

England laughed as her queen drew nigh,-- _N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_ To the white-walled cottages gleaming high, _Je vous en prie_, pity me!

They drew her in with a joyful cry To the hearth where she sits with a babe on her knee, She has turned her moan to a lullaby.

She is nursing a son to the kings of the sea, _N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_

Such memories, on the plunging _Golden Hynde_, Under the stars, Drake drew before his friend, Clomb for a moment to that peak of vision, That purple peak of Darien, laughing aloud O'er those wild exploits down to Rio Grande Which even now had made his fierce renown Terrible to all lonely ships of Spain.

E'en now, indeed, that poet of Portugal, Lope de Vega, filled with this new fear Began to meditate his epic muse Till, like a cry of panic from his lips, He shrilled the faint _Dragontea_ forth, wherein Drake is that Dragon of the Apocalypse, The dread Antagonist of G.o.d and Man.

Well had it been for Doughty on that night Had he not heard what followed; for, indeed, When two minds clash, not often does the less Conquer the greater; but, without one thought Of evil, seeing they now were safe at sea, Drake told him, only somewhat, yet too much, Of that close conference with the Queen. And lo, The face of Doughty blanched with a slow thought That crept like a cold worm through all his brain, "Thus much I knew, though secretly, before; But here he freely tells me as his friend; If I be false and he be what they say, His knowledge of my knowledge will mean death."

But Drake looked round at Doughty with a smile And said, "Forgive me now: thou art not used To these cold nights at sea! thou tremblest, friend; Let us go down and drink a cup of sack To our return!" And at that kindly smile Doughty shook off his nightmare mood, and thought, "The yard-arm is for dogs, not gentlemen!

Even Drake would not misuse a man of birth!"

And in the cabin of the _Golden Hynde_ Revolving subtle treacheries he sat.

There with the sugared phrases of the court Bartering beads for gold, he drew out all The simple Devon seaman's inmost heart, And coiled up in the soul of Francis Drake.

There in the solemn night they interchanged Lies for sweet confidences. From one wall The picture of Drake's love looked down on him; And, like a bashful schoolboy's, that bronzed face Flushed as he blurted out with brightening eyes And quickening breath how he had seen her first, Crowned on the village green, a Queen of May.

Her name, too, was Elizabeth, he said, As if it proved that she, too, was a queen, Though crowned with milk-white Devon may alone, And queen but of one plot of meadow-sweet.

As yet, he said, he had only kissed her hand, Smiled in her eyes and--there Drake also flinched, Thinking, "I ne'er may see her face again."

And Doughty comforted his own dark heart Thinking, "I need not fear so soft a soul As this"; and yet, he wondered how the man, Seeing his love so gripped him, none the less Could leave her, thus to follow after dreams; For faith to Doughty was an unknown word, And trustfulness the property of fools.

At length they parted, each to his own couch, Doughty with half a chuckle, Francis Drake With one old-fashioned richly grateful prayer Blessing all those he loved, as he had learnt Beside his mother's knee in Devon days.

So all night long they sailed; but when a rift Of orchard crimson broke the yellowing gloom And barred the closely clouded East with dawn, Behold, a giant galleon, overhead, Lifting its huge black shining sides on high, Loomed like some misty monster of the deep: And, sullenly rolling out great gorgeous folds, Over her rumbled like a thunder-cloud The heavy flag of Spain. The splendid p.o.o.p, Mistily l.u.s.trous as a dragon's h.o.a.rd Seen in some magic cave-mouth o'er the sea Through shimmering April sunlight after rain, Blazed to the morning; and her port-holes grinned With row on row of cannon. There at once One sharp shrill whistle sounded, and those five Small ships, mere minnows clinging to the flanks Of that Leviathan, unseen, unheard, Undreamt of, grappled her. She seemed asleep, Swinging at ease with great half-slackened sails, Majestically careless of the dawn.

There in the very native seas of Spain, There with the yeast and foam of her proud cliffs, Her own blue coasts, in sight across the waves, Up her t.i.tanic sides without a sound The naked-footed British seamen swarmed With knives between their teeth: then on her decks They dropped like panthers, and the softly fierce Black-bearded watch, of Spaniards, all amazed, Rubbing their eyes as if at a wild dream, Upraised a sudden shout, _El Draque! El Draque!_ And flashed their weapons out, but all too late; For, ere their sleeping comrades reached the deck, The little watch, out-numbered and out-matched, Lay bound, and o'er the hatches everywhere The points of naked cutla.s.ses on guard Gleamed, and without a struggle those below Gave up their arms, their poignards jewelled thick With rubies, and their blades of Spanish steel.

Then onward o'er the great grey gleaming sea They swept with their rich booty, night and day.

Five other prizes, one for every ship, Out of the seas of Spain they suddenly caught And carried with them, laughing as they went-- "Now, now indeed the Rubicon is crossed; Now have we singed the eyelids and the beard Of Spain; now have we roused the hornet's nest; Now shall we sail against a world in arms; Now we have nought between us and black death But our own hands, five ships, and three score guns."

So laughed they, plunging through the bay of storms, Biscay, and past Gibraltar, not yet clothed With British thunder, though, as one might dream, Gazing in dim prophetic grandeur out Across the waves while that small fleet went by, Or watching them with love's most wistful fear As they plunged Southward to the lonely coasts Of Africa, till right in front up-soared, Tremendous over ocean, Teneriffe, Cloud-robed, but crowned with colours of the dawn.

Already those two traitors were at work, Doughty and his false brother, among the crews, Who knew not yet the vastness of their quest, Nor dreamed of aught beyond the accustomed world; For Drake had kept it secret, and the thoughts Of some that he had shipped before the mast Set sail scarce farther than for Mogadore In West Morocco, or at the utmost mark For northern Egypt, by the midnight woods And crystal palace roofed with chrysoprase Where Prester John had reigned five hundred years, And Sydon, river of jewels, through the dark Enchanted gorges rolled its rays along!

Some thought of Rio Grande; but scarce to ten The true intent was known; while to divert The rest from care the skilled musicians played.

But those two Doughtys cunningly devised By chance-dropt words to breathe a hint abroad; And through the foc'sles crept a grisly fear Of things that lay beyond the bourne of earth, Till even those hardy seamen almost quailed; And now, at any whisper, they might turn With terror in their eyes. They might refuse To sail into that fabled burning Void Or brave that _primum mobile_ which drew O'er-daring ships into the jaws of h.e.l.l Beyond the Pole Antarticke, where the sea Rushed down through fiery mountains, and no sail Could e'er return against its roaring stream.

Now down the coast of Barbary they cruised Till Christmas Eve embraced them in the heart Of summer. In a bay of mellow calm They moored, and as the fragrant twilight brought The stars, the sound of song and dance arose; And down the sh.o.r.es in stealthy silence crept, Out of the ma.s.sy forest's emerald gloom, The naked, dark-limbed children of the night, Unseen, to gaze upon the floating glare Of revelry; unheard, to hear that strange New music of the G.o.ds, where o'er the soft Ripple and wash of the lanthorn-crimsoned tide Will Harvest's voice above the chorus rang.

SONG

_In Devonshire, now, the Christmas chime Is carolling over the lea; And the s.e.xton shovels away the snow From the old church porch, maybe; And the waifs with their lanthorns and noses a-glow Come round for their Christmas fee; But, as in old England it's Christmas-time, Why, so is it here at sea, My lads, Why, so is it here at sea!_

_When the ship comes home, from turret to p.o.o.p Filled full with Spanish gold, There'll be many a country dance and joke, And many a tale to be told; Every old woman shall have a red cloak To fend her against the cold; And every old man shall have a big round stoup Of jolly good ale and old, My lads, Jolly good ale and old!_

But on the morrow came a prosperous wind Whereof they took advantage, and shook out The flashing sails, and held their Christmas feast Upon the swirling ridges of the sea: And, sweeping Southward with full many a rouse And shout of laughter, at the fall of day, While the black prows drove, leapt, and plunged, and ploughed Through the broad dazzle of sunset-coloured tides, Outside the cabin of the _Golden Hynde_, Where Drake and his chief captains dined in state, The skilled musicians made a great new song.

SONG

I

_Happy by the hearth sit the la.s.ses and the lads, now, Roasting of their chestnuts, toasting of their toes!

When the door is opened to a blithe new-comer, Stamping like a ploughman to shuffle off the snows; Rosy flower-like faces through the soft red firelight Float as if to greet us, far away at sea, Sigh as they remember, and turn the sigh to laughter, Kiss beneath the mistletoe and wonder at their glee.

With their "heigh ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly!"

Christmas-time is kissing-time, Away with melancholy!_

II

_Ah, the Yule of England, the happy Yule of England, Yule of berried holly and the merry mistletoe; The boar's head, the brown ale, the blue snapdragon, Yule of groaning tables and the crimson log aglow!

Yule, the golden bugle to the scattered old companions, Ringing as with laughter, shining as through tears!

Loved of little children, oh guard the holy Yuletide.

Guard it, men of England, for the child beyond the years.

With its "heigh ho, the holly!"

Away with melancholy!

Christmas-time is kissing-time, "This life is most jolly!_"

Now to the Fortunate Islands of old time They came, and found no glory as of old Encircling them, no red ineffable calm Of sunset round crowned faces pale with bliss Like evening stars. Rugged and desolate Those isles were when they neared them, though afar They beautifully smouldered in the sun Like dusky purple jewels fringed and frayed With silver foam across that ancient sea.

Of wonder. On the largest of the seven Drake landed Doughty with his musketeers To exercise their weapons and to seek Supplies among the matted uncouth huts Which, as the ships drew round each ragged cliff, Crept like remembered misery into sight; Oh, like the strange dull waking from a dream They blotted out the rosy courts and fair Imagined marble thresholds of the King Achilles and the heroes that were gone.

But Drake cared nought for these things. Such a heart He had, to make each utmost ancient bourne Of man's imagination but a point Of new departure for his Golden Dream.

But Doughty with his men ash.o.r.e, alone, Among the spa.r.s.e wind-bitten groves of palm, Kindled their fears of all they must endure On that immense adventure. Nay, sometimes He hinted of a voyage far beyond All history and fable, far beyond Even that Void whence only two returned,-- Columbus, with his men in mutiny; Magellan, who could only hound his crew Onward by threats of death, until they turned In horror from the Threat that lay before, Preferring to be hanged as mutineers Rather than venture farther. Nor indeed Did even Magellan at the last return; But, with all h.e.l.l around him, in the clutch Of devils died upon some savage isle By poisonous black enchantment. Not in vain Were Doughty's words on that volcanic sh.o.r.e Among the stunted dark acacia trees, Whose heads, all bent one way by the trade-wind, Pointed North-east by North, South-west by West Ambiguous sibyls that with wizened arms Mysteriously declared a twofold path, Homeward or onward. But aboard the ships, Among the hardier seamen, old Tom Moone, With one or two stout comrades, overbore All doubts and questionings with blither tales Of how they sailed to Darien and heard Nightingales in November all night long As down a coast like Paradise they cruised Through seas of lasting summer, Eden isles, Where birds like rainbows, b.u.t.terflies like gems, And flowers like coloured fires o'er fairy creeks Floated and flashed beneath the shadowy palms; While ever and anon a bark canoe With naked Indian maidens flower-festooned Put out from shadowy coves, laden with fruit Ambrosial o'er the silken shimmering sea.

And once a troop of nut-brown maidens came-- So said Tom Moone, a twinkle in his eye-- Swimming to meet them through the warm blue waves And wantoned through the water, like those nymphs Which one green April at the Mermaid Inn Should hear Kit Marlowe mightily portray, Among his boon companions, in a song Of Love that swam the sparkling h.e.l.lespont Upheld by nymphs, not lovelier than these,-- Though whiter yet not lovelier than these-- For those like flowers, but these like rounded fruit Rosily ripening through the clear tides tossed From nut-brown breast and arm all round the ship The thousand-coloured spray. Shapely of limb They were; but as they laid their small brown hands Upon the ropes we cast them, Captain Drake Suddenly thundered at them and bade them pack For a troop of naughty wenches! At that tale A tempest of fierce laughter rolled around The foc'sle; but one boy from London town, A pale-faced prentice, run-away to sea, Asking why Drake had bidden them pack so soon, Tom Moone turned to him with his deep-sea growl, "Because our Captain is no pink-eyed boy Nor soft-limbed Spaniard, but a staunch-souled Man, Full-blooded; nerved like iron; with a girl He loves at home in Devon; and a mind For ever bent upon some mighty goal, I know not what--but 'tis enough for me To know my Captain knows." And then he told How sometimes o'er the gorgeous forest gloom Some marble city, rich, mysterious, white, An ancient treasure-house of Aztec kings, Or palace of forgotten Incas gleamed; And in their dim rich lofty cellars gold, Beyond all wildest dreams, great bars of gold, Like pillars, tossed in mighty chaos, gold And precious stones, agate and emerald, Diamond, sapphire, ruby, and sardonyx.

So said he, as they waited the return Of Doughty, resting in the foc'sle gloom, Or idly couched about the sun-swept decks On sails or coils of rope, while overhead Some boy would climb the rigging and look out, Arching his hand to see if Doughty came.