Collected Poems Volume I Part 43

Then, for a moment, silence froze their veins, Till one fierce seamen stooped with a hoa.r.s.e cry; And, like an eagle clutching up its prey, His arm swooped down and bore the head aloft, Gorily streaming, by the long dark hair; And a great shout went up, "So perish all Traitors to G.o.d and England." Then Drake turned And bade them to their ships; and, wondering, They left him. As the boats thrust out from sh.o.r.e Brave old Tom Moone looked back with faithful eyes Like a great mastiff to his master's face.

He, looming larger from his loftier ground Clad with the slowly gathering night of stars And gazing seaward o'er his quiet dead, Seemed like some t.i.tan bronze in grandeur based Unshakeable until the crash of doom Shatter the black foundations of the world.

BOOK IV

Dawn, everlasting and almighty Dawn, Hailed by ten thousand names of death and birth, Who, chiefly by thy name of Sorrow, seem'st To half the world a sunset, G.o.d's great Dawn, Fair light of all earth's partings till we meet Where dawn and sunset, mingling East and West, Shall make in some deep Orient of the soul One radiant Rose of Love for evermore; Teach me, oh teach to bear thy broadening light, Thy deepening wonder, lest as old dreams fade With love's unfaith, like wasted hours of youth, And dim illusions vanish in thy beam, Their rapture and their anguish break that heart Which loved them, and must love for ever now.

Let thy great sphere of splendour, ring by ring For ever widening, draw new seas, new skies, Within my ken; yet, as I still must bear This love, help me to grow in spirit with thee.

Dawn on my song which trembles like a cloud Pierced with thy beauty. Rise, shine, as of old Across the wondering ocean in the sight Of those world-wandering mariners, when earth Rolled flat up to the Gates of Paradise, And each slow mist that curled its gold away From each new sea they furrowed into pearl Might bring before their blinded mortal eyes G.o.d and the Glory. Lighten as on the soul Of him that all night long in torment dire, Anguish and thirst unceasing for thy ray Upon that lonely Patagonian sh.o.r.e Had lain as on the bitterest coasts of h.e.l.l.

For all night long, mocked by the dreadful peace Of world-wide seas that darkly heaved and sank With cold recurrence, like the slow sad breath Of a fallen t.i.tan dying all alone In lands beyond all human loneliness, While far and wide glimmers that broken targe Hurled from tremendous battle with the G.o.ds, And, as he breathes in pain, the chain-mail rings Round his broad breast a m.u.f.fled rattling make For many a league, so seemed the sound of waves Upon those beaches--there, be-mocked all night, Beneath Magellan's gallows, Drake had watched Beside his dead; and over him the stars Paled as the silver chariot of the moon Drove, and her white steeds ramped in a fury of foam On splendid peaks of cloud. The _Golden Hynde_ Slept with those other shadows on the bay.

Between him and his home the Atlantic heaved; And, on the darker side, across the strait Of starry sheen that softly rippled and flowed Betwixt the mainland and his isle, it seemed Death's Gates indeed burst open. The night yawned Like a foul wound. Black shapes of the outer dark Poured out of forests older than the world; And, just as reptiles that take form and hue, Speckle and blotch, in strange a.s.similation From thorn and scrub and stone and the waste earth Through which they crawl, so that almost they seem The incarnate spirits of their wilderness, Were these most horrible kindred of the night.

aeonian glooms unfathomable, grim aisles, Grotesque, distorted boughs and dancing shades Out-belched their dusky brood on the dim sh.o.r.e; Monsters with sooty limbs, red-raddled eyes, And faces painted yellow, women and men; Fierce naked giants howling to the moon, And loathlier Gorgons with long snaky tresses Pouring vile purple over pendulous b.r.e.a.s.t.s Like wine-bags. On the mainland beach they lit A brushwood fire that reddened creek and cove And lapped their swarthy limbs with hideous tongues Of flame; so near that by their light Drake saw The blood upon the dead man's long black hair Clotting corruption. The fierce funeral pyre Of all things fair seemed rolling on that sh.o.r.e; And in that dull red battle of smoke and flame, While the sea crunched the pebbles, and dark drums Rumbled out of the gloom as if this earth Had some t.i.tanic tigress for a soul Purring in forests of Eternity Over her own grim dreams, his lonely spirit Pa.s.sed through the circles of a world-wide waste Darker than ever Dante roamed. No gulf Was this of fierce harmonious reward, Where Evil moans in anguish after death, Where all men reap as they have sown, where gluttons Gorge upon toads and usurers gulp hot streams Of molten gold. This was that Malebolge Which hath no harmony to mortal ears, But seems the reeling and tremendous dream Of some omnipotent madman. There he saw The naked giants dragging to the flames Young captives hideous with a new despair: He saw great craggy blood-stained stones upheaved To slaughter, saw through mists of blood and fire The cannibal feast prepared, saw filthy hands Rend limb from limb, and almost dreamed he saw Foul mouths a-drip with quivering human flesh And horrible laughter in the crimson storm That clomb and leapt and stabbed at the high heaven Till the whole night seemed saturate with red.

And all night long upon the _Golden Hynde_, A cloud upon the waters, brave Tom Moone Watched o'er the bulwarks for some dusky plunge To warn him if that savage crew should mark His captain and swim over to his isle.

Whistle in hand he watched, his boat well ready, His men low-crouched around him, swarthy faces Grim-chinned upon the taffrail, muttering oaths That trampled down the fear i' their bristly throats, While at their sides a dreadful hint of steel Sent stray gleams to the stars. But little heed Had Drake of all that menaced him, though oft Some wandering giant, belching from the feast, All blood-besmeared, would come so near he heard His heavy breathing o'er the narrow strait.

Yet little care had Drake, for though he sat Bowed in the body above his quiet dead, His burning spirit wandered through the wastes, Wandered through h.e.l.ls behind the apparent h.e.l.l, Horrors immeasurable, clutching at dreams Found fair of old, but now most foul. The world Leered at him through its old remembered mask Of beauty: the green gra.s.s that clothed the fields Of England (shallow, shallow fairy dream!) What was it but the hair of dead men's graves.

Rooted in death, enriched with all decay?

And like a leprosy the hawthorn bloom Crawled o'er the whitening bosom of the spring; And bird and beast and insect, ay and man, How fat they fed on one another's blood!

And Love, what faith in Love, when spirit and flesh Are found of such a filthy composition?

And Knowledge, G.o.d, his mind went reeling back To that dark voyage on the deadly coast Of Panama, where one by one his men Sickened and died of some unknown disease, Till Joseph, his own brother, in his arms Died; and Drake trampled down all tender thought, All human grief, and sought to find the cause, For his crew's sake, the ravenous unknown cause Of that fell scourge. There, in his own dark cabin, Lit by the wild light of the swinging lanthorn, He laid the naked body on that board Where they had supped together. He took the knife From the ague-stricken surgeon's palsied hands, And while the ship rocked in the eternal seas And dark waves lapped against the rolling hulk Making the silence terrible with voices, He opened his own brother's cold white corse, That pale deserted mansion of a soul, Bidding the surgeon mark, with his own eyes, While yet he had strength to use them, the foul spots, The swollen liver, the strange sodden heart, The yellow intestines. Yea, his dry lips hissed There in the stark face of Eternity, "Seest thou? Seest thou? Knowest thou what it means?"

Then, like a dream up-surged the belfried night Of Saint Bartholomew, the scented palaces Whence harlots leered out on the twisted streets Of Paris, choked with slaughter! Europe flamed With human torches, living altar candles, Lighted before the Cross where men had hanged The Christ of little children. Cirque by cirque The world-wide h.e.l.l reeled round him, East and West, To where the tortured Indians worked the will Of lordly Spain in golden-famed Peru.

"G.o.d, is thy world a madman's dream?" he groaned: And suddenly, the clamour on the sh.o.r.e Sank and that savage horde melted away Into the midnight forest as it came, Leaving no sign, save where the brushwood fire Still smouldered like a ruby in the gloom; And into the inmost caverns of his mind That other clamour sank, and there was peace.

"A madman's dream," he whispered, "Ay, to me A madman's dream," but better, better far Than that which bears upon its awful gates, Gates of a h.e.l.l defined, unalterable, _Abandon hope all ye who enter here!_ Here, here at least the dawn hath power to bring New light, new hope, new battles. Men may fight And sweep away that evil, if no more, At least from the small circle of their swords; Then die, content if they have struck one stroke For freedom, knowledge, brotherhood; one stroke To hasten that great kingdom G.o.d proclaims Each morning through the trumpets of the Dawn.

And far away, in Italy, that night Young Galileo, gazing upward, heard The self-same whisper from the abyss of stars Which lured the soul of Shakespeare as he lay Dreaming in may-sweet England, even now, And with its infinite music called once more The soul of Drake out to the unknown West.

Now like a wild rose in the fields of heaven Slipt forth the slender fingers of the Dawn, And drew the great grey Eastern curtains back From the ivory saffroned couch. Rosily slid One shining foot and one warm rounded knee From silken coverlets of the tossed-back clouds.

Then, like the meeting after desolate years, Face to remembered face, Drake saw the Dawn Step forth in naked splendour o'er the sea; Dawn, bearing still her rich divine increase Of beauty, love, and wisdom round the world; The same, yet not the same. So strangely gleamed Her pearl and rose across the sapphire waves That scarce he knew the dead man at his feet.

His world was made anew. Strangely his voice Rang through that solemn Eden of the morn Calling his men, and stranger than a dream Their boats black-blurred against the crimson East, Or flashing misty sheen where'er the light Smote on their smooth wet sides, like seraph ships Moved in a dewy glory towards the land; Their oars of glittering diamond broke the sea As by enchantment into burning jewels And scattered rainbows from their flaming blades.

The clear green water lapping round their prows, The words of sharp command as now the keels Crunched on his lonely sh.o.r.e, and the following wave Leapt slapping o'er the sterns, in that new light Were more than any miracle. At last Drake, as they grouped a little way below The crumbling sandy cliff whereon he stood, Seeming to overshadow them as he loomed A cloud of black against the crimson sky, Spoke, as a man may hardly speak but once: "My seamen, oh my friends, companions, kings; For I am least among you, being your captain; And ye are men, and all men born are kings, By right divine, and I the least of these Because I must usurp the throne of G.o.d And sit in judgment, even till I have set My seal upon the red wax of this blood, This blood of my dead friend, ere it grow cold.

Not all the waters of that mighty sea Could wash my hands of sin if I should now Falter upon my path. But look to it, you, Whose word was doom last night to this dead man; Look to it, I say, look to it! Brave men might shrink From this great voyage; but the heart of him Who dares turn backward now must be so hardy That G.o.d might make a thousand millstones of it To hang about the necks of those that hurt Some little child, and cast them in the sea.

Yet if ye will be found so more than bold, Speak now, and I will hear you; G.o.d will judge.

But ye shall take four ships of these my five, Tear out the lions from their painted shields, And speed you homeward. Leave me but one ship, My _Golden Hynde_, and five good friends, nay one, To watch when I must sleep, and I will prove This judgment just against all winds that blow.

Now ye that will return, speak, let me know you, Or be for ever silent, for I swear Over this butchered body, if any swerve Hereafter from the straight and perilous way, He shall not die alone. What? Will none speak?

My comrades and my friends! Yet ye must learn, Mark me, my friends, I'd have you all to know That ye are kings. I'll have no jealousies Aboard my fleet. I'll have the gentleman To pull and haul wi' the seaman. I'll not have That canker of the Spaniards in my fleet.

Ye that were captains, I cashier you all.

I'll have no captains; I'll have nought but seamen, Obedient to my will, because I serve England. What, will ye murmur? Have a care, Lest I should bid you homeward all alone, You whose white hands are found too delicate For aught but dallying with your jewelled swords!

And thou, too, master Fletcher, my ship's chaplain, Mark me, I'll have no priest-craft. I have heard Overmuch talk of judgment from thy lips, G.o.d's judgment here, G.o.d's judgment there, upon us!

Whene'er the winds are contrary, thou takest Their powers upon thee for thy moment's end.

Thou art G.o.d's minister, not G.o.d's oracle: Chain up thy tongue a little, or, by His wounds, If thou canst read this wide world like a book, Thou hast so little to fear, I'll set thee adrift On G.o.d's great sea to find thine own way home.

Why, 'tis these very tyrannies o' the soul We strike at when we strike at Spain for England; And shall we here, in this great wilderness, Ungrappled and unchallenged, out of sight, Alone, without one struggle, sink that flag Which, when the cannon thundered, could but stream Triumphant over all the storms of death.

Nay, master Wynter and my gallant captains, I see ye are tamed. Take up your ranks again In humbleness, remembering ye are kings, Kings for the sake and by the will of England, Therefore her servants till your lives' last end.

Comrades, mistake not this, our little fleet Is freighted with the golden heart of England, And, if we fail, that golden heart will break.

The world's wide eyes are on us, and our souls Are woven together into one great flag Of England. Shall we strike it? Shall it be rent Asunder with small discord, party strife, Ephemeral conflict of contemptible tongues, Or shall it be blazoned, blazoned evermore On the most heaven-wide page of history?

This is that hour, I know it in my soul, When we must choose for England. Ye are kings, And sons of Vikings, exiled from your throne.

Have ye forgotten? Nay, your blood remembers!

There is your kingdom, Vikings, that great ocean Whose tang is in your nostrils. Ye must choose Whether to re-a.s.sume it now for England, To claim its thunders for her panoply, To lay its lightnings in her sovereign hands, Win her the great commandment of the sea And let its glory roll with her dominion Round the wide world for ever, sweeping back All evil deeds and dreams, or whether to yield For evermore that kinghood. Ye must learn Here in this golden dawn our great emprise Is greater than we knew. Eye hath not seen, Ear hath not heard what came across the dark Last night, as there anointed with that blood I knelt and saw the wonder that should be.

I saw new heavens of freedom, a new earth Released from all old tyrannies. I saw The brotherhood of man, for which we rode, Most ignorant of the splendour of our spears, Against the crimson dynasties of Spain.

Mother of freedom, home and hope and love, Our little island, far, how far away, I saw thee shatter the whole world of hate, I saw the sunrise on thy helmet flame With new-born hope for all the world in thee!

Come now, to sea, to sea!"

And ere they knew What power impelled them, with one mighty cry They lifted up their hearts to the new dawn And hastened down the sh.o.r.es and launched the boats, And in the fierce white out-draught of the waves Thrust with their brandished oars and the boats leapt Out, and they settled at the groaning thwarts, And the white water boiled before their blades, As, with Drake's iron hand upon the helm, His own boat led the way; and ere they knew What power as of a wind bore them along, Anchor was up, their hands were on the sheets, The sails were broken out and that small squadron Was flying like a sea-bird to the South.

Now to the strait Magella.n.u.s they came, And entered in with ringing shouts of joy.

Nor did they think there, was a fairer strait In all the world than this which lay so calm Between great silent mountains crowned with snow, Unutterably lonely. Marvellous The pomp of dawn and sunset on those heights, And like a strange new sacrilege the advance Of prows that ploughed that time-forgotten tide.

But soon rude flaws, cross currents, tortuous channels Bewildered them, and many a league they drove As down some vaster Acheron, while the coasts With wailing voices cursed them all night long, And once again the hideous fires leapt red By many a grim wrenched crag and gaunt ravine.

So for a hundred leagues of whirling spume They groped, till suddenly, far away, they saw Full of the sunset, like a cup of gold, The purple Westward portals of the strait.

Onward o'er roughening waves they plunged and reached _Capo Desiderato_, where they saw What seemed stupendous in that lonely place,-- Gaunt, black, and sharp as death against the sky The Cross, the great black Cross on Cape Desire, Which dead Magellan raised upon the height To guide, or so he thought, his wandering ships, Not knowing they had left him to his doom, Not knowing how with tears, with tears of joy, Rapture, and terrible triumph, and deep awe, Another should come voyaging and read Unutterable glories in that sign; While his rough seamen raised their mighty shout And, once again, before his wondering eyes, League upon league of awful burnished gold, Rolled the unknown immeasurable sea.

Now, in those days, as even Magellan held, Men thought that Southward of the strait there swept Firm land up to the white Antarticke Pole, Which now not far they deemed. But when Drake pa.s.sed From out the strait to take his Northward way Up the Pacific coast, a great head-wind Suddenly smote them; and the heaving seas Bulged all around them into billowy hills, Dark rolling mountains, whose majestic crests Like wild white flames far-blown and savagely flickering Swept through the clouds; and on their sullen slopes Like wind-whipt withered leaves those little ships, Now hurtled to the Zenith and now plunged Down into bottomless gulfs, were suddenly scattered And whirled away. Drake, on the _Golden Hynde_, One moment saw them near him, soaring up Above him on the huge o'erhanging billows As if to crash down on his p.o.o.p; the next, A mile of howling sea had swept between Each of those wind-whipt straws, and they were gone Through roaring deserts of embattled death, Where, like a hundred thousand chariots charged With lightnings and with thunders, one great wave Leading the unleashed ocean down the storm Hurled them away to Southward.

One last glimpse Drake caught o' the _Marygold_, when some mighty vortex Wide as the circle of the wide sea-line Swept them together again. He saw her staggering With mast snapt short and wreckage-tangled deck Where men like insects clung. He saw the waves Leap over her mangled hulk, like wild white wolves, Volleying out of the clouds down dismal steeps Of green-black water. Like a wounded steed Quivering upon its haunches, up she heaved Her head to throw them off. Then, in one ma.s.s Of fury crashed the great deep over her, Trampling her down, down into the nethermost pit, As with a madman's wrath. She rose no more, And in the stream of the ocean's hurricane laughter The _Golden Hynde_ went hurtling to the South, With sails rent into ribbons and her mast Snapt like a twig. Yea, where Magellan thought Firm land had been, the little _Golden Hynde_ Whirled like an autumn leaf through league on league Of bursting seas, chaos on crashing chaos, A rolling wilderness of charging Alps That shook the world with their tremendous war; Grim beetling cliffs that grappled with clamorous gulfs, Valleys that yawned to swallow the wide heaven; Immense white-flowering fluctuant precipices, And hills that swooped down at the throat of h.e.l.l; From Pole to Pole, one blanching bursting storm Of world-wide oceans, where the huge Pacific Roared greetings to the Atlantic and both swept In broad white cataracts, league on struggling league, Pursuing and pursued, immeasurable, With t.i.tan hands grasping the rent black sky East, West, North, South. Then, then was battle indeed Of midget men upon that wisp of gra.s.s The _Golden Hynde_, who, as her masts crashed, hung Clearing the tiny wreckage from small decks With ant-like weapons. Not their captain's voice Availed them now amidst the deafening thunder Of seas that felt the heavy hand of G.o.d, Only they saw across the blinding spume In steely flashes, grand and grim, a face, Like the last glimmer of faith among mankind, Calm in this warring universe, where Drake Stood, lashed to his post, beside the helm. Black seas Buffeted him. Half-stunned he dashed away The sharp brine from his eagle eyes and turned To watch some mountain-range come rushing down As if to o'erwhelm them utterly. Once, indeed, Welkin and sea were one black wave, white-fanged, White-crested, and up-heaped so mightily That, though it coursed more swiftly than a herd Of t.i.tan steeds upon some terrible plain Nigh the huge City of Ombos, yet it seemed Most strangely slow, with all those crumbling crests Each like a cataract on a mountain-side, And moved with the steady majesty of doom High over him. One moment's flash of fear, And yet not fear, but rather life's regret, Felt Drake, then laughed a low deep laugh of joy Such as men taste in battle; yea, 'twas good To grapple thus with death; one low deep laugh, One mutter as of a lion about to spring, Then burst that thunder o'er him. Height o'er height The heavens rolled down, and waves were all the world.

Meanwhile, in England, dreaming of her sailor, Far off, his heart's bride waited, of a proud And stubborn house the bright and gracious flower.

Whom oft her father urged with scanty grace That Drake was dead and she had best forget The fellow, he grunted. For her father's heart Was fettered with small memories, mocked by all The greater world's traditions and the trace Of earth's low pedigree among the suns, Ringed with the terrible twilight of the G.o.ds, Ringed with the blood-red dusk of dying nations, His faith was in his grandam's mighty skirt, And, in that awful consciousness of power, Had it not been that even in this he feared To sully her silken flounce or farthingale Wi' the white dust on his hands, he would have chalked To his own shame, thinking it shame, the word Nearest to G.o.d in its divine embrace Of agonies and glories, the dread word _Demos_ across that door in Nazareth Whence came the prentice carpenter whose voice Hath shaken kingdoms down, whose menial gibbet Rises triumphant o'er the wreck of Empires And stretches out its arms amongst the Stars.

But she, his daughter, only let her heart Loveably forge a charter for her love, Cheat her false creed with faithful faery dreams That wrapt her love in mystery; thought, perchance, He came of some unhappy n.o.ble race Ruined in battle for some lost high cause.

And, in the general mixture of men's blood, Her dream was truer than his whose bloodless pride Urged her to wed the chinless moon-struck fool Sprung from five hundred years of idiocy Who now besought her hand; would force her bear Some heir to a calf's tongue and a coronet, Whose cherished taints of blood will please his friends With "Yea, Sir William's first-born hath the freak, The family freak, being embryonic. Yea, And with a fine half-wittedness, forsooth.

Praise G.o.d, our children's children yet shall see The lord o' the manor muttering to himself At midnight by the gryphon-guarded gates, Or gnawing his nails in desolate corridors, Or pacing moonlit halls, dagger in hand, Waiting to stab his father's pitiless ghost."

So she--the girl--Sweet Bess of Sydenham, Most innocently proud, was prouder yet Than thus to let her heart stoop to the lure Of lording lovers, though her unstained soul Slumbered amidst those dreams as in old tales The princess in the enchanted forest sleeps Till the prince wakes her with a kiss and draws The far-flung hues o' the gleaming magic web Into one heart of flame. And now, for Drake, She slept like Brynhild in a ring of fire Which he must pa.s.s to win her. For the wrath Of Spain now flamed, awaiting his return, All round the seas of home; and even the Queen Elizabeth flinched, as that tremendous Power Menaced the heart of England, flinched and vowed Drake's head to Spain's amba.s.sadors, though still By subtlety she hoped to find some way Later to save or warn him ere he came.

Perchance too, nay, most like, he will be slain Or even now lies dead, out in the West, She thought, and then the promise works no harm.

But, day by day, there came as on the wings Of startled winds from o'er the Spanish Main, Strange echoes as of sacked and clamouring ports And battered gates of fabulous golden cities, A murmur out of the sunset of Peru, A sea-bird's wail from Lima. While no less The wrathful menace gathered up its might All round our little isle; till now the King Philip of Spain half secretly decreed The building of huge docks from which to launch A Fleet Invincible that should sweep the seas Of all the world, throttle with one broad grasp All Protestant rebellion, having stablished His red feet in the Netherlands, thence to hurl His whole World-Empire at this little isle, England, our mother, home and hope and love, And bend her neck beneath his yoke. For now No half surrender sought he. At his back, Robed with the scarlet of a thousand martyrs, Admonishing him, stood Rome, and, in her hand, Grasping the Cross of Christ by its great hilt, She pointed it, like a dagger, tow'rds the throat Of England.

One long year, two years had pa.s.sed Since Drake set sail from grey old Plymouth Sound; And in those woods of faery wonder still Slumbered his love in steadfast faith. But now With louder lungs her father urged--"He is dead: Forget him. There is one that loves you, seeks Your hand in marriage, and he is a goodly match E'en for my daughter. You shall wed him, Bess!"

But when the new-found lover came to woo, Glancing in summer silks and radiant hose, Whipt doublet and enormous pointed shoon, She played him like a fish and sent him home Spluttering with dismay, a stickleback Discoloured, a male minnow of dimpled streams With all his rainbows paling in the prime, To hide amongst his lilies, while once more She took her cas.e.m.e.nt seat that overlooked The sea and read in Master Spenser's book, Which Francis gave "To my dear lady and queen Bess," that most rare processional of love-- "_Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song!_"

Yet did her father urge her day by day, And day by day her mother dinned her ears With petty saws, as--"When _I_ was a girl,"

And "I remember what _my_ father said,"

And "Love, oh feather-fancies plucked from geese You call your poets!" Yet she hardly meant To slight true love, save in her daughter's heart; For the old folk ever find it hard to see The pa.s.sion of their children. When it wakes, The child becomes a stranger. So with Bess; But since her soul still slumbered, and the moons Rolled on and blurred her soul's particular love With the vague unknown impulse of her youth, Her brave resistance often melted now In tears, and her will weakened day by day; Till on a dreadful summer morn there came, Borne by a wintry flaw, home to the Thames, A bruised and battered ship, all that was left, So said her crew, of Drake's ill-fated fleet.

John Wynter, her commander, told the tale Of how the _Golden Hynde_ and _Marygold_ Had by the wind Euroclydon been driven Sheer o'er the howling edges of the world; Of how himself by G.o.d's good providence Was hurled into the strait Magella.n.u.s; Of how on the horrible frontiers of the Void He had watched in vain, lit red with beacon-fires The desperate coasts o' the black abyss, whence none Ever returned, though many a week he watched Beneath the Cross; and only saw G.o.d's wrath Burn through the heavens and devastate the mountains, And hurl unheard of oceans roaring down After the lost ships in one cataract Of thunder and splendour and fury and rolling doom.

Then, with a bitter triumph in his face, As if this were the natural end of all Such vile plebeians, as if he had foreseen it, As if himself had breathed a tactful hint Into the aristocratic ears of G.o.d, Her father broke the last frail barriers down, Broke the poor listless will o' the lonely girl, Who careless now of aught but misery Promised to wed their lordling. Mighty speed They made to press that loveless marriage on; And ere the May had mellowed into June Her marriage eve had come. Her cold hands held Drake's gift. She scarce could see her name, writ broad By that strong hand as it was, _To my queen Bess_.

She looked out through her cas.e.m.e.nt o'er the sea, Listening its old enchanted moan, which seemed Striving to speak, she knew not what. Its breath Fluttered the roses round the grey old walls, And shook the ghostly jasmine. A great moon Hung like a red lamp in the sycamore.

A corn-crake in the hay-fields far away Chirped like a cricket, and the night-jar churred His pa.s.sionate love-song. Soft-winged moths besieged Her lantern. Under many a star-stabbed elm The nightingale began his golden song, Whose warm thick notes are each a drop of blood From that small throbbing breast against the thorn Pressed close to turn the white rose into red; Even as her lawn-clad may-white bosom pressed Quivering against the bars, while her dark hair Streamed round her shoulders and her small bare feet Gleamed in the dusk. Then spake she to her maid-- "I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep to-night.

Bring thy lute hither and sing. Alison, think you The dead can watch us from their distant world?

Can our dead friends be near us when we weep?

I wish 'twere so! for then my love would come, No matter then how far, my love would come, And he'd forgive me."

Then Bess bowed down her lovely head: her breast Heaved with short sobs, sickening at the heart, She grasped the cas.e.m.e.nt moaning, "Love, Love, Love, Come quickly, come, before it is too late, Come quickly, oh come quickly."

Then her maid Slipped a soft arm around her and gently drew The supple quivering body, shaken with sobs, And all that firm young, sweetness to her breast, And led her to her couch, and all night long She watched beside her, till the marriage morn Blushed in the heartless East. Then swiftly flew The pitiless moments, till--as in a dream-- And borne along by dreams, or like a lily Cut from its anchorage in the stream to glide Down the smooth bosom of an unknown world Through fields of unknown blossom, so moved Bess Amongst her maids, as the procession pa.s.sed Forth to the little church upon the cliffs, And, as in those days was the bridal mode, Her l.u.s.trous hair in billowing beauty streamed Dishevelled o'er her shoulders, while the sun Caressed her bent and glossy head, and shone Over the deep blue, white-flaked, wrinkled sea, On full-blown rosy-petalled sails that flashed Like flying blossoms fallen from her crown.

BOOK V

I

_With the fruit of Aladdin's garden cl.u.s.tering thick in her hold, With rubies awash in her scuppers and her bilge ablaze with gold, A world in arms behind her to sever her heart from home, The_ Golden Hynde _drove onward over the glittering foam._

II

_If we go as we came, by the Southward, we meet wi' the fleets of Spain!