Collected Poems Volume I Part 50

AVE MARIA, _those about to die Salute thee_! Nay, what wandering winds blaspheme With random gusts of chilling prophecy Against the solemn sounds that heavenward stream!

The night is come at last. Break not the splendid dream.

But through the misty darkness, close insh.o.r.e, North-west, South-west, and ever Westward strained The little ships of England. All night long, As down the coast the reddening beacons leapt, The crackle and lapping splash of tacking keels, The bo'suns' low sharp whistles and the whine Of ropes, mixing with many a sea-bird's cry Disturbed the darkness, waking vague swift fears Among the mighty hulks of Spain that lay Nearest, then fading through the mists insh.o.r.e North-west, then growing again, but farther down Their ranks to Westward with each dark return And dark departure, till the rearmost rank Of grim sea-castles heard the swish and creak Pa.s.s plashing seaward thro' the wet sea-mists To windward now of all that monstrous host, Then heard no more than wandering sea-birds' cries Wheeling around their leagues of lanthorn-light, Or heave of waters, waiting for the dawn.

Dawn, everlasting and almighty dawn Rolled o'er the waters. The grey mists were fled.

See, in their reeking heaven-wide crescent drawn Those masts and spars and cloudy sails, outspread Like one great sulphurous tempest soaked with red, In vain withstand the march of brightening skies: The dawn sweeps onward and the night is dead, And lo, to windward, what bright menace lies, What glory kindles now in England's wakening eyes?

There, on the glittering plains of open sea, To windward now, behind the fleets of Spain, Two little files of ships are tossing free, Free of the winds and of the wind-swept main: Were they not trapped? Who brought them forth again, Free of the great new fields of England's war, With sails like blossoms shining after rain, And guns that sparkle to the morning star?

Drake!--first upon the deep that rolls to Trafalgar!

And Spain knows well that flag of fiery fame, Spain knows who leads those files across the sea; Implacable, invincible, his name _El Draque_, creeps hissing through her ranks to lee; But now she holds the rolling heavens in fee, His ships are few. _They surge across the foam, The hunt is up!_ But need the mountains flee Or fear the snarling wolf-pack? Let them come!

They crouch, but dare not leap upon the flanks of Rome.

Nearer they come and nearer! Nay, prepare!

Close your huge ranks that sweep from sky to sky!

Madness itself would shrink; but Drake will dare Eternal h.e.l.l! Let the great signal fly-- Close up your ranks; El Draque comes down to die!

El Draque is brave! The vast sea-cities loom Thro' heaven: Spain spares one smile of chivalry, One wintry smile across her cannons' gloom As that frail fleet full-sail comes rushing tow'rds its doom.

Suddenly, as the wild change of a dream, Even as the Spaniards watched those lean sharp prows Leap straight at their huge hulks, watched well content, Knowing their foes, once grappled, must be doomed; Even as they caught the rush and hiss of foam Across that narrow, dwindling gleam of sea, And heard, abruptly close, the sharp commands And steady British answers, caught one glimpse Of bare-armed seamen waiting by their guns, The vision changed! The ships of England swerved Swiftly--a volley of flame and thunder swept Blinding the buffeted air, a volley of iron From four sheer broadsides, crashing thro' a hulk Of Spain. She reeled, blind in the fiery surge And fury of that a.s.sault. So swift it seemed That as she heeled to leeward, ere her guns Trained on the foe once more, the sulphurous cloud That wrapped the sea, once, twice, and thrice again Split with red thunder-claps that rent and raked Her huge beams through and through. Ay, as she heeled To leeward still, her own grim cannon belched Their lava skyward, wounding the void air, And, as by miracle, the ships of Drake Were gone. Along the Spanish rear they swept From North to South, raking them as they went At close range, hardly a pistol-shot away, With volley on volley. Never Spain had seen Seamen or marksmen like to these who sailed Two knots against her one. They came and went, Suddenly neared or sheered away at will As if by magic, pouring flame and iron In four full broadsides thro' some Spanish hulk Ere one of hers burst blindly at the sky.

Southward, along the Spanish rear they swept, Then swung about, and volleying sheets of flame, Iron, and death, along the same fierce road Littered with spars, reeking with sulphurous fumes, Returned, triumphantly rushing, all their sails Alow, aloft, full-bellied with the wind.

Then, then, from sky to sky, one mighty surge Of baleful pride, huge wrath, stormy disdain, With shuddering clouds and towers of sail would urge Onward the heaving citadels of Spain, Which dragged earth's thunders o'er the groaning main, And held the panoplies of faith in fee, Beating against the wind, struggling in vain To close with that swift ocean-cavalry: Spain had all earth in charge! Had England, then, the sea?

Spain had the mountains--mountains flow like clouds.

Spain had great kingdoms--kingdoms melt away!

Yet, in that crescent, army on army crowds, How shall she fear what seas or winds can say?-- The seas that leap and shine round earth's decay, The winds that mount and sing while empires fall, And mountains pa.s.s like waves in the wind's way, And dying G.o.ds thro' shuddering twilights call.

Had England, then, the sea that sweeps o'er one and all?

See, in gigantic wrath the _Rata_ hurls Her mighty prows round to the wild sea-wind: The deep like one black maelstrom round her swirls While great Recalde follows hard behind: Reeling, like t.i.tans, thunder-blasted, blind, They strive to cross the ships of England--yea, Challenge them to the grapple, and only find Red broadsides bursting o'er the bursting spray, And England surging still along her windward way!

To windward still _Revenge_ and _Raleigh_ flash And thunder, and the sea flames red between: In vain against the wind the galleons crash And plunge and pour blind volleys thro' the screen Of rolling sulphurous clouds at dimly seen Topsails that, to and fro, like sea-birds fly!

Ever to leeward the great hulks careen; Their thousand cannon can but wound the sky, While England's little _Rainbow_ foams and flashes by.

Suddenly the flag-ship of Recalde, stung To fury it seemed, heeled like an avalanche To leeward, then reeled out beyond the rest Against the wind, alone, daring the foe To grapple her. At once the little _Revenge_ With Drake's flag flying flashed at her throat, And hardly a cable's-length away out-belched Broadside on broadside, under those great cannon, Crashing through five-foot beams, four shots to one, While Howard and the rest swept to and fro Keeping at deadly bay the rolling hulks That looming like Leviathans now plunged Desperately against the freshening wind To rescue the great flag-ship where she lay Alone, amid the cannonades of Drake, Alone, like a volcanic island lashed With crimson hurricanes, dinning the winds With isolated thunders, flaking the skies With wrathful lava, while great spars and blocks Leapt through the cloudy glare and fell, far off, Like small black stones into the hissing sea.

Oquendo saw her peril far away!

His rushing prow thro' heaven begins to loom, Oquendo, first in all that proud array, Hath heart the pride of Spain to rea.s.sume: He comes; the rolling seas are dusked with gloom Of his great sails! Now round him once again, Thrust out your oars, ye mighty hulks of doom; Forward, with hiss of whip and clank of chain!

Let twice ten hundred slaves bring on the wrath of Spain!

Sidonia comes! Toledo comes!--huge ranks That rally against the storm from sky to sky, As down the dark blood-rusted chain-locked planks Of labouring galleys the dark slave-guards ply Their knotted scourges, and the red flakes fly From bare scarred backs that quiver and heave once more, And slaves that heed not if they live or die Pull with numb arms at many a red-stained oar, Nor know the sea's dull crash from cannon's growing roar.

Bring on the wrath! From heaven to rushing heaven The white foam sweeps around their fierce array; In vain before their shattering crimson levin The ships of England flash and dart away: Not England's heart can hold that host at bay!

See, a swift signal shoots along her line, Her ships are scattered, they fly, they fly like spray Driven against the wind by wrath divine, While, round Recalde now, Sidonia's cannon shine.

The wild sea-winds with golden trumpets blaze!

One wave will wash away the crimson stain That blots Recalde's decks. Her first amaze Is over: down the Channel once again Turns the triumphant pageantry of Spain In battle-order, now. Behind her, far, While the broad sun sinks to the Western main, Glitter the little ships of England's war, And over them in heaven glides out the first white star.

The sun goes down: the heart of Spain is proud: Her censers fume, her golden trumpets blow!

Into the darkening East with cloud on cloud Of broad-flung sail her huge sea-castles go: Rich under blazoned p.o.o.ps like rose-flushed snow Tosses the foam. Far off the sunset gleams: Her banners like a thousand sunsets glow, As down the darkening East the pageant streams, Full-fraught with doom for England, rigged with princely dreams.

Nay, "rigged with curses dark," as o'er the waves Drake watched them slowly sweeping into the gloom That thickened down the Channel, watched them go In ranks compact, roundels impregnable, With Biscay's bristling broad-beamed squadron drawn Behind for rear-guard. As the sun went down Drake flew the council-flag. Across the sea That gleamed still like a myriad-petalled rose Up to the little _Revenge_ the pinnaces foamed.

There, on Drake's powder-grimed escutcheoned p.o.o.p They gathered, Admirals and great flag-captains, Hawking, Frobisher, shining names and famous, And some content to serve and follow and fight Where duty called unknown, but heroes all.

High on the p.o.o.p they cl.u.s.tered, gazing East With faces dark as iron against the flame Of sunset, eagle-faces, iron lips, And keen eyes fiercely flashing as they turned Like sword-flames now, or dark and deep as night Watching the vast Armada slowly mix Its broad-flung sails with twilight where it dragged Thro' thickening heavens its curdled storms of clouds Down the wide darkening Channel.

"My Lord Howard,"

Said Drake, "it seems we have but scarred the skins Of those huge hulks: the hour grows late for England.

'Twere well to handle them again at once." A growl Of fierce approval answered; but Lord Howard Cried out, "Attack we cannot, save at risk Of our whole fleet. It is not death I fear, But England's peril. We have fought all day, Accomplished nothing. Half our powder is spent!

I think it best to hang upon their flanks Till we be reinforced."

"My lord," said Drake, "Had we that week to spare for which I prayed, And were we handling them in Spanish seas, We might delay. There is no choosing now.

Yon hulks of doom are steadfastly resolved On one tremendous path and solid end-- To join their powers with Parma's thirty thousand (Not heeding our light hors.e.m.e.n of the sea), Then in one earthquake of o'erwhelming arms Roll Europe over England. They've not grasped The first poor thought which now and evermore Must be the sceptre of Britain, the steel trident Of ocean-sovereignty. That mighty fleet Invincible, impregnable, omnipotent, Must here and now be shattered, never be joined With Parma, never abase the wind-swept sea, With oaken roads for thundering legions To trample in the splendour of the sun From Europe to our island.

As for food, In yonder enemy's fleet there is food enough To feed a nation; ay, and powder enough To split an empire. I will answer for it Ye shall not lack of either, nor for shot, Not though ye pluck them out of your own beams To feed your hungry cannon. Cast your bread Upon the waters. Think not of the Queen!

She will not send it! For she hath not known (How could she know?) this wide new realm of hers, When we ourselves--her seamen--scarce have learnt What means this kingdom of the ocean-sea To England and her throne--food, life-blood, life!

She could not understand who, when our ships Put out from Plymouth, hardly gave them store Of powder and shot to last three fighting days, Or rations even for those. Blame not the Queen, Who hath striven for England as no king hath fought Since England was a nation. Bear with me, For I must pour my heart before you now This one last time. Yon fishing-boats have brought Tidings how on this very day she rode Before her mustered pikes at Tilbury.

Methinks I see her riding down their lines High on her milk-white Barbary charger, hear Her voice--'My people, though my flesh be woman, My heart is of your kingly lion's breed: I come myself to lead you!' I see the sun Shining upon her armour, hear the voice Of all her armies roaring like one sea-- _G.o.d save Elizabeth, our English Queen!_ 'G.o.d save her,' I say, too; but still she dreams, As all too many of us--bear with me!--dream, Of Crecy, when our England's war was thus; When we, too, hurled our hosts across the deep As now Spain dreams to hurl them on our isle.

But now our war is otherwise. We claim The sea's command, and Spain shall never land One swordsman on our island. Blame her not, But look not to the Queen. The people fight This war of ours, not princes. In this hour G.o.d maketh us a people. We have seen Victories, never victory like to this, When in our England's darkest hour of need Her seamen, without wage, powder, or food, Are yet on fire to fight for her. Your ships Tossing in the great sunset of an Empire, Dawn of a sovereign people, are all manned By heroes, ragged, hungry, who will die Like flies ere long, because they have no food But turns to fever-breeding carrion Not fit for dogs. They are half-naked, hopeless Living, of any reward; and if they die They die a dog's death. We shall reap the fame While they--great G.o.d! and all this cannot quench The glory in their eyes. They will be served Six at the mess of four, eking it out With what their own rude nets may catch by night, Silvering the guns and naked arms that haul Under the stars with silver past all price, While some small ship-boy in the black crow's nest Watches across the waters for the foe.

My lord, it is a terrible thing for Spain When poor men thus go out against her princes; For so G.o.d whispers 'Victory' in our ears, I cannot dare to doubt it."

Once again A growl of fierce approval answered him, And Hawkins cried--"I stand by Francis Drake"; But Howard, clinging to his old-world order, Yet with such manly strength as dared to rank Drake's wisdom of the sea above his own, St.u.r.dily shook his head. "I dare not risk A close attack. Once grappled we are doomed.

We'll follow on their trail no less, with Drake Leading. Our oriflamme to-night shall be His cresset and stern-lanthorn. Where that shines We follow."

Drake, still thinking in his heart,-- "And if Spain be not shattered here and now We are doomed no less," must even rest content With that good vantage.

As the sunset died Over the darkling emerald seas that swelled Before the freshening wind, the pinnaces dashed To their own ships; and into the mind of Drake There stole a plot that twitched his lips to a smile.

High on the heaving purple of the p.o.o.p Under the glimmer of firm and full-blown sails He stood, an iron statue, glancing back Anon at his stern-cresset's crimson flare, The star of all the shadowy ships that plunged Like ghosts amid the grey stream of his wake, And all around him heard the low keen song Of hidden ropes above the wail and creak Of blocks and long low swish of cloven foam, A keen rope-music in the formless night, A harmony, a strong intent good sound, Well-strung and taut, singing the will of man.

"Your oriflamme," he muttered,--"so you travail With sea-speech in the tongue of old Poictiers-- Shall be my own stern-lanthorn. Watch it well, My good Lord Howard."

Over the surging seas The little _Revenge_ went swooping on the trail, Leading the ships of England. One by one Out of the gloom before them slowly crept, Sinister gleam by gleam, like blood-red stars, The rearmost lanthorns of the Spanish Fleet, A s.h.a.ggy purple sky of secret storm Heaving from north to south upon the black Breast of the waters. Once again with lips Twitched to a smile, Drake suddenly bade them crowd All sail upon the little _Revenge_. She leapt Forward. Smiling he watched the widening gap Between the ships that followed and her light, Then as to those behind, its flicker must seem Wellnigh confused with those of Spain, he cried, "Now, master bo'sun, quench their oriflamme, Dip their d.a.m.ned cresset in the good black Sea!

The rearmost light of Spain shall lead them now, A little closer, if they think it ours.

Pray G.o.d, they come to blows!"

Even as he spake His cresset-flare went out in the thick night; A fluttering as of blind bewildered moths A moment seized upon the shadowy ships Behind him, then with crowded sail they steered Straight for the rearmost cresset-flare of Spain.

BOOK XII

Meanwhile, as in the gloom he slipped aside Along the Spanish ranks, waiting the crash Of battle, suddenly Drake became aware Of strange sails bearing up into the wind Around his right, and thought, "the Armada strives To weather us in the dark." Down went his helm, And all alone the little _Revenge_ gave chase, Till as the moon crept slowly forth, she stood Beside the ghostly ships, only to see Bewildered Flemish merchantmen, amazed With fears of Armageddon--such vast shrouds Had lately pa.s.sed them on the rolling seas.

Down went his helm again, with one grim curse Upon the chance that led him thus astray; And down the wind the little _Revenge_ once more Swept on the trail. Fainter and fainter now Glared the red beacons on the British coasts, And the wind slackened and the glimmering East Greyed and reddened, yet Drake had not regained Sight of the ships. When the full glory of dawn Dazzled the sea, he found himself alone, With one huge galleon helplessly drifting A cable's-length away. Around her prow, _Nuestra Senora del Rosario_, Richly emblazoned, gold on red, proclaimed The flagship of great Valdes, of the fleet Of Andalusia, captain-general. She, Last night, in dark collision with the hulks Of Spain, had lost her foremast. Through the night Her guns, long rank on deadly rank, had kept All enemies at bay. Drake summoned her Instantly to surrender. She returned A scornful answer from the glittering p.o.o.p Where two-score officers crowned the golden sea And stained the dawn with blots of richer colour Loftily cl.u.s.tered in the glowing sky, Doubleted with cramoisy velvet, wreathed With golden chains, blazing with jewelled swords And crusted poignards. "What proud haste was this?"

They asked, glancing at their huge tiers of cannon And crowded decks of swarthy soldiery; "What madman in yon c.o.c.kle-sh.e.l.l defied Spain?"

"Tell them it is El Draque," he said, "who lacks The time to parley; therefore it will be well They strike at once, for I am in great haste."

There, at the sound of that renowned name, Without a word down came their blazoned flag.

Like a great fragment of the dawn it lay Crumpled upon their decks.. . .

Into the soft bloom and Italian blue Of sparkling, ever-beautiful Torbay, Belted as with warm Mediterranean crags, The little _Revenge_ foamed with her mighty prize, A prize indeed--not for the casks of gold Drake split in the rich sunlight and poured out Like dross amongst his men, but in her hold Lay many tons of powder, worth their weight In rubies now to Britain. Into the hands Of swarthy Brixham fishermen he gave Prisoners and prize, then--loaded stem to stern With powder and shot--their swiftest trawlers flew Like falcons following a thunder-cloud Behind him, as with crowded sail he rushed On England's trail once more. Like a caged lion Drake paced his deck, praying he yet might reach The fight in time; and ever the warm light wind Slackened. Not till the sun was half-way fallen Once more crept out in front those dusky thrones Of thunder, heaving on the smooth bright sea From North to South with Howard's cl.u.s.tered fleet Like tiny clouds, becalmed, not half a mile Behind the Spaniards. For the breeze had failed Their blind midnight pursuit; and now attack Seemed hopeless. Even as Drake drew nigh, the last Breath of the wind sank. One more day had flown, Nought was accomplished; and the Armada lay Some leagues of golden sea-way nearer now To its great goal. The sun went down: the moon Rose glittering. Hardly a cannon-shot apart The two fleets lay becalmed upon the silver Swell of the smooth night-tide. The hour had come For Spain to strike. The ships of England drifted Helplessly, at the mercy of those great hulks Oared by their thousand slaves.

Onward they came, Swinging suddenly in tremendous gloom Over the silver seas. But even as Drake, With eyes on fire at last for his last fight, Measured the distance ere he gave the word To greet it with his cannon, suddenly The shining face of the deep began to shiver With dusky patches: the doomed English sails Quivered and, filling smart from the North-east, The little _Revenge_ rushed down their broken line Signalling them to follow, and ere they knew What miracle had saved them, they all sprang Their luff and ran large out to sea. For now The Armada lay to windward, and to fight Meant to be grappled and overwhelmed; but dark Within the mind of Drake, a fiercer plan Already had shaped itself.

"They fly! They fly!"

Rending the heavens from twice ten thousand throats A mighty shout rose from the Spanish Fleet.

Over the moonlit waves their galleons came Towering, crowding, plunging down the wind In full chase, while the tempter, Drake, laughed low To watch their solid battle-order break And straggle. When once more the golden dawn Dazzled the deep, the labouring galleons lay Scattered by their unequal speed. The wind Veered as the sun rose. Once again the ships Of England lay to windward. Down swooped Drake Where like a mountain the _San Marcos_ heaved Her giant flanks alone, having out-sailed Her huge companions. Then the sea-winds blazed With broadsides. Two long hours the sea flamed red All round her. One by one the t.i.tan ships Came surging to her rescue, and met the buffet Of battle-thunders, belching iron and flame; Nor could they pluck her forth from that red chaos Till great Oquendo hurled his mighty prows Crashing athwart those thunders, and once more Gathered into unshakeable battle-order The whole Armada raked the reeking seas.

Then up the wind the ships of England sheered Once more, and one more day drew to its close, With little accomplished, half their powder spent, And all the Armada moving as of old, From sky to sky one heaven-wide zone of storm, (Though some three galleons out of all their host Laboured woundily) down the darkening Channel.

And all night long on England's guardian heights The beacons reddened, and all the next long day The impregnable Armada never swerved From its tremendous path. In vain did Drake, Frobisher, Hawkins, Howard, greatest names In all our great sea-history, hover and dart Like falcons round the mountainous array.

Till now, as night fell and they lay abreast Of the Isle of Wight, once more the council flag Flew from the little _Revenge_. With iron face Thrust close to Howard's, and outstretched iron arm, Under the stars Drake pointed down the coast Where the red beacons flared. "The shoals," he hissed, "The shoals from Owers to Spithead and the net Of channels yonder in Portsmouth Roads. At dawn They'll lie to leeward of the Invincible Fleet!"

Swiftly, in mighty sweeping lines Drake set Before the council his fierce battle-plan To drive the Armada down upon the banks And utterly shatter it--stroke by well-schemed stroke As he unfolded there his vital plot And touched their dead cold warfare into life Where plan before was none, he seemed to tower Above them, clad with the deep night of stars; And those that late would rival knew him now, In all his great simplicity, their king, One of the G.o.ds of battle, England's Drake, A soul that summoned Caesar from his grave, And swept with Alexander o'er the deep.