Lyra Heroica Part 33

XCIV

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away: 'Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!'

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: ''Fore G.o.d I am no coward; But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.

We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?'

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: 'I know you are no coward; You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.

But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ash.o.r.e.

I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard, To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain.'

So Lord Howard pa.s.sed away with five ships of war that day, Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; But Sir Richard bore in hand all the sick men from the land Very carefully and slow, Men of Bideford in Devon, And we laid them on the ballast down below; For we brought them all aboard, And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain, To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.

He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight, And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight, With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.

'Shall we fight or shall we fly?

Good Sir Richard, tell us now, For to fight is but to die!

There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.'

And Sir Richard said again: 'We be all good English men.

Let us bang those dogs of Seville, the children of the devil, For I never turned my back upon Don or devil yet.'

Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a hurrah, and so The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe, With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below; For half their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between.

Thousands of their soldiers looked down from their decks and laughed, Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft Running on and on, till delayed By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons, And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed.

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, And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay, And the battle thunder broke from them all.

But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and went, 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 musqueteers, And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears When he leaps from the water to the land.

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 battle-thunder and flame; Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame.

For some were sunk and many were shattered, and so could fight us no more-- G.o.d of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?

For he said, 'Fight on! fight on!'

Though his vessel was all but a wreck; And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone, 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!'

And the night went down and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea, And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring; But they dared not touch us again, for they feared that we still could sting, So they watched 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 maimed for life 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; 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 ash.o.r.e, We die--does it matter when?

Sink me the ship, Master Gunner--sink her, split her in twain!

Fall into the hands of G.o.d, not into the hands of Spain!'

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; We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow.'

And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe.

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: '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.

And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true, 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 manned the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew, And away she sailed with her loss and longed for her own; When a wind from the lands they had ruined 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 earthquake grew, 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-shattered navy of Spain, And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags To be lost evermore in the main.

_Tennyson._

XCV

THE HEAVY BRIGADE

The charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade!

Down the hill, down the hill, thousands of Russians, Thousands of hors.e.m.e.n, drew to the valley--and stayed; For Scarlett and Scarlett's three hundred were riding by When the points of the Russian lances arose in the sky; And he called, 'Left wheel into line!' and they wheeled and obeyed.

Then he looked at the host that had halted he knew not why, And he turned half round, and he bad his trumpeter sound To the charge, and he rode on ahead, as he waved his blade To the gallant three hundred whose glory will never die-- 'Follow,' and up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, Followed the Heavy Brigade.

The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and the might of the fight!

Thousands of hors.e.m.e.n had gathered there on the height, With a wing pushed out to the left and a wing to the right, And who shall escape if they close? but he dashed up alone Through the great grey slope of men, Swayed his sabre, and held his own Like an Englishman there and then; All in a moment followed with force Three that were next in their fiery course, Wedged themselves in between horse and horse, Fought for their lives in the narrow gap they had made-- Four amid thousands! and up the hill, up the hill, Gallopt the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade.

Fell like a cannon-shot, Burst like a thunderbolt, Crashed like a hurricane, Broke through the ma.s.s from below, Drove through the midst of the foe, Plunged up and down, to and fro, Rode flashing blow upon blow, Brave Inniskillens and Greys Whirling their sabres in circles of light!

And some of us, all in amaze, Who were held for a while from the fight, And were only standing at gaze, When the dark-m.u.f.fled Russian crowd Folded its wings from the left and the right, And rolled them around like a cloud,-- O mad for the charge and the battle were we, When our own good redcoats sank from sight, Like drops of blood in a dark grey sea, And we turned to each other, whispering, all dismayed, 'Lost are the gallant three hundred of Scarlett's Brigade!'

'Lost one and all' were the words Muttered in our dismay; But they rode like Victors and Lords Through the forest of lances and swords In the heart of the Russian hordes, They rode, or they stood at bay-- Struck with the sword-hand and slew, Down with the bridle-hand drew The foe from the saddle and threw Underfoot there in the fray-- Ranged like a storm or stood like a rock In the wave of a stormy day; Till suddenly shock upon shock Staggered the ma.s.s from without, Drove it in wild disarray, For our men gallopt up with a cheer and a shout, And the foemen surged, and wavered and reeled Up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, out of the field, And over the brow and away.

Glory to each and to all, and the charge that they made!

Glory to all the three hundred, and all the Brigade!

_Tennyson._

XCVI

THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS

Last night, among his fellow roughs, He jested, quaffed, and swore; A drunken private of the Buffs, Who never looked before.

To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, He stands in Elgin's place, Amba.s.sador from Britain's crown And type of all her race.

Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught Bewildered, and alone, A heart, with English instinct fraught, He yet can call his own.

Ay, tear his body limb from limb, Bring cord, or axe, or flame: He only knows, that not through _him_ Shall England come to shame.

Far Kentish hop-fields round him seemed, Like dreams, to come and go; Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed, One sheet of living snow; The smoke, above his father's door, In grey soft eddyings hung: Must he then watch it rise no more, Doomed by himself, so young?

Yes, honour calls!--with strength like steel He put the vision by.

Let dusky Indians whine and kneel; An English lad must die.