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Southward through day and dark,
They drift in close embrace,

With mist and rain, o'er the open main;
Yet there seems no change of place.

Southward, forever southward,

They drift through dark and day;
And like a dream, in the Gulf-Stream,
Sinking, vanish all away.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]

THE ARMADA: A FRAGMENT

[JULY 21-29, 1588]

ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise; I sing of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, When that great fleet invincible against her bore, in vain, The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,
There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth
Bay;

The crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,

At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace; And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase. Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall; The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall; Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast; And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.

With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes; Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums:

His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space;

For there behooves him to set up the standard of Her Grace. And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, As slow upon the laboring wind the royal blazon swells.

Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,
And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down.
So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard

field,

Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield. So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay, And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay.

Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight: ho! scatter flowers, fair maids:

Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your blades:

Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes, waft her wide; Our glorious Semper Eadem, the banner of our pride.

The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold;

The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of

gold;

Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea,

Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall

be.

From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,

That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;

For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame

spread,

High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head.

Far o'er the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern

shire,

Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves: The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless

caves:

O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew:

He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.

Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bris

tol town,

And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton

Down;

The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night, And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill, the streak of bloodred light:

Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the deathlike silence broke,

And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke.

At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires;
At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;
From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of
fear;

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder

cheer:

And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying

feet,

And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street:

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the

din,

As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in; And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike

errand went,

And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.

Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;

High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north;

And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded

still:

All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from

hill to hill;

Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky

dales;

Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of

Wales;

Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely

height;

Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of

light;

Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately

fane,

And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless

plain;

Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,

And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent: Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled

pile,

And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle. Thomas Babington Macaulay [1800-1859]

"GOD SAVE ELIZABETH!"

LET them come, come never so proudly,
O'er the green waves as giants ride;

Silver clarions menacing loudly,

"All the Spains" on their banners wide;

High on deck of the gilded galleys

Our light sailors they scorn below:—

We will scatter them, plague, and shatter them,
Till their flag hauls down to their foe!

For our oath we swear

By the name we bear,

By England's Queen, and England free and fair,-
Her's ever and her's still, come life, come death!
God save Elizabeth!

Sidonia, Recalde, and Leyva

Watch from their bulwarks in swarthy scorn,

Lords and Princes by Philip's favor;-
We by birthright are noble born!
Freemen born of the blood of freemen:
Sons of Crecy and Flodden are we!
We shall sunder them, fire, and plunder them;
English boats on the English sea!

Drake and Frobisher, Hawkins and Howard,
Raleigh, Cavendish, Cecil, and Brooke,
Hang like wasps by the flagships towered,
Sting their way through the thrice-piled oak!
Let them range their seven-mile crescent,
Giant galleons, canvas wide!

Ours will harry them, board, and carry them,
Plucking the plumes of the Spanish pride.

Has God risen in wrath and scattered?
Have His tempests smote them in scorn?
Past the Orcades, dumb and tattered,
'Mong sea-beasts do they drift forlorn?
We were as lions hungry for battle;

God has made our battle His own!

God has scattered them, sunk, and shattered them:

Give the glory to Him alone!

While our oath we swear

By the name we bear,

By England's Queen, and England free and fair,-
Her's ever and her's still, come life, come death!

God save Elizabeth!

Francis Turner Palgrave [1824-1897]

IVRY

[MARCH 14, 1590]

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre! Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France!

And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daugh

ters.

As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy;

For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls

annoy.

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