Volume I Part 50 (1/2)
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 s.h.i.+ps 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 plas.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+ps 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 s.h.i.+ps 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+ps of England swerved Swiftly--a volley of flame and thunder swept Blinding the buffeted air, a volley of iron From four sheer broadsides, cras.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+ps 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 rus.h.i.+ng, 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 s.h.i.+ne 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 s.h.i.+ps 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-s.h.i.+p 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, Cras.h.i.+ng 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-s.h.i.+p 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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 rus.h.i.+ng heaven The white foam sweeps around their fierce array; In vain before their shattering crimson levin The s.h.i.+ps 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 s.h.i.+ps are scattered, they fly, they fly like spray Driven against the wind by wrath divine, While, round Recalde now, Sidonia's cannon s.h.i.+ne.
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 s.h.i.+ps 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, s.h.i.+ning 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 flas.h.i.+ng 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,”