Collected Poems Volume I Part 48

Take you the word of one who has occupied His business in great waters. There's no room, Meaning, or reason, office, or place, or name For courtiers on the sea. Does the sea flatter?

You cannot bribe it, torture it, or tame it!

Its laws are those of the Juggernaut universe, Remorseless--listen to that!"--a mighty wave Broke thundering down the coast; "your hands are white, Your rapier jewelled, can you grapple that?

What part have you in all its flaming ways?

What share in its fierce gloom? Has your heart broken As those waves break out there? Can you lie down And sleep, as a lion-cub by the old lion, When it shakes its mane out over you to hide you, And leap out with the dawn as I have done?

These are big words; but, see, my hand is red: You cannot torture me, I have borne all that; And so I have some kins.h.i.+p with the sea, Some sort of wild alliance with its storms, Its exultations, ay, and its great wrath At last, and power upon them. 'Tis the worse For Spain, Be counselled well: come not between My sea and its rich vengeance."

Silently, Bowing his head, Sidney withdrew. But Drake, So fiercely the old grief rankled in his heart, Summoned his swiftest horseman, bidding him ride, Ride like the wind through the night, straight to the Queen, Praying she would most instantly recall Her truant courtier. Nay, to make all sure, Drake sent a gang of seamen out to crouch Ambushed in woody hollows nigh the road, Under the sailing moon, there to waylay The Queen's reply, that she might never know It reached him, if it proved against his will.

And swiftly came that truant's stern recall; But Drake, in hourly dread of some new change In Gloriana's mood, slept not by night Or day, till out of roaring Plymouth Sound The pirate fleet swept to the wind-swept main, And took the wind and shook out all its sails.

Then with the unfettered sea he mixed his soul In great rejoicing union, while the s.h.i.+ps Cras.h.i.+ng and soaring o'er the heart-free waves Drave ever straight for Spain.

Water and food They lacked; but the fierce fever of his mind To sail from Plymouth ere the Queen's will changed Had left no time for these. Right on he drave, Determining, though the Queen's old officers Beneath him stood appalled, to take in stores Of all he needed, water, powder, food, By plunder of Spain herself. In Vigo bay, Close to Bayona town, under the cliffs Of Spain's world-wide and thunder-fraught prestige He anch.o.r.ed, with the old sea-touch that wakes Our England still. There, in the tingling ears Of the world he cried, _En garde_! to the King of Spain.

There, ordering out his pinnaces in force, While a great storm, as if he held indeed Heaven's batteries in reserve, growled o'er the sea, He landed. Ere one c.u.mbrous limb of all The monstrous armaments of Spain could move His s.h.i.+ps were stored; and ere the sword of Spain Stirred in its crusted sheath, Bayona town Beheld an empty sea; for like a dream The pirate fleet had vanished, none knew whither.

But, in its visible stead, invisible fear Filled the vast rondure of the sea and sky As with the omnipresent soul of Drake.

For when Spain saw the small black anch.o.r.ed fleet Ride in her bays, the sight set bounds to fear.

She knew at least the s.h.i.+ps were oak, the guns Of common range: nor did she dream e'en Drake Could sail two seas at once. Now all her coasts Heard him all night in every bursting wave, His topsails gleamed in every moonlit cloud; His battle-lanthorn glittered in the stars That hung the low horizon. He became A universal menace; yet there followed No sight or sound of him, unless the sea Were that grim soul incarnate. Did it not roar His great commands? The very spray that lashed The cheeks of Spanish seamen lashed their hearts To helpless hatred of him. The wind sang _El Draque_ across the rattling blocks and sheets When storms perplexed them; and when s.h.i.+ps went down, As under the fury of his onsetting battle, The drowning sailors cursed him while they sank.

Suddenly a rumour shook the Spanish Court, He has gone once more to the Indies. Santa Cruz, High Admiral of Spain, the most renowned Captain in Europe, clamoured for a fleet Of forty sail instantly to pursue.

For unto him whose little _Golden Hynde_ Was weapon enough, now leading such a squadron, The West Indies, the whole Pacific coast, And the whole Spanish Main, lay at his mercy.

And onward over the great grey gleaming sea Swept like a thunder-cloud the pirate fleet With vengeance in its heart. Five years agone, Young Hawkins, in the Cape Verde Islands, met-- At Santiago--with such treachery As Drake burned to requite, and from that hour Was Santiago doomed. His chance had come; Drake swooped upon it, plundered it, and was gone, Leaving the treacherous isle a desolate heap Of smoking ashes in the leaden sea, While onward all those pirate bowsprits plunged Into the golden West, across the broad Atlantic once again; "For I will show,"

Said Drake, "that Englishmen henceforth will sail Old ocean where they will." Onward they surged, And the great glittering crested majestic waves Jubilantly rushed up to meet the keels, And there was nought around them but the grey Ruin and roar of the huge Atlantic seas, Grey mounded seas, pursuing and pursued, That fly, hounded and hounding on for ever, From empty marge to marge of the grey sky.

Over the wandering wilderness of foam, Onward, through storm and death, Drake swept; for now Once more a fell plague gripped the tossing s.h.i.+ps, And not by twos and threes as heretofore His crews were minished; but in three black days Three hundred seamen in their shotted shrouds Were cast into the deep. Onward he swept, Implacably, having in mind to strike Spain in the throat at St. Domingo, port Of Hispaniola, a city of far renown, A jewel on the sh.o.r.es of old romance, Palm-shadowed, gated with immortal gold, Queen city of Spain's dominions over sea, And guarded by great guns. Out of the dawn The pirate s.h.i.+ps came leaping, grim and black, And ere the Spaniards were awake, the flag Of England floated from their topmost tower.

But since he had not troops enough to hold So great a city, Drake entrenched his men Within the Plaza and held the batteries.

Thence he demanded ransom, and sent out A boy with flag of truce. The boy's return Drake waited long. Under a sheltering palm He stood, watching the enemies' camp, and lo, Along the hot white purple-shadowed road Tow'rds him, a crawling shape writhed through the dust Up to his feet, a shape besmeared with blood, A shape that held the stumps up of its wrists And moaned, an eyeless thing, a naked rag Of flesh obscenely mangled, a small face Hideously puckered, shrivelled like a monkey's With lips drawn backward from its teeth.

"Speak, speak, In G.o.d's name, speak, what art thou?" whispered Drake, And a sharp cry came, answering his dread, A cry as of a sea-bird in the wind Desolately astray from all earth's sh.o.r.es, "Captain, I am thy boy, only thy boy!

See, see, my captain, see what they have done!

Captain, I only bore the flag; I only----"

"O, lad, lad, lad," moaned Drake, and, stooping, strove To pillow the mangled head upon his arm.

"What have they done to thee, what have they done?"

And at the touch the boy screamed, once, and died.

Then like a savage sea with arms uplift To heaven the wrath of Drake blazed thundering, "Eternal G.o.d, be this the doom of Spain!

Henceforward have no pity. Send the strength Of Thy great seas into my soul that I May devastate this empire, this red h.e.l.l They make of Thy good earth."

His men drew round, Staring in horror at the silent shape That daubed his feet. Like a cold wind His words went through their flesh: "This is the lad That bore our flag of truce. This hath Spain done.

Look well upon it, draw the smoke of the blood Up into your nostrils, my companions, And down into your souls. This makes an end For Spain! Bring forth the Spanish prisoners And let me look on them."

Forth they were brought, A swarthy gorgeous band of soldiers, priests, And sailors, hedged between two st.u.r.dy files Of British tars with naked cutla.s.ses.

Close up to Drake they halted, under the palm, Gay smiling prisoners, for they thought their friends Had ransomed them. Then they looked up and met A glance that swept athwart them like a sword, Making the blood strain back from their blanched faces Into their quivering hearts, with unknown dread, As that accuser pointed to the shape Before his feet.

"Dogs, will ye lap his blood Before ye die? Make haste; for it grows cold!

Ye will not, will not even dabble your hands In that red puddle of flesh, what? Are ye Spaniards?

Come, come, I'll look at you, perchance there's one That's but a demi-devil and holds you back."

And with the word Drake stepped among their ranks And read each face among the swarthy crew-- The gorgeous soldiers, ringleted sailors, priests With rosary and cross, a slender page In scarlet with a cloud of golden hair, And two rope-girdled friars.

The slim page Drake drew before the throng. "You are young," he said, "Go; take this message to the camp of Spain: Tell them I have a hunger in my soul To look upon the murderers of this boy, To see what eyes they have, what manner of mouths, To touch them and to take their hands in mine, And draw them close to me and smile upon them Until they know my soul as I know theirs, And they grovel in the dust and grope for mercy.

Say that, until I get them, every day I'll hang two Spaniards though I dispeople The Spanish Main. Tell them that, every day, I'll burn a portion of their city down, Then find another city and burn that, And then burn others till I burn away Their empire from the world, ay, till I reach The Imperial throne of Philip with my fires, And send it shrieking down to burn in h.e.l.l For ever. Go!"

Then Drake turned once again, To face the Spanish prisoners. With a voice Cold as the pa.s.sionless utterance of Fate His grim command went forth. "Now, provost-marshal, Begin with yon two friars, in whose faces Chined like singed swine, and eyed with the spent coals Of filthy living, sweats the glory of Spain.

Strip off their leprous rags And twist their ropes around their throats and hang them High over the Spanish camp for all to see.

At dawn I'll choose two more."

BOOK X

Across the Atlantic Great rumours rushed as of a mighty wind, The wind of the spirit of Drake. But who shall tell In this cold age the power that he became Who drew the universe within his soul And moved with cosmic forces? Though the deep Divided it from Drake, the gorgeous court Of Philip shuddered away from the streaming coasts As a wind-cuffed field of golden wheat. The King, Bidding his guests to a feast in his own s.h.i.+p On that wind-darkened sea, was made a mock, As one by one his ladies proffered excuse For fear of That beyond. Round Europe now Ballad and story told how in the cabin Of Francis Drake there hung a magic gla.s.s Wherein he saw the fleets of every foe And all that pa.s.sed aboard them. Rome herself, Perplexed that this proud heretic should prevail, Fostered a darker dream, that Drake had bought, Like old Norse wizards, power to loose or bind The winds at will.

And now a wilder tale Flashed o'er the deep--of a distant blood-red dawn O'er San Domingo, where the embattled troops Of Spain and Drake were met--but not in war-- Met in the dawn, by his compelling will, To offer up a sacrifice. Yea, there Between the hosts, the hands of Spain herself Slaughtered the Spanish murderers of the boy Who had borne Drake's flag of truce; offered them up As a blood-offering and an expiation Lest Drake, with that dread alchemy of his soul, Should e'en trans.m.u.te the dust beneath their feet To one same substance with the place of pain And whelm them suddenly in the eternal fires.

Rumour on rumour rushed across the sea, Large mockeries, and one most bitter of all, Wormwood to Philip, of how Drake had stood I' the governor's house at San Domingo, and seen A mighty scutcheon of the King of Spain Whereon was painted the terrestrial globe, And on the globe a mighty steed in act To spring into the heavens, and from its mouth Streaming like smoke a scroll, and on the scroll Three words of flame and fury--_Non sufficit Orbis_--of how Drake and his seamen stood Gazing upon it, and could not forbear From summoning the Spaniards to expound Its meaning, whereupon a hurricane roar Of mirth burst from those bearded British lips, And that immortal laughter shook the world.

So, while the imperial warrior eyes of Spain Watched, every hour, her vast Armada grow Readier to launch and shatter with one stroke Our island's frail defence, fear gripped her still, For there came sounds across the heaving sea Of secret springs unsealed, forces unchained, A mustering of deep elemental powers, A sound as of the burgeoning of boughs In universal April and dead hearts Uprising from their tombs; a mighty cry Of resurrection, surging through the souls Of all mankind. For now the last wild tale Swept like another dawn across the deep; And, in that dawn, men saw the slaves of Spain, The mutilated negroes of the mines, With gaunt backs wealed and branded, scarred and seared By whip and iron, in Spain's brute l.u.s.t for gold, Saw them, at Drake's great liberating word, Burst from their chains, erect, uplifting hands Of rapture to the glad new light that then, Then first, began to struggle thro' the clouds And crown all manhood with a sacred crown August--a light which, though from age to age Clouds may obscure it, grows and still shall grow, Until that Kingdom come, that grand Communion, That Commonweal, that Empire, which still draws Nigher with every hour, that Federation, That turning of the wasteful strength of war To accomplish large and fruitful tasks of peace, That gathering up of one another's loads Whereby the weak are strengthened and the strong Made stronger in the increasing good of all.

Then, suddenly, it seemed, as he had gone, A s.h.i.+p came stealing into Plymouth Sound And Drake was home again, but not to rest; For scarce had he cast anchor ere the road To London rang beneath the flying hoofs That bore his brief despatch to Burleigh, saying-- "We have missed the Plate Fleet by but twelve hours' sail, The reason being best known to G.o.d. No less We have given a cooling to the King of Spain.

There is a great gap opened which, methinks, Is little to his liking. We have sacked The towns of his chief Indies, burnt their s.h.i.+ps, Captured great store of gold and precious stones, Three hundred pieces of artillery, The more part bra.s.s. Our loss is heavy indeed, Under the hand of G.o.d, eight hundred men, Three parts of them by sickness. Captain Moone, My trusty old companion, he that struck The first blow in the South Seas at a Spaniard, Died of a grievous wound at Cartagena.

My fleet and I are ready to strike again At once, where'er the Queen and England please.

I pray for her commands, and those with speed, That I may strike again." Outside the scroll These words were writ once more--"My Queen's commands I much desire, your servant, Francis Drake."

This terse despatch the hunchback Burleigh read Thrice over, with the broad cliff of his brow Bending among his books. Thrice he a.s.sayed To steel himself with caution as of old; And thrice, as a glorious lightning running along And flas.h.i.+ng between those simple words, he saw The great new power that lay at England's hand, An ocean-sovereignty, a power unknown Before, but dawning now; a power that swept All earth's old plots and counterplots away Like straws; the germ of an unmeasured force New-born, that laid the source of Spanish might At England's mercy! Could that force but grow Ere Spain should nip it, ere the mighty host That waited in the Netherlands even now, That host of thirty thousand men encamped Round Antwerp, under Parma, should embark Convoyed by that Invincible Armada To leap at England's throat! Thrice he a.s.sayed To think of England's helplessness, her s.h.i.+ps Little and few. Thrice he a.s.sayed to quench With caution the high furnace of his soul Which Drake had kindled. As he read the last Rough simple plea, _I wait my Queen's commands_, His deep eyes flashed with glorious tears.

He leapt To his feet and cried aloud, "Before my G.o.d, I am proud, I am very proud for England's sake!

This Drake is a terrible man to the King of Spain."

And still, still, Gloriana, brooding darkly On Mary of Scotland's doom, who now at last Was plucked from out her bosom like a snake Hissing of war with France, a queenly snake, A Lilith in whose lovely gleaming folds And s.e.xual bonds the judgment of mankind Writhes even yet half-strangled, meting out Wild execrations on the maiden Queen Who quenched those jewelled eyes and mixt with dust That white and crimson, who with cold sharp steel In substance and in spirit, severed the neck And straightened out those glittering supple coils For ever; though for evermore will men Lie subject to the unforgotten gleam Of diamond eyes and cruel crimson mouth, And curse the sword-bright intellect that struck Like lightning far through Europe and the world For England, when amid the embattled fury Of world-wide empires, England stood alone.

Still she held back from war, still disavowed The deeds of Drake to Spain; and yet once more Philip, resolved at last never to swerve By one digressive stroke, one ell or inch From his own patient, sure, laborious path, Accepted her suave plea, and with all speed Pressed on his huge emprise until it seemed His coasts groaned with grim bulks of cannonry, Thick loaded hulks of thunder and towers of doom; And, all round Antwerp, Parma still prepared To hurl such armies o'er the rolling sea As in all history hardly the earth herself Felt shake with terror her own green hills and plains.

_I wait my Queen's commands!_ Despite the plea Urged every hour upon her with the fire That burned for action in the soul of Drake, Still she delayed, till on one darkling eve She gave him audience in that glimmering room Where first he saw her. Strangely sounded there The seaman's rough strong pa.s.sion as he poured His heart before her, pleading--"Every hour Is one more victory lost," and only heard The bitter answer--"Nay, but every hour Is a breath s.n.a.t.c.hed from the unconquerable Doom, that awaits us if we are forced to war.

Yea, and who knows?--though Spain may forge a sword, Its point is not inevitably bared Against the breast of England!" As she spake, The winds without clamoured with clash of bells, There was a gleam of torches and a roar-- _Mary, the traitress of the North, is dead, G.o.d save the Queen!_ Her head bent down: she wept.

"Pity me, friend, though I be queen, O yet My heart is woman, and I am sore pressed On every side,--Scotland and France and Spain Beset me, and I know not where to turn."

Even as she spake, there came a hurried step Into that dim rich chamber. Walsingham Stood there, before her, without ceremony Thrusting a letter forth: "At last," he cried, "Your Majesty may read the full intent Of priestly Spain. Here, plainly written out Upon this paper, worth your kingdom's crown, This letter, stolen by a trusty spy, Out of the inmost chamber of the Pope Sixtus himself, here is your murder planned: Blame not your Ministers who with such haste Plucked out this viper, Mary, from your breast!

Read here--how, with his thirty thousand men, The pick of Europe, Parma joins the Scots, While Ireland, grasped in their Armada's clutch, And the Isle of Wight, against our west and south Become their base."

"Rome, Rome, and Rome again, And always Rome," she muttered; "even here In England hath she thousands yet. She hath struck Her curse out with pontific finger at me, Cursed me down and away to the bottomless pit.

Her shadow like the shadow of clouds or sails, The shadow of that huge event at hand, Darkens the seas already, and the wind Is on my cheek that shakes my kingdom down.

She hath thousands here in England, born and bred Englishmen. They will stand by Rome!"

"'Fore G.o.d,"

Cried Walsingham, "my Queen, you do them wrong!

There is another Rome--not this of Spain Which lurks to pluck the world back into darkness And stab it there for gold. There is a City Whose eyes are tow'rd the morning; on whose heights Blazes the Cross of Christ above the world; A Rome that shall wage warfare yet for G.o.d In the dark days to come, a Rome whose thought Shall march with our humanity and be proud To cast old creeds like seed into the ground, Watch the strange shoots and foster the new flower Of faiths we know not yet. Is this a dream?

I speak as one by knighthood bound to speak; For even this day--and my heart burns with it-- I heard the Catholic gentlemen of England Speaking in grave a.s.sembly. At one breath Of peril to our island, why, their swords Leapt from their scabbards, and their cry went up To split the heavens--_G.o.d save our English Queen!_"

Even as he spake there pa.s.sed the rus.h.i.+ng gleam Of torches once again, and as they stood Silently listening, all the winds ran wild With clamouring bells, and a great cry went up-- _G.o.d save Elizabeth, our English Queen!_

"I'll vouch for some two hundred Catholic throats Among that thousand," whispered Walsingham Eagerly, with his eyes on the Queen's face.

Then, seeing it brighten, fervently he cried, Pressing the swift advantage home, "O, Madam, The heart of England now is all on fire!

We are one people, as we have not been In all our history, all prepared to die Around your throne. Madam, you are beloved As never yet was English king or queen!"

She looked at him, the tears in her keen eyes Glittered--"And I am very proud," she said, "But if our enemies command the world, And we have one small island and no more...."

She ceased; and Drake, in a strange voice, hoa.r.s.e and low, Trembling with pa.s.sion deeper than all speech, Cried out--"No more than the great ocean-sea Which makes the enemies' coast our frontier now; No more than that great Empire of the deep Which rolls from Pole to Pole, was.h.i.+ng the world With thunder, that great Empire whose command This day is yours to take. Hear me, my Queen, This is a dream, a new dream, but a true; For mightier days are dawning on the world Than heart of man hath known. If England hold The sea, she holds the hundred thousand gates That open to futurity. She holds The highway of all ages. Argosies Of unknown glory set their sails this day For England out of ports beyond the stars.

Ay, on the sacred seas we ne'er shall know They hoist their sails this day by peaceful quays, Great gleaming wharves in the perfect City of G.o.d, If she but claim her heritage."

He ceased; And the deep dream of that new realm the sea, Through all the soul of Gloriana surged, A moment, then with splendid eyes that filled With fire of sunsets far away, she cried (Faith making her a child, yet queenlier still) "Yea, claim it thou for me!"

A moment there Trembling she stood. Then, once again, there pa.s.sed A rush of torches through the gloom without, And a great cry "_G.o.d save Elizabeth, G.o.d save our English Queen!_"

"Yea go, then, go,"

She said, "G.o.d speed you now, Sir Francis Drake, Not as a privateer, but with full powers, My Admiral-at-the-Seas!"

Without a word Drake bent above her hand and, ere she knew it, His eyes from the dark doorway flashed farewell And he was gone. But ere he leapt to saddle Walsingham stood at his stirrup, muttering "Ride, Ride now like h.e.l.l to Plymouth; for the Queen Is hard beset, and ere ye are out at sea Her mood will change. The friends of Spain will move Earth and the heavens for your recall. They'll tempt her With their false baits of peace, though I shall stand Here at your back through thick and thin; farewell!"

Fire flashed beneath the hoofs and Drake was gone.

Scarce had he vanished in the night than doubt Once more a.s.sailed the Queen. The death of Mary Had brought e'en France against her. Walsingham, And Burleigh himself, prime mover of that death, Being held in much disfavour for it, stood As helpless. Long ere Drake or human power, They thought, could put to sea, a courier sped To Plymouth bidding Drake forbear to strike At Spain, but keep to the high seas, and lo, The roadstead glittered empty. Drake was gone!

Gone! Though the friends of Spain had poured their gold To thin his ranks, and every hour his crews Deserted, he had laughed--"Let Spain buy sc.u.m!