ished. We parted (I think) at Stirling, and except for one or two short visits in London, the last one when his health was manifestly failing, I never saw him more.
But he was a man whom no one he honoured with his friendship could possibly forget. His letters, which though not frequent, were yet constant and always full of thought and striking language, his books, his poetry; these things kept alive in his friends' hearts their absent and beloved companion. Above, however, and beyond all this was the character of the man, the man himself; more poetical than his poetry, more affectionate than his letters; fuller of charm, weightier in influence than even his best and ablest writings. Others must estimate his poetry and
his criticism; for me there abides, and will abide while I live and have my mind, the image of the man himself, his outward aspect, "his solemn yet sparkling eyes, his open and thoughtful forehead, a head of virginal floridness which might be distinguished even among grey hairs, and the traces of meditation and labour,” which Manzoni attributes to Cardinal Federigo Borromeo in the "Promessi Sposi"; he himself as simple as a child, open to every tender and generous impulse, high-minded and pure-thoughted, yet full of harmless fun and playful humour, a steadfast friend, whose life was a charm to us, and whose death was "like a disenchantment." Faithfully yours,
THERE shall be so much forgotten of deeds beneath the sun,
But not this deed of England's, till England's race be run;
The fathers shall tell their children, and the children's children know
How we fought the great sea-battle three hundred years ago.
It was in the middle summer, and the wheat was full in ear,
But men's heart's were dark and troubled and women's faint for fear:
The fleets of Spain set sail in May, but a storm had warned them home,
The might of Spain had met again to do the will of Rome.
The Pope's high benediction had sped them on their way,
With monks and priests and bishops to teach us how to pray;
And all the Southland's knighthood, well proved in many a field,
And all her great sea-captains had come to make us yield;
And thirty thousand seamen and soldiers lay aboard ;-
So England watched and waited and trusted in the Lord.
Then all along this southern coast there was hurrying to and fro, And the nation's eyes went seaward to watch the coming foe; The shepherds left the pasture-hills, the yeomen left their farms, For all the squires in England were gathering men-at-arms; And there was vigil through the night, and ever stir and life, From the Foreland to the Landsend, before the coming strife; The old sea-dogs of England were met on Plymouth Hoe, And the little fleet was anchored across the Sound below; And rusty swords were furbished while yet the corn was green, For a mighty cry went through the land, For God and for the Queen!
It was a July evening, and in the waning day
The fairy woods of Edgcumbe hung rosy o'er the bay,
When through the track of sun-set, full-sail and homeward bound,
A little bark came gliding in and anchored up the Sound;
And round the quays and through the streets a wild-fire rumour ran,
A sea-league off the Lizard they've seen the Spanish van.
They say the Lord High Admiral was bowling on the green,
And round him sat the goodliest men the world has ever seen ;
For there was Richard Grenville, the bravest of the brave,
Who fought the greatest sea-fight that ever shook the wave;
And there sat old John Hawkins and preached of loot and prize,
And the grim battle-hunger flashed through his grizzled eyes;
And there was Martin Frobisher, who tried the North-west way,
And saw the sunless noontide and saw the midnight day;
And Drake, the seaman's hero, whose sails were never furled,
Whose bark had found the ocean-path that girdles round the world;
And Preston of La Guayra, and Fenner of the Azores,
Who shook the flag of England out on undiscovered shores;
And Fenton, and John Davis, and many another one
Whose keels had ploughed the Spanish Main behind the setting sun.
Without one dark misgiving they sat and watched the play,
And sipped their wine and laughed their jests like boys on a holiday.
That night men fired the beacons and flared the message forth,
From the southland to the midland, from the midland to the north :
And there was mustering all night long, wild rumour and unrest,
And mothers clasped their children the closer to their breast;
But calmly yet in Plymouth Sound the fleet of England lay,
The gunners slept beside their guns and waited for the day.
Then as the mists of morning cleared, up drew the Spanish van,
And grimly off the Devon cliffs that ten days' fight began.
Four giant galleons led the way like vultures to the feast,
And the huge league-long crescent rolled on from west to east:
But they will not stay for Plymouth, nor check the late advance,
For Parma's armies wait and fret to cross the strait from France.
No grander fleet, no better foe, has ever crossed the main,
No braver captains walked the deck than hold the day for Spain.
There sailed Miguel d'Oquenda, our seamen knew him well,
Recalde and Pietro Valdez, Mexia and Pimentel.
Oh, if ever, men of England, now brace your courage high,
Make good your boast to rule the waves, and keep the linstocks dry:
For the weeks of weary waiting, the long alert is past,
The pent-up hate of nations meets face to face at last.
The giant ships held on their course, and as the last was clear
The Plymouth fleet put out to sea and hung upon their rear;
And their war-drums beat to quarters, the bugles blared alarms,
The stately ocean-castles were filled with men-at-arms.
All through that summer morn and noon, on till the close of night,
We harried through the galleons and fought a running fight;
And far up Dartmoor highlands men heard the booming gun,
And watched the clouds of battle beneath the summer sun.
As o'er some dead sea-monster wheel round the white-winged gulls,
Our little ships ran in and out between the giant hulls;
For fleetly through their clumsy lines we steered our nimble craft,
And thundered in our broadsides, and raked them fore and aft,
And broke their spars and rammed their oars, till the floating castles reeled, While overhead their cannon flashed, their idle volleys pealed.
And the sun went down behind us, but the sea was ribbed with red,
For the greatest of the galleons was burning as she fled.
Yet hard behind we followed and held on through the night,
And kept the tossing lanterns of the Spanish fleet in sight.
So past Torbay to Portland Bill they ran on even keels,
And ever we hung behind them and gored their flying heels;
And many a mastless galley was left alone to lag,
To fall back in the hornet's nest and, fighting, strike her flag.
Then every port along the coast put out its privateers,
And one by one our ships came in with ringing cheers on cheers;
So sailed Sir Walter Raleigh, the knight-errant of the sea,
And all the best of Cornwall and Devon's chivalry;
Northumberland and Cumberland and Oxford and Carew,-
Till from every mast in England the lion-banner blew.
A calm fell on the twenty-fifth, it was St. Jago's day,-
And face to face off Weymouth cliffs the baffled war-ships lay.
Now, bishops, read your masses, and, friars, chant your psalm!
Now, Spain, go up and prosper, for your saint hath sent the calm!
A thousand oars that move like one lash white the glassy blue,
And down their three great galleons bore towards our foremost few.
Then loud laughed Admiral Howard and a cheer went up the skies,
King Philip's three great galleons will be a noble prize!
So we towed out two of our six ships to meet each floating fort,
And we laid one on the starboard side and we laid one on the port;
And all forenoon we pounded them; they fought us hard and well,
Till the sulphur-clouds along the calm hung like the breath of hell:
But a fair wind rose at noontide and baulked us of our prey,
The rescue came on wings of need and snatched the prize away;
So past the Needles, past Spithead, along the Sussex shores,
The tide of battle eastward rolls, the cannon's thunder roars;
The pike-men on the Sussex Downs could see the running fight,
And spread the rumour inland, the Dons were full in flight:
The fishing-smacks put out to sea from many a white chalk cove
To follow in the battle's wake and glean the treasure-trove;
Till night fell on the battle-scene, and under moon and star
Men saw St. George's channel all one long flame of war.
So, harried like their hunted bulls before the horsemen's goad,
They dropped on the eve of Sunday to their place in Calais road:
And we, we ringed about them and dogged them to their lair
Beneath the guns of Calais, to fight us if they dare;
But afar they rode at anchor and rued their battered pride,
As a wounded hound draws off alone to lick his gory side;
And when the Sabbath morning broke they had not changed their line,
For Parma's host by Dunkirk town lay still and made no sign.
So calm that Sabbath morning fell, men heard the land-bells ring,
They heard the monks at masses, the Spanish soldiers sing;
And as the noon grew sultry came other sounds of mirth,
And when the sun set many had seen the last on earth.
A breeze sprang up at even and the clouds rolled up the sky,
And dark and boding fell the night, that last night of July.
But in the fleet of England was every soul awake,
For a pinnace ran from bark to bark and brought us word from Drake;
And we towed eight ships to leeward, and set their bows to shore,
To send the Dons a greeting they never had before;
No traitor moon revealed us, there shone no summer star,
As we smeared the doomed hulls over with rosin and with tar;
And all their heavy ordnance was rammed with stone and chain,
And they bore down on the night wind into the heart of Spain.
It was Prowse and Young of Bideford who had the charge to steer,
And a bow-shot from the Spanish lines they fired them with a cheer,
Dropped each into his pinnace-it was deftly done and well—
And on the tide set shoreward they loosed the floating hell!
Oh then were cables severed, then rose a panic cry
To every saint in heaven, that shook the reddened sky!
And some to north and some to south, like a herd of bulls set free, With sails half set and cracking spars they staggered out to sea:
But we lay still in order and ringed them as they came,
And scared the cloudy dawning with thunder and with flame.
The North Sea fleet came sailing down, our ships grew more and more,
As Winter charged their severed van and drove their best on shore.
The Flemish boors came out to loot, and up the Holland dykes
The windmills stopped, the burghers marched with muskets and with pikes ;
So we chased them through the racing sea and banged them as they went,
And some we sank, and boarded some, till all our shot was spent;
Till we had no food nor powder, but only the will to fight,
And the shadows closed about us and we lost them in the night.
The white sea-horses sniffed the gale and climbed our sides for glee,
And rocked us and caressed us and danced away to lee.
Now rest you, men of England, for the fight is lost and won,
The God of Storms will do the rest, and grimly it was done!
Far north, far north on wings of death those scattered galleys steer
Towards the rock-bound islands, the Scottish headlands drear;
And the fishers of the Orkneys shall reap a golden store,
And Irish kernes shall strip the dead tossed up their rocky shore.
Long, long the maids of Aragon may watch and wait in vain,
The boys they sent for dowries will never come again.
Deep, fathom deep their lovers sleep beneath an alien wave,
And not a foot of English land, not even for a grave!
But it's Ah for the childless mothers! and Ah for the widowed maids! And the sea-weed, not the myrtle, twined round their rusting blades!
But we sailed back in triumph, our banner floating free,
Our lion-banner in the gale,-the masters of the sea!
The waves did battle for us, the winds were on our side,
The God of the just and unjust hath humbled Philip's pride.
Henceforth shall no man bind us: where'er the salt tides flow
Our sails shall take the sea-breeze, the oaks of England go!
And every isle shall know them, and every land that lies
Beyond the bars of sunset, the shadows of sunrise.
Henceforth, oh Island England, be worthy of thy fate,
And let thy new-world children revere thee wise and great !
Sit throned on either ocean and watch thy sons increase,
And keep the seas for freedom and hold the lands for peace!
Thy fleets shall bear the harvest from all thy daughter-lands,
And o'er thy blue sea-highways the continents join hands.
But should some new intruder rise to bind the ocean's bride,
Should once thy wave-dominion be questioned or denied,
Then rouse thee from thy happy dream, go forth and be again
The England of our hero-sires who broke the might of Spain.
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