And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us

all in a ring;

But they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd

that we still could sting,

So they watch'd 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 maim'd 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 ashore,

We die - does it matter when?

Sink me the ship, Master Gunner-sink her, split

her in twain!

Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!"

XII

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.

XIII

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.

XIV

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 mann'd the "Revenge" with a swarthier alien crew,

And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her

own:

When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd 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 shotshatter'd navy of Spain,

And the little "Revenge" herself went down by the island crags

To be lost evermore in the main.

QUEEN ELIZABETH

SARAH WILLIAMS

ELIZABETH was seventy years of age when she came to die (1603). Her long reign had been one of the most brilliant in English history. She found the nation weak, wretched, divided by a bitter religious controversy. She left it prosperous, united, and at peace. But the last years of the great queen were embittered by loneliness and by the apparent ingratitude of her people. Her friends and counsellors, the men who had made England strong and victorious, were already dead. Men of the new generation concerned themselves little with the wishes of the dying monarch, so eager were they to curry favor with her successor.

Dying, and loth to die, and long'd to die;
Is there no pity, O my land, my land?
Is it as naught to you, ye passers-by?
Will ye not, for a moment, listening stand?

Who shall come after me, is what ye pray;

Truly ye have not spar'd me all my days. Tudor, the grand old race, may pass away; Stuart, the weak and false, awaits your praise.

Essex, my murder'd darling, tender one,

Should have been here, my people, but for you; Now he but haunts me,—oh, my son, my son! Would that the queen had err'd, the friend been true!

Dudley, my one one love, my spirit halts;

Would that it had thine now on which to lean; Faulty thou wert, they said; come back, dear faults,— Have I not right to pardon, as a queen?

Truly, 'tis hard to rule, 'tis sore to love,

All my life long the two have torn my heart;
Now that the end has come, all things to prove,
I but repent me of my chosen part.

Now to my mother's God, who dwells afar,
Come I, a broken queen, a woman old;
Smirch'd with the miry way my soul hath trod,
Weary of life as with a tale twice told.
Thou who dost know what ingrate subjects are,
Hear me, assoil, receive me, God, my God.

TRIUMPH NOW

(FOR THE ACCESSION OF JAMES I.)

THOMAS CAMPION

On the death of Elizabeth, James VI. of Scotland succeeded to the throne as James I. The union of the two kingdoms under one monarch promised to end the long quarrel between Scotch and English. Moreover, James had been bred a Protestant, he readily accepted the religious settlement ordained under Elizabeth, and men hoped for peace at last. But the enthusiasm for the Stuart king was destined to be shortlived. His much-praised learning proved to be pedantry and his religion a pharisaical devotion to the maintenance of ecclesiastical authority, while his statesmanship consisted in an unswerving determination to have his own way. James had written a book to prove that kings rule by divine right and are not bound by the law of the land. Yet he had none of the kingliness of the Tudors, for he was small and mean in body and stuttered in his speech. He never understood the English people and his blind self-will drove them into determined opposition to the royal authority.

Triumph now with joy and mirth !

The God of Peace hath blessed our land: We enjoy the fruits of earth

Through favour of His bounteous hand.

We through His most loving grace
A king and kingly seed behold,
Like a sun with lesser stars

Or careful shepherd to his fold:
Triumph then, and yield Him praise
That gives us blest and joyful days.