Collected Poems Volume I Part 39

SONG

_Now the purple night is past, Now the moon more faintly glows, Dawn has through thy cas.e.m.e.nt cast Roses on thy breast, a rose; Now the kisses are all done, Now the world awakes anew, Now the charmed hour is gone, Let not love go, too._

_When old winter, creeping nigh, Sprinkles raven hair with white, Dims the brightly glancing eye, Laughs away the dancing light, Roses may forget their sun, Lilies may forget their dew, Beauties perish, one by one, Let not love go, too._

_Palaces and towers of pride Crumble year by year away; Creeds like robes are laid aside, Even our very tombs decay!

When the all-conquering moth and rust Gnaw the goodly garment through, When the dust returns to dust, Let not love go, too._

_Kingdoms melt away like snow, G.o.ds are spent like wasting flames, Hardly the new peoples know Their divine thrice-wors.h.i.+pped names!

At the last great hour of all, When thou makest all things new, Father, hear Thy children call, Let not love go, too._

The song ceased: all was still; and now it seemed Power brooded on the silence, and Drake saw A woman come to meet him,--tall and pale And proud she seemed: behind her head two wings As of some mighty phantom b.u.t.terfly Glimmered with jewel-sparks in the gold gloom.

Her small, pure, grey-eyed face above her ruff Was chiselled like an agate; and he knew It was the Queen. Low bent he o'er her hand; And "Ah," she said, "Sir Francis Walsingham Hath told me what an English heart beats here!

Know you what injuries the King of Spain Hath done us?" Drake looked up at her: she smiled, "We find you apt! Will you not be our knight For we are helpless"--witchingly she smiled-- "We are not ripe for war; our policy Must still be to uphold the velvet cloak Of peace; but I would have it mask the hand That holds the dagger! Will you not unfold Your scheme to us?" And then with a low bow Walsingham, at a signal from the Queen, Withdrew; and she looked down at Drake and smiled; And in his great simplicity the man Spake all his heart out like some youthful knight Before his Gloriana: his heart burned, Knowing he talked with England, face to face; And suddenly the Queen bent down to him, England bent down to him, and his heart reeled With the beauty of her presence--for indeed Women alone have royal power like this Within their very selves enthroned and shrined To draw men's hearts out! Royal she bent down And touched his hand for a moment. "Friend," she said, Looking into his face with subtle eyes, "I have searched thy soul to-night and know full well How I can trust thee! Canst thou think that I, The daughter of my royal father, lack The fire which every boor in England feels Burning within him as the b.l.o.o.d.y score Which Spain writes on the flesh of Englishmen Mounts higher day by day? Am I not Tudor?

I am not deaf or blind; nor yet a king!

I am a woman and a queen, and where Kings would have plunged into their red revenge Or set their throne up on this temporal sh.o.r.e, As flatterers bade that wiser king Canute, Thence to command the advancing tides of battle Till one ensanguined sea whelm throne and king And kingdom, friend, I take my woman's way, Smile in mine enemies' faces with a heart All h.e.l.l, and undermine them hour by hour!

This island scarce can fend herself from France, And now Spain holds the keys of all the world, How should we fight her, save that my poor wit Hath won the key to Philip? Oh, I know His treacherous lecherous heart, and hour by hour My nets are drawing round him. I, that starve My public armies, feed his private foes, Nourish his rebels in the Netherlands, Nay, sacrifice mine own poor woman's heart To keep him mine, and surely now stands Fate With hand uplifted by the doors of Spain Ready to knock: the time is close at hand When I shall strike, once, and no second stroke.

Remember, friend, though kings have fought for her, This England, with the trident in her grasp, Was ever woman; and she waits her throne; And thou canst speed it. Furnish thee with s.h.i.+ps, Gather thy gentleman adventurers, And be a.s.sured thy parsimonious queen-- Oh ay, she knows that chattering of the world-- Will find thee wealth enough. Then put to sea, Fly the black flag of piracy awhile Against these blackest foes of all mankind.

Nay; what hast thou to do with piracy?

_Hostis humani generis_ indeed Is Spain: she dwells beyond the bounds of law; Thine is no piracy, whate'er men say, Thou art a knight on Gloriana's quest.

Oh, lay that golden unction to thy soul, This is no piracy, but glorious war, Waged for thy country and for all mankind, Therefore put out to sea without one fear, Ransack their El Dorados of the West, Pillage their golden galleons, sap their strength Even at its utmost fountains; let them know That there is blood, not water, in our veins.

Sail on, my captain, to the glorious end, And, though at first thou needs must sail alone And undefended, ere that end be reached, When I shall give the word, nay, but one word, All England shall be up and after thee, The sword of England shall s.h.i.+ne over thee, And round about thee like a guardian fire; All the great soul of England shall be there; Her mighty dead shall at that cry of doom Rise from their graves and in G.o.d's panoply Plunge with our standards through immortal storms When Drake rides out across the wreck of Rome.

As yet we must be cautious; let no breath Escape thee, save to thy most trusted friends; For now, if my lord Burleigh heard one word Of all thou hast in mind, he is so much The friend of caution and the beaten road, He would not rest till he had spilled thy hopes And sealed thy doom! Go now, fit out thy s.h.i.+ps.

Walsingham is empowered to give thee gold Immediately, but look to him for more As thou shalt need it, gold and gold to spare, My golden-hearted pilot to the sh.o.r.es Of victory--so farewell;" and through the gloom She vanished as she came; and Drake groped, dazed, Out through the doors, and found great Walsingham Awaiting him with gold.

But in the room Where Drake had held his converse with the Queen The embroidered arras moved, and a lean face, White with its long eavesdropping upon death, Crept out and peered as a venomous adder peers From out dark ferns, then as the reptile flashes Along a path between two banks of flowers Almost too swift for sight, a stealthy form --One of the fifty spies whom Burleigh paid-- Pa.s.sed down the gold-gloomed corridor to seek His master, whom among great books he found, Calm, like a mountain brooding o'er the sea.

Nor did he break that calm for all these winds Of rumour that now burst from out the sky.

His brow bent like a cliff over his thoughts, And the spy watched him half resentfully, Thinking his news well worth a blacker frown.

At last the statesman smiled and answered, "Go; Fetch Thomas Doughty, Leicester's secretary."

Few suns had risen and set ere Francis Drake Had furnished forth his s.h.i.+ps with guns and men, Tried seamen that he knew in storms of old,-- Will Harvest, who could haul the ropes and fight All day, and sing a foc'sle song to cheer Sea-weary hearts at night; brave old Tom Moone The carpenter, whose faithful soul looked up To Drake's large mastery with a mastiff's eyes; And three-score trusty mariners, all scarred And weather-beaten. After these there came Some two-score gentleman adventurers, Gay college lads or lawyers that had grown Sick of the dusty Temple, and were fired With tales of the rich Indies and those tall Enchanted galleons drifting through the West, Laden with ingots and broad bars of gold.

Already some had bought at a great price Green birds of Guatemala, which they wore On their slouched hats, tasting the high romance And new-found colours of the world like wine.

By night they gathered in a marvellous inn Beside the black and secret flowing Thames; And joyously they tossed the magic phrase "Pieces of eight" from mouth to mouth, and laughed And held the red wine up, night after night, Around their tables, toasting Francis Drake.

Among these came a courtier, and none knew Or asked by whose approval, for each thought Some other brought him; yet he made his way Cautiously, being a man with a smooth tongue, The secretary of Leicester; and his name Was Thomas Doughty. Most of all with Drake He won his way to friends.h.i.+p, till at last There seemed one heart between them and one soul.

BOOK II

So on a misty grey December morn Five s.h.i.+ps put out from calm old Plymouth Sound; Five little s.h.i.+ps, the largest not so large As many a coasting yacht or fis.h.i.+ng-trawl To-day; yet these must brave uncharted seas Of unimagined terrors, haunted glooms, And shadowy horrors of an unknown world Wild as primeval chaos. In the first, The _Golden Hynde_, a s.h.i.+p of eighteen guns, Drake sailed: John Wynter, a queen's captain, next Brought out the _Elizabeth_, a stout new s.h.i.+p Of sixteen guns. The pinnace _Christopher_ Came next, in staunch command of old Tom Moone Who, five years back, with reeking powder grimed, Off Cartagena fought against the stars All night, and, as the sun arose in blood, Knee-deep in blood and brine, stood in the dark Perilous hold and scuttled his own s.h.i.+p The _Swan_, bidding her down to G.o.d's great deep Rather than yield her up a prize to Spain.

Lastly two gentleman-adventurers Brought out the new _Swan_ and the _Marygold_.

Their crews, all told, were eight score men and boys.

Not only terrors of the deep they braved, Bodiless witchcrafts of the black abyss, Red gaping mouths of h.e.l.l and gulfs of fire That yawned for all who pa.s.sed the tropic line; But death lurked round them from their setting forth.

Mendoza, plenipotentiary of Spain, By spies informed, had swiftly warned his king, Who sent out mandates through his huge empire From Gaudalchiber to the golden West For the instant sinking of all English s.h.i.+ps And the instant execution of their crews Who durst appear in the Caribbean sea.

Moreover, in the pith of their emprise A peril lurked--Burleigh's emissaries, The smooth-tongued Thomas Doughty, who had brought His brother--unacquitted of that charge Of poisoning, raised against him by the friends Of Ess.e.x, but in luckless time released Lately for lack of proof, on no strong plea.

These two wound through them like two snakes at ease In Eden, waiting for their venomous hour.

Especially did Thomas Doughty toil With soft and flowery tongue to win his way; And Drake, whose rich imagination craved For something more than simple seaman's talk, Was marvellously drawn to this new friend Who with the scholar's mind, the courtier's gloss, The lawyer's wit, the adventurer's romance, Gold honey from the blooms of Euphues, Rare flashes from the _Mermaid_ and sweet smiles Copied from Sidney's self, even to the glance Of sudden, liquid sympathy, gave Drake That banquet of the soul he ne'er had known Nor needed till he knew, but needed now.

So to the light of Doughty's answering eyes He poured his inmost thoughts out, hour by hour; And Doughty coiled up in the heart of Drake.

Against such odds the tiny fleet set sail; Yet gallantly and with heroic pride, Escutcheoned pavisades, emblazoned p.o.o.ps, Banners and painted s.h.i.+elds and close-fights hung With scarlet broideries. Every polished gun Grinned through the jaws of some heraldic beast, Gilded and carven and gleaming with all hues; While in the cabin of the _Golden Hynde_ Rich perfumes floated, given by the great Queen Herself to Drake as Captain-General; So that it seemed her soul was with the fleet, A presence to remind him, far away, Of how he talked with England, face to face,-- No pirate he, but Gloriana's knight.

Silver and gold his table furniture, Engraved and richly chased, lavishly gleamed While, fanned by favouring airs, the s.h.i.+ps advanced With streaming flags and ensigns and sweet chords Of music struck by skilled musicians Whom Drake brought with him, not from vanity, But knowing how the pulse of men beats high To music; and the hearts of men like these Were open to the high romance of earth, And they that dwelt so near G.o.d's mystery Were proud of their own manhood. They went out To danger, as to a sweetheart, far away.

Light as the sea-birds dipping their white wings In foam before the gently heaving prows Each heart beat, while the low soft lapping splash Of water racing past them ripped and tore Whiter and faster, and the bellying sails Filled out, and the chalk cliffs of England sank Dwindling behind the broad grey plains of sea.

Meekly content and tamely stay-at-home The sea-birds seemed that piped across the waves; And Drake, be-mused, leaned smiling to his friend Doughty and said, "Is it not strange to know When we return yon speckled herring-gulls Will still be wheeling, dipping, flas.h.i.+ng there?

We shall not find a fairer land afar Than those thyme-scented hills we leave behind!

Soon the young lambs will bleat across the combes, And breezes will bring puffs of hawthorn scent Down Devon lanes; over the purple moors Lavrocks will carol; and on the village greens Around the May-pole, while the moon hangs low, The boys and girls of England merrily swing In country footing through the morrice dance.

But many of us indeed shall not return."

Then the other with a laugh, "Nay, like the man Who slept a hundred years we shall return And find our England strange: there are great storms Brewing; G.o.d only knows what we shall find-- Perchance a Spanish king upon the throne!

What then?" And Drake, "I should put down my helm, And out once more to the unknown golden West To die, as I have lived, in a free land."

So said he, while the white cliffs dwindled down, Faded, and vanished; but the prosperous wind Carried the five s.h.i.+ps onward over the swell Of swinging, sweeping seas, till the sun sank, And height o'er height the chaos of the skies Broke out into the miracle of the stars.

Frostily glittering, all the Milky Way Lay bare like diamond-dust upon the robe Of some great king. Orion and the Plough Glimmered through drifting gulfs of silver fleece, And, far away, in Italy, that night Young Galileo, looking upward, heard The self-same whisper through that wild abyss Which now called Drake out to the unknown West.

But, after supper, Drake came up on deck With Doughty, and on the cold p.o.o.p as they leaned And gazed across the rolling gleam and gloom Of mighty m.u.f.fled seas, began to give Voices to those lovely captives of the brain Which, like princesses in some forest-tower, Still yearn for the delivering prince, the sweet Far bugle-note that calls from answering minds.

He told him how, in those dark days which now Seemed like an evil dream, when the Princess Elizabeth even trembled for her life And read there, by the gleam of Smithfield fires, Those cunning lessons of diplomacy Which saved her then and now for England's sake, He pa.s.sed his youth. 'Twas when the power of Spain Began to light the gloom, with that great glare Of martyrdom which, while the stars endure, Bears witness how men overcame the world, Trod the red flames beneath their feet like flowers, And cast aside the blackening robe of flesh, While with a crown of joy upon their heads, Even as into a palace, they pa.s.sed through The portals of the tomb to prove their love Stronger at least than death: and, in those days A Puritan, with iron in his soul, Having in earlier manhood occupied His business in great waters and beheld The b.l.o.o.d.y cowls of the Inquisition pa.s.s Before the midnight moon as he kept watch; And having then forsworn the steely sea To dwell at home in England with his love At Tavistock in Devon, Edmund Drake Began, albeit too near the Abbey walls, To speak too staunchly for his ancient faith; And with his young child Francis, had to flee By night at last for shelter to the coast.

Little the boy remembered of that flight, Pillioned behind his father, save the clang And clatter of the hoofs on stony ground Striking a sharp blue fire, while country tales Of highwaymen kindled his reckless heart As the great steed went shouldering through the night.

There Francis, laying a little sunburnt hand On the big bolstered pistol at each side, Dreamed with his wide grey eyes that he himself Was riding out on some freebooting quest, And felt himself heroic. League by league The magic world rolled past him as they rode, Leaving him nothing but a memory Of his own making. Vaguely he perceived A thousand meadows darkly streaming by With clouds of perfume from their secret flowers, A wayside cottage-window pointing out A golden finger o'er the purple road; A puff of garden roses or a waft Of honeysuckle blown along a wood, While overhead that silver s.h.i.+p, the moon, Sailed slowly down the gulfs of glittering stars, Till, at the last, a buffet of fresh wind Fierce with sharp savours of the stinging brine Against his dreaming face brought up a roar Of mystic welcome from the Channel seas.

And there Drake paused for a moment, as a song Stole o'er the waters from the _Marygold_ Where some musician, striking luscious chords Of sweet-stringed music, freed his heart's desire In symbols of the moment, which the rest, And Doughty among them, scarce could understand.

SONG

_The moon is up: the stars are bright: The wind is fresh and free!

We're out to seek for gold to-night Across the silver sea!

The world was growing grey and old; Break out the sails again!

We're out to seek a Realm of Gold Beyond the Spanish Main._

_We're sick of all the cringing knees, The courtly smiles and lies.

G.o.d, let Thy singing Channel breeze Lighten our hearts and eyes!

Let love no more be bought and sold For earthly loss or gain.

We're out to seek an Age of Gold Beyond the Spanish Main._

_Beyond the light of far Cathay, Beyond all mortal dreams, Beyond the reach of night and day Our El Dorado gleams, Revealing--as the skies unfold-- A star without a stain, The Glory of the Gates of Gold Beyond the Spanish Main._

And, as the skilled musician made the words Of momentary meaning still simply His own eternal hope and heart's desire, Without belief, perchance, in Drake's own quest-- To Drake's own greater mind the eternal glory Seemed to transfigure his immediate hope.

But Doughty only heard a sweet concourse Of sounds. They ceased. And Drake resumed his tale Of that strange flight in boyhood to the sea.

Next, the red-curtained inn and kindly hands Of Protestant Plymouth held his memory long; Often in strange and distant dreams he saw That scene which now he tenderly portrayed To Doughty's half-ironic smiling lips, Half-sympathetic eyes; he saw again That small inn parlour with the homely fare Set forth upon the table, saw the gang Of seamen dripping from the spray come in, Like great new thoughts to some adventurous brain.

Feeding his wide grey eyes he saw them stand Around the crimson fire and stamp their feet And scatter the salt drops from their big sea-boots; And all that night he lay awake and heard Mysterious thunderings of eternal tides Moaning out of a cold and houseless gloom Beyond the world, that made it seem most sweet To slumber in a little four-walled inn Immune from all that vastness. But at dawn He woke, he leapt from bed, he ran and lookt, There, through the tiny high bright cas.e.m.e.nt, there,-- O, fairy vision of that small boy's face Peeping at daybreak through the diamond pane!-- There first he saw the wondrous new-born world, And round its princely shoulders wildly flowing, Gemmed with a myriad cl.u.s.ters of the sun, The magic azure mantle of the sea.

And, afterwards, there came those marvellous days When, on that battles.h.i.+p, a disused hulk Rotting to death in Chatham Reach, they found Sanctuary and a dwelling-place at last.

For, Hawkins, that great s.h.i.+p-man, being their friend, A Protestant, with power on Plymouth town, Nigh half whereof he owned, made Edmund Drake Reader of prayer to all the s.h.i.+ps of war That lay therein. So there the dreaming boy, Francis, grew up in that grim nursery Among the ropes and masts and great dumb mouths Of idle ordnance. In that hulk he heard Many a time his father and his friends Over some wild-eyed troop of refugees Thunder against the powers of Spain and Rome, "Idolaters who defiled the House of G.o.d In England;" and all round them, as he heard, The clang and clatter of s.h.i.+pwright hammers rang, And hour by hour upon his vision rose, In solid oak reality, new s.h.i.+ps, As Ilion rose to music, s.h.i.+ps of war, The visible shapes and symbols of his dream, Unconscious yet, but growing as they grew, A wondrous incarnation, hour by hour, Till with their towering masts they stood complete, Embodied thoughts, in G.o.d's own dockyards built, For Drake ere long to lead against the world.

There, as to round the tale with ringing gold, Across the waters from the full-plumed _Swan_ The music of a _Mermaid_ roundelay-- _Our Lady of the Sea_, a Dorian theme Tuned to the soul of England--charmed the moon.

SONG

I

Queen Venus wandered away with a cry,-- _N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_-- For the purple wound in Adon's thigh; _Je vous en prie_, pity me; With a bitter farewell from sky to sky, And a moan, a moan, from sea to sea; _N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?_