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THE REVENGE.

A BALLAD OF THE FLEET, 1591.

I.

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summer heaven;

IV.

He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight,

And he sail'd away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight, With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow. "Shall we fight or shall we fly? Good Sir Richard, let us know, For to fight is but to die! There'll be little of us left by the time the sun be set."

And Sir Richard said again: "We be all good Englishmen.

Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil, For I never turn'd my back upon Don or devil yet."

V.

Sir Richard spoke, and he laugh'd, and we roared a hurrah, and so

The little "Revenge" ran on sheer into

the heart of the foe, With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;

For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, And the little "Revenge" ran on thro' the long sea-lane between.

VI.

But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick Thousands of their soldiers look'd down

men from the land

Very carefully and slow,

Men of Bideford in Devon,

And we laid them on the ballast down

below;

For we brought them all aboard, And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain, To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.

from their decks and laugh'd, Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft

Running on and on, till delay'd By their mountain-like "San Philip" that, of fifteen hundred tons, And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd.

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VII.

And while now the great "San Philip"
hung above us like a cloud
Whence the thunderbolt will fall
Long and loud,

Four galleons drew away
From the Spanish fleet that day,
And two upon the larboard and two upon
the starboard lay,

And the battle-thunder broke from them
all.

VIII.

But anon the great "San Philip," she bethought herself and went, Having that within her womb that had left her ill-content;

And the rest they came aboard us, and

they fought us hand to hand, For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers,

And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears

XI.

And the night went down, and the sun
smiled out far over the summer sea,
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

When he leaps from the water to the land. As may never be fought again !

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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 :

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THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW.

DEDICATORY POEM TO THE PRINCESS ALICE.

DEAD PRINCESs, living Power, if that, which lived

True life, live on — and if the fatal kiss, Born of true life and love, divorce thee not

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Shot thro' the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew,

And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.

II.

Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our livesWomen and children among us, God help them, our children and wives! Hold it we might and for fifteen days or for twenty at most. "Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post!

| Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave: Cold were his brows when we kiss'd him we laid him that night in his

grave. "Every man die at his post!" and there hail'd on our houses and halls Death from their rifle-bullets, and death from their cannon-balls,

Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade, Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stoopt to the spade,

Death to the dying, and wounds to the wounded, for often there fell Striking the hospital wall, crashing thro' it, their shot and their shell, Death for their spies were among us, their marksmen were told of our

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Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a day Soon as the blast of that underground thunderclap echo'd away, Dark thro' the smoke and the sulphur like so many fiends in their hellCannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell upon yell Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemy fell.

What have they done? where is it? Out yonder. Guard the Redan! Storm at the Water-gate! storm at the Bailey-gate! storm, and it ran Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every side Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily drown'd by the tide So many thousands that if they be bold enough, who shall escape? Kill or be kill'd, live or die, they shall

know we are soldiers and men ! Ready! take aim at their leaders - their

masses are gapp'd with our grapeBackward they reel like the wave, like

the wave flinging forward again, Flying and foil'd at the last by the hand

ful they could not subdue; And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.

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| Better to fall by the hands that they love, than to fall into theirs!"

Roar upon roar in a moment two mines by the enemy sprung

Clove into perilous chasms our walls and our poor palisades.

Rifleman, true is your heart, but be sure that your hand be as true! Sharp is the fire of assault, better aim'd are your flank fusillades — Twice do we hurl them to earth from the ladders to which they had clung, Twice from the ditch where they shelter we drive them with hand-grenades ;

And

ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.

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