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 honor 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 shot-shatter'd navy of Spain,

And the little Revenge herself went down by the island

WAILING, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and seaAnd Willy's voice in the wind, "O mother, come out to me!"

Why should he call me to-night, when he knows that I cannot go?

For the downs are as bright as day, and the full moon stares at the snow.

We should be seen, my dear; they would spy us out of the

town.

The loud black nights for us, and the storm rushing over the down,

When I cannot see my own hand, but am led by the creak

of the chain,

And grovel and grope for my son till I find myself drenched with the rain.

Anything fallen again? nay-what was there left to fall? I have taken them home, I have number'd the bones, I have hidden them all.

What am I saying? and what are you? do you come as a spy? Falls? what falls? who knows? As the tree falls so must it lie.

Who let her in? how long has she been? you-what have you heard?

Why did you sit so quiet? you never have spoken a word.
O-to pray with me-yes-a lady-none of their spies-
But the night has crept into my heart, and begun to darken
my eyes.

Ah-you, that have lived so soft, what should you know of the night,

The blast and the burning shame and the bitter frost and the fright?

I have done it, while you were asleep-you were only made for the day.

I have gather'd my baby together-and now you may go your way.

Nay-for it 's kind of you, madam, to sit by an old dying wife.

But say nothing hard of my boy, I have only an hour of life. I kiss'd my boy in the prison, before he went out to die. They dared me to do it," he said, and he never has told me a lie.

66

I whipped him for robbing an orchard once when he was but a child

66

The farmer dared me to do it," he said; he was always so wild

And idle-and could n't be idle-my Willy-he never could rest.

The King should have made him a soldier, he would have been one of his best.

But he lived with a lot of wild mates, and they never would let him be good;

They swore that he dare not rob the mail, and he swore that he would;

And he took no life, but he took one purse, and when all was done

He flung it among his fellows-"I'll none of it," said my

son.

I came into court to the judge and the lawyers. I told them my tale,

God's own truth-but they kill'd him, they kill'd him for robbing the mail.

They hang'd him in chains for a show-we had always borne a good name

To be hang'd for a thief-and then put away-is n't that enough shame?

Dust to dust-low down-let us hide! but they set him so high

That all the ships of the world could stare at him, pass

ing by.

God 'll pardon the hell-black raven and horrible fowls of the air,

But not the black heart of the lawyer who kill'd him and hang'd him there.

And the jailer forced me away. I had bid him my last good-bye;

They had fasten'd the door of his cell. "O mother!" I heard him cry.

I could n't get back tho' I tried, he had something further

to say,

And now I never shall know it. The jailer forced me away.

Then since I could n't but hear that cry of my boy that was dead,

They seized me and shut me up: they fasten'd me down on my bed.

66

'Mother, O mother!"-he call'd in the dark to me year after year

They beat me for that, they beat me-you know that I could n't but hear;

And then at the last they found I had grown so stupid

and still

They let me abroad again—but the creatures had worked their will.

Flesh of my flesh was gone, but bone of my bone was leftI stole them all from the lawyers-and you, will you call it a theft?

My baby, the bones that had suck'd me, the bones that had laughed and had cried

Theirs? O, no! they are mine-not theirs-they had moved in my side.

Do you think I was scared by the bones? I kiss'd 'em, I buried 'em all—

I can't dig deep, I am old-in the night by the churchyard wall.

My Willy 'll rise up whole when the trumpet of judgment 'll sound,

But I charge you never to say that I laid him in holy ground.

They would scratch him up-they would hang him again on the cursed tree.

Sin? O, yes, we are sinners, I know-let all that be,
And read me a Bible verse of the Lord's goodwill toward

men

"Full of compassion and mercy, the Lord"-let me hear it again;

"Full of compassion and mercy-long-suffering."

O, yes!

Yes,

For the lawyer is born but to murder-the Saviour lives

but to bless.