Song

Sing we the Rose,The flower of flowers most glorious!Never a storm that blowsAcross our English sea,But its heart breaks out wi' the RoseOn England's flag victorious,The triumphing flag that flowsThro' the heavens of Liberty.

Sing we the Rose,The flower of flowers most beautiful!Until the world shall endShe blossometh year by year,Red with the blood that flowsFor England's sake, most dutiful,Wherefore now we bendOur hearts and knees to her.

Sing we the Rose,The flower, the flower of war it is,Where deep i' the midnight gloomIts waves are the waves of the sea,And the glare of battle grows,And red over hulk and spar it is,Till the grim black broadsides bloomWith our Rose of Victory.

Sing we the Rose,The flower, the flower of love it is,Which lovers aye shall singAnd nightingales proclaim;For O, the heaven that glows,That glows and burns above it isFreedom's perpetual Spring,Our England's faithful fame.

Sing we the Rose,That Eastward still shall spread for usUpon the dawn's bright breast,Red leaves wi' the foam impearled;And onward ever flowsTill eventide make red for usA Rose that sinks i' the WestAnd surges round the world;Sing we the Rose!

One night as, with his great vice-admiral,Frobisher, his rear-admiral, Francis Knollys,And Thomas Fenner, his flag-captain, DrakeTook counsel at his tavern, there came a knock,The door opened, and cold as from the seaThe gloom rushed in, and there against the night,Clad as it seemed with wind and cloud and rain,Glittered a courtier whom by face and formAll knew for the age's brilliant paladin,Sidney, the king of courtesy, a starOf chivalry. The seamen stared at him,Each with a hand upon the red-lined chartOutspread before them. Then all stared at Drake,Who crouched like a great bloodhound o'er the table,And rose with a strange light burning in his eyes;For he remembered how, three years agone,That other courtier came, with words and smilesCopied from Sidney's self; and in his earsRang once again the sound of the two-edged swordUpon the desolate Patagonian shoreBeneath Magellan's gallows. With a voiceSo harsh himself scarce knew it, he desiredThis fair new courtier's errand. With grim eyesHe scanned the silken knight from head to foot,While Sidney, smiling graciously, besoughtSome place in their adventure. Drake's clenched fistCrashed down on the old oak table like a rock,Splintering the wood and dashing his rough wristWith blood, as he thundered, "By the living God,No! We've no room for courtiers, now! We leaveAll that to Spain."Whereat, seeing Sidney stoodAmazed, Drake, drawing nearer, said, "You askMore than you dream: I know you for a knightMost perfect and most gentle, yea, a manReady to die on any battle-fieldTo save a wounded friend" (even so said Drake,Not knowing how indeed this knight would die),Then fiercely he outstretched his bleeding handAnd pointed through the door to where the gloomGlimmered with bursting spray, and the thick nightWas all one wandering thunder of hidden seasRolling out of Eternity: "You'll findNo purple fields of Arcady out there,No shepherds piping in those boisterous valleys,No sheep among those roaring mountain-tops,No lists of feudal chivalry. I've heardThat voice cry death to courtiers. 'Tis God's voice.Take you the word of one who has occupiedHis business in great waters. There's no room,Meaning, or reason, office, or place, or nameFor courtiers on the sea. Does the sea flatter?You cannot bribe it, torture it, or tame it!Its laws are those of the Juggernaut universe,Remorseless--listen to that!"--a mighty waveBroke thundering down the coast; "your hands are white,Your rapier jewelled, can you grapple that?What part have you in all its flaming ways?What share in its fierce gloom? Has your heart brokenAs those waves break out there? Can you lie downAnd sleep, as a lion-cub by the old lion,When it shakes its mane out over you to hide you,And leap out with the dawn as I have done?These are big words; but, see, my hand is red:You cannot torture me, I have borne all that;And so I have some kinship with the sea,Some sort of wild alliance with its storms,Its exultations, ay, and its great wrathAt last, and power upon them. 'Tis the worseFor Spain, Be counselled well: come not betweenMy sea and its rich vengeance."Silently,Bowing his head, Sidney withdrew. But Drake,So fiercely the old grief rankled in his heart,Summoned his swiftest horseman, bidding him ride,Ride like the wind through the night, straight to the Queen,Praying she would most instantly recallHer truant courtier. Nay, to make all sure,Drake sent a gang of seamen out to crouchAmbushed in woody hollows nigh the road,Under the sailing moon, there to waylayThe Queen's reply, that she might never knowIt reached him, if it proved against his will.

And swiftly came that truant's stern recall;But Drake, in hourly dread of some new changeIn Gloriana's mood, slept not by nightOr day, till out of roaring Plymouth SoundThe pirate fleet swept to the wind-swept main,And took the wind and shook out all its sails.Then with the unfettered sea he mixed his soulIn great rejoicing union, while the shipsCrashing and soaring o'er the heart-free wavesDrave ever straight for Spain.Water and foodThey lacked; but the fierce fever of his mindTo sail from Plymouth ere the Queen's will changedHad left no time for these. Right on he drave,Determining, though the Queen's old officersBeneath him stood appalled, to take in storesOf all he needed, water, powder, food,By plunder of Spain herself. In Vigo bay,Close to Bayona town, under the cliffsOf Spain's world-wide and thunder-fraught prestigeHe anchored, with the old sea-touch that wakesOur England still. There, in the tingling earsOf the world he cried, En garde! to the King of Spain.There, ordering out his pinnaces in force,While a great storm, as if he held indeedHeaven's batteries in reserve, growled o'er the sea,He landed. Ere one cumbrous limb of allThe monstrous armaments of Spain could moveHis ships were stored; and ere the sword of SpainStirred in its crusted sheath, Bayona townBeheld an empty sea; for like a dreamThe pirate fleet had vanished, none knew whither.But, in its visible stead, invisible fearFilled the vast rondure of the sea and skyAs with the omnipresent soul of Drake.For when Spain saw the small black anchored fleetRide in her bays, the sight set bounds to fear.She knew at least the ships were oak, the gunsOf common range: nor did she dream e'en DrakeCould sail two seas at once. Now all her coastsHeard him all night in every bursting wave,His topsails gleamed in every moonlit cloud;His battle-lanthorn glittered in the starsThat hung the low horizon. He becameA universal menace; yet there followedNo sight or sound of him, unless the seaWere that grim soul incarnate. Did it not roarHis great commands? The very spray that lashedThe cheeks of Spanish seamen lashed their heartsTo helpless hatred of him. The wind sangEl Draque across the rattling blocks and sheetsWhen storms perplexed them; and when ships went down,As under the fury of his onsetting battle,The drowning sailors cursed him while they sank.

Suddenly a rumour shook the Spanish Court,He has gone once more to the Indies. Santa Cruz,High Admiral of Spain, the most renownedCaptain in Europe, clamoured for a fleetOf forty sail instantly to pursue.For unto him whose little Golden HyndeWas weapon enough, now leading such a squadron,The West Indies, the whole Pacific coast,And the whole Spanish Main, lay at his mercy.

And onward over the great grey gleaming seaSwept like a thunder-cloud the pirate fleetWith vengeance in its heart. Five years agone,Young Hawkins, in the Cape Verde Islands, met--At Santiago--with such treacheryAs Drake burned to requite, and from that hourWas Santiago doomed. His chance had come;Drake swooped upon it, plundered it, and was gone,Leaving the treacherous isle a desolate heapOf smoking ashes in the leaden sea,While onward all those pirate bowsprits plungedInto the golden West, across the broadAtlantic once again; "For I will show,"Said Drake, "that Englishmen henceforth will sailOld ocean where they will." Onward they surged,And the great glittering crested majestic wavesJubilantly rushed up to meet the keels,And there was nought around them but the greyRuin and roar of the huge Atlantic seas,Grey mounded seas, pursuing and pursued,That fly, hounded and hounding on for ever,From empty marge to marge of the grey sky.Over the wandering wilderness of foam,Onward, through storm and death, Drake swept; for nowOnce more a fell plague gripped the tossing ships,And not by twos and threes as heretoforeHis crews were minished; but in three black daysThree hundred seamen in their shotted shroudsWere cast into the deep. Onward he swept,Implacably, having in mind to strikeSpain in the throat at St. Domingo, portOf Hispaniola, a city of far renown,A jewel on the shores of old romance,Palm-shadowed, gated with immortal gold,Queen city of Spain's dominions over sea,And guarded by great guns. Out of the dawnThe pirate ships came leaping, grim and black,And ere the Spaniards were awake, the flagOf England floated from their topmost tower.But since he had not troops enough to holdSo great a city, Drake entrenched his menWithin the Plaza and held the batteries.Thence he demanded ransom, and sent outA boy with flag of truce. The boy's returnDrake waited long. Under a sheltering palmHe stood, watching the enemies' camp, and lo,Along the hot white purple-shadowed roadTow'rds him, a crawling shape writhed through the dustUp to his feet, a shape besmeared with blood,A shape that held the stumps up of its wristsAnd moaned, an eyeless thing, a naked ragOf flesh obscenely mangled, a small faceHideously puckered, shrivelled like a monkey'sWith lips drawn backward from its teeth."Speak, speak,In God's name, speak, what art thou?" whispered Drake,And a sharp cry came, answering his dread,A cry as of a sea-bird in the windDesolately astray from all earth's shores,"Captain, I am thy boy, only thy boy!See, see, my captain, see what they have done!Captain, I only bore the flag; I only----"

"O, lad, lad, lad," moaned Drake, and, stooping, stroveTo pillow the mangled head upon his arm."What have they done to thee, what have they done?"And at the touch the boy screamed, once, and died.

Then like a savage sea with arms upliftTo heaven the wrath of Drake blazed thundering,"Eternal God, be this the doom of Spain!Henceforward have no pity. Send the strengthOf Thy great seas into my soul that IMay devastate this empire, this red hellThey make of Thy good earth."His men drew round,Staring in horror at the silent shapeThat daubed his feet. Like a cold windHis words went through their flesh:"This is the ladThat bore our flag of truce. This hath Spain done.Look well upon it, draw the smoke of the bloodUp into your nostrils, my companions,And down into your souls. This makes an endFor Spain! Bring forth the Spanish prisonersAnd let me look on them."

Forth they were brought,A swarthy gorgeous band of soldiers, priests,And sailors, hedged between two sturdy filesOf British tars with naked cutlasses.Close up to Drake they halted, under the palm,Gay smiling prisoners, for they thought their friendsHad ransomed them. Then they looked up and metA glance that swept athwart them like a sword,Making the blood strain back from their blanched facesInto their quivering hearts, with unknown dread,As that accuser pointed to the shapeBefore his feet."Dogs, will ye lap his bloodBefore ye die? Make haste; for it grows cold!Ye will not, will not even dabble your handsIn that red puddle of flesh, what? Are ye Spaniards?Come, come, I'll look at you, perchance there's oneThat's but a demi-devil and holds you back."And with the word Drake stepped among their ranksAnd read each face among the swarthy crew--The gorgeous soldiers, ringleted sailors, priestsWith rosary and cross, a slender pageIn scarlet with a cloud of golden hair,And two rope-girdled friars.The slim pageDrake drew before the throng. "You are young," he said,"Go; take this message to the camp of Spain:Tell them I have a hunger in my soulTo look upon the murderers of this boy,To see what eyes they have, what manner of mouths,To touch them and to take their hands in mine,And draw them close to me and smile upon themUntil they know my soul as I know theirs,And they grovel in the dust and grope for mercy.Say that, until I get them, every dayI'll hang two Spaniards though I dispeopleThe Spanish Main. Tell them that, every day,I'll burn a portion of their city down,Then find another city and burn that,And then burn others till I burn awayTheir empire from the world, ay, till I reachThe Imperial throne of Philip with my fires,And send it shrieking down to burn in hellFor ever. Go!"Then Drake turned once again,To face the Spanish prisoners. With a voiceCold as the passionless utterance of FateHis grim command went forth. "Now, provost-marshal,Begin with yon two friars, in whose facesChined like singed swine, and eyed with the spent coalsOf filthy living, sweats the glory of Spain.Strip off their leprous ragsAnd twist their ropes around their throats and hang themHigh over the Spanish camp for all to see.At dawn I'll choose two more."