“For England’s sons did ever find
Their strength in love of thee,
Thy name, a lode-star to their mind,
Guides o’er the stormy sea;
They breathe it as the lover does
Her’s whom he most adores;
And where the English standard goes
Her name lights up the shores.”
“There is a land far in the west,
Bright with the sun-set’s glow,
Arising from the billow’s crest,
With mountain-peaks of snow,
With palms and roses in the vales,
And fountain-gleams among,
And rich as any fairy-tale,
In gold and fruit and song.”
“And men have sailed the weary leagues
To find this wondrous realm,
Have spurned the danger and fatigues,
And waves that overwhelm,
To reach that land, but none returned
To England from his quest,
Unless his heart within him burned
With thanks for what is best.”
“For English isles is Paradise
To every native child,
Since things more precious he doth price
Than riches of the wild,
The gold of love is more than all,
And faith more rare than gems,
He heeds not the alluring call
And glittering diadems.”
“He loves his land, he loves his God,
Be riches what they may,
The bleeding Christ upon the rood
Protects him on his way,
And meets he luck, as it may hap
To any sailor boy,
He brings it to his mother’s lap,
Her thanks, his greatest joy.”
“Adieu, adieu, my native land,
Adieu, my father’s home,
Adieu my lass, O, may thy hand
Greet me when back I come!
For sailor’s heart, when outward bound,
Is filled with sorrow’s pain,
But hope lies glimm’ring on the sound—
Of coming home again.”
XXXIX
The song was ended, and the crew’s applause
Did please the lad, who sang it to his lute.—
The midshipman then essayed to relate
A story with a mystery and fate,
Of queen in English castle, and a brute
Whom she did love, her absent, heartless spouse.
But while he spake, the captain did appear,
(Unfinished hung the story on the lips),
A Spaniard would not let such story pass,
Since holy was his monarch, though an ass;
Castilian, yea, to the finger-tips,
Who for his God and king had equal fear.
But all his crew was English and did pity,
Though not from love, their queen of grief and rage,
The most unfortunate on any throne,
Who languished in her palace sad and lone,
A zealot for her faith, who dared to wage
A final fight for the Eternal City.