Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,
Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.
The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar’s glittering waves:
The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip’s sunless caves;
O’er Longleat’s towers, o’er Cranbourne’s oaks, the fiery herald flew:
He roused the shepherd of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.
Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,
And, ere the day, three hundred horse had met on Clifton Down;
The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,
And saw, o’erhanging Richmond Hill, the streak of blood red light.