They clasp the little ship Revenge,
As in the arms of fire;
They run aboard her, six at once;
Hearts beat, hot guns leap higher;—
Through bloody gaps the boarders swarm,
But still our English stay the storm,
The bulwark in their breast is firm.
Ship after ship, like broken waves
That wash upon a rock,
Those mighty galleons fall back foiled,
And shattered from the shock.
With fire she answers all their blows;
Again—again in pieces strows
The girdle round her as they close.
Through all that night the great white storm
Of worlds in silence rolled;
Sirius with green-azure sparkle,
Mars in ruddy gold.
Heaven looked with stillness terrible
Down on a fight most fierce and fell—
A sea transfigured into hell!
Some know not they are wounded till
’Tis slippery where they stand;
Then each one tighter grips his steel,
As ’twere salvation’s hand.
Grim faces glow through lurid night
With sweat of spirit shining bright:
Only the dead on deck turn white.
At day-break the flame picture fades
In blackness and in blood;
There, after fifteen hours of fight,
The unconquered Sea-King stood
Defying all the power of Spain:
Fifteen armadas hurled in vain,
And fifteen hundred foemen slain!
About that little bark Revenge,
The baffled Spaniards ride
At distance. Two of their good ships
Were sunken at her side;
The rest lie round her in a ring,
As, round the dying forest-king
The dogs afraid of his death-spring.
Our pikes all broken, powder spent,
Sails, masts to shivers blown;
And with her dead and wounded crew
The ship was settling down.
Sir Richard’s wounds were hot and deep,
Then cried he, with a proud, pale lip,
‘Ho, Master Gunner, sink the ship!’
‘Make ready now, my mariners,
To go aloft with me,
That nothing to the Spaniard
May remain of victory.
They cannot take us, nor we yield;
So let us leave our battle-field,
Under the shelter of God’s shield.’
They had not heart to dare fulfil
The stern commander’s word:
With swelling hearts and welling eyes,
They carried him aboard
The Spaniards’ ship; and round him stand
The warriors of his wasted band:
Then said he, feeling death at hand,
‘Here die I, Richard Grenville,
With a joyful and quiet mind;
I reach a soldier’s end, I leave
A soldier’s fame behind.
Who for his Queen and country fought,
For Honour and Religion wrought,
And died as a true soldier ought.’