And gave him ships and sent him forth
To clear the Spanish main
For England and for England's brood,
And sink the fleets of Spain.
And well he wrought his mighty work,
Till on that fatal day,
He met his only conqueror,
In Nombre Dios Bay.
There, in his shotted hammock swung,
Amid the surges' sweep,
He waits the lookouts' signal
Across the quiet deep.
And dreams of dark Ulloa's bay
And Spanish treachery;
And how he tracked Magellan far
Across the unknown sea.
But if Spain fires a single shot
Upon the Spanish main,
She'll come to deem the Dragon dead
Has waked to life again.
Thomas Nelson Page.
THE SAILING OF THE FLEET
Two fleets have sailed from Spain. The one would seek
What lands uncharted ocean might conceal.
Despised, condemned, and pitifully weak,
It found a world for Leon and Castile.
The other, mighty, arrogant, and vain,
Sought to subdue a people who were free.
Ask of the storm-gods where its galleons be,—
Whelmed 'neath the billows of the northern main!
A third is threatened. On the westward track,
Once gloriously traced, its vessels speed,
With gold and crimson battle-flags unfurled.
On Colon's course, but to Sidonia's wrack,
Sure fated, if so need shall come to need,
For Sons of Drake are lords of Colon's world.