Classic Poem

I

I

England, mother born of seamen, daughter fostered of the sea,
Mother more beloved than all who bear not all their children free,
Reared and nursed and crowned and cherished by the sea-wind and
the sun,
Sweetest land and strongest, face most fair and mightiest heart
in one,
Stands not higher than when the centuries known of earth were less
by three,
When the strength that struck the whole world pale fell back from
hers undone.

II

At her feet were the heads of her foes bowed down, and the
strengths of the storm of them stayed,
And the hearts that were touched not with mercy with terror were
touched and amazed and affrayed:
Yea, hearts that had never been molten with pity were molten with
fear as with flame,
And the priests of the Godhead whose temple is hell, and his heart
is of iron and fire,
And the swordsmen that served and the seamen that sped them, whom
peril could tame not or tire,
Were as foam on the winds of the waters of England which tempest
can tire not or tame.

III

They were girded about with thunder, and lightning came forth of
the rage of their strength,
And the measure that measures the wings of the storm was the
breadth of their force and the length:
And the name of their might was Invincible, covered and clothed
with the terror of God;
With his wrath were they winged, with his love were they fired,
with the speed of his winds were they shod;
With his soul were they filled, in his trust were they comforted:
grace was upon them as night,
And faith as the blackness of darkness: the fume of their balefires
was fair in his sight,
The reek of them sweet as a savour of myrrh in his nostrils: the
world that he made,
Theirs was it by gift of his servants: the wind, if they spake in
his name, was afraid,
And the sun was a shadow before it, the stars were astonished with
fear of it: fire
Went up to them, fed with men living, and lit of men's hands for a
shrine or a pyre;
And the east and the west wind scattered their ashes abroad, that
his name should be blest
Of the tribes of the chosen whose blessings are curses from
uttermost east unto west.


II

I

Hell for Spain, and heaven for England,--God to God, and man to
man,--
Met confronted, light with darkness, life with death: since time
began,
Never earth nor sea beheld so great a stake before them set,
Save when Athens hurled back Asia from the lists wherein they
met;
Never since the sands of ages through the glass of history ran
Saw the sun in heaven a lordlier day than this that lights us
yet.

II

For the light that abides upon England, the glory that rests on her
godlike name,
The pride that is love and the love that is faith, a perfume
dissolved in flame,
Took fire from the dawn of the fierce July when fleets were
scattered as foam
And squadrons as flakes of spray; when galleon and galliass that
shadowed the sea
Were swept from her waves like shadows that pass with the clouds
they fell from, and she
Laughed loud to the wind as it gave to her keeping the glories of
Spain and Rome.

III

Three hundred summers have fallen as leaves by the storms in their
season thinned,
Since northward the war-ships of Spain came sheer up the way of the
south-west wind:
Where the citadel cliffs of England are flanked with bastions of
serpentine,
Far off to the windward loomed their hulls, an hundred and
twenty-nine,
All filled full of the war, full-fraught with battle and charged
with bale;
Then store-ships weighted with cannon; and all were an hundred and
fifty sail.
The measureless menace of darkness anhungered with hope to prevail
upon light,
The shadow of death made substance, the present and visible spirit
of night,
Came, shaped as a waxing or waning moon that rose with the fall of
day,
To the channel where couches the Lion in guard of the gate of the
lustrous bay.
Fair England, sweet as the sea that shields her, and pure as the
sea from stain,
Smiled, hearing hardly for scorn that stirred her the menace of
saintly Spain.


III

I

"They that ride over ocean wide with hempen bridle and horse of
tree,"
How shall they in the darkening day of wrath and anguish and fear
go free?
How shall these that have curbed the seas not feel his bridle who
made the sea?

God shall bow them and break them now: for what is man in the Lord
God's sight?
Fear shall shake them, and shame shall break, and all the noon of
their pride be night:
These that sinned shall the ravening wind of doom bring under, and
judgment smite.

England broke from her neck the yoke, and rent the fetter, and
mocked the rod:
Shrines of old that she decked with gold she turned to dust, to the
dust she trod:
What is she, that the wind and sea should fight beside her, and war
with God?

Lo, the cloud of his ships that crowd her channel's inlet with
storm sublime,
Darker far than the tempests are that sweep the skies of her
northmost clime;
Huge and dense as the walls that fence the secret darkness of
unknown time.

Mast on mast as a tower goes past, and sail by sail as a cloud's
wing spread;
Fleet by fleet, as the throngs whose feet keep time with death in
his dance of dread;
Galleons dark as the helmsman's bark of old that ferried to hell
the dead.

Squadrons proud as their lords, and loud with tramp of soldiers
and chant of priests;
Slaves there told by the thousandfold, made fast in bondage as
herded beasts;
Lords and slaves that the sweet free waves shall feed on, satiate
with funeral feasts.

Nay, not so shall it be, they know; their priests have said it; can
priesthood lie?
God shall keep them, their God shall sleep not: peril and evil
shall pass them by:
Nay, for these are his children; seas and winds shall bid not his
children die.

II

So they boast them, the monstrous host whose menace mocks at the
dawn: and here
They that wait at the wild sea's gate, and watch the darkness of
doom draw near,
How shall they in their evil day sustain the strength of their
hearts for fear?

Full July in the fervent sky sets forth her twentieth of changing
morns:
Winds fall mild that of late waxed wild: no presage whispers or
wails or warns:
Far to west on the bland sea's breast a sailing crescent uprears
her horns.

Seven wide miles the serene sea smiles between them stretching from
rim to rim:
Soft they shine, but a darker sign should bid not hope or belief
wax dim:
God's are these men, and not the sea's: their trust is set not on
her but him.

God's? but who is the God whereto the prayers and incense of these
men rise?
What is he, that the wind and sea should fear him, quelled by his
sunbright eyes?
What, that men should return again, and hail him Lord of the
servile skies?

Hell's own flame at his heavenly name leaps higher and laughs, and
its gulfs rejoice:
Plague and death from his baneful breath take life and lighten, and
praise his choice:
Chosen are they to devour for prey the tribes that hear not and
fear his voice.

Ay, but we that the wind and sea gird round with shelter of storms
and waves
Know not him that ye worship, grim as dreams that quicken from dead
men's graves:
God is one with the sea, the sun, the land that nursed us, the love
that saves.

Love whose heart is in ours, and part of all things noble and all
things fair;
Sweet and free as the circling sea, sublime and kind as the
fostering air;
Pure of shame as is England's name, whose crowns to come are as
crowns that were.


IV

I

But the Lord of darkness, the God whose love is a flaming fire,
The master whose mercy fulfils wide hell till its torturers tire,
He shall surely have heed of his servants who serve him for love,
not hire.

They shall fetter the wing of the wind whose pinions are plumed
with foam:
For now shall thy horn be exalted, and now shall thy bolt strike
home;
Yea, now shall thy kingdom come, Lord God of the priests of Rome.

They shall cast thy curb on the waters, and bridle the waves of the
sea:
They shall say to her, Peace, be still: and stillness and peace
shall be:
And the winds and the storms shall hear them, and tremble, and
worship thee.

Thy breath shall darken the morning, and wither the mounting sun;
And the daysprings, frozen and fettered, shall know thee, and cease
to run;
The heart of the world shall feel thee, and die, and thy will be
done.

The spirit of man that would sound thee, and search out causes of
things,
Shall shrink and subside and praise thee: and wisdom, with
plume-plucked wings,
Shall cower at thy feet and confess thee, that none may fathom thy
springs.

The fountains of song that await but the wind of an April to be
To burst the bonds of the winter, and speak with the sound of a
sea,
The blast of thy mouth shall quench them: and song shall be only of
thee.

The days that are dead shall quicken, the seasons that were shall
return;
And the streets and the pastures of England, the woods that burgeon
and yearn,
Shall be whitened with ashes of women and children and men that
burn.

For the mother shall burn with the babe sprung forth of her womb in
fire,
And bride with bridegroom, and brother with sister, and son with
sire;
And the noise of the flames shall be sweet in thine ears as the
sound of a lyre.

Yea, so shall thy kingdom be stablished, and so shall the signs of
it be:
And the world shall know, and the wind shall speak, and the sun
shall see,
That these are the works of thy servants, whose works bear witness
to thee.

II

But the dusk of the day falls fruitless, whose light should have
lit them on:
Sails flash through the gloom to shoreward, eclipsed as the sun
that shone:
And the west wind wakes with dawn, and the hope that was here is
gone.

Around they wheel and around, two knots to the Spaniard's one,
The wind-swift warriors of England, who shoot as with shafts of the
sun,
With fourfold shots for the Spaniard's, that spare not till day be
done.

And the wind with the sundown sharpens, and hurtles the ships to
the lee,
And Spaniard on Spaniard smites, and shatters, and yields; and we,
Ere battle begin, stand lords of the battle, acclaimed of the sea.

And the day sweeps round to the nightward; and heavy and hard the
waves
Roll in on the herd of the hurtling galleons; and masters and
slaves
Reel blind in the grasp of the dark strong wind that shall dig
their graves.

For the sepulchres hollowed and shaped of the wind in the swerve of
the seas,
The graves that gape for their pasture, and laugh, thrilled through
by the breeze,
The sweet soft merciless waters, await and are fain of these.

As the hiss of a Python heaving in menace of doom to be
They hear through the clear night round them, whose hours are as
clouds that flee,
The whisper of tempest sleeping, the heave and the hiss of the sea.

But faith is theirs, and with faith are they girded and helmed and
shod:
Invincible are they, almighty, elect for a sword and a rod;
Invincible even as their God is omnipotent, infinite, God.

In him is their strength, who have sworn that his glory shall wax
not dim:
In his name are their war-ships hallowed as mightiest of all that
swim:
The men that shall cope with these, and conquer, shall cast out
him.

In him is the trust of their hearts; the desire of their eyes is
he;
The light of their ways, made lightning for men that would fain be
free:
Earth's hosts are with them, and with them is heaven: but with us
is the sea.


V

I

And a day and a night pass over;
And the heart of their chief swells high;
For England, the warrior, the rover,
Whose banners on all winds fly,
Soul-stricken, he saith, by the shadow of death, holds off him, and
draws not nigh.

And the wind and the dawn together
Make in from the gleaming east:
And fain of the wild glad weather
As famine is fain of feast,
And fain of the fight, forth sweeps in its might the host of the
Lord's high priest.

And lightly before the breeze
The ships of his foes take wing:
Are they scattered, the lords of the seas?
Are they broken, the foes of the king?
And ever now higher as a mounting fire the hopes of the Spaniard
spring.

And a windless night comes down:
And a breezeless morning, bright
With promise of praise to crown
The close of the crowning fight,
Leaps up as the foe's heart leaps, and glows with lustrous rapture
of light.

And stinted of gear for battle
The ships of the sea's folk lie,
Unwarlike, herded as cattle,
Six miles from the foeman's eye
That fastens as flame on the sight of them tame and offenceless,
and ranged as to die.

Surely the souls in them quail,
They are stricken and withered at heart,
When in on them, sail by sail,
Fierce marvels of monstrous art,
Tower darkening on tower till the sea-winds cower crowds down as to
hurl them apart.

And the windless weather is kindly,
And comforts the host in these;
And their hearts are uplift in them blindly,
And blindly they boast at ease
That the next day's fight shall exalt them, and smite with
destruction the lords of the seas.

II

And lightly the proud hearts prattle,
And lightly the dawn draws nigh,
The dawn of the doom of the battle
When these shall falter and fly;
No day more great in the roll of fate filled ever with fire the
sky.

To fightward they go as to feastward,
And the tempest of ships that drive
Sets eastward ever and eastward,
Till closer they strain and strive;
And the shots that rain on the hulls of Spain are as thunders afire
and alive.

And about