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The nation's life and honour bore,
Of ancient tyranny and wrong.
Awoke the warlike flame,
And men of noble name
Came to our help across the sea ;
Were with us as we strove;
And a great nation's love.
The Spaniards' anchors fell,
Inactive on the swell;
They lay so close to land,
With its shifting shoals of sand.
Should come out with his host, And joining with the Golden Duke,*
Swoop down upon our coast. So on the Sabbath afternoon We hastened at the set of sun, To get eight fireships ready
For use by dead of night,
* Duke of Medina Sidonia.
That we might drive them from the bay,
With morning's earliest light.
The sky grew dark with clouds,
Moaned sadly through the shrouds;
We heard the Autumn gale,
Of Spanish mast and sail.
The night wind as it sighed
Upon the setting tide;
More dreadful, deep, and fell.
The Spanish Captain's bell.
Stern Drake was with me on the deck,
And driven on by fear,
In wild confusion steer.
And pressed upon their track, Lest to regain his anchorage
The duke might struggle back; But higher, stronger rose the wind, With storm and strength of foes behind,
Hope of return was vain; On through the unknown North Sea's gates, On through the narrow, frowning straits
Rolled the great fleet of Spain.
And then such strife began
Nor memory of man.
And as the strong wind blew,
While fast our great shot flew.
And Seymour on the right
Rolled on the storm and fight.
Their broken ships went down,
As war had never known. As the huge bison, when at length The deep wounds sap his mighty strength
And the fleet hounds athirst for blood,
By one last effort to regain
And cast the shattered strength of Spain
Freedom 's triumphant o'er her foe, And see, upon the Flemish coast
In headlong rout they're driven now; The wind sweeps round, they slowly clear
The treacherous shoals, the riven sail They spread to catch the blast, in fear
More of the battle than the gale. Northward toiled the straining ships
Through the deep valleys of the sea, While our fleet upon their weather-beam
And higher rolls the wave,
Their shipwrecked mates to save;
Rescued their sailors as we passed, Who dropped astern as their comrades fled
Northward 'fore the driving blast. Thus toiled the remnant of that host Round Scotland's stern and rugged coast,
In the long reach to Spain. And few of those whose hearts beat high When they embarked in warlike joy, While deeper gladness dimmed their eye,
Ever saw home again.
Her wealth, her prowess shall decay,
Which ne'er shall pass away.
This England's power shall know,
Her name and valour glow.
That rules the heaving wave ;
A tyrant or a slave.
By foot of man untrod,
And hold the truth of God.
To the soft and glowing west,
On all her blessing rest.
THE WINTER NIGHT'S DREAM.
Go, little story, written all for love,
Quaint memory, and comfortable mirth;
Take it, oh reader, then for what it's worth.
War has been sung and praised in every age,
From grand old Homer to the last“ Gazette; Arms and the man upon
page Bear off the palm from husbandry; the debt