And the sick men down in the hold were most of

them stark and cold,

And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent ;

And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; But Sir Richard cried in his English pride,

"We have fought such a fight for a day and a night As may never be fought again!

We have won great glory, my men !

And a day less or more

At sea or ashore,

We die-does it matter when?

Sink me the ship, Master Gunner-sink her, spilt her

in twain !

Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain !"

XII.

And the gunner said "Ay, ay," but the seamen made reply:

"We have children, we have wives,

And the Lord hath spared our lives.

We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let

us go;

We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow." And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the

foe.

XIII.

And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then,

Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last,

And they praised him to his face with their courtly

foreign grace;

But he rose upon their decks, and he cried :

"I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true;

I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do: With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die !" And he fell upon their decks, and he died.

XIV.

And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant

and true,

And had holden the power and glory of Spain so

cheap

That he dared her with one little ship and his English

few;

Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they

knew,

But they sank his body with honour down into the

deep,

And they mann'd the Revenge with a swarthier alien

crew,

And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her

own;

When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from sleep,

And the water began to heave and the weather to

moan,

And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew,

And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew,

Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags,

And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shotshatter'd navy of Spain,

And the little Revenge herself went down by the

island crags

To be lost evermore in the main.

TENNYSON.

XXVII.

CROMWELL AND HAMPDEN.

UPON the pier stood two stern-visaged men,
Looking to where a little craft lay moor'd,
Sway'd by the lazy current of the Thames,
Which welter'd by in muddy listlessness.

Grave men they were, and battlings of fierce thought

Had trampled out all softness from their brows,
And plough'd rough furrows there before their time.
Care, not of self, but of the common weal,

Had robb'd their eyes of youth, and left instead

A look of patient power and iron will,

And something fiercer too, that gave broad hint
Of the plain weapons girded at their sides.

*

*

"Hampden! a moment since my purpose was
To fly with thee, for I will call it flight,
Nor flatter it with any smoother name—
But something in me bids me not to go;
Why should we fly? Nay, why not rather stay
And rear again our Zion's crumbled walls,
Not, as of old the walls of Thebes were built,
With minstrel twanging,. but, if need should be,
With the more potent music of our swords?
Think'st thou that score of men beyond the sea
Claim more God's care than all of England here?...
Believe it, 'tis the mass of men He loves;

And where there is most sorrow and most want,
Where the high heart of man is trodden down
The most, 'tis not because He hides His face
From them in wrath, as purblind teachers prate ;—
Not so there most is He, for there is He
Most needed. Men who seek for Fate abroad
Are not so near His heart as they who dare
Frankly to face her where she faces them,

On their own threshold where their hearts are strong-
No, Hampden! they have half-way conquer'd Fate
Who go half-way to meet her-as will I.
Freedom hath yet a work for me to do;

So speaks that inward voice which never yet
Spake falsely, when it urged the spirit on

To noble deeds for country and mankind.
And, for success, I ask no more than this--
To bear unflinching witness to the truth.

All true, whole men succeed; for what is worth
Success's name, unless it be the thought,
The inward surety to have carried out
A noble purpose to a noble end,
Although it be the gallows or the block?
'Tis only Falsehood that doth ever need
Those outward shows of gain to bolster her.
Be it we prove the weaker with our swords;
Truth only needs to be for once spoke out,
And there's such music in her, such strange rhythm,
As makes men's memories her joyous slaves,

And clings around the soul, as the sky clings
Round the mute earth, for ever beautiful,
And, if o'erclouded, only to burst forth.
More all-embracingly divine and clear:
Get but the truth once utter'd, and 'tis like
A star new-born, that drops into its place,
And which, once circling in its placid round,
Not all the tumult of the earth can shake.