The Song of the Spanish Main 2309

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 honor down into the deep, And they manned the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew, And away she sailed with her loss and longed for her own; When a wind from the lands they had ruined 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 shot-shattered navy of Spain,

And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags To be lost evermore in the main.

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

THE SONG OF THE SPANISH MAIN

OUT in the south, when the day is done,
And the gathered winds go free,

Where golden-sanded rivers run,
Fair islands fade in the setting sun,

And the great ships stagger, one by one,

Up from the windy sea.

Out in the south, where a twilight shroud

Hangs o'er the ocean's rim,

Sail on sail, like a floating cloud,
Galleon, brigantine, cannon-browed,

Rich from the Indies, homeward crowd,
Singing a Spanish hymn.

Out in the south, when the sun has set
And the lightning flickers pale,
The cannon bellow their steady threat,

The ships grind, all in a crimson sweat,

And hoarse throats call, "Have ye stricken yet?"
Across the quarter-rail.

Out in the south, in the dead of night,
When I hear the thunder speak,

'Tis the Englishmen in their pride and might
Mad with glory and blind with fight,
Locked with the Spaniards, left and right,
Fighting them cheek to cheek.

Out in the south, when the dawn's pale light
Walks cold on the beaten shore,

And the mists of night, like clouds of fight,
Silvery violet, blinding bright,

Drift in glory from height to height

Where the white-tailed eagles soar;

There comes a song through the salt and spray,

Blood-kin to the ocean's roar,

"All day long down Florez way
Richard Grenville stands at bay.
Come and take him if ye may!"

Then hush, forevermore.

John Bennett [1865

HENRY HUDSON'S QUEST

[1609]

OUT from the harbor of Amsterdam

The Half Moon turned her prow to sea;

The coast of Norway dropped behind,

Yet Northward still kept she

Through the drifting fog and the driving snow,

Where never before man dared to go:

"O Pilot, shall we find the strait that leads to the Eastern

Sea?"

"A waste of ice before us lies-we must turn back," said he.

Henry Hudson's Quest

Westward they steered their tiny bark,
Westward through weary weeks they sped,
Till the cold gray strand of a stranger-land
Loomed through the mist ahead.

League after league they hugged the coast,
And their Captain never left his post:

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"O Pilot, see you yet the strait that leads to the Eastern Sea?"

"I see but the rocks and the barren shore; no strait is there," quoth he.

They sailed to the North-they sailed to the South

And at last they rounded an arm of sand

Which held the sea from a harbor's mouth

The loveliest in the land;

They kept their course across the bay,

And the shore before them fell away:

"O Pilot, see you not the strait that leads to the Eastern sea?"

"Hold the rudder true! Praise Christ Jesu! the strait is here," said he.

Onward they glide with wind and tide,
Past marshes gray and crags sun-kissed;
They skirt the sills of green-clad hills,

And meadows white with mist

But alas! the hope and the brave, brave dream!

For rock and shallow bar the stream:

"O Pilot, can this be the strait that leads to the Eastern Sea?"

"Nay, Captain, nay; 'tis not this way; turn back we must,"

said he.

Full sad was Hudson's heart as he turned

The Half Moon's prow to the South once more;

He saw no beauty in crag or hill,

No beauty in curving shore;

For they shut him away from that fabled main

He sought his whole life long,-in vain:

"O Pilot, say, can there be a strait that leads to the Eastern Sea?"

"God's crypt is sealed! 'Twill stand revealed in His own good time," quoth he.

Burton Egbert Stevenson [1872

TO THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE

[1611]

You brave heroic minds,

Worthy your country's name,

That honor still pursue;

Go and subdue!

Whilst loitering hinds

Lurk here at home, with shame.

Britons, you stay too long:
Quickly aboard bestow you,
And with a merry gale
Swell your stretched sail,
With vows as strong

As the winds that blow you.

Your course securely steer,

West and by south forth keep!
Rocks, lee-shores, nor shoals,
When Eolus scowls,

You need not fear,
So absolute the deep.

And cheerfully at sea,
Success you still entice,

To get the pearl and gold,

And ours to hold

Virginia,

Earth's only paradise;

Where nature hath in store

Fowl, venison, and fish,

To the Virginian Voyage

And the fruitful'st soil,
Without your toil,

Three harvests more,

All greater than your wish

And the ambitious vine
Crowns with his purple mass
The cedar reaching high
To kiss the sky,

The cypress, pine,

And useful sassafras;

To whom the Golden Age

Still nature's laws doth give,
No other cares attend,

But them to defend

From winter's rage,

That long there doth not live.

When as the luscious smell

Of that delicious land,

Above the seas that flows, The clear wind throws, Your hearts to swell Approaching the dear strand;

In kenning of the shore
(Thanks to God first given)
O you the happiest men,
Be frolic then!

Let cannons roar,

Frighting the wide heaven;

And in regions far,

Such heroes bring ye forth

As those from whom we came,

And plant our name

Under that star

Not known unto our North;

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