English Narrative Poems

Narrative poetry, English; Readers -- Poetry

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: 'I know you are no coward;
    You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.
    But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.          10
    I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,
    To these Inquisition[227] dogs and the devildoms of Spain.'


    III

    So Lord Howard passed away with five ships of war that day,
    Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven;
    But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land       15
    Very carefully and slow,
    Men of Bideford[228] in Devon,
    And we laid them on the ballast down below;
    For we brought them all aboard,
    And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to
        Spain,                                                        20
    To the thumbscrew[229] and the stake[230] for the glory of the
        Lord.


    IV

    He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight
    And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight,
    With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.
    'Shall we fight or shall we fly?                                  25
    Good Sir Richard, tell us now,
    For to fight is but to die!
    There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.'
    And Sir Richard said again, 'We be all good English men.
    Let us bang these dogs of Seville,[231] the children of the
        devil,                                                        30
    For I never turn'd my back upon Don[232] or devil yet.'


    V

    Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a hurrah, and so
    The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe,
    With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;
    For half of her fleet to the right and half to the left were
        seen,                                                         35
    And the little Revenge ran on thro' the long sea-lane between.


    VI

    Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their decks and
        laugh'd,
    Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft
    Running on and on, till delay'd
    By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred
        tons,                                                         40
    And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns,
    Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd.


    VII

    And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud
    Whence the thunderbolt will fall Long and loud,                   45
    Four galleons[233] drew away
    From the Spanish fleet that day,
    And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay,
    And the battle-thunder broke from them all.


    VIII

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English Narrative Poems

Narrative poetry, English; Readers -- Poetry

Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: 'I know you are no coward;
    You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.
    But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.          10
    I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,
    To these Inquisition[227] dogs and the devildoms of Spain.'


    III

    So Lord Howard passed away with five ships of war that day,
    Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven;
    But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land       15
    Very carefully and slow,
    Men of Bideford[228] in Devon,
    And we laid them on the ballast down below;
    For we brought them all aboard,
    And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to
        Spain,                                                        20
    To the thumbscrew[229] and the stake[230] for the glory of the
        Lord.


    IV

    He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight
    And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight,
    With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.
    'Shall we fight or shall we fly?                                  25
    Good Sir Richard, tell us now,
    For to fight is but to die!
    There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set.'
    And Sir Richard said again, 'We be all good English men.
    Let us bang these dogs of Seville,[231] the children of the
        devil,                                                        30
    For I never turn'd my back upon Don[232] or devil yet.'


    V

    Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a hurrah, and so
    The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe,
    With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;
    For half of her fleet to the right and half to the left were
        seen,                                                         35
    And the little Revenge ran on thro' the long sea-lane between.


    VI

    Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their decks and
        laugh'd,
    Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft
    Running on and on, till delay'd
    By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred
        tons,                                                         40
    And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns,
    Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd.


    VII

    And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud
    Whence the thunderbolt will fall Long and loud,                   45
    Four galleons[233] drew away
    From the Spanish fleet that day,
    And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay,
    And the battle-thunder broke from them all.


    VIII

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

English Narrative Poems

English Narrative Poems

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