Attend, all ye who list, to hear our noble England’s praise; I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, When that great fleet invincible against her bore, in vain, The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain. It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay; Her crew hath seen Castile’s black fleet, beyond Aurigny’s isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. At sunrise she escaped their van, by God’s especial grace, And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase. Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall; The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgcumbe’s lofty hall; Many a light fishing-boat put out, to pry along the coast, And, with loose rein and bloody spur, rode inland many a post. With his white hair unbonneted, the stout old sheriff comes; Behind him march the halberdiers; before him sound the drums; His yeomen round the market-cross make clear an ample space, For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace; And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, As, slow upon the labouring wind, the royal blazon swells. Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And, underneath his deadly paw, treads the gay lillies down! So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field, Bohemia’s plume, and Genoa’s bow, and Cæsar’s eagle shield. So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turned to bay, And, crushed and torn beneath his claws, the princely hunters lay. Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight: ho! scatter flowers, fair maids: Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho! gallants draw your blades: Thou sun, shine on her joyously; ye breezes, waft her wide; Our glorious royal battle-flag, the banner of our pride. The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner’s massy fold; The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold; Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea, Such night in England ne’er had been, nor e’er again shall be! From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay, That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread, High on St. Michael’s Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head. Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire. The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar’s glittering waves: The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip’s sunless caves; O’er Longleat’s towers, o’er Cranbourne’s oaks, the fiery herald flew: He roused the shepherd of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu. Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town, And, ere the day, three hundred horse had met on Clifton Down;