About that little bark _Revenge_, The baffled Spaniards ride At distance. Two of their good ships Were sunken at her side; The rest lie round her in a ring, As, round the dying forest-king The dogs afraid of his death-spring. Our pikes all broken, powder spent, Sails, masts to shivers blown; And with her dead and wounded crew The ship was settling down. Sir Richard’s wounds were hot and deep, Then cried he, with a proud, pale lip, ‘Ho, Master Gunner, sink the ship!’ ‘Make ready now, my mariners, To go aloft with me, That nothing to the Spaniard May remain of victory. They cannot take us, nor we yield; So let us leave our battle-field, Under the shelter of God’s shield.’ They had not heart to dare fulfil The stern commander’s word: With swelling hearts and welling eyes, They carried him aboard The Spaniards’ ship; and round him stand The warriors of his wasted band: Then said he, feeling death at hand, ‘Here die I, Richard Grenville, With a joyful and quiet mind; I reach a soldier’s end, I leave A soldier’s fame behind. Who for his Queen and country fought, For Honour and Religion wrought, And died as a true soldier ought.’ Earth never returned a worthier trust For hand of Heaven to take, Since Arthur’s sword, Excalibur, Was cast into the lake, And the King’s grievous wounds were dressed, And healed, by weeping Queens, who blessed, And bore him to a valley of rest. Old heroes who could grandly do, As they could greatly dare, A vesture very glorious Their shining spirits wear Of noble deeds! God give us grace, That we may see such face to face, In our great day that comes apace! _Gerald Massey._ BROWN LXXXVII LAND, HO! I know ’tis but a loom of land, Yet is it land, and so I will rejoice, I know I cannot hear His voice Upon the shore, nor see Him stand; Yet is it land, ho! land. The land! the land! the lovely land! ‘Far off’ dost say? _Far off_--ah, blessed home! Farewell! farewell! thou salt sea-foam! Ah, keel upon the silver sand-- Land, ho! land. You cannot see the land, my land, You cannot see, and yet the land is there-- My land, my land, through murky air-- I did not say ’twas close at hand-- But--land, ho! land. Dost hear the bells of my sweet land, Dost hear the kine, dost hear the merry birds? No voice, ’tis true, no spoken words, No tongue that thou may’st understand-- Yet is it land, ho! land. It’s clad in purple mist, my land, In regal robe it is apparelléd, A crown is set upon its head, And on its breast a golden band-- Land, ho! land. Dost wonder that I long for land? My land is not a land as others are-- Upon its crest there beams a star, And lilies grow upon the strand-- Land, ho! land.