They perish, a lordly blood-offering, subdued by the hands of the servants of God. These also were fed of his priests with faith, with the milk of his word and the wine; These too are fulfilled with the spirit of darkness that guided their quest divine. And here, cast up from the ravening sea on the mild land's merciful breast, This comfort they find of their fellows in worship; this guerdon is theirs of their quest. Death was captain, and doom was pilot, and darkness the chart of their way; Night and hell had in charge and in keeping the host of the foes of day. Invincible, vanquished, impregnable, shattered, a sign to her foes of fear, A sign to the world and the stars of laughter, the fleet of the Lord lies here. Nay, for none may declare the place of the ruin wherein she lies; Nay, for none hath beholden the grave whence never a ghost shall rise. The fleet of the foemen of England hath found not one but a thousand graves; And he that shall number and name them shall number by name and by tale the waves. VII I Sixtus, Pope of the Church whose hope takes flight for heaven to dethrone the sun, Philip, king that wouldst turn our spring to winter, blasted, appalled, undone, Prince and priest, let a mourner's feast give thanks to God for your conquest won. England's heel is upon you: kneel, O priest, O prince, in the dust, and cry, "Lord, why thus? art thou wroth with us whose faith was great in thee, God most high? Whence is this, that the serpent's hiss derides us? Lord, can thy pledged word lie? "God of hell, are its flames that swell quenched now for ever, extinct and dead? Who shall fear thee? or who shall hear the word thy servants who feared thee said? Lord, art thou as the dead gods now, whose arm is shortened, whose rede is read? "Yet we thought it was not for nought thy word was given us, to guard and guide: Yet we deemed that they had not dreamed who put their trust in thee. Hast thou lied? God our Lord, was the sacred sword we drew not drawn on thy Church's side? "England hates thee as hell's own gates; and England triumphs, and Rome bows down: England mocks at thee; England's rocks cast off thy servants to drive and drown: England loathes thee; and fame betroths and plights with England her faith for crown.