Read Ebook: Poems by Jean Ingelow In Two Volumes Volume II. by Ingelow Jean

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ROSAMUND ECHO AND THE FERRY PRELUDES TO A PENNY READING KISMET DORA SPERANZA THE BEGINNING IN THE NURSERY THE AUSTRALIAN BELL-BIRD LOSS AND WASTE ON A PICTURE THE SLEEP OF SIGISMUND A MAID-MARTYR A VINE-ARBOUR IN THE FAR WEST LOVERS AT THE LAKE SIDE THE WHITE MOON AN ARROW-SLIT WENDOVER THE LOVER PLEADS SONG IN THREE PARTS 'IF I FORGET THEE, O JERUSALEM' NATURE, FOR NATURE'S SAKE PERDITA

SERIOUS POEMS, AND SONGS AND POEMS OF LOVE AND CHILDHOOD.

LETTERS ON LIFE AND THE MORNING THE MONITIONS OF THE UNSEEN THE SHEPHERD LADY

POEMS ON THE DEATHS OF THREE CHILDREN. HENRY SAMUEL KATIE

THE SNOWDROP MONUMENT

HYMNS. THE MEASURELESS GULFS OF AIR ARE FULL OF THEE THOU WERT FAR OFF AND IN THE SIGHT OF HEAVEN THICK ORCHARDS ALL IN WHITE SWEET ARE HIS WAYS WHO RULES ABOVE O NIGHT OF NIGHTS DEAR IS THE LOST WIFE TO A LONE MAN'S HEART WEEPING AND WAILING NEEDS MUST BE JESUS, THE LAMB OF GOD THOU HAST BEEN ALWAY GOOD TO ME THOU THAT SLEEPEST NOT AFRAID NOW WINTER PAST, THE WHITE-THORN BOWER SUCH AS HAVE NOT GOLD TO BRING THEE A MORN OF GUILT, AN HOUR OF DOOM MARY OF MAGDALA WOULD I, TO SAVE MY DEAR CHILD?

AT ONE AGAIN

A BIRTHDAY WALK NOT IN VAIN I WAITED A GLEANING SONG WITH A DIAMOND MARRIED LOVERS A WINTER SONG BINDING SHEAVES THE MARINER'S CAVE A REVERIE DEFTON WOOD THE LONG WHITE SEAM AN OLD WIFE'S SONG COLD AND QUIET SLEDGE BELLS MIDSUMMER NIGHT, NOT DARK, NOT LIGHT THE BRIDEGROOM TO HIS BRIDE THE FAIRY WOMAN'S SONG ABOVE THE CLOUDS SLEEP AND TIME BEES AND OTHER-FELLOW-CREATURES THE GYPSY'S SELLING SONG A WOOING SONG A COURTING SONG LOVE'S THREAD OF GOLD THE LEAVES OF LIGN ALOES THE DAYS WITHOUT ALLOY FEATHERS AND MOSS ON THE ROCKS BY ABERDEEN LIKE A LAVEROCK IN THE LIFT SONG FOR A BABE GIVE US LOVE AND GIVE US PEACE

THE TWO MARGARETS MARGARET BY THE MERE SIDE MARGARET IN THE XEBEC

A STORY OF DOOM

POEMS

ROSAMUND.

'One soweth and another reapeth.' Ay, Too true, too true. One soweth--unaware Cometh a reaper stealthily while he dreams-- Bindeth the golden sheaf, and in his bosom As 't were between the dewfall and the dawn Bears it away. Who other was to blame? Is it I? Is it I?--No verily, not I, 'T was a good action, and I smart therefore; Oblivion of a righteous enmity Wrought me this wrong. I pay with my self ruth That I had ruth toward mine enemy; It needed not to slay mine enemy, Only to let him lie and succourless Drift to the foot o' the Everlasting Throne; Being mine enemy, he had not accused One of my nation there of unkind deeds Or ought the way of war forbids. Let be! I will not think upon it. Yet she was-- O, she was dear; my dutiful, dear child. One soweth--Nay, but I will tell this out, The first fyte was the best, I call it such For now as some old song men think on it.

I dwell where England narrows running north; And while our hay was cut came rumours up Humming and swarming round our heads like bees:

'Drake from the bay of Cadiz hath come home, And they are forth, the Spaniards with a force Invincible.' 'The Prince of Parma, couched At Dunkirk, e'en by torchlight makes to toil His shipwright thousands--thousands in the ports Of Flanders and Brabant. An hundred hendes Transports to his great squadron adding, all For our confusion.' 'England's great ally Henry of France, by insurrection fallen, Of him the said Prince Parma mocking cries, He shall not help the Queen of England now Not even with his tears, more needing them To weep his own misfortune.' Was that all The truth? Not half, and yet it was enough , For all the land stirred in the half belief As dreamers stir about to wake; and now Comes the Queen's message, all her lieges bid To rise, 'lieftenants, and the better sort Of gentlemen' whereby the Queen's grace meant, As it may seem the sort that willed to rise And arm, and come to aid her. Distance wrought Safety for us, my neighbours and near friends, The peril lay along our channel coast And marked the city, undefended fair Rich London. O to think of Spanish mail Ringing--of riotous conquerors in her street, Chasing and frighting her fair wives and her fair maids. --But hope is fain to deem them forth of her.

Then Spain to the sacking; then they tear away Arras and carv?d work. O then they break And toss, and mar her quaint orf?verie Priceless--then split the wine kegs, spill the mead, Trail out the pride of ages in the dust; Turn over with pikes her silken merchandise, Strip off the pictures of her kings, and spoil Their palaces that nigh five hundred years Have rued no alien footsteps on the floor, And work--for the days of miracle are gone-- All unimaginable waste and woe.

Some cried, 'But England hath the better cause; We think not those good days indeed are done; We look to Heaven for aid on England's side.' Then other, 'Nay, the harvest is above, God comforts there His own, and ill men leaves To run long scores up in this present world, And pay in another. Look not here for aid. Latimer, poor old saint, died in the street With nigh, men say, three hundred of his kind, All bid to look for worse death after death, Succourless, comfortless, unfriended, curst. Mary, and Gardiner, and the Pope's man Pole Died upon down, lulled in a silken shade, Soothed with assurance of a waiting heaven, And Peter peering through the golden gate, With his gold key in 's hand to let them in.'

'Nay, leave,' quoth I, 'the martyrs to their heaven, And all who live the better that they died. But look you now, a nation hath no heaven, A nation's life and work and wickedness And punishment--or otherwise, I say A nation's life and goodness and reward Are here. And in my nation's righteous cause I look for aid, and cry, SO HELP ME GOD As I will help my righteous nation now With all the best I have, and know, and am, I trust Thou wilt not let her light be quenched; I go to aid, and if I fall--I fall, And, God of nations, leave my soul to Thee.'

Many did say like words, and all would give Of gold, of weapons, and of horses that They had to hand or on the spur o' the time Could gather. My fair dame did sell her rings, So others. And they sent us well equipped Who minded to be in the coming fray Whether by land or sea; my hope the last, For I of old therewith was conversant.

Then as we rode down southward all the land Was at her harvesting. The oats were cut Ere we were three days down, and then the wheat, And the wide country spite of loath?d threat Was busy. There was news to hearten us: The Hollanders were coming roundly in With sixty ships of war, all fierce, and full Of spleen, for not alone our sake but theirs Willing to brave encounter where they might.

So after five days we did sight the Sound, And look on Plymouth harbour from the hill. Then I full glad drew bridle, lighted straight, Ran down and mingled with a waiting crowd.

Many stood gazing on the level deep That scarce did tremble; 't was in hue as sloes That hang till winter on a leafless bough, So black bulged down upon it a great cloud And probed it through and through with fork?d stabs Incessant, and rolled on it thunder bursts Till the dark water lowered as one afraid.

That was afar. The land and nearer sea Lay sweltering in hot sunshine. The brown beach Scarce whispered, for a soft incoming tide Was gentle with it. Green the water lapped And sparkled at all edges. The night-heavens Are not more thickly speckled o'er with stars Than that fair harbour with its fishing craft. And crowds of galleys shooting to and fro Did feed the ships of war with their stout crews, And bear aboard fresh water, furniture Of war, much lesser victual, sallets, fruit, All manner equipment for the squadron, sails, Long spars. Also was chaffering on the Hoe, Buying and bargaining, taking of leave With tears and kisses, while on all hands pushed Tall lusty men with baskets on their heads Piled of fresh bread, and biscuit newly drawn.

Then shouts, 'The captains!' Raleigh, Hawkins, Drake, Old Martin Frobisher, and many more; Howard, the Lord High Admiral, headed them-- They coming leisurely from the bowling green, Elbowed their way. For in their stoutness loth To hurry when ill news first brake on them, They playing a match ashore--ill news I say, 'The Spaniards are toward'--while panic-struck The people ran about them, Drake cries out, Knowing their fear should make the danger worse, 'Spaniards, my masters! Let the Spaniards wait. Fall not a-shouting for the boats; is time To play the match out, ay to win, and then To beat the Spaniards.' So the rest gave way At his insistance, playing that afternoon The bravest match was ever scored.

'T was no time lost; nay, not a moment lost; For look you, when the winning cast was made, The town was calm, the anchors were all up, The boats were manned to row them each to his ship, The lowering cloud in the offing had gone south Against the wind, and all was work, stir, heed, Nothing forgot, nor grudged, nor slurred, and most Men easy at heart as those brave sailors seemed.

And specially the women had put by On a sudden their deep dread; yon Cornish coast Neared of his insolency by the foe, With his high seacastles numerous, seaforts Many, his galleys out of number, manned Each by three hundred slaves chained to the oar; All his strong fleet of lesser ships, but great As any of ours--why that same Cornish coast Might have lain farther than the far west land, So had a few stout-hearted looks and words Wasted the meaning, chilled the menace of That frightful danger, imminent, hard at hand.

'The captains come, the captains!' and I turned As they drew on. I marked the urgency Flashing in each man's eye: fain to be forth But willing to be held at leisure. Then Cried a fair woman of the better sort To Howard, passing by her pannier'd ass, 'Apples, Lord Admiral, good captains all, Look you, red apples sharp and sweet are these,'

Quoth he a little chafed, 'Let be, let be, No time is this for bargaining, good dame. Let be;' and pushing past, 'Beshrew thy heart , bargain! nay. I meant not bargaining,' she falters; crying, 'I brought them my poor gift. Pray you now take, Pray you.' He stops, and with a childlike smile That makes the dame amend, stoops down to choose, While I step up that love not many words, 'What should he do,' quoth I, 'to help this need That hath a bag of money, and good will?' 'Charter a ship,' he saith, nor e'er looks up, 'And put aboard her victual, tackle, shot, Ought he can lay his hand on--look he give Wide sea room to the Spanish hounds, make sail For ships of ours, to ease of wounded men, And succour with that freight he brings withal.'

His foot, yet speaking, was aboard his boat, His comrades, each red apples in the hand, Come after, and with blessings manifold Cheering, and cries, 'Good luck, good luck!' they speed.

'T was three years three months past. O yet methinks I hear that thunder crash i' the offing; hear Their words who when the crowd melted away Gathered together. Comrades we of old, About to adventure us at Howard's best On the unsafe sea. For he, a Catholic, As is my wife, and therefore my one child, Detested and defied th' most Catholic King Philip. He, trusted of her grace--and cause She had, the nation following suit--he deemed, 'T was whisper'd, ay and Raleigh, and Francis Drake No less, the event of battle doubtfuller Than English tongue might own; the peril dread As ought in this world ever can be deemed That is not yet past praying for. So far So good. As birds awaked do stretch their wings The ships did stretch forth sail, full clad they towered And right into the sunset went, hull down E'en with the sun. To us in twilight left, Glory being over, came despondent thought That mocked men's eager act. From many a hill, As if the land complained to Heaven, they sent A towering shaft of murky incense high, Livid with black despair in lieu of praise. The green wood hissed at every beacon's edge That widen'd fear. The smell of pitchpots fled Far over the field, and tongues of fire leaped up, Ay, till all England woke, and knew, and wailed.

But we i' the night through that detested reek Rode eastward. Every mariner's voice was given 'Gainst any fear for the western shires. The cry Was all, 'They sail for Calais roads, and thence, The goal is London.' Nought slept, man nor beast. Ravens and rooks flew forth, and with black wings, Affrighted, swept our eyes. Pale eddying moths Came by in crowds and whirled them on the flames.

We rode till pierced those beacon fires the shafts O' the sun, and their red smouldering ashes dulled. Beside them, scorched, smoke-blackened, weary, leaned Men that had fed them, dropped their tired arms And dozed. And also through that day we rode, Till reapers at their nooning sat awhile On the shady side of corn-shocks: all the talk Of high, of low, or them that went or stayed Determined but unhopeful; desperate To strike a blow for England ere she fell.

And ever loomed the Spaniard to our thought, Still waxed the fame of that great Armament-- New horsemen joining, swelled it more and more-- Their bulky ship galleons having five decks, Zabraes, pataches, galleys of Portugal, Caravels rowed with oars, their galliasses Vast, and complete with chapels, chambers, towers. And in the said ships of free mariners Eight thousand, and of slaves two thousand more, An army twenty thousand strong. O then Of culverin, of double culverin, Ordnance and arms, all furniture of war, Victual, and last their fierceness and great spleen, Willing to founder, burn, split, wreck themselves, But they would land, fight, overcome, and reign.

Then would we count up England. Set by theirs, Her fleet as walnut shells. And a few pikes Stored in the belfries, and a few brave men For wielding them. But as the morning wore, And we went ever eastward, ever on, Poured forth, poured down, a marching multitude With stir about the towns; and waggons rolled With offerings for the army and the fleet. Then to our hearts valour crept home again, The loath?d name of Alva fanning it; Alva who did convert from our old faith With many a black deed done for a white cause Them whom not death could change, nor fire, nor sword, To thirst for his undoing.

Ay, as I am a Christian man, our thirst Was comparable with Queen Mary's. All The talk was of confounding heretics, The heretics the Spaniards. Yet methought, 'O their great multitude! Not harbour room On our long coast for that great multitude. They land--for who can let them--give us battle, And after give us burial. Who but they, For he that liveth shall be flying north To bear off wife and child. Our very graves Shall Spaniards dig, and in the daisied grass Trample them down.' Ay, whoso will be brave, Let him be brave beforehand. After th' event If by good pleasure of God it go as then He shall be brave an' liketh him. I say Was no man but that deadly peril feared.

Nights riding two. Scant rest. Days riding three, Then Foulkstone. Need is none to tell all forth The gathering stores and men, the charter'd ship That I, with two, my friends, got ready for sea. Ready she was, so many another, small But nimble; and we sailing hugged the shore, Scarce venturing out, so Drake had willed, a league, And running westward aye as best we might, When suddenly--behold them! On they rocked, Majestical, slow, sailing with the wind. O such a sight! O such a sight, mine eyes, Never shall you see more! In crescent form, A vasty crescent nigh two leagues across From horn to horn, the lesser ships within, The great without, they did bestride as 't were And make a township on the narrow seas.

It was about the point of dawn: and light. All grey the sea, and ghostly grey the ships; And after in the offing rocked our fleet, Having lain quiet in the summer dark.

O then methought, 'Flash, blessed gold of dawn, And touch the topsails of our Admiral, That he may after guide an emulous flock, Old England's innocent white bleating lambs. Let Spain within a pike's length hear them bleat, Delivering of their pretty talk in a tongue Whose meaning cries not for interpreter.'

And while I spoke, their topsails, friend and foe, Glittered--and there was noise of guns; pale smoke Lagged after, curdling on the sun-fleck'd main. And after that? What after that, my soul? Who ever saw weakling white butterflies Chasing of gallant swans, and charging them, And spitting at them long red streaks of flame? We saw the ships of England even so As in my vaunting wish that mocked itself With 'Fool, O fool, to brag at the edge of loss.' We saw the ships of England even so Run at the Spaniards on a wind, lay to, Bespatter them with hail of battle, then Take their prerogative of nimble steerage, Fly off, and ere the enemy, heavy in hand, Delivered his reply to the wasteful wave That made its grave of foam, race out of range, Then tack and crowd all sail, and after them Again. So harassed they that mighty foe, Moving in all its bravery to the east. And some were fine with pictures of the saints, Angels with flying hair and peak?d wings, And high red crosses wrought upon their sails; From every mast brave flag or ensign flew, And their long silken pennons serpented Loose to the morning. And the galley slaves, Albeit their chains did clink, sang at the oar.

The sea was striped e'en like a tiger skin With wide ship wakes. And many cried, amazed, 'What means their patience?' 'Lo you,' others said, 'They pay with fear for their great costliness. Some of their costliest needs must other guard; Once guarded and in port look to yourselves, They count one hundred and fifty. It behoves Better they suffer this long running fight-- Better for them than that they give us battle, And so delay the shelter of their roads.

'Two of their caravels we sank, and one took Ere she could catch the wind when she rode free. And we have riddled many a sail, and split Of spars a score or two. What then? To-morrow They look to straddle across the strait, and hold Having aye Calais for a shelter--hold Our ships in fight. To-morrow shall give account For our to-day. They will not we pass north To meddle with Parma's flotilla; their hope Being Parma, and a convoy they would be For his flat boats that bode invasion to us; And if he reach to London--ruin, defeat.'

Three fleets the sun went down on, theirs of fame Th' Armada. After space old England's few; And after that our dancing cockle-shells, The volunteers. They took some pride in us, For we were nimble, and we brought them powder, Shot, weapons. They were short of these. Ill found, Ill found. The bitter fruit of evil thrift. But while obsequious, darting here and there, We took their messages from ship to ship, From ship to shore, the moving majesties Made Calais Roads, cast anchor, all their less In the middle ward; their greater ships outside Impregnable castles fearing not assault.

So did we read their thought, and read it wrong, While after the running fight we rode at ease, For many Having made light of our stout deeds, and light O' the effects proceeding, saw these spread To view. The Spanish Admiral's mighty host, Albeit not broken, harass'd. Some did tow Others that we had plagued, disabled, rent; Many full heavily damaged made their berths.

Then did the English anchor out of range. To close was not their wisdom with such foe, Rather to chase him, following in the rear. Ay, truly they were giants in our eyes And in our own. They took scant heed of us, And we looked on, and knew not what to think, Only that we were lost men, a lost Isle, In every Spaniard's mind, both great and small.

But no such thought had place in Howard's soul, And when 't was dark, and all their sails were furled, When the wind veered a few points to the west, And the tide turned ruffling along the roads, He sent eight fireships forging down to them.

Terrible! Terrible! Blood-red pillars of reek They looked on that vast host and troubled it, As on th' Egyptian host One looked of old.

Then all the heavens were rent with a great cry, The red avengers went right on, right on, For none could let them; then was ruin, reek, flame; Against th' unwieldy huge leviathans They drave, they fell upon them as wild beasts, And all together they did plunge and grind, Their reefed sails set a-blazing, these flew loose And forth like banners of destruction sped. It was to look on as the body of hell Seething; and some, their cables cut, ran foul Of one the other, while the ruddy fire Sped on aloft. One ship was stranded. One Foundered, and went down burning; all the sea Red as an angry sunset was made fell With smoke and blazing spars that rode upright, For as the fireships burst they scattered forth Full dangerous wreckage. All the sky they scored With flying sails and rocking masts, and yards Licked of long flames. And flitting tinder sank In eddies on the plagued mixed mob of ships That cared no more for harbour, and were fain At any hazard to be forth, and leave Their berths in the blood-red haze.

It was at twelve O' the clock when this fell out, for as the eight Were towed, and left upon the friendly tide To stalk like evil angels over the deep And stare upon the Spaniards, we did hear Their midnight bells. It was at morning dawn After our mariners thus had harried them I looked my last upon their fleet,--and all, That night had cut their cables, put to sea, And scattering wide towards the Flemish coast Did seem to make for Greveline.

As for us, The captains told us off to wait on them, Bearers of wounded enemies and friends, Bearers of messages, bearers of store.

We saw not ought, but heard enough: we heard of that long scattering chase And driving of Sidonia from his hope, Parma, who could not ought without his ships And looked for them to break the Dutch blockade, He meanwhile chafing lion-like in his lair. We heard--and he--for all one summer day, Fenning and Drake and Raynor, Fenton, Cross, And more, by Greveline, where they once again Did get the wind o' the Spaniards, noise of guns. For coming with the wind, wielding themselves Which way they listed , our own Went at them, charged them high and charged them sore, And gave them broadside after broadside. Ay, Till all the shot was spent both great and small. It failed; and in regard of that same want They thought it not convenient to pursue Their vessels farther. They were huge withal, And might not be encountered one to one, But close conjoined they fought, and poured great store Of ordnance at our ships, though many of theirs, Shot thorow and thorow, scarce might keep afloat.

Many were captured fighting, many sank. This news they brought returned perforce, and left The Spaniards forging north. Themselves did watch The river mouth, till Howard, his new store Gathered, encounter coveting, once more Made after them with Drake. And lo! the wind Got up to help us. He yet flying north made all his wake To smoke, and would not end to fight, but strewed The ocean with his wreckage. And the wind Drave him before it, and the storm was fell, And he went up to th' uncouth northern sea. There did our mariners leave him. Then did joy Run like a sunbeam over the land, and joy Rule in the stout heart of a regnant Queen.

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