Not once or twice in our fair island-story,
The path of duty was the way to glory:
He, that ever following her commands,
On with toil of heart and knees and hands,
Through the long gorge to the far light has won
His path upward, and prevailed,

Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled
Are close upon the shining table-lands

To which our God Himself is moon and sun.

Such was he: his work is done.

But while the races of mankind endure,

Let his great example stand

Colossal, seen of every land,

And keep the soldier firm, the statesman pure:
Till in all lands and through all human story

The path of duty be the way to glory:

And let the land whose hearths he saved from

shame

For many and many an age proclaim

At civic revel and pomp and game,

And when the long-illumined cities flame,

Their ever-loyal iron leader's fame,

With honour, honour, honour, honour to him,
Eternal honour to his name.

Peace, his triumph will be sung

By some yet unmoulded tongue

Far on in summers that we shall not see:

Peace, it is a day of pain

For one about whose patriarchal knee

Late the little children clung:

Oh peace,

it is a day of pain

For one, upon whose hand and heart and brain
Once the weight and fate of Europe hung.

Ours the pain, be his the gain!

More than is of man's degree
Must be with us, watching here
At this, our great solemnity.

Whom we see not we revere;
We revere, and we refrain

From talk of battles loud and vain,
And brawling memories all too free
For such a wise humility

As befits a solemn fane:
We revere, and while we hear
The tides of music's golden sea
Setting toward eternity,

Uplifted high in heart and hope are we,
Until we doubt not that for one so true
There must be other nobler work to do
Than when he fought at Waterloo,
And Victor he must ever be.

For though the Giant Ages heave the hill
And break the shore, and evermore
Make and break, and work their will;

Though world on world in myriad myriads roll
Round us, each with different powers,
And other forms of life than ours,

What know we greater than the soul?

On God and Godlike men we built our trust.

Hush, the Dead March wails in the people's ears: The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears:

The black earth yawns: the mortal disappears;
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;

He is gone who seemed so great.-
Gone; but nothing can bereave him
Of the force he made his own

Being here, and we believe him
Something far advanced in state,
And that he wears a truer crown

Than any wreath that man can weave him.
Speak no more of his renown,

Lay your earthly fancies down,

And in the vast cathedral leave him,
God accept him, Christ receive him.

Lord Tennyson.

155

THE ARMADA

(A Fragment.)

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 had 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 bark 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 lilies

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 SEMPER EADEM, 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;

R

For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly warflame 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 miner 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 shepherds 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.

The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,

And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light;

Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence broke,

And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke.

At once on all her stately gates arose the answering

fires;

At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;

From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear;

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a

louder cheer;

And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,

And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street.