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| 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, | 5 |
| 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. | 10 |
| Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall; | |
| The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe’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; | 15 |
| 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, | 20 |
| 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 Caesar’s eagle shield. | |
| So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay, | 25 |
| 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. | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| 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. | 40 |
| 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 | |
| And roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu. | |
| Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town, | 45 |
| 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 that 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. | 50 |
| 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, | 55 |
| And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street; | |
| And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, | |
| As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in; | |
| And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went, | |
| And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent. | 60 |
| Southward from Surrey’s pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth; | |
| High on bleak Hampstead’s swarthy moor they started for the north; | |
| And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still: | |
| All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill: | |
| Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o’er Darwin’s rocky dales | 65 |
| Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales, | |
| Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern’s lonely height, | |
| Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin’s crest of light, | |
| Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely’s stately fane, | |
| And tower and hamlet rose in arms o’er all the boundless plain; | 70 |
| Till Belvoir’s lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, | |
| And Lincoln sped the message on o’er the wide vale of Trent; | |
| Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt’s embattled pile, | |
| And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle. | |
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