THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Rare Books Dept« 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Professor 
 Robert L. McNuliy 
 
PHILIP THE KING 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
 ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 
 
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 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 
 
 TORONTO 
 

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PHILIP THE KING 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
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 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1914 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
Copyright, 1913, by Harper and Brothers. 
 Copyright, 1914, by The Century Company a'ud by 
 the McClure Publications* *. *. * ••!•*•• 
 
 CopykighV, 1914, * **.•* 
 
 By THU MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
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Go 
 
 MY WIFE 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Philip the King 1 
 
 The "Wanderer" 87 
 
 August, 1914 106 
 
 The River 112 
 
 Watching by a Sick-Bed 140 
 
 vii 
 
PHILIP THE KING 
 
 A PLAY IN ONE ACT 
 
PERSONS 
 
 Philip the Second of Spain 
 
 His Daughter, the Infanta 
 
 An English Prisoner 
 
 A Spanish Captain 
 
 Guards 
 
 SPIRITS 
 
 Indians 
 
 Don John of Austria 
 
 Escovedo 
 
 Don Alvaro de Bazan, the Marquis of Santa Cruz 
 
 Alonso de Leyva 
 
 TIME 
 At dawn in late September, 1588 
 
 SCENE 
 A little dark cell in Philip's palaoe 
 
PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Philip (Kneeling). 
 
 Lord, I am that Philip whom Thou hast 
 made King of half the world. Thou knowest, 
 Lord, how great a fleet I have fitted out to 
 destroy the English, who work evil against 
 Thee. Lord, I beseech Thee, keep that great 
 Armada now, as I trust, in battle on the 
 English coast. Protect my ships, O Lord, 
 from fire and pestilence, from tempest and 
 shipwreck, and in the day of battle. Amen. 
 Amen. 
 
 Lord, now that the battle is joined, grant 
 us Thy victory, I beseech Thee. Amen. 
 Amen. 
 
 Lord, I beseech Thee to have in Thy special 
 keeping my beloved friend, Alonso de Leyva, 
 
4 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 now at sea with my fleet. Guard his ways, 
 
 O Lord, that so he may come safely home to 
 
 me. Amen. Amen. 
 
 Lord, of Thy mercy, I beseech Thee to 
 
 send to me, if it be Thy will, some word or 
 
 message from my fleet, that I may know 
 
 Thy will concerning it, that my weary heart 
 
 may find peace. Amen. Amen. 
 
 (He rises.) 
 Enter the Princess. 
 
 Princess. 
 Has no news come ? 
 
 Philip. 
 None yet. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 Still nothing ? 
 
 Philip. 
 
 No. 
 
 Princess. 
 Two months now since they sailed and still 
 no word. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 5 
 
 Philip. 
 The wind is foul ; they cannot send. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 I know. 
 
 And yet what tales, what rumours we have 
 
 heard. 
 
 How the heart sickens for the want of news. 
 
 Is that a courier ? 
 
 Philip. 
 
 No. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 What if we lose ? 
 
 Philip. 
 Why should we lose ? 
 
 Princess. 
 
 Because of too much pride 
 
 Planning for glory not as scripture bade. 
 
 Philip. 
 I am not proud nor hopeful, nor afraid. 
 
 But you are trembling, sweet, and heavy- 
 eyed. 
 
6 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Princess. 
 I am afraid, for all night long 
 The spirit of Spain's committed wrong, 
 Nourished wherever a life was shed, 
 
 Stood near my bed; 
 And all night long it talked to me 
 Of a trouble there is beyond the sea. 
 A trouble of war ... I heard a horn 
 
 Blowing forlorn, 
 And I knew that it came from far away, 
 From men of Spain in a pass at bay 
 Blowing for help ; the beaten call 
 None heeds at all. 
 And now I fear that we have angered Him 
 
 Who makes pride dim. 
 
 Philip. 
 What we have done with our might 
 Cannot be hateful to God. 
 He speaks with dreams in the night 
 That the tired heart turn home 
 
PHILIP THE KING 7 
 
 And an end of brooding come. 
 My heart has flushed in His praise, 
 The glow in my heart took sail 
 In a fleet that darkens the sprays; 
 Sacrifice may not avail, 
 But the uttermost gift is wise. 
 
 Princess. 
 Yes, I believe that ; and the deed is grand — 
 It is a mighty blow to deal for God. 
 But in my ear there rings 
 Ill-omened words about the pride of kings — 
 " Pride is the evil that destroys a land." 
 
 Philip. 
 Brooding and watching waste you, you must 
 
 sleep ; 
 The hand of God will bring us through the 
 
 deep. 
 
 Princess. 
 Amen, my father, but my heart is breaking. 
 
8 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Philip. 
 You are too young for heart-break ; let it be. 
 
 Princess. 
 There was another fear which kept me 
 
 waking : 
 Spain's unborn monarchs came by night to 
 
 me, 
 Each holding fewer of the Spanish gems 
 Here and abroad, each weaker in the soul. 
 With wearier brows and dimmer diadems, 
 And feebler fingers giving up control, 
 Till, as it seemed, a hundred years from now, 
 An idiot child was all the might of Spain, 
 And English spirits beat them on the brow, 
 Robbing their gems and binding them with 
 
 chain. 
 And Spain's proud flag was draggled in the 
 
 sea. 
 And then these shapes lamented, threaten- 
 ing me; 
 
PHILIP THE KING 9 
 
 Saying that we began Spain's downfall 
 
 here — 
 So grimly, father, that I shook with fear. 
 
 Philip. 
 Child, these are only dreams. I have 
 
 learned this 
 Since I have been a king, that our concern 
 Is not with Hope nor Fear, but with what is, 
 Which, when we follow dreams, we cannot 
 
 learn. 
 Be patient, child; besides, the wind has 
 
 changed ; 
 God's will must never find our hearts 
 
 estranged : 
 
 The wind is north, the news may come to-day. 
 
 Ship after ship is running down the Bay 
 
 With news; God grant that it be happy 
 
 news. 
 
 Princess. 
 Rest till it comes, dear father. 
 
10 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Philip. 
 
 You can choose, 
 
 You who are young, whether to rest or no ; 
 
 When one is old one sees the hours go. 
 
 Dear, they go fast from withered men like 
 me. 
 
 You were my little daughter on my knee 
 
 When first this war with England was con- 
 ceived. 
 
 Now you are this . . ., it would not be 
 believed, 
 
 And nothing done, and still time hurrying 
 
 by. 
 
 We are two grey old partners — Time and I : 
 Look at the work we dp . . . you talk of 
 
 rest. 
 
 Princess. 
 You call your Captains in and choose the 
 
 best, 
 And make him do the work. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 11 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Ah, you're a Queen, 
 That is what you would do, but I am King. 
 Kings have no beauty to make duty keen; 
 They have to supervise with whip and sting. 
 
 Princess. 
 You do not whip men; you are good and 
 
 mild. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Artists and Kings do what they can, my child, 
 Not what they would. It is not easy, dear, 
 Working with men, for men are only clay, 
 They crumble in the hand, or they betray 
 And time goes by, but no results appear — 
 Your little hands have happier work than 
 
 mine. 
 Ah, little daughter, childhood is divine. 
 
 Princess. 
 I am no child now that the fleet has sailed ; 
 
 I was till then, but now I realize 
 
 What it would cost my father if it failed. 
 
12 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Philip. 
 Yes, it has cost some life, this enterprise. 
 
 Princess. 
 But all you had to do was give the word. 
 
 Philip. 
 Ah, darling, many thousand men have heard 
 
 Orders from me since this attempt began 
 
 Seventeen years ago. Full many a man 
 
 Who helped the earliest outlines of the plot 
 
 Died at his unknown task suspecting not 
 
 What pattern his life's colour helped to weave. 
 
 Child, if I told you, you would not believe 
 
 How this idea has triumphed on unchanged 
 
 Past great commanders' deaths, past faith 
 
 estranged, 
 Past tyranny and bloodshed and ill-hap, 
 Treachery striking like a thunder-clap, 
 Murder, betrayal, lying, past all these, 
 Past the grim days when feelings had to 
 
 freeze 
 
PHILIP THE KING 13 
 
 Lest the great King should drop his mask of 
 
 lies 
 And hint his purpose to the thwarted spies, 
 Past half a world of men and years of thought, 
 Past human hope, to be the thing I sought. 
 Now that the dice are scattered for the stakes, 
 I half forget that old affront of Drake's, 
 By which this war with England was begun. 
 O child, the labour that must first be done 
 Before a King can act ! — unending work. 
 All the long days of beating down the Turk, 
 Then when Don John had thrust the Cres- 
 cent down 
 (You cannot know) he plotted for the crown ; 
 Don John, my Admiral, plotted against me. 
 He would have sunk the English in the sea, 
 But since he plotted, that was ended too. 
 Then a great world of labour still to do, j 
 The French to check, and then the Portu- 
 guese, 
 
14 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Clearing myself a pathway through the seas. 
 Then, when my way was clear, my Admiral 
 
 died, 
 The Marquis Santa Cruz, the unconquered 
 
 guide, 
 The greatest sea commander of known times. 
 Seventeen years of subtleties and crimes. 
 
 But it is done. I have resolved those years, 
 Those men, those crimes, those great at- 
 tempts, those tears, 
 Sorrows and terrors of a twisted earth, 
 Into this fleet, this death, this Dragon's 
 
 birth ; 
 I who have never seen it, nor shall see. 
 
 Princess. 
 I shall thank God that it was shown to me ; 
 
 I saw it sail. 
 
 Philip. 
 You saw my heart's blood, child. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 15 
 
 Pkincess. 
 All a long summer day those ships defiled. 
 I never saw so many nor so grand; 
 They wandered down the tide and cleared 
 
 the land, 
 And ranked themselves like pikemen, clump 
 
 to clump. 
 Then in the silence came the Admiral's 
 
 trump, 
 And from those hundreds of expectant ships, 
 From bells and cannonade and sailors' lips, 
 And from the drums and trumpets of the 
 
 foot 
 Burst such a roaring thunder of salute 
 As filled my heart with wonder like a cup. 
 They cheered St. James's banner going up — 
 Golden St. James, whose figure blew out 
 
 fair, 
 High on the flagship's mast in the blue air, 
 Rippling the gold. Then all the city bells, 
 
16 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Fired like the singing spheres some spirit 
 
 impels, 
 Rang in the rocking belfries, the guns roared, 
 Each human soul there shook like tautened 
 
 cord. 
 And to that Christian march the singing 
 
 priests 
 Bore up the blessed banners. Even the 
 
 beasts 
 Ramped at the challenge of that shouting 
 
 crowd. 
 Then, as the wind came fair, the Armada 
 
 bowed. 
 Those hundreds of great vessels, ranked in 
 
 line, 
 Buried their bows and heaped the bubbled 
 
 brine 
 In gleams before them. So they marched; 
 
 the van, 
 Led by De Leyva, like slipped greyhounds, ran 
 
PHILIP THE KING 17 
 
 To spy the English. On the right and left 
 By Valdes and his friend the seas were cleft ; 
 Moncada's gallies weltered like a weir, 
 Flanking Recalde, bringing up the rear, 
 While in the midst St. James's banner 
 
 marched, 
 Blowing towards England till the flagpole 
 
 arched. 
 Onward they swept the sea, the flagship's 
 
 side 
 Smoked from her cannon's hail; she took 
 
 her stride, 
 Leaned and stretched forward. 
 
 I was conscious then 
 That I beheld the greatest fleet that men 
 Ever sent seaward ; all the world was there, 
 All nations that begem the crown you 
 
 wear, 
 Pikemen of Rome, whose settled pikes had 
 
 stood 
 
18 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Stern in full many a welter of man's blood. 
 Cunning Levantines, armed with crooked 
 
 swords, 
 Venetians bronzed, the ocean's overlords, 
 Pisans and knights of Malta, Ferrarese, 
 Passionate half-bloods from the Indian seas, 
 Hollanders, Austrians, even English, come 
 To bring again religion to their home ; 
 Spain too, our Andalusians, and the- hale 
 Iberian Basquers used to hunt the whale — 
 The flower of the knighthood of the world 
 Mustered beneath the banner you unfurled. 
 
 ****** 
 And that was but the half, for there in 
 
 France 
 Was Parma's army ready to advance, 
 Death-coupled bloodhounds straining to the 
 
 slip, 
 Waiting your navy's coming to take ship. 
 Father, such power awed me. 
 
PHILIP THE KINO 19 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Time and I 
 Worked for long years. 
 
 Pkincess. 
 And when it had passed by 
 The bells were silent, and a sigh arose 
 Of joy in that fleet's pride, and grief for 
 
 those 
 Who, even if all went well, had looked their 
 
 last 
 On men and women who had made their 
 
 past. 
 Then darkness came, and all that I could 
 
 see 
 Was the horizon where the fleet must be — 
 A dimming skyline with a setting star. 
 It was as though they died; and now, who 
 
 knows 
 What has befallen them, or where they 
 
 are? 
 
20 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 And night by sleepless night my trouble 
 
 grows. 
 This daily silence has been hard to bear, 
 But now I dread news worse. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 We must prepare, 
 
 Hoping the best, but ready for the worst- 
 
 But patient still, for rumour must come 
 
 first — 
 Rumour and broken news and seamen's 
 
 lies; 
 Patience, expecting nothing, is most wise. 
 If God vouchsafes it, we shall hear to-day. 
 Lighten your heart, my daughter. 
 
 Peincess. 
 
 I will pray — 
 
 Pray for a Spanish triumph. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Pray for me. 
 
 Pray for God's cause adventured on the sea. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 21 
 
 Princess. 
 I will; God help my prayer. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 God help us both. 
 
 [She goes. 
 
 Lord, I have laboured long to keep my 
 
 oath, 
 And since my loved one died it has been 
 
 hard. 
 O Lord, my God, in blessed mercy guard 
 My only friend De Leyva, now at sea; 
 Keep him, O Lord, and bring him home to 
 
 me. 
 
 Lord, be thou his bulwark and his 
 
 guide; 
 
 1 am so lonely since my loved one died. 
 
 How splendidly the nations hold their way, 
 Marching with banners through the fields 
 of Time! 
 
22 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Who sees the withered King weary and grey, 
 Prompting it all with secret lust or crime? 
 Who guesses at the heavy brain behind? 
 I am Earth's greatest man; the world is 
 blind. 
 
 (He droops over his papers. Starting up.) 
 I have still strength, and I must read these 
 
 scrolls, 
 Or else all goes to ruin; I must read. 
 
 (He sleeps.) 
 
 Voices. 
 Philip! 
 
 Philip. 
 Who calls? 
 
 The Indians enter. 
 
 Voices. 
 
 We are the Indian souls, 
 
 Loosed from the gold-mines where our 
 
 brothers bleed. 
 
 We swell the tale of blood: we dug you 
 
 gold; 
 
PHILIP THE KING 23 
 
 We bore your burdens till we died of 
 
 thirst ; 
 We sweated in the mines or shook with 
 
 cold, 
 Washing the gravel which the blast had 
 
 burst. 
 We dived for pearls until our eyeballs 
 
 bled; 
 You burned us till we told where treasure 
 
 lay. 
 We were your Indian slaves, but we are 
 
 dead; 
 Our red account is cast and you must pay. 
 
 A Voice. 
 Our lives paid for your fleet; you pay for 
 
 us. 
 The unjustly killed restore the balance thus. 
 
 A Voice. 
 They flung my little baby to the hounds. 
 
24 PHILIP THE KINO 
 
 A Voice. 
 They took my daughter from me for their 
 
 lust. 
 
 A Voice. 
 Even the weak are strong beyond life's 
 
 bounds ; 
 We myriad weak add power to the 
 
 thrust. 
 
 Voices. 
 Philip! Philip! Philip! 
 We gather from over the sea 
 To the justice that has to be 
 While the blind red bull goes on. 
 Philip! Philip! Philip! 
 We who were ciphers slain 
 In a tale of the pride of Spain 
 Are a part of her glory gone. 
 
 A Voice. 
 We see them where our will can help then- 
 foes. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 25 
 
 A Voice. 
 Quick, brother, quick! another galleon 
 
 goes! 
 Waken those sleeping gunners by the fire, 
 Or she'll escape unracked. [They fadeaway. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 The voices tire. 
 
 They go. I dreamed. I slept. My heavy 
 
 head 
 Is drowsed. What man is that? 
 
 (Don John appears, with Escovedo be- 
 hind him.) 
 
 Voice of Don John op Austria. 
 
 I am the dead; 
 I am your brother, Philip — brother John. 
 
 Philip. 
 You corpse-fetch from the unclean grave, 
 
 begone ! 
 I had no brother. 
 
26 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Don John. 
 Would you never had! 
 
 Philip. 
 You were a landmark of my father's sin, 
 Never my brother. 
 
 Don John. 
 
 I was that bright lad, 
 
 Your father's son, my brother; I helped 
 
 win 
 
 Great glory for you, Philip. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 I agreed 
 
 To overlook your bastardy, my friend, 
 
 So long as your bright talents served my 
 
 need; 
 
 But you presumed, and so it had to end. 
 
 Don John. 
 My talents served you well. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 They did, at first. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 27 
 
 Don John. 
 I won the Battle of Lepanto for you. 
 
 Philip. 
 And afterwards you killed my troops with 
 
 thirst, 
 
 Following a crazy scheme which overbore 
 
 you. 
 
 Don John. 
 
 Not crazy, unsuccessful. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Poor vain ghost, 
 
 Poor flickering candle that was bright 
 
 awhile. 
 
 Don John. 
 
 I was the man whom Europe worshipped 
 
 most, 
 One with a mighty plan which you thought 
 
 guile. 
 Why did you kill me, Philip? 
 
 Philip. 
 You betrayed me, 
 
 Or would have, traitor, had I not been wise, 
 
28 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Don John. 
 I was your board's best piece, you should 
 
 have played me, 
 Now I am dead and earth is in my eyes. 
 I could have won you England. I had 
 
 planned 
 To conquer England. I had all prepared 
 Ships, soldiers, money, but your cruel hand 
 Killed me, and nothing's done and noth- 
 ing's dared. 
 
 Philip. 
 You planned to conquer England and be 
 
 King; 
 
 Those who obstruct my path I sweep aside. 
 
 Don John. 
 Brother, there is a time for everything; 
 
 That was the time for England, but 
 
 I died ; 
 
 Now you attempt too late, 
 
 The powers have closed the gate, 
 
PHILIP THE KING 29 
 
 Destiny enters by another door, 
 The lost chance comes no more. 
 
 The Voice of Escovedo. 
 Philip, he tells the truth. We could have 
 
 won 
 England for you, we were no plotters then. 
 
 Voices. 
 Philip, you were betrayed, you were un- 
 done. 
 You had the moment, but you killed the 
 
 men. 
 
 Escovedo. 
 The liar, Perez, tricked you. O great 
 
 King! 
 We would have added England to your 
 
 crown, 
 Now the worms cling 
 About our lips deep down. 
 You had me stabbed at midnight going 
 
 home 
 
30 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 That man of Perez' stabbed me in the 
 
 back. 
 And then I could not stir, down on the 
 
 loam; 
 The sky was full of blood, the stars were 
 
 black. 
 And then I knew my wife and children 
 
 waited 
 But that I could not come ; a moving hand 
 Had interposed a something fated 
 'Twixt us and what we planned. 
 
 Don John. 
 You had me poisoned in that Holland den, 
 
 Outcast, alone, without the help of men. 
 
 We planned a glorious hour 
 
 Hoisting the banner of Spain 
 
 On the top of London Tower, 
 
 With England a Spanish fief. 
 
 Life cannot happen again, 
 
 And doing dies with the brain; 
 
PHILIP THE KING 31 
 
 Autumn ruins the flower 
 And after the flower the leaf. 
 
 Voices. 
 Philip, Philip, Philip! 
 The evil men do has strength, 
 It gathers behind the veils 
 While the unjust thing prevails. 
 While the pride of life is strong, 
 But the balance tips at length, 
 And the unjust things are tales, 
 The pride of life is a song. 
 
 Philip. 
 I kept my purpose while you lived. Shall I 
 Be weaker, now that you are dead, you 
 
 things ? 
 What can such reedy wretches do but die 
 Standing against the purposes of Kings? 
 
 Don John. 
 Do? We can thwart you. 
 
32 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Voices. 
 
 And we will, we will; 
 All Spain's unjustly murdered work you ill. 
 Gather against him, gather, mock him 
 down. 
 
 The Voice of the Marquis of Santa 
 
 Cruz. 
 Scatter, you shadows, fly. Philip, great 
 
 King. 
 You vultures gathered in an unclean ring ; 
 Away, you shadows, scatter. 
 They are gone, 
 
 Philip. 
 
 The Marquis enters. 
 
 Philip. 
 Who calls? 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 Master. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Let me dream on. 
 
 Whose voice was that? It warned me of 
 
 defeat. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 33 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 I am that Santa Cruz who built your fleet, 
 
 And died to make it good. It was my 
 
 child. 
 
 I call because my work has been defiled. 
 
 Philip. 
 Why rail, uneasy soul? 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 
 If I had spent 
 
 Less life in that, I should be still alive, 
 
 Commanding what I built to my content, 
 
 Driving the English slaves as conquerors 
 
 drive. 
 Why did you give away my splendid sword, 
 Forged by a never-conquered captain's 
 
 brain, 
 Into the hoof-hand of an ambling lord, 
 Useless in all things, but to ruin Spain? 
 Would God I had but guessed it! Would 
 
 my stars 
 
 D 
 
34 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Had shown me clearer what my death 
 would bring, 
 
 I would have burned those galleons, guns 
 and spars, 
 
 Soldiers and all, and so have stopped this 
 thing. 
 
 And doing that I should have served you 
 well, 
 
 And brought less ruin on this lovely land. 
 
 What folly from the unfed brain of hell 
 
 Made you promote that thing to my com- 
 mand ? — 
 
 Folly from which so many men must die. 
 
 Philip. 
 We stand against all comers, Time and I. 
 
 I chose the Duke because I wanted one . . . 
 Who . . . 
 
 Santa Ceuz. 
 Give no reason for the evil done. 
 
 Souls wrestle from the ever deedless grave 
 
PHILIP THE KING 35 
 
 To do, not to hear reason. Oh, great King, 
 You still may save the ruin of this thing! 
 
 Philip. 
 You speak of ruin. Tell me what you see. 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 Ruin that threatens, but need never be. 
 Be silent, Philip; listen while I tell 
 What you must do. 
 
 Philip. 
 You are a voice from hell; 
 I will not listen to these obscene dreams. 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 Life is a heavy cloud, through which come 
 
 gleams. 
 Oh, Philip, let me speak! Philip, I say, 
 One way can still be tried; I see the way. 
 You must do this, but listen. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 I still doubt. 
 
36 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 Listen, great King; the light is dying out. 
 
 You are fading from me, Philip; they are 
 
 coming. 
 
 Before it is too late for ever send . . . 
 
 Philip. 
 Send? 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 Yes. 
 
 Philip. 
 To whom? 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 To . . . 
 
 Voices. 
 Drown his voice with drumming; 
 
 Pipe with the Inca conch, the Indian flute. 
 What red flowers spring from this blood- 
 sprinkled root ! 
 
 Philip. 
 What name was that you said? 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 Wait, Philip — wait; 
 
 They are so many and so full of hate. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 37 
 
 Voices. 
 Call to your monarch, Marquis — call again. 
 
 Philip. 
 Something he meant is knocking at my 
 
 brain — 
 
 Knocking for entrance. Marquis! 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 Philip! King! 
 
 Philip. 
 What must I do? 
 
 Santa Cruz. 
 Oh, fiends! 
 
 Voices. 
 Ah, conquerors, sing! 
 
 Now we have triumphed. 
 
 We have torn the flag. 
 
 Dance in a ring, victorious spirits, dance ; 
 
 Brought to a byword is the Spanish brag, 
 
 And ruined is the grand inheritance. 
 
 Mourn, wretched Philip, for your plans are 
 
 checked ; 
 
38 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Your colonies defenceless ; your sweet faith 
 Mocked by the heretics; your ships are 
 
 wrecked ; 
 The strength of Spain has dwindled to a 
 
 wraith. 
 Aha ! you beaten King, you blinded fool ! 
 Scream, for the empire tumbles from your 
 
 rule. 
 
 Philip. 
 God will deliver me ; you are but words 
 
 Called in the night-time by malignant birds 
 
 But who are you? 
 
 The figure of De Leyva enters. 
 
 Voice of De Leyva. 
 I am De Leyva, come 
 Out of the sea, my everlasting home, 
 To whisper comfort to my ruined friend. 
 Dear, I am dead, but friendship cannot end ; 
 Love does not die, and I am with you here. 
 Often in sorrow you will feel me near, 
 
PHILIP THE KING 39 
 
 Feel me, but never speak, nor hear me speak. 
 
 Philip, whatever bitter Fate may wreak 
 
 On Spain and you, remember I am here, 
 
 The dead are bound to those they held most 
 
 dear. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Dreams of the night. I dreamed De Leyva 
 
 came. 
 
 Voices. 
 
 Awake to hear the story of your shame. 
 
 {They cry. A gun is shot off. Bells.) 
 
 Philip. 
 (Rousing.) I dreamed I was defeated like 
 
 those men 
 
 Whom I defeated; I have felt their woe. 
 
 What is this noise? A message? 
 
 Enter then. 
 Princess. 
 
 A prisoner comes with news of victory. 
 
 Philip. 
 So. 
 
 Victory comes! We win! 
 
40 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Princess. 
 The fleet has won! 
 
 Philip. 
 Thanks be to God on high. 
 
 Princess. 
 His will be done. 
 
 Philip. 
 Lord, help me use this victory for Thy praise. 
 
 Lord, Thou hast burst this night of many 
 
 days 
 
 With glorious morning and my heart is full. 
 
 O God, my God, Thy ways are wonderful ! 
 
 Bring me the prisoner. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 He brought this letter. 
 
 An Englishman is brought in. 
 
 Philip. 
 You are an Englishman? 
 
 Prisoner. 
 Yes, your Majesty. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 41 
 
 Philip. 
 This letter says that you can tell me 
 how things have fared. Tell me your 
 story. 
 
 Prisoner. 
 I was at sea, my lord, fishing, some fifteen 
 miles south-west from Falmouth. We were 
 not expecting the Spanish fleet, our cruisers 
 had said it was not coming. It was hazy 
 summer weather and early morning. We 
 could hear that we were among a big fleet, 
 and when the haze lifted your ships were all 
 round us, so we were taken aboard an ad- 
 miral's ship. A dark man the admiral was, 
 with a very quick way ; he was not the chief 
 admiral, but an Admiral Recalde, with the 
 rearguard. 
 
 Philip. 
 Where was the English fleet at that time? 
 Was it expecting us? 
 
42 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Prisoner. 
 No, your honour. It was windbound in 
 Plymouth, unprepared, as I told your ad- 
 miral. Then I was taken down below. 
 
 Philip. 
 Did our fleet enter Plymouth, then ? 
 
 Prisoner. 
 
 No, my lord, and I could not think why, 
 for the wind held and they had only to sail 
 straight in. The day passed. 
 
 The next day there was firing, and I 
 thought "The English have got out of the 
 trap at least,' ' but the firing died down, and 
 I concluded the English were beaten. 
 
 Philip. 
 Yes? 
 
 Prisoner. 
 
 I thought the ships would put ashore then 
 
 to take what they had won, but they kept 
 
 at sea some days, though there was firing 
 
 every day, sometimes very heavy. They said 
 
PHILIP THE KING 43 
 
 they were burning all the English towns 
 as they passed, and then going to France to 
 fetch an army ; and after some nights I was 
 brought ashore in Calais to come to your 
 
 Majesty. 
 
 Philip. 
 What did you see in Calais? 
 
 Prisoner. 
 It was dark night, my lord, when they sent 
 me in. I saw the road full of shipping, lit 
 up like a town. 
 
 Philip. 
 What was the feeling among you English 
 prisoners? That the Spaniards had pros- 
 pered ? 
 
 Prisoner. 
 
 Yes, my lord. You had reached your 
 army, which was all your intent. You had 
 only to take it across the Channel ; the wind 
 was fair for that. 
 
44 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Philip. 
 So then you started for Spain. You know 
 
 no more of what happened ? 
 
 Prisoner. 
 No, my lord, except that looking back 
 
 from a hilltop, I saw a great glare over 
 Calais. 
 
 Philip. 
 Something was burning there? 
 
 Prisoner. 
 It was the bonfires, my lord, to give them 
 
 light; they were embarking the army. 
 
 Then in France later on we heard that Drake 
 
 had been sunk off Calais with fifteen ships. 
 
 A man said he had seen it. That is all I 
 
 know, my lord. 
 
 Philip. 
 What you say will be proved. You will 
 
 be returned to England,. Treat this man 
 
 well. . [Exit Prisoner. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 45 
 
 Princess. 
 Father, what blessed news! 
 
 Philip. 
 
 We have not failed ; 
 But then he hardly knew. The letter here 
 Shows that our navy partly has prevailed. 
 
 Princess. 
 The news has spread. 
 
 Cries Without. 
 Long live King Philip! Cheer! 
 
 Cries. 
 Cheer our great King ! Long live our noble 
 
 King. 
 
 Beat "Santiago," drummers. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 Hark! they sing. 
 
 The court is dark with people, but more 
 come. 
 
 Cries. 
 Long live King Philip! 
 
46 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 A Great Voice. 
 
 Silence for the drum! 
 
 And when the drum beats, we will lift our 
 
 thanks 
 Till his heart triumphs. 
 
 Silence in the ranks! 
 Eyes front ! O people, listen ! Our attempt 
 Has triumphed more than our desires dreamt. 
 England is ours. Give thanks. Sound 
 
 trumpets. Sing ! 
 
 Cries. 
 Philip, Philip the King! God save the 
 
 King! 
 
 Philip the conqueror! Philip! 
 
 (A strange cry.) 
 
 Princess. 
 
 Oh, look! look! . . . 
 
 Just as they cheered, the palace banners 
 
 shook, 
 
 They took it for a sign. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 47 
 
 The guards are there, 
 Look, and the monks are forming in the 
 
 square 
 Bringing the blessed relics. Oh, my dear! 
 I am so happy. Listen how they cheer. 
 Father, they're cheering because Spain has 
 
 won. 
 All you have hoped and striven for is done. 
 I hardly dare believe it. 
 
 Ckies. 
 
 Long live Spain. 
 
 Pkincess. 
 O, there are horsemen, I must look again ! 
 
 Ckies. 
 There is the Princess at the window. See? 
 
 God save you, little lady. Which is she? 
 
 There. Is the King there? No. He must 
 
 be. Yes. 
 God save your Grace. He's there with the 
 
 Princess. 
 
48 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Philip. 
 Stand farther back; they saw you. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 Oh, not now! 
 
 They called 'God save me/ father; let me 
 
 bow. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Bow, then, my dear. 
 
 Cries. 
 God save your pretty face. 
 
 Princess. 
 Father, do come, they want you. 
 
 Cries. 
 
 Bless your Grace. 
 
 God save the King — King Philip. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 Father dear, 
 
 They're calling for you; stand beside me 
 
 here. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Not yet. It is not time. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 49 
 
 Cries. 
 Philip the King! 
 
 Princess. 
 Oh, father, come ! It is a thrilling thing 
 
 To know they won, and hear these shouts of 
 
 praise. 
 
 Cries. 
 God save the King! God send him many 
 
 days! 
 
 Philip the King, the conqueror of the sea ! 
 
 St. James for Spain, King Philip, victory ! 
 
 King Philip! Santiago! 
 
 Princess. 
 
 Father. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Wait! 
 
 Kings must not yield them at too cheap a 
 
 rate. 
 
 Voices. 
 Philip the King ! The English are destroyed ! 
 
 God save him ! Victory ! We are o ver j oyed ! 
 
50 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Let the bells ring! King Philip! Philip! 
 
 King! 
 Ring the Cathedral bells — ay, let them ring ! 
 St. James for Spain! King Philip! Clear 
 
 the guns ! (Guns shot off.) 
 
 King Philip, fire — fire all at once! 
 King Philip, fire! King Philip, fire! St. 
 
 James ! 
 Thank God, the King of kings, the Name of 
 
 names ! 
 Fire, King Philip ! Santiago, fire ! 
 Give thanks to God who gives us our desire ! 
 Philip, God save and bless him ! 
 
 Philip (going to window). 
 I will speak. 
 
 Voices. 
 Fire ! He's there ! King Philip ! 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Man is weak. 
 
 Voices. 
 He's there! 
 
PHILIP THE KING 51 
 
 Princess. 
 Oh, father, look! 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Stand at my side. 
 
 Voices. 
 God bless and guard our blessed country's 
 
 guide ! 
 
 King Philip, fire! The King! 
 
 (The bells begin.) 
 Princess. 
 
 Oh, bells of joy! 
 
 And now the monks are singing. 
 
 The Monks. 
 Let us give thanks unto the Lord of lords, 
 Who saves His faithful from the Egyptian 
 
 swords. 
 
 Voices. 
 
 Amen. God save the King. 
 
 The Monks. 
 He made the Red Sea waters to divide, 
 
 And led our Israel through with Him for guide. 
 
52 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Voices. 
 Amen. God save the King! Philip the 
 
 King! 
 
 Philip. 
 
 O God, I thank Thee for this marvellous 
 
 thing. 
 
 The Monks. 
 
 He whelmed King Pharaoh's army in the sea, 
 And of His mercy gave us victory. 
 
 Voices. 
 The famous kings are blown, like chaff 
 
 Before Thy fiery car. 
 
 Thou smit'st th' ungodly with Thy staff . . . 
 
 Philip the King! God save our prudent 
 
 King! 
 
 Philip. 
 
 My subjects, whom God gave me for His 
 
 ends . . . 
 
 Princess. 
 
 Whatever pain you bore, this makes amends. 
 
 Voices. 
 Speak to your loving hearts, your Majesty. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 53 
 
 Philip. 
 I do His will; to God the glory be. 
 
 The Monks. 
 Praise Him, sun and moon, morning and 
 
 evening star! 
 The kings who mocked His word are broken 
 
 in the war. 
 Praise Him with heart and soul! Praise 
 
 Him with voice and lute! 
 
 Voices. 
 The King! God save the King! Silence! 
 
 He speaks. Salute! 
 
 The Monks. 
 In the dark night, ere dawn, we will arise 
 
 and sing 
 
 Glory to God on high, the praises of our King. 
 
 Voices. 
 The King is going to speak. He makes a 
 
 sign. 
 
 God bless your noble Grace and all your line ! 
 
54 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 God bless you, Sir, for all your thought for us ! 
 
 The conquering King, Philip victorious ! 
 
 Philip the great and good ! Hush ! Silence ! 
 
 Peace ! 
 
 Philip! Attention! Bid the ringers cease. 
 
 The King is going to speak; he raised his 
 
 hand. 
 
 Princess. 
 Dear, to be loved as you are is most grand. 
 
 Speak to them, father ; thank them for their 
 
 love. 
 
 The Monks. 
 
 I will exalt the Name of God above. 
 
 Voices. 
 The bells are hushed. Be quiet! Silence 
 
 all! 
 
 Philip. 
 I thought I heard, far off, a funeral call; 
 
 As in your dream, a melancholy cry. 
 
 Princess. 
 It was the fifes. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 55 
 
 Philip. 
 No; listen! 
 
 Peincess. 
 
 That sound? 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Ay. 
 
 Peincess. 
 It was the crowd outside. Now they are 
 
 still. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 No ; it was singing coming up the hill — 
 
 Sad singing, too. 
 
 Peincess. 
 
 I did not hear it. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 There ! 
 Peincess. 
 
 The bells have left a trembling in the air. 
 
 Philip. 
 No; it was voices. I will speak one word 
 
 To these below. There is the noise I heard 
 
 (Recalde's men are heard singing.) 
 
56 PHILIP THE KINO 
 
 Recalde's Men. 
 Out of the deep, out of the deep, we come, 
 
 Preserved from death at sea to die at home. 
 
 Mercy of God alone preserved us thus ; 
 
 In the waste sea Death laid his hand on us. 
 
 Princess. 
 The Black Monks in a penitential psalm. 
 
 Voices. 
 Philip the King ! 
 
 Philip. 
 I'll wait. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 Oh, speak! 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Be calm! 
 
 I cannot cross God's word with words of 
 
 mine. 
 
 Voices. 
 
 Quiet, you singers! 
 
 Princess. 
 
 They are men in line. 
 (Recalde's men are heard singing.) 
 
PHILIP THE KING 57 
 
 Recalde's Men. 
 
 We called the world too small with boast- 
 ful lips; 
 
 Now we are ghosts crawled from the bones 
 of ships. 
 
 We were most glorious at our setting sail; 
 
 Now our knees knock, our broken spirits fail. 
 
 Our banner is abased and all our pride: 
 
 A tale of ships that sank and men who died. 
 
 Pkincess. 
 Listen! Who are they? 
 
 Philip. 
 
 What is it they sing? 
 
 Voices. 
 The King is speaking. Silence for the 
 
 King! 
 Let the King speak; be still. You ragged 
 
 crew, 
 Have you no manners ? Silence ! Who are 
 
 you? 
 
58 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Recalde's Men. 
 We are the beaten men, the men accursed, 
 
 Whose bitter glory 'tis t' have borne the 
 
 worst. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 They are not monks. 
 
 Philip. 
 Nor beggars. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 Now they stand. 
 
 Voices. 
 Yon navy's sweepings driven back to 
 
 land. 
 Go to the hens and tunnies; beat them 
 
 down 
 Back to the sea you ran from; back and 
 
 drown. 
 
 Recalde's Men. 
 Pity our shame, you untried heroes here. 
 Defeat's not victory, but 'tis bought as 
 
 dear. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 59 
 
 Philip. 
 They are sailors from the fleet. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 They come with news. 
 
 They are ragged to the skin, they have no 
 
 shoes. 
 
 Philip. 
 The crowd is still. 
 
 Princess. 
 Why do they come like this? 
 
 Philip. 
 Listen ; their Captain tells them what it is. 
 
 Recalde's Men. 
 Darken the bedrooms for us, people all, 
 
 And let us turn our faces to the wall, 
 
 And let the darkness and the silence make 
 
 A quiet time in which our hearts may 
 
 break. 
 
 (A murmur runs through the Court.) 
 
 Princess. 
 Father, what is it? 
 
60 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Child, the Act of One 
 
 Who chastens earthly kings, whose Will 
 
 be done. 
 
 Princess. 
 
 It means that we are beaten? 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Who can tell? 
 
 Princess. 
 Father. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Dear child, even defeat is well. 
 
 Princess. 
 I thought that we were happy. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Watch the square. 
 
 Now tell me calmly what is passing there. 
 
 Princess. 
 The Captain comes, the crowd is making 
 
 way. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Who is it? Can you see? 
 
PHILIP THE KING 61 
 
 Princess. 
 
 His hair is grey. 
 He walks bareheaded, slowly, and the crowd 
 Shrink as though Death were passing in 
 his shroud. 
 
 Philip. 
 Worse news has come. Who is the man? 
 
 Princess. 
 His face . . . 
 
 I seem to know him, but the air is strange. 
 
 He puts the touch of Death upon the place. 
 
 Nothing but Death could fashion such a 
 
 change. 
 He carries something. Now the people 
 
 kneel. 
 We are defeated, Father. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 What I feel 
 
 I cover. Go within. Misfortune stuns 
 
 None but the tender. [Exit Princess 
 
62 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Voices. 
 
 Give us back our sons. 
 Philip, give back our sons, our lovely sons. 
 
 The Palace Guard. 
 Halt! Who comes there? 
 
 A Voice. 
 Spain and the Empire. 
 
 The Guard. 
 
 Pass, 
 
 Spain and the Empire. 
 
 Voices. 
 They are drowned. Alas! 
 
 Philip, give back our sons, our lovely sons. 
 
 Enter Messenger, carrying an Admiral's 
 chain. 
 
 Philip. 
 What brings you to me, Captain? 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 This gold chain . . . 
 
 Bears the twelve badges of the strength of 
 
 Spain 
 
PHILIP THE KING 63 
 
 Once linked in glory, Philip, but now 
 
 loosed. 
 
 (Detaching link from link.) 
 
 Castilla, Leon, Aragon, and these, 
 
 Palestine, Portugal, the Sicilies, 
 
 Navarre, Granada, the Valencian State, 
 
 The Indies, East and West, the Archducate, 
 
 The Western Mainland in the Ocean Sea. 
 
 Those who upheld their strength have 
 
 ceased to be. 
 
 I, who am dying, King, have seen their graves. 
 
 Philip, your Navy is beneath the waves. 
 
 Philip. 
 He who in bounty gives in wisdom takes. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 King, forgive me, for my spirit breaks; 
 
 1 saw those beaches where the Grange de- 
 
 scends 
 White with unburied corpses of stripped 
 friends. 
 
64 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Philip. 
 I grieve that Spain's disaster brings such 
 
 loss. 
 
 Messenger. 
 From Pentland to the Groyne the tempests 
 
 toss 
 Unshriven Spaniards driving with the tide. 
 They were my lovely friends and they have 
 
 died, 
 Far from wind-broken Biscay, far from 
 
 home, 
 With no anointing chrism but the foam. 
 
 Philip. 
 The dead will rise from unsuspected slime ; 
 
 God's chosen will be gathered in God's time. 
 
 Messenger. 
 King, they died helpless ; our unwieldy fleet 
 
 Made such a target to the English guns 
 
 That we were riddled through like sifted 
 
 wheat. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 65 
 
 We never came to grappling with them 
 
 once. 
 They raked us from a distance, and then 
 
 ran. 
 Each village throughout Spain has lost a 
 
 man; 
 The widows in the seaports fill the streets. 
 
 Philip. 
 Uncertain chance decides the fate of fleets. 
 
 Messenger. 
 Now the North Sea is haunted for all 
 
 time 
 By miserable souls whose dying words 
 Cursed the too proud adventure as a crime. 
 Our broken galleons house the gannet- 
 
 birds. 
 The Irish burn our Captain's bones for 
 
 lime. 
 O misery that the might of England 
 
 wrought ! 
 
66 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Philip. 
 Christ is the only remedy for thought 
 
 When the mind sickens. We are pieces 
 
 played, 
 Not moving as we will, but as we are 
 
 made; 
 Beaten and spurred at times like stubborn 
 
 steeds, 
 That we may go God's way. Your spirit 
 
 bleeds, 
 Having been proved in trouble past her 
 
 strength. 
 Give me the roll in all its ghastly length. \ 
 Which of my friends survive, if any live? 
 
 Messenger. 
 Some have survived, but all are fugitive. 
 
 Your Admiral in command is living still; 
 
 Michael Oquendo too, though he is ill, 
 
 Dying of broken heart and bitter shame. 
 
 Valdes is prisoner, Manrique the same. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 67 
 
 Philip. 
 God willed the matter; they are not to 
 
 blame. 
 
 Thank God that they are living. Name 
 
 the rest. 
 
 Messengee. 
 They are all dead . . . with him you loved 
 the best. 
 
 Philip. 
 I dreamed De Leyva died, so it is true? 
 
 Messenger. 
 Drowned on the Irish coast with all his 
 
 crew. 
 After enduring dying many days 
 The sea has given him quiet. Many ways 
 Lead men to death, and he a hard one 
 
 trod, 
 Bearing much misery, like a knight of God. 
 
 Philip. 
 Amen. Go on. 
 
68 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Messenger. 
 Hugh de Moncada died, 
 Shot in his burning ship by Calais side, 
 Cheering his men to save her. Pimentel 
 Sank in a galleon shambled like a hell 
 Rather than yield, and in a whirl of flames 
 Pedro Mendoza, Captain of St. James, 
 Stood with Don Philip thrusting boarders 
 
 back 
 Till their Toledan armour was burnt black, 
 And both their helms ran blood. And there 
 
 they fell, 
 Shot down to bleed to death. They per- 
 ished well, 
 Happy to die in battle for their King 
 Before defeat had fallen on their friends; 
 Happier than most, for where the merrows 
 
 sing 
 Paredes and his brother met their ends, 
 And Don Alarcon, cast alive ashore, 
 
PHILIP THE KING 69 
 
 Was killed and stripped and hanged upon a 
 tree. 
 
 And young Mendoza, whom the flagship 
 bore, 
 
 Died of starvation and of misery. 
 
 But hundreds perished, King; why men- 
 tion these? 
 
 Battle and hunger, heart-break, and the 
 seas 
 
 Have overwhelmed the chivalry of Spain. 
 
 Philip. 
 Misfortune, after effort, brings no stain. 
 
 Perhaps I under judged the English fleet. 
 
 How was it that the Spaniards met defeat? 
 
 What evil fortune brought about our fall? 
 
 Messenger. 
 Their sailors and their cannon did it all. 
 
 Philip. 
 Yet when the fleet reached Calais all went 
 
 well. 
 
70 PHILIP THE KINO 
 
 Messenger. 
 Our woes began there. 
 
 Philip. 
 Tell me what befell. 
 
 Messenger. 
 We were to ship the troops in Calais Road ; 
 They lay encamped, prepared to go aboard. 
 To windward still the English fleet abode — 
 Still as in port when peace has been restored. 
 
 The wind and sea were fair, 
 We lay at anchor there; 
 The stars burned in the air, 
 The men were sleeping, 
 When in the midnight dark 
 Our watchman saw a spark 
 Suddenly light a bark 
 With long flames leaping. 
 
 Then, as they stood amazed, 
 Others and others blazed; 
 
PHILIP THE KING 71 
 
 Then terror set them crazed, 
 
 They ran down screaming: 
 
 " Fire-ships are coming! Wake 
 
 Cast loose, for Jesus 7 sake! 
 
 Eight fire-ships come from Drake — 
 
 Look at their gleaming!" 
 
 Roused in the dark from bed, 
 We saw the fire show red, 
 And instant panic spread 
 Through troops and sailors; 
 They swarmed on deck unclad, 
 They did what terror bade, 
 King, they were like the mad 
 Escaped from jailers. 
 
 Some prayed for mercy, some 
 Rang bells or beat the drum, 
 As though despair had come 
 At hell's contriving; 
 
72 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Captains with terror pale 
 Screamed through the dark their hail, 
 "Cut cable, loose the sail, 
 And set all driving !" 
 
 Heading all ways at once, 
 Grinding each other's guns, 
 Our blundering galleons 
 Athwart-hawse galleys, 
 Timbers and plankings cleft, 
 And half our tackling reft, 
 Your grand Armada left 
 The roads of Calais. 
 
 Weary and overwrought 
 We strove to make all taut; 
 But when the morning brought 
 The dawn to light us, 
 Drake, with the weather gage, 
 Made signal to engage, 
 
PHILIP THE KING 73 
 
 And, like a pard in rage, 
 Bore down to fight us. 
 
 Nobly the English line 
 Trampled the bubbled brine; 
 We heard the gun-trucks whine 
 To the taut laniard. 
 Onwards we saw them forge, 
 White billowing at the gorge. 
 "On, on!" they cried, "St. George! 
 Down with the Spaniard!" 
 
 From their van squadron broke 
 A withering battle-stroke, 
 Tearing our plank&d oak 
 By straiks asunder, 
 Blasting the wood like rot 
 With such a hail of shot, 
 So constant and so hot 
 It beat us under. 
 
74 PHILIP THE KINO 
 
 The English would not close; 
 They fought us as they chose, 
 Dealing us deadly blows 
 For seven hours. 
 Lords of our chiefest rank 
 The bitter billow drank, 
 For there the English sank 
 Three ships of ours. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Then the wind forced us northward from 
 the fight; 
 
 We could not ship the army nor return; 
 
 We held the sea in trouble through the night, 
 
 Watching the English signals blink and burn. 
 
 The English in a dim cloud kept astern; 
 
 All night they signalled, while our shattered 
 
 ships 
 Huddled like beasts beneath the drovers' 
 
 whips. 
 ***** 
 
PHILIP THE KING 75 
 
 At dawn the same wind held; we could 
 
 not strive. 
 The English drove us north as herdsmen 
 
 drive. 
 ***** 
 
 Under our tattered flags, 
 With rigging cut to rags, 
 Our ships like stricken stags 
 Were heaped and hounded. 
 Caught by the unknown tide, 
 With neither chart nor guide, 
 We fouled the Holland side, 
 Where four more grounded. 
 
 Our water-casks were burst, 
 The horses died of thirst, 
 The wounded raved and curst, 
 Uncared, untended. 
 All night we heard the crying 
 Of lonely shipmates dying; 
 
76 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 We had to leave them lying. 
 So the fight ended. 
 
 Philip. 
 God gives His victory as He wills. But 
 
 this 
 Was not complete destruction. What 
 
 thing worse 
 Game to destroy you? 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 An avenging curse, 
 Due for old sins, destroyed us. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 Tell the tale. 
 
 Messenger. 
 King, when morning dawned it blew a 
 
 gale, 
 
 But still the English followed, and we fled 
 
 Till breakers made the dirty waters pale. 
 
 We saw the Zealand sandbanks right ahead, 
 
 Blind in a whirling spray that gave us dread ; 
 
PHILIP THE KING 77 
 
 For we were blown there, and the water 
 
 shoaled. 
 The crying of the leadsmen at the lead, 
 Calling the soundings, were our death- 
 bells tolled. 
 
 We drifted down to death upon the sands — 
 
 The English drew away to watch us drown ; 
 
 We saw the bitter breakers with grey 
 hands 
 
 Tear the dead body of the sandbank brown. 
 
 We could do nothing, so we drifted down 
 
 Singing the psalms for death — we who 
 had been 
 
 Lords of the sea and knights of great re- 
 nown, 
 
 Doomed to be strangled by a death un- 
 clean. 
 
 Philip. 
 
 So there the ships were wrecked? 
 
78 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 Time had not struck. 
 King, we learned how blessed mercy 
 
 saves : 
 Even as our forefoot grounded on the 
 
 muck, 
 Tripping us up to drown us in the waves, 
 A sudden windshift snatched us from our 
 
 graves 
 And drove us north ; and now another woe, 
 Tempest unending, beat our ships to 
 
 staves — 
 A never-dying gale with frost and snow. 
 
 Now our hearts failed, for food and water 
 
 failed ; 
 The men fell sick by troops, the wounded 
 
 died. 
 They washed about the wet decks as we 
 
 sailed 
 
PHILIP THE KING 79 
 
 For want of strength to lift them overside. 
 Desolate seas we sailed, so grim, so wide, 
 That ship by ship our comrades disap- 
 peared. 
 With neither sun nor star to be a guide, 
 Like spirits of the wretched dead we steered. 
 
 Till, having beaten through the Pentland 
 
 Pass, 
 We saw the Irish surf, with mists of spray 
 Blowing far inland, blasting trees and grass, 
 And gave God thanks, for we espied a bay 
 Safe, with bright water running down the 
 
 clay — 
 A running brook where we could drink and 
 
 drink. 
 But drawing near, our ships were cast 
 
 away, 
 Bilged on the rocks; we saw our comrades 
 
 sink . . . 
 
80 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Or worse : for those the breakers cast ashore 
 The Irish killed and stripped; their bodies 
 
 white 
 Lay naked to the wolves — yea, sixty 
 
 score — 
 All down the windy beach, a piteous sight. 
 The savage Irish watched by bonfire light 
 Lest more should come ashore; we heard 
 
 them there 
 Screaming the bloody news of their delight. 
 Then we abandoned hope and new despair. 
 
 And now the fleet is sunken in the sea, 
 And all the seamen,' all the might of Spain, 
 Are dead, O King, and out of misery, 
 Never to drag at frozen ropes again — 
 Never to know defeat, nor feel the pain 
 Of watching dear companions sink and die. 
 Death's everlasting armistice to the brain 
 Gives their poor griefs quietus ; let them lie. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 81 
 
 I, like a ghost returning from the grave, 
 Come from a stricken ship to tell the news 
 Of Spanish honour which we could not 
 
 save, 
 Nor win again, nor even die to lose; 
 And since God's hidden wisdom loves to 
 
 bruise 
 Those whom He loves, we, trembling in 
 
 despair, 
 Will watch our griefs to see God's finger 
 
 there, 
 And make His will our solace and excuse. 
 
 Defeat is bitter and the truth is hard — 
 Spain is defeated, England has prevailed; 
 This is the banner which I could not guard, 
 And this the consecrated sword which 
 
 failed. 
 Do with your dying Captain as you will. 
 (He lays down sword and banner.) 
 
82 PHILIP THE KING 
 
 Philip. 
 I, from my heart, thank God, from whose 
 
 great hand 
 I am so helped with power, I can still 
 Set out another fleet against that land. 
 Nor do I think it ill 
 If all the running water takes its course 
 While there are unspent fountains at the 
 
 source. 
 
 He sendeth out His word and melteth 
 
 them. 
 Take back your standard, Captain. As 
 
 you go, 
 Bid the bells toll and let the clergy 
 
 come. 
 Then in the city by the strike of drum 
 Proclaim a general fast. In bitter days 
 The soul finds God, God us. 
 
 [Exit Captain. 
 
PHILIP THE KING 83 
 
 Philip {alone). 
 
 De Leyva, friend, 
 Whom I shall never see, never again, 
 This misery that I feel is over Spain. 
 O God, beloved God, in pity send 
 That blessed rose among the thorns — an 
 
 end: 
 Give a bruised spirit peace. 
 (He kneels. A muffled march of the drums.) 
 
 Curtain. 
 
OTHER POEMS 
 
THE "WANDERER" 
 
 All day they loitered by the resting ships, 
 Telling their beauties over, taking stock; 
 At night the verdict left my messmates' 
 
 lips, 
 "The Wanderer is the finest ship in dock." 
 
 I had not seen her, but a friend, since 
 
 drowned, 
 Drew her, with painted ports, low, lovely, 
 
 lean, 
 Saying, "The Wanderer, clipper, outward 
 
 bound, 
 The loveliest ship my eyes have ever seen — 
 
 "Perhaps to-morrow you will see her sail. 
 
 She sails at sunrise" : but the morrow showed 
 87 
 
88 THE "WANDERER" 
 
 No Wanderer setting forth for me to hail ; 
 Far down the stream men pointed where 
 she rode, 
 
 Rode the great trackway to the sea, dim, 
 
 dim, 
 Already gone before the stars were gone. 
 I saw her at the sea-line's smoky rim 
 Grow swiftly vaguer as they towed her on. 
 
 Soon even her masts were hidden in the haze 
 Beyond the city; she was on her course 
 To trample billows for a hundred days ; 
 That afternoon the norther gathered force, 
 
 Blowing a small snow from a point of east. 
 "Oh, fair for her," we said, "to take her 
 
 south." 
 And in our spirits, as the wind increased, 
 We saw her there, beyond the river mouth, 
 
THE V WANDERER" 89 
 
 Setting her side-lights in the wildering dark, 
 To glint upon mad water, while the gale 
 Roared like a battle, snapping like a shark, 
 And drunken seamen struggled with the 
 sail. 
 
 While with sick hearts her mates put out of 
 
 mi^nd 
 Their little children left astern, ashore, 
 And the gale's gathering made the darkness 
 
 blind, 
 Water and air one intermingled roar. 
 
 Then we forgot her, for the fiddlers played, 
 Dancing and singing held our merry crew; 
 The old ship moaned a little as she swayed. 
 It blew all night, oh, bitter hard it blew ! 
 
 So that at midnight I was called on deck 
 To keep an anchor-watch : I heard the sea 
 
90 THE "WANDERER" 
 
 Roar past in white procession filled with 
 
 wreck ; 
 Intense bright frosty stars burned over me, 
 
 And the Greek brig beside us dipped and 
 
 dipped, 
 White to the muzzle like a half-tide rock, 
 Drowned to the mainmast with the seas she 
 
 shipped ; 
 Her cable-swivels clanged at every shock. 
 
 And like a never-dying force, the wind 
 Roared tijl we shouted with it, roared until 
 Its vast vitality of wrath was thinned, 
 Had beat its fury breathless and was still. 
 
 By dawn the gale had dwindled into flaw, 
 A glorious morning followed : with my friend 
 I climbed the fo'c's'le-head to see; we saw 
 The waters hurrying shore wards without end. 
 
THE "WANDERER" 91 
 
 Haze blotted out the river's lowest reach; 
 Out of the gloom the steamers, passing by, 
 Called with their sirens, hooting their sea- 
 speech ; 
 Out of the dimness others made reply. 
 
 And as we watched, there came a rush of 
 
 feet 
 Charging the fo'c's'le till the hatchway 
 
 shook. 
 Men all about us thrust their way, or beat, 
 Crying, " The Wanderer! Down the river! 
 
 Look!" 
 
 I looked with them towards the dimness; 
 
 there 
 Gleamed like a spirit striding out of night, 
 A full-rigged ship unutterably fair, 
 Her masts like trees in winter, frosty- 
 bright. 
 
92 THE V WANDERER" 
 
 Foam trembled at her bows like wisps of 
 
 wool ; 
 She trembled as she towed. I had not 
 
 dreamed 
 That work of man could be so beautiful, 
 In its own presence and in what it seemed. 
 
 "So, she is putting back again/ ' I said. 
 "How white with frost her yards are on the 
 
 fore." 
 One of the men about me answer made, 
 "That is not frost, but all her sails are 
 
 tore, 
 
 "Torn into tatters, youngster, in the gale; 
 Her best foul-weather suit gone." It was 
 
 true, 
 Her masts were white with rags of tattered 
 
 sail 
 Many as gannets when the fish are due. 
 
THE "WANDERER" 93 
 
 Beauty in desolation was her pride, 
 Her crowned array a glory that had been ; 
 She faltered tow'rds us like a swan that died, 
 But although ruined she was still a queen. 
 
 "Put back with all her sails gone," went the 
 
 word; 
 Then, from her signals flying, rumour ran, 
 "The sea that stove her boats in killed her 
 
 third ; 
 She has been gutted and has lost a man." 
 
 So, as though stepping to a funeral march, 
 She passed defeated homewards whence she 
 
 came, 
 Ragged with tattered canvas white as starch, 
 A wild bird that misfortune had made tame. 
 
 She was refitted soon : another took 
 
 The dead man's office ; then the singers hove 
 
94 THE "WANDERER" 
 
 Her capstan till the snapping hawsers shook ; 
 Out, with a bubble at her bows, she drove. 
 
 Again they towed her seawards, and again 
 We, watching, praised her beauty, praised 
 
 her trim, 
 Saw her fair house-flag flutter at the main, 
 And slowly saunter seawards, dwindling 
 
 dim; 
 
 And wished her well, and wondered, as she 
 
 died, 
 How, when her canvas had been sheeted 
 
 home, 
 Her quivering length would sweep into her 
 
 stride, 
 Making the greenness milky with her foam. 
 
 But when we rose next morning, we discerned 
 Her beauty once again a shattered thing; 
 
THE V WANDERER" 95 
 
 Towing to dock the Wanderer returned, 
 A wounded sea-bird with a broken wing. 
 
 A spar was gone, her rigging's disarray- 
 Told of a worse disaster than the last; 
 Like draggled hair dishevelled hung the 
 
 stay, 
 Drooping and beating on the broken mast. 
 
 Half-mast upon her flagstaff hung her flag; 
 Word went among us how the broken spar 
 Had gored her captain like an angry stag, 
 And killed her mate a half-day from the 
 bar. 
 
 She passed to dock upon the top of flood. 
 An old man near me shook his head and 
 
 swore : 
 "Like a bad woman, she has tasted blood — 
 There'll be no trusting in her any more." 
 
96 THE "WANDERER" 
 
 We thought it truth, and when we saw her 
 
 there 
 Lying in dock, beyond, across the stream, 
 We would forget that we had called her fair, 
 We thought her murderess and the past a 
 
 dream. 
 
 And when she sailed again, we watched in awe, 
 Wondering what bloody act her beauty 
 
 planned, 
 What evil lurked behind the thing we saw, 
 What strength was there that thus annulled 
 
 man's hand, 
 
 How next its triumph would compel man's 
 
 will 
 Into compliance with external Fate, 
 How next the powers would use her to work 
 
 ill 
 On suffering men ; we had not long to wait. 
 
THE l' WANDERER" 97 
 
 For soon the outcry of derision rose, 
 "Here comes the Wanderer!" the expected 
 
 cry. 
 Guessing the cause, our mockings joined with 
 
 those 
 Yelled from the shipping as they towed her 
 
 by. 
 
 She passed us close, her seamen paid no 
 
 heed 
 To what was called: they stood, a sullen 
 
 group, 
 Smoking and spitting, careless of her need, 
 Mocking the orders given from the poop. 
 
 Her mates and boys were working her; we 
 
 stared. 
 What was the reason of this strange return, 
 This third annulling of the thing prepared? 
 No outward evil could our eyes discern. 
 
98 THE V WANDERER" 
 
 Only like one who having formed a plan 
 Beyond the pitch of common minds, she 
 
 sailed, 
 Mocked and deserted by the common man, 
 Made half divine to me for having failed. 
 
 We learned the reason soon ; below the town 
 A stay had parted like a snapping reed, 
 "Warning," the men thought, "not to take 
 
 her down." 
 They took the omen, they would not proceed. 
 
 Days passed before another crew would sign. 
 The Wanderer lay in dock alone, unmanned, 
 Feared as a thing possessed by powers malign, 
 Bound under curses not to leave the land. 
 
 But under passing Time fear passes too ; 
 That terror passed, the sailors' hearts grew 
 bold. 
 
THE "WANDERER" 99 
 
 We learned in time that she had found a crew 
 And was bound out and southwards as of 
 old. 
 
 And in contempt we thought, "A little while 
 Will bring her back again, dismantled, 
 
 spoiled. 
 It is herself; she cannot change her style; 
 She has the habit now of being foiled." 
 
 So when a ship appeared among the haze, 
 We thought, "The Wanderer back again"; 
 
 but no, 
 No Wanderer showed for many, many days, 
 Her passing lights made other waters glow. 
 
 But we would often think and talk of her, 
 Tell newer hands her story, wondering, then, 
 Upon what ocean she was Wanderer, 
 Bound to the cities built by foreign men. 
 
100 THE '.' WANDERER" 
 
 And one by one our little conclave thinned, 
 Passed into ships and sailed and so away, 
 To drown in some great roaring of the wind, 
 Wanderers themselves, unhappy fortune's 
 prey. 
 
 And Time went by me making memory dim, 
 Yet still I wondered if the Wanderer fared 
 Still pointing to the unreached ocean's rim, 
 Brightening the water where her breast was 
 bared. 
 
 And much in ports abroad I eyed the ships, 
 Hoping to see her well-remembered form 
 Come with a curl of bubbles at her lips 
 Bright to her berth, the sovereign of the storm. 
 
 I never did, and many years went by, 
 Then, near a Southern port, one Christmas 
 Eve, 
 
THE "WANDERER" 101 
 
 I watched a gale go roaring through the sky, 
 Making the caldrons of the clouds upheave. 
 
 Then the wrack tattered and the stars 
 
 appeared, 
 Millions of stars that seemed to speak in 
 
 fire; 
 A byre cock cried aloud that morning neared, 
 The swinging wind-vane flashed upon the 
 
 spire. 
 
 And soon men looked upon a glittering earth, 
 Intensely sparkling like a world new-born; 
 Only to look was spiritual birth, 
 So bright the raindrops ran along the thorn. 
 
 So bright they were, that one could almost 
 
 pass 
 Beyond their twinkling to the source, and 
 
 know 
 
102 THE V WANDERER" 
 
 The glory pushing in the blade of grass, 
 That hidden soul which makes the flowers 
 grow. 
 
 That soul was there apparent, not revealed, 
 Unearthly meanings covered every tree, 
 That wet grass grew in an immortal field, 
 Those waters fed some never-wrinkled sea. 
 
 The scarlet berries in the hedge stood out 
 Like revelations but the tongue unknown ; 
 Even in the brooks a joy was quick: the 
 
 trout 
 Rushed in a dumbness dumb to me alone. 
 
 All of the valley was aloud with brooks; 
 I walked the morning, breasting up the fells, 
 Taking again lost childhood from the rooks, 
 Whose cawing came above the Christmas 
 bells. 
 
THE r WANDERER" 103 
 
 I had not walked that glittering world before, 
 But up the hill a prompting came to me, 
 "This line of upland runs along the shore: 
 Beyond the hedgerow I shall see the sea." 
 
 And on the instant from beyond away 
 That long familiar sound, a ship's bell, broke 
 The hush below me in the unseen bay. 
 Old memories came: that inner prompting 
 spoke. 
 
 And bright above the hedge a seagull's 
 
 wings 
 Flashed and were steady upon empty air. 
 "A Power unseen," I cried, "prepares these 
 
 things ; 
 Those are her bells, the Wanderer is there." 
 
 So, hurrying to the hedge and looking down, 
 I saw a mighty bay's wind-crinkled blue 
 
104 THE "WANDERER" 
 
 Ruffling the image of a tranquil town, 
 With lapsing waters glittering as they grew. 
 
 And near me in the road the shipping swung, 
 So stately and so still in such great peace 
 That like to drooping crests their colours 
 
 hung, 
 Only their shadows trembled without cease. 
 
 I did but glance upon those anchored ships. 
 Even as my thought had told, I saw her plain ; 
 Tense, like a supple athlete with lean hips, 
 Swiftness at pause, the Wanderer come 
 again — 
 
 Come as of old a queen, untouched by Time, 
 Resting the beauty that no seas could tire, 
 Sparkling, as though the midnight's rain 
 
 were rime, 
 Like a man's thought transfigured into fire. 
 
THE V WANDERER" 105 
 
 And as I looked, one of her men began 
 To sing some simple tune of Christmas day ; 
 Among her crew the song spread, man to man, 
 Until the singing rang across the bay ; 
 
 And soon in other anchored ships the men 
 Joined in the singing with clear throats, until 
 The farm-boy heard it up the windy glen, 
 Above the noise of sheep-bells on the hill. 
 
 Over the water came the lifted song — 
 Blind pieces in a mighty game we swing; 
 Life's battle is a conquest for the strong; 
 The meaning shows in the defeated thing. 
 
AUGUST, 1914 
 
 How still this quiet cornfield is to-night ! 
 By an intenser glow the evening falls, 
 Bringing, not darkness, but a deeper light ; 
 Among the stooks a partridge covey calls. 
 
 The windows glitter on the distant hill ; 
 Beyond the hedge the sheep-bells in the fold 
 Stumble on sudden musip and are still; 
 The forlorn pinewoods droop above the wold. 
 
 An endless quiet valley reaches out 
 Past the blue hills into the evening sky; 
 Over the stubble, cawing, goes a rout 
 Of rooks from harvest, flagging as they fly. 
 
 So beautiful it is, I never saw 
 
 So great a beauty on these English fields, 
 
 106 
 
AUGUST, 1914 107 
 
 Touched by the twilight's coming into awe, 
 Ripe to the soul and rich with summer's 
 yields. 
 
 These homes, this valley spread below me 
 
 here, 
 The rooks, the tilted stacks, the beasts in pen, 
 Have been the heartfelt things, past-speaking 
 
 dear 
 To unknown generations of dead men, 
 
 Who, century after century, held these farms, 
 And, looking out to watch the changing sky, 
 Heard, as we hear, the rumours and alarms 
 Of war at hand and danger pressing nigh. 
 
 And knew, as we know, that the message 
 
 meant 
 The breaking off of ties, the loss of friends, 
 
108 AUGUST, 1914 
 
 Death, like a miser getting in his rent, 
 And no new stones laid where the trackway 
 ends. 
 
 The harvest not yet won, the empty bin, 
 The friendly horses taken from the stalls, 
 The fallow on the hill not yet brought in, 
 The cracks unplastered in the leaking walls. 
 
 Yet heard the news, and went discouraged 
 
 home, 
 And brooded by the fire with heavy mind, 
 With such dumb loving of the Berkshire 
 
 loam 
 As breaks the dumb hearts of the English 
 
 kind, 
 
 Then sadly rose and left the well-loved 
 
 Downs, 
 And so by ship to sea, and knew no more 
 
AUGUST, 1914 109 
 
 The fields of home, the byres, the market 
 
 towns, 
 Nor the dear outline of the English shore, 
 
 But knew the misery of the soaking trench, 
 The freezing in the rigging, the despair 
 In the revolting second of the wrench 
 When the blind soul is flung upon the air, 
 
 And died (uncouthly, most) in foreign lands 
 For some idea but dimly understood 
 Of an English city never built by hands 
 Which love of England prompted and made 
 good. 
 
 If there be any life beyond the grave, 
 It must be near the men and things we love, 
 Some power of quick suggestion how to save, 
 Touching the living soul as from above. 
 
110 AUGUST, 1914 
 
 An influence from the Earth from those dead 
 
 hearts 
 So passionate once, so deep, so truly kind, 
 That in the living child the spirit starts, 
 Feeling companioned still, not left behind. 
 
 Surely above these fields a spirit broods, 
 A sense of many watchers muttering near 
 Of the lone Downland with the forlorn woods 
 Loved to the death, inestimably dear. 
 
 A muttering from beyond the veils of Death 
 From long-dead men, to whom this quiet 
 
 scene 
 Came among blinding tears with the last 
 
 breath, 
 The dying soldier's vision of his queen. 
 
 All the unspoken worship of those lives 
 Spent in forgotten wars at other calls 
 
AUGUST, 1914 111 
 
 Glimmers upon these fields where evening 
 
 drives 
 Beauty like breath, so gently darkness falls. 
 
 Darkness that makes the meadows holier 
 
 still, 
 The elm-trees sadden in the hedge, a sigh 
 Moves in the beech-clump on the haunted 
 
 hill, 
 The rising planets deepen in the sky, 
 
 And silence broods like spirit on the brae, 
 A glimmering moon begins, the moonlight 
 
 runs 
 Over the grasses of the ancient way 
 Rutted this morning by the passing guns. 
 
THE RIVER 
 
 All other waters have their time of peace, 
 Calm, or the turn of tide or summer drought ; 
 But on these bars the tumults never cease, 
 In violent death this river passes out. 
 
 Brimming she goes, a bloody-coloured rush 
 Hurrying her heaped disorder, rank on rank, 
 Bubbleless speed so still that in the hush 
 One hears the mined earth dropping from the 
 bank, 
 
 Slipping in little falls whose tingeings drown, 
 Sunk by the waves for ever pressing on. 
 Till with a stripping crash the tree goes 
 
 down, 
 Its washing branches flounder and are gone. 
 
 112 
 
THE RIVER 113 
 
 Then, roaring out aloud, her water spreads, 
 Making a desolation where her waves 
 Shriek and give battle, tossing up their heads, 
 Tearing the shifting sandbanks into graves, 
 
 Changing the raddled ruin of her course 
 So swiftly, that the pilgrim on the shore 
 Hears the loud whirlpool laughing like a horse 
 Where the scurf ed sand was parched an hour 
 before. 
 
 And always underneath that heaving tide 
 The changing bottom runs, or piles, or quakes 
 Flinging immense heaps up to wallow wide, 
 Sucking the surface into whirls like snakes. 
 
 If anything should touch that shifting sand, 
 All the blind bottom sucks it till it sinks ; 
 It takes the clipper ere she comes to land, 
 It takes the thirsting tiger as he drinks. 
 
114 THE RIVER 
 
 And on the river pours — it never tires ; 
 Blind, hungry, screaming, day and night the 
 
 same 
 Purposeless hurry of a million ires, 
 Mad as the wind, as merciless as flame. 
 
 There was a full-rigged ship, the Travancore, 
 Towing to port against that river's rage — 
 A glittering ship made sparkling for the 
 
 shore, 
 Taut to the pins in all her equipage. 
 
 Clanging, she topped the tide ; her sails were 
 
 furled, 
 
 Her men came loitering downwards from the 
 yards ; 
 
 They who had brought her half across the 
 
 world, 
 
 Trampling so many billows into shards, 
 
THE RIVER 115 
 
 Now looking up, beheld their duty done, 
 The ship approaching port, the great masts 
 
 bare, 
 Gaunt as three giants striding in the sun, 
 Proud, with the colours tailing out like hair. 
 
 So, having coiled their gear, they left the 
 
 deck ; 
 Within the foVsle's gloom of banded steel, 
 Mottled like wood with many a painted speck, 
 They brought their plates and sat about a 
 
 meal. 
 
 Then pushing back the tins, they lit their 
 
 pipes, 
 Or slept, or played at cards, or gently spoke, 
 Light from the portholes shot in dusty 
 
 stripes 
 Tranquilly moving, sometimes blue with 
 
 smoke. 
 
116 THE RIVER 
 
 These sunbeams sidled when the vessel rolled, 
 Their lazy yellow dust-strips crossed the floor, 
 Lighting a man-hole leading to the hold, 
 A man-hole leaded down the day before. 
 
 Like gold the solder on the man-hole shone ; 
 A few flies threading in a drowsy dance 
 Slept in their pattern, darted, and were gone. 
 The river roared against the ship's advance. 
 
 And quietly sleep came upon the crew, 
 Man by man drooped upon his arms and 
 
 slept ; 
 Without, the tugboat dragged the vessel 
 
 through, 
 The rigging whined, the yelling water leapt, 
 
 Till blindly a careering wave's collapse 
 Rose from beneath her bows and spouted 
 high, 
 
THE RIVER 117 
 
 Spirting the fo Vsle floor with noisy slaps ; 
 A sleeper at the table heaved a sigh, 
 
 And lurched, half-drunk with sleep, across 
 
 the floor, 
 Muttering and blinking like a man insane, 
 Cursed at the river's tumult, shut the door, 
 Blinked, and lurched back and fell asleep 
 
 again. 
 
 Then there was greater silence in the room, 
 Ship's creakings ran along the beams and 
 
 died, 
 The lazy sunbeams loitered up the gloom, 
 Stretching and touching till they reached the 
 
 side. 
 
 Yet something jerking in the vessel's course 
 Told that the tug was getting her in hand 
 
118 THE RIVER 
 
 As, at a fence, one steadies down a horse, 
 To rush the whirlpool on Magellan Sand ; 
 
 And in the uneasy water just below 
 
 Her Mate inquired "if the men should stir 
 
 And come on deck ? " Her Captain answered 
 
 "No, 
 Let them alone, the tug can manage her." 
 
 Then, as she settled down and gathered 
 
 speed, 
 Her Mate inquired again "if they should 
 
 come 
 Just to be ready there in case of need, 
 Since, on such godless bars, there might be 
 
 some." 
 
 But "No," the Captain said, "the men have 
 
 been 
 Boxing about since midnight, let them be. 
 
THE RIVER 119 
 
 The pilot's able and the ship's a queen, 
 The hands can rest until we come to quay." 
 
 They ceased, they took their stations ; right 
 
 ahead 
 The whirlpool heaped and sucked; in tenor 
 
 tone 
 The steady leadsman chanted at the lead, 
 The ship crept forward trembling to the bone. 
 
 And just above the worst a passing wave 
 Brought to the line such unexpected stress] 
 That as she tossed her bows her towrope 
 
 gave, 
 Snapped at the collar like a stalk of cress. 
 
 Then, for a ghastly moment, she was loose, 
 Blind in the whirlpool, groping for a guide, 
 Swinging adrift without a moment's truce, 
 She struck the sand and fell upon her side. 
 
120 THE RIVER 
 
 And instantly the sand beneath her gave 
 So that she righted and again was flung, 
 Grinding the quicksand open for a grave, 
 Straining her masts until the steel was sprung. 
 
 The foremast broke ; its mighty bulk of steel 
 Fell on the foVsle door and jammed it tight ; 
 The sand-rush heaped her to an even keel, 
 She settled down, resigned, she made no 
 fight, 
 
 But, like an overladen beast, she lay 
 Dumb in the mud with billows at her lips, 
 Broken, where she had fallen in the way, 
 Grinding her grave among the bones of ships. 
 
 At the first crashing of the mast, the men 
 Sprang from their sleep to hurry to the 
 deck ; 
 
THE RIVER 121 
 
 They found that Fate had caught them in a 
 
 pen, 
 The door that opened out was jammed with 
 
 wreck. 
 
 Then, as, with shoulders down, their gathered 
 
 strength 
 Hove on the door, but could not make it 
 
 stir, 
 They felt the vessel tremble through her 
 
 length ; 
 The tug, made fast again, was plucking 
 
 her. 
 
 Plucking, and causing motion, till it seemed 
 That she would get her off; they heard her 
 
 screw 
 Mumble the bubbled rip-rap as she steamed ; 
 " Please God, the tug will shift her!" said 
 
 the crew. 
 
122 THE RIVER 
 
 " She's off!" the seamen said; they felt her 
 
 glide, 
 Scraping the bottom with her bilge, until 
 Something collapsing clanged along her side ; 
 The scraping stopped, the tugboat's screw 
 
 was still. 
 
 "She's holed !" a voice without cried ; " holed 
 
 and jammed — 
 Holed on the old Magellan, sunk last June. 
 I lose my ticket and the men are damned ; j 
 They'll drown like rats unless we free them 
 
 soon. 
 
 "My God, they shall not!" and the speaker 
 
 beat 
 Blows with a crow upon the foremast's 
 
 wreck; 
 Minute steel splinters fell about his feet, 
 No tremour stirred the ruin on the deck. 
 
THE RIVER 123 
 
 And as their natures bade, the seamen learned 
 That they were doomed within that buried 
 
 door ; , 
 Some cursed, some raved, but one among 
 
 them turned 
 Straight to the manhole leaded in the floor, 
 
 And sitting down astride it, drew his knife, 
 And staidly dug to pick away the lead, 
 While at the ports his fellows cried for life : 
 " Burst in the door, or we shall all be dead !" 
 
 For like a brook the leak below them clucked. 
 They felt the vessel settling ; they could feel 
 How the blind bog beneath her gripped and 
 
 sucked. 
 Their fingers beat their prison walls of steel. 
 
 And then the gurgling stopped — the ship 
 
 was still. 
 She stayed ; she sank no deeper — an arrest 
 
124 THE RIVER 
 
 Fothered the pouring leak ; she ceased to fill. 
 She trod the mud, drowned only to the breast. 
 
 And probing at the well, the captain found 
 
 The leak no longer rising, so he cried : 
 
 "She is not sinking — you will not be 
 
 drowned ; 
 The shifting sand has silted up her side. 
 
 "Now there is time. The tug shall put 
 
 ashore 
 And fetch explosives to us from the town; 
 I'll burst the house or blow away the door 
 (It will not kill you if you all lie down). 
 
 "Be easy in your minds, for you'll be free 
 As soon as we've the blast." The seamen 
 
 heard 
 The tug go townwards, butting at the sea; 
 Some lit their pipes, the youngest of them 
 
 cheered. 
 
THE RIVER 125 
 
 But still the digger bent above the lid, 
 Gouging the solder from it as at first, 
 Pecking the lead, intent on what he did; 
 The other seamen mocked at him or cursed. 
 
 And some among them nudged him as he 
 
 picked. 
 He cursed them, grinning, but resumed his 
 
 game; 
 His knife-point sometimes struck the lid and 
 
 clicked. 
 The solder-pellets shone like silver flame. 
 
 And still his knife-blade clicked like ticking 
 
 time 
 Counting the hour till the tug's return, 
 And still the ship stood steady on the 
 
 slime, 
 While Fate above her fingered with her urn. 
 
126 THE RIVER 
 
 Then from the tug beside them came the hail : 
 "They have none at the stores, nor at the 
 
 dock, 
 Nor at the quarry, so I tried the gaol. 
 They thought they had, but it was out of 
 
 stock. 
 
 "So then I telephoned to town; they say 
 They've sent an engine with some to the 
 
 pier; 
 I did not leave till it was on its way, 
 A tug is waiting there to bring it here : 
 
 "It can't be here, though, for an hour or 
 
 more; 
 I've lost an hour in trying, as it is. 
 For want of thought commend me to the 
 
 shore. 
 You'd think they'd know their river's ways 
 
 by this." 
 
THE RIVER 127 
 
 "So there is nothing for it but to wait," 
 The Captain answered, fuming. "Until 
 
 then, 
 We'd better go to dinner, Mr. Mate." 
 The cook brought dinner forward to the 
 
 men. 
 * * * * * 
 
 Another hour of prison loitered by; 
 The strips of sunlight stiffened at the port, 
 But still the digger made the pellets fly, 
 Paying no heed to his companions' sport, 
 
 While they, about him, spooning at their tins, 
 Asked if he dug because he found it cold, 
 Or whether it was penance for his sins, 
 Or hope of treasure in the forward hold. 
 
 He grinned and cursed, but did not cease 
 
 to pick, 
 His sweat dropped from him when he bent 
 
 his head, 
 
128 THE RIVER 
 
 His knife-blade quarried down, till with a 
 
 click 
 Its grinded thinness snapped against the 
 
 lead. 
 
 Then, dully rising, brushing back his sweat, 
 He asked his fellows for another knife. 
 "Never," they said; "man, what d'ye 
 
 hope to get?" 
 "Nothing," he said, "except a chance for 
 
 fife." 
 
 "Havers," they said, and one among them 
 
 growled, 
 "You'll get no knife from any here to 
 
 break. 
 You've dug the manhole since the door 
 
 was fouled, 
 And now your knife's broke, quit, for Jesus' 
 
 sake." 
 
THE RIVER 129 
 
 But one, who smelt a bargain, changed his 
 
 tone, 
 Offering a sheath-knife for the task in hand 
 At twenty times its value, as a loan 
 To be repaid him when they reached the 
 
 land. 
 
 And there was jesting at the lender's greed 
 And mockery at the digger's want of sense, 
 Closing with such a bargain without need, 
 Since in an hour the tug would take them 
 thence. 
 
 But " Right," the digger said. The deal 
 
 was made 
 He took the borrowed knife, and sitting 
 
 down 
 Gouged at the channelled solder with the 
 
 blade, 
 Saying, "Let be, it's better dig than drown." 
 
130 THE RIVER 
 
 And nothing happened for a while ; the heat 
 Grew in the stuffy room, the sunlight slid, 
 Flies buzzed about and jostled at the meat, 
 The knife-blade clicked upon the manhole 
 lid: 
 
 And one man said, "She takes a hell of 
 time 
 
 Bringing the blaster," and another snored; 
 
 One, between pipe-puffs, hummed a smutty- 
 rhyme, 
 
 One, who was weaving, thudded with his 
 sword. 
 
 It was as though the ship were in a dream, 
 Caught in a magic ocean, calm like death, 
 Tranced, till a presence should arise and 
 
 gleam, 
 Making the waters conscious with her 
 
 breath 
 
THE RIVER 131 
 
 It was so drowsy that the river's cries, 
 Roaring aloud their ever-changing tune, 
 Came to those sailors like the drone of flies, 
 Filling with sleep the summer afternoon. 
 
 So that they slept, or, if they spoke, it was 
 Only to worry lest the tug should come: 
 Such power upon the body labour has 
 That prison seemed a blessed rest to some, 
 
 Till one man leaning at the port-hole, 
 
 stared, 
 Checking his yawning at the widest stretch, 
 Then blinked and swallowed, while he 
 
 muttered, scared, 
 "That blasting-cotton takes an age to 
 
 fetch." 
 
 Then swiftly passing from the port he went 
 Up and then down the foVsle till he stayed, 
 
132 THE RIVER 
 
 Fixed at the port-hole with his eyes intent, 
 Round-eyed and white, as if he were 
 afraid, 
 
 And muttered as he stared, "My God! 
 
 she is. 
 She's deeper than she was, she's settling 
 
 down. 
 That palm-tree top was steady against this, 
 And now I see the quay below the town. 
 
 "Look here at her. She's sinking in her 
 
 tracks. 
 She's going down by inches as she stands; 
 The water's darker and it stinks like flax, 
 Her going down is churning up the sands." 
 
 And instantly a panic took the crew, 
 Even the digger blenched; his knife-blade's 
 haste 
 
THE RIVER 133 
 
 Cutting the solder witnessed that he knew 
 Time on the brink with not a breath to 
 waste. 
 
 While far away the tugboat at the quay 
 Under her drooping pennon waited still 
 For that explosive which would set them 
 
 free, 
 Free, with the world a servant to their will. 
 
 Then from a boat beside them came a blare, 
 Urging that tugboat to be quick; and men 
 Shouted to stir her from her waiting there, 
 "Hurry the blast, and get us out of pen. 
 
 "She's going down. She's going down, 
 
 man! Quick!" 
 The tugboat did not stir, no answer came; 
 They saw her tongue-like pennon idly lick 
 Clear for an instant, lettered with her name. 
 
134 THE RIVER 
 
 Then droop again. The engine had not 
 
 come, 
 The blast had not arrived. The prisoned 
 
 hands 
 Saw her still waiting though their time had 
 
 come, 
 Their ship was going down among the sands, 
 
 Going so swiftly now, that they could see 
 The banks arising as she made her bed; 
 Full of sick sound she settled deathward, 
 
 she 
 Gurgled and shook, the digger picked the 
 
 lead. 
 
 And, as she paused to take a final plunge, 
 Prone like a half-tide rock, the men on deck 
 Jumped to their boats and left, ere like a 
 
 sponge 
 The river's rotten heart absorbed the wreck ; 
 
THE RIVER 135 
 
 And on the perilous instant ere Time struck 
 The digger's work was done, the lead was 
 
 cleared, 
 He cast the manhole up; below it muck 
 Floated, the hold was full, the water leered. 
 
 All of his labour had but made a hole 
 By which to leap to death; he saw black 
 
 dust 
 Float on the bubbles of that brimming 
 
 bowl, 
 He drew a breath and took his life in trust, 
 
 And plunged head foremost into that black 
 
 pit, 
 Where floating cargo bumped against the 
 
 beams. 
 He groped a choking passage blind with grit, 
 The roaring in his ears was shot with 
 
 screams. 
 
136 THE RIVER 
 
 So, with a bursting heart and roaring ears 
 
 He floundered in that sunk ship's inky 
 
 womb, 
 
 Drowned in deep water for what seemed 
 
 like years, 
 Buried alive and groping through the tomb, 
 
 Till suddenly the beams against his back 
 Gave, and the water on his eyes was bright ; 
 He shot up through a hatchway foul with 
 
 wrack 
 Into clean air and life and dazzling light, 
 
 And striking out, he saw the foVsle gone, 
 Vanished, below the water, and the mast 
 Standing columnar from the sea; it shone 
 Proud, with its colours flying to the last. 
 
 And all about, a many-wrinkled tide 
 Smoothed and erased its eddies, wander- 
 ing chilled, 
 
THE RIVER 137 
 
 Like glutted purpose, trying to decide 
 
 If its achievement had been what it willed. 
 
 And men in boats were there; they helped 
 
 him in. 
 He gulped for breath and watched that 
 
 patch of smooth, 
 Shaped like the vessel, wrinkle into grin, 
 Furrow to waves and bare a yellow tooth. 
 
 Then the masts leaned until the shroud- 
 screws gave. 
 
 All disappeared — her masts, her colours, 
 all. 
 
 He saw the yardarms tilting to the grave; 
 
 He heard the siren of a tugboat call, 
 
 And saw her speeding, foaming at the bow, 
 Bringing the blast-charge that had come 
 too late. 
 
138 THE RIVER 
 
 He heard one shout, "It isn't wanted 
 
 now." 
 Time's minute-hand had been the hand of 
 
 Fate. 
 
 Then the boats turned; they brought him 
 
 to the shore. 
 Men crowded round him, touched him, and 
 
 were kind; 
 The Mate walked with him, silent, to the 
 
 store. 
 He said, "We've left the best of us behind." 
 
 Then, as he wrung his sodden clothes, the 
 
 Mate 
 Gave him a drink of rum, and talked 
 
 awhile 
 Of men and ships and unexpected Fate; 
 And darkness came and cloaked the river's 
 
 guile, 
 
THE RIVER 139 
 
 So that its huddled hurry was not seen, 
 Only made louder, till the full moon 
 
 climbed 
 Over the forest, floated, and was queen. 
 Within the town a temple-belfry chimed. 
 
 Then, upon silent pads, a tiger crept 
 Down to the river-brink, and crouching 
 
 there 
 Watched it intently, till you thought he 
 
 slept 
 But for his ghastly eye and stiffened hair. 
 
 Then, trembling at a lust more fell than his, 
 He roared and bounded back to coverts 
 
 lone, 
 Where, among moonlit beauty, slaughter 
 
 is, 
 Filling the marvellous night with myriad 
 
 groan. 
 
WATCHING BY A SICK-BED 
 
 I heard the wind all day, 
 And what it was trying to say. 
 I heard the wind all night 
 Rave as it ran to fight; 
 After the wind the rain, 
 And then the wind again 
 Running across the hill 
 As it runs still. 
 
 And all day long the sea 
 Would not let the land be, 
 But all night heaped her sand 
 On to the land ; 
 I saw her glimmer white 
 All through the night, 
 Tossing the horrid hair 
 Still tossing there. 
 
 140 
 
WATCHING BY A SICK-BED 141 
 
 And all day long the stone 
 
 Felt how the wind was blown; 
 
 And all night long the rock 
 
 Stood the sea's shock; 
 
 While, from the window, I 
 
 Looked out, and wondered why, 
 
 Why at such length 
 
 Such force should fight such strength. 
 
NOTE 
 
 The River, which is contained in this vol- 
 ume, was first published in the Century Maga- 
 zine; The Wanderer in Harper's Magazine; 
 Watching by a Sick-Bed and August, 1914 in 
 Harper's Weekly. I thank the editors of these 
 periodicals for permission to reprint them here. 
 
 JOHN MASEFIELD. 
 
TVTEW Poems and Plays published by 
 The Macmillan Company. 
 
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