On the Victory Obtained by Blake over the Spaniards in the Bay of Santa Cruz, in the Island of Tenerife, 1657
- NOW does Spain's fleet her spacious wings unfold,
- Leaves the New World and hastens for the old:
- But though the wind was fair, they slowly swum
- Freighted with acted guilt, and guilt to come:
- For this rich load, of which so proud they are,
- Was raised by tyranny, and raised for war;
- Every capacious gallion's womb was filled,
- With what the womb of wealthy kingdoms yield,
- The New World's wounded entrails they had tore,
- For wealth wherewith to wound the Old once more:
- Wealth which all others' avarice might cloy,
- But yet in them caused as much fear as joy.
- For now upon the main, themselves they saw--
- That boundless empire, where you give the law--
- Of winds' and waters' rage, they fearful be,
- But much more fearful are your flags to see.
- Day, that to those who sail upon the deep,
- More wished for, and more welcome is than sleep,
- They dreaded to behold, lest the sun's light,
- With English streamers, should salute their sight:
- In thickest darkness they would choose to steer,
- So that such darkness might suppress their fear;
- At length theirs vanishes, and fortune smiles;
- For they behold the sweet Canary Isles;
- One of which doubtless is by Nature blessed
- Above both Worlds, since 'tis above the rest.
- For lest some gloominess might strain her sky,
- Trees there the duty of the clouds supply;
- O noble trust which heav'n on this isle pours,
- Fertile to be, yet never need her show'rs.
- A happy people, which at once do gain
- The benefits without the ills of rain.
- Both health and profit fate cannot deny;
- Where still the earth is moist, the air still dry;
- The jarring elements no discord know,
- Fuel and rain together kindly grow;
- And coolness there, with heat doth never fight,
- This only rules by day, and that by night.
- Your worth to all these isles, a just right brings,
- The best of lands should have the best of kings.
- And these want nothing heaven can afford,
- Unless it be--the having you their Lord;
- But this great want will not a long one prove,
- Your conquering sword will soon that want remove.
- For Spain had better--she'll ere long confess--
- Have broken all her swords, than this one peace,
- Casting that legue off, which she held so long,
- She cast off that which only made her strong.
- Forces and art, she soon will feel, are vain,
- Peace, against you, was the sole strength of Spain.
- By that alone those islands she secures,
- Peace made them hers, but war will make them yours.
- There the indulgent soil that rich grape breeds,
- Which of the gods the fancied drink exceeds;
- They still do yield, such is their precious mould,
- All that is good, and are not cursed with gold--
- With fatal gold, for still where that does grow,
- Neither the soil, not people, quiet know.
- Which troubles men to raise it when 'tis ore,
- And when 'tis raised, does trouble them much more.
- Ah, why was thither brought that cause of war,
- Kind Nature had from thence removed so far?
- In vain doth she those islands free from ill,
- If fortune can make guilty what she will.
- But whilst I draw that scene, where you ere long,
- Shall conquests act, your present are unsung.
- For Santa Cruz the glad fleet makes her way,
- And safely there casts anchor in the bay.
- Never so many with one joyful cry,
- That place saluted, where they all must die.
- Deluded men! Fate with you did but sport,
- You 'scaped the sea, to perish in your port.
- 'Twas more for England's fame you should die there,
- Where you had most of strength, and least of fear.
- The Peak's proud height the Spaniards all admire,
- Yet in their breasts carry a pride much high'r.
- Only to this vast hill a power is given,
- At once both to inhabit earth and heaven.
- But this stupendous prospect did not near,
- Make them admire, so much as they did fear.
- For here they met with news, which did produce,
- A grief, above the cure of grapes' best juice.
- They learned with terror that nor summer's heat,
- Nor winter's storms, had made your fleet retreat.
- To fight against such foes was vain, they knew,
- Which did the rage of elements subdue,
- Who on the ocean that does horror give,
- To all besides, triumphantly do live.
- With haste they therefore all their gallions moor,
- And flank with cannon from the neighbouring shore.
- Forts, lines, and scones all the bay along,
- They build and act all that can make them strong.
- Fond men who know not whilst such works they raise,
- They only labour to exalt your praise.
- Yet they by restless toil became at length,
- So proud and confident of their made strength,
- That they with joy their boasting general heard,
- Wish then for that assault he lately feared.
- His wish he has, for now undaunted Blake,
- With wingèd speed, for Santa Cruz does make.
- For your renown, his conquering fleet does ride,
- O'er seas as vast as is the Spaniards' pride.
- Whose fleet and trenches viewed, he soon did say,
- `We to their strength are more obliged than they.
- Were't not for that, they from their fate would run,
- And a third world seek out, our arms to shun.
- Those forts, which there so high and strong appear,
- Do not so much suppress, as show their fear.
- Of speedy victory let no man doubt,
- Our worst work's past, now we have found them out.
- Behold their navy does at anchor lie,
- And they are ours, for now they cannot fly.'
- This said, the whole fleet gave it their applause,
- And all assumes your courage, in your cause.
- That bay they enter, which unto them owes,
- The noblest of wreaths, that victory bestows.
- Bold Stayner leads: this fleet's designed by fate,
- To give him laurel, as the last did plate.
- The thundering cannon now begins the fight,
- And though it be at noon creates a night.
- The air was soon after the fight begun,
- Far more enflamed by it than by the sun.
- Never so burning was that climate known,
- War turned the temperate to the torrid zone.
- Fate these two fleets between both worlds had brought,
- Who fight, as if for both those worlds they fought.
- Thousands of ways thousands of men there die,
- Some ships are sunk, some blown up in the sky.
- Nature ne'er made cedars so high aspire,
- As oaks did then urged by the active fire,
- Which by quick powder's force, so high was sent,
- That it returned to its own element.
- Torn limbs some leagues into the island fly,
- Whilst others lower in the sea do lie,
- Scarce souls from bodies severed are so far
- By death, as bodies there were by the war.
- The all-seeing sun, ne'er gazed on such a sight,
- Two dreadful navies there at anchor fight.
- And neither have or power or will to fly,
- There one must conquer, or there both must die.
- Far different motives yet engaged them thus,
- Necessity did them, but Choice did us.
- A choice which did the highest worth express,
- And was attended by as high success.
- For your resistless genius there did reign,
- By which we laurels reaped e'en on the main.
- So properous stars, though absent to the sense,
- Bless those they shine for, by their influence.
- Our cannon now tears every ship and sconce,
- And o'er two elements triumphs at once.
- Their gallions sunk, their wealth the sea doth fill--
- The only place where it can cause no ill.
- Ah, would those treasures which both Indies have,
- Were buried in as large, and deep a grave,
- Wars' chief support with them would buried be,
- And the land owe her peace unto the sea.
- Ages to come your conquering arms will bless,
- There they destroy what had destroyed their peace.
- And in one war the present age may boast
- The certain seeds of many wars are lost.
- All the foe's ships destroyed, by sea or fire,
- Victorious Blake, does from the bay retire,
- His siege of Spain he then again pursues,
- And there first brings of his success the news:
- The saddest news that e'er to Spain was brought,
- Their rich fleet sunk, and ours with laurel fraught,
- Whilst fame in every place her trumpet blows,
- And tells the world how much to you it owes.
- Andrew Marvell
A Poem upon the Death of His Late Highness the Lord Protector
- THAT Providence which had so long the care
- Of Cromwell's head, and numbered every hair,
- Now in itself (the glass where all appears)
- Had seen the period of his golden years:
- And thenceforh only did attend to trace
- What death might least so fair a life deface.
- The people, which what most they fear esteem,
- Death when more horrid, so more noble deem,
- And blame the last act, like spectators vain,
- Unless the prince whom they applaud be slain.
- Nor fate indeed can well refuse that right
- To those that lived in war, to die in fight.
- But long his valour none had left that could
- Endanger him, or clemency that would.
- And he whom Nature all for peace had made,
- But angry heaven unto war had swayed,
- And so less useful where he most desired,
- For what he least affected was admired,
- Deservèd yet an end whose every part,
- Should speak the wondrous softness of his heart.
- To Love and Grief the fatal writ was 'signed;
- (Those nobler weaknesses of human kind,
- From which those powers that issued the decree,
- Although immortal, found they were not free),
- That they, to whom his breast still open lies,
- In gentle passions should his death disguise:
- And leave succeeding ages cause to mourn,
- As long as Grief shall weep, or Love shall burn.
- Straight does a slow and languishing disease
- Eliza, Nature's and his darling, seize.
- Her when an infant, taken with her charms,
- He oft would flourish in his mighty arms,
- And, lest their force the tender burden wrong,
- Slacken the vigour of his muscles strong;
- Then to the Mother's breast her softly move,
- Which while she drained of milk, she filled with love.
- But as with riper years her virtue grew,
- And every minute adds a lustre new,
- When with meridian height her beauty shined,
- And thorough that sparkled her fairer mind,
- When she with smiles serene in words discreet
- His hidden soul at ever turn could meet;
- Then might y'ha' daily his affection spied,
- Doubling that knot which destiny had tied,
- While they by sense, not knowing, comprehend
- How on each other both their fates depend.
- With her each day the pleasing hours he shares,
- And at her aspect calms his growing cares;
- Or with a grandsire's joy her children sees
- Hanging about her neck or at his knees.
- Hold fast, dear infants, hold them both or none;
- This will not stay when once the other's gone.
- A silent fire now wastes those limbs of wax,
- And him within his tortured image racks.
- So the flower withering which the garden crowned,
- The sad root pines in secret under ground.
- Each groan he doubled and each sigh he sighed,
- Repeated over to the restless night.
- No trembling string composed to numbers new,
- Answers the touch in notes more sad, more true.
- She, lest he grieve, hides what she can her pains,
- And he to lessen hers his sorrow feigns:
- Yet both perceived, yet both concealed their skills,
- And so diminishing increased their ills:
- That whether by each other's grief they fell,
- Or on their own redoubled, none can tell.
- And now Eliza's purple locks were shorn,
- Where she so long her Father's fate had worn:
- And frequent lightning to her soul that flies,
- Divides the air, and opens all the skies:
- And now his life, suspended by her breath,
- Ran out impetuously to hasting death.
- Like polished mirrors, so his steely breast
- Had every figure of her woes expressed,
- And with the damp of her last gasp obscured,
- Had drawn such stains as were not to be cured.
- Fate could not either reach with single stroke,
- But the dear image fled, the mirror broke.
- Who now shall tell us more of mournful swans,
- Of halcyons kind, or bleeding pelicans?
- No downy breast did e'er so gently beat,
- Or fan with airy plumes so soft an heat.
- For he no duty by his height excused,
- Nor, though a prince, to be a man refused:
- But rather than in his Eliza's pain
- Not love, not grieve, would neither live nor reign:
- And in himself so oft immortal tried,
- Yet in compassion of another died.
- So have I seen a vine, whose lasting age
- Of many a winter hath survived the rage,
- Under whose shady tent men every year
- At its rich blood's expense their sorrow cheer,
- If some dear branch where it extends its life
- Chance to be pruned by an untimely knife,
- The parent-tree unto the grief succeeds,
- And through the wound its vital humour bleeds,
- Trickling in watery drops, whose flowing shape
- Weeps that it falls ere fixed into a grape.
- So the dry stock, no more that spreading vine,
- Frustrates the autumn and the hopes of wine.
- A secret cause does sure those signs ordain
- Foreboding princes' falls, and seldom vain.
- Whether some kinder powers that wish us well,
- What they above cannot prevent foretell;
- Or the great world do by consent presage,
- As hollow seas with future tempests rage;
- Or rather heaven, which us so long foresees,
- Their funerals celebrates while it decrees.
- But never yet was any human fate
- By Nature solemnized with so much state.
- He unconcerned the dreadful passage crossed;
- But, oh, what pangs that death did Nature cost!
- First the great thunder was shot off, and sent
- The signal from the starry battlement.
- The winds receive it, and its force outdo,
- As practising how they could thunder too;
- Out of the binder's hand the sheaves they tore,
- And thrashed the harvest in the airy floor;
- Or of huge trees, whose growth with his did rise,
- The deep foundations opened to the skies.
- Then heavy show'rs the wingèd tempests lead,
- And pour the deluge o'er the chaos' head.
- The race of warlike horses at his tomb
- Offer themselves in many a hecatomb;
- With pensive head towards the ground they fall,
- And helpless languish at the tainted stall.
- Numbers of men decrease with pains unknown,
- And hasten, not to see his death, their own.
- Such tortures all the elements unfixed,
- Troubled to part where so exactly mixed.
- And as through air his wasting spirits flowed,
- The universe laboured beneath their load.
- Nature, it seemed with him would Nature vie;
- He with Eliza. It with him would die,
- He without noise still travelled to his end,
- As silent suns to meet the night descend.
- The stars that for him fought had only power
- Left to determine now his final hour,
- Which, since they might not hinder, yet they cast
- To choose it worthy of his glories past.
- No part of time but bare his mark away
- Of honour; all the year was Cromwell's day:
- But this, of all the most ausicious found,
- Twice had in open field him victor crowned:
- When up the armèd mountains of Dunbar
- He marched, and through deep Severn ending war.
- What day should him eternize but the same
- That had before immortalized his name?
- That so who ere would at his death have joyed,
- In their own griefs might find themselves employed;
- But those that sadly his departure grieved,
- Yet joyed, remebering what he once achieved.
- And the last minute his victorious ghost
- Gave chase to Ligny on the Belgic coast.
- Here ended all his mortal toils: he laid
- And slept in place under the laurel shade.
- O Cromwell, Heaven's Favourite! To none
- Have such high honours from above been shown:
- For whom the elements we mourners see,
- And heaven itself would the great herald be,
- Which with more care set forth his obsequies
- Than those of Moses hid from human eyes,
- As jealous only here lest all be less,
- That we could to his memory express.
- Then let us to our course of mourning keep:
- Where heaven leads, 'tis piety to weep.
- Stand back, ye seas, and shrunk beneath the veil
- Of your abyss, with covered head bewail
- Your Monarch: we demand not your supplies
- To compass in our isle; our tears suffice:
- Since him away the dismal tempest rent,
- Who once more joined us to the continent;
- Who planted England on the Flandric shore,
- And stretched our frontier to the Indian ore;
- Whose greater truths obscure the fables old,
- Whether of British saints or Worthies told;
- And in a valour lessening Arthur's deeds,
- For holiness the Confessor exceeds.
- He first put arms into Religion's hand,
- And timorous Conscience unto Courage manned:
- The soldier taught that inward mail to wear,
- And fearing God how they should nothing fear.
- `Those strokes,' he said, `will pierce through all below
- Where those that strike from heaven fetch their blow.'
- Astonished armies did their flight prepare,
- And cities strong were stormèd by his prayer;
- Of that, forever Preston's field shall tell
- The story, and impregnable Clonmel.
- And where the sandy mountain Fenwick scaled,
- The sea between, yet hence his prayer prevailed.
- What man was ever so in heaven obeyed
- Since the commanded sun o'er Gideon stayed?
- In all his wars needs must he triumph when
- He conquered God still ere he fought with men:
- Hence, though in battle none so brave or fierce,
- Yet him the adverse steel could never pierce.
- Pity it seemed to hurt him more that felt
- Each wound himself which he to others dealt;
- Danger itself refusing to offend
- So loose an enemy, so fast a friend.
- Friendship, that sacred virtue, long does claim
- The first foundation of his house and name:
- But within one its narrow limits fall,
- His tenderness extended unto all.
- And that deep soul through every channel flows,
- Where kindly nature loves itself to lose.
- More strong affections never reason served,
- Yet still affected most what best deserved.
- If he Eliza loved to that degree,
- (Though who more worthy to be loved than she?)
- If so indulgent to his own, how dear
- To him the children of the highest were?
- For her he once did nature's tribute pay:
- For these his life adventured every day:
- And 'twould be found, could we his thoughts have cast,
- Their griefs struck deepest, if Eliza's last.
- What prudence more than human did he need
- To keep so dear, so differing minds agreed?
- The worser sort, as conscious of their ill,
- Lie weak and easy to the ruler's will;
- But to the good (too many or too few)
- All law is useless, all reward is due.
- Oh ill-advised, if not for love, for shame,
- Spare yet your own, if you neglect his fame;
- Lest others dare to think your zeal a mask,
- And you to govern, only heaven's task.
- Valour, religion, friendship, prudence died
- At once with him, and all that's good beside;
- And we death's refuse, nature's dregs, confined
- To loathsome life, alas! are left behind.
- Where we (so once we used) shall now no more
- To fetch the day, press about his chamber door--
- From which he issued with that awful state,
- It seemd Mars broke through Janus' double gate,
- Yet always tempered with an air so mild,
- No April suns that e'er so gently smiled--
- No more shall hear that powerful language charm,
- Whose force oft spared the labour of his arm:
- No more shall follow where he spent the days
- In war, in counsel, or in prayer and praise,
- Whose meanest acts he would himself advance,
- As ungirt David to the ark did dance.
- All, all is gone of our or his delight
- In horses fierce, wild deer, or armour bright;
- Francisca fair can nothing now but weep,
- Nor with soft notes shall sing his cares asleep.
- I saw him dead. A leaden slumber lies
- And mortal sleep over those wakeful eyes:
- Those gentle rays under the lids were fled,
- Which through his looks that piercing sweetness shed;
- That port which so majestic was and strong,
- Loose and deprived of vigour, stretched along: