 | Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) |  |
151
IS THERE DANGER NIGH?
A PROTESTANT BALLAD OF THE DAYS OF THE SPANISH ARMADA.
Warder, stand and tell us why,
From the Nore to Portland Bill,
From the Lizard to Cantire,
Blazes every seaward hill,
Every cape is red with fire;
Why the beacons, fiercely burning,
Toss the lurid light so high,
Midnight into mid-day turning,
Crimsoning the summer sky?
Is there danger nigh?
From the Nore to Portland Bill,
From the Lizard to Cantire,
Blazes every seaward hill,
Every cape is red with fire;
Why the beacons, fiercely burning,
Toss the lurid light so high,
Midnight into mid-day turning,
Crimsoning the summer sky?
Is there danger nigh?
Warder, stand and tell us why,
In the minster-turrets swinging,
In the watch-towers' giddy height,
Such a peal the bells are ringing
Back and forward all the night?
Why so fast the Flat-caps rally,
To the cry of “Bills and Bows!”
Why through causeway, court, and alley
Thick the crowd and thicker flows?
Is there danger nigh?
In the minster-turrets swinging,
In the watch-towers' giddy height,
Such a peal the bells are ringing
Back and forward all the night?
Why so fast the Flat-caps rally,
To the cry of “Bills and Bows!”
Why through causeway, court, and alley
Thick the crowd and thicker flows?
Is there danger nigh?
Warder, stand and tell us why,
All to Temple-bar from Shene,
All from Chertsey to Whitehall,
To the Tower from Eridge Green,
From St. Albans to the Mall,
Come the couriers clattering in,
Go the squadrons clashing out,
Cannon roll with such a din,
Train-bands march with such a shout?
Is there danger nigh?
All to Temple-bar from Shene,
All from Chertsey to Whitehall,
To the Tower from Eridge Green,
From St. Albans to the Mall,
Come the couriers clattering in,
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Cannon roll with such a din,
Train-bands march with such a shout?
Is there danger nigh?
Warder, stand and tell us why
Such a terror fills the night,
Why so pale the women's faces,
Why such hurryings and fright
In the old familiar places;
Why the brows so darkly bended,
Of each husband, son, and sire;
Why old casques so sternly mended,
Old swords ground by the midnight fire?
Is there danger nigh?
Such a terror fills the night,
Why so pale the women's faces,
Why such hurryings and fright
In the old familiar places;
Why the brows so darkly bended,
Of each husband, son, and sire;
Why old casques so sternly mended,
Old swords ground by the midnight fire?
Is there danger nigh?
Warder, stand and tell us why
Ancient cities, market towns,
Castle gates and cottage doors,
Fields and forests, dales and downs,
Lonely fells and misty moors,
Southern, midland, northern shires,
Pour their thousands forth in arms,
Nobles, gentles, burghers, squires,
Mustering fast to the loud alarms?
Is there danger nigh?
Ancient cities, market towns,
Castle gates and cottage doors,
Fields and forests, dales and downs,
Lonely fells and misty moors,
Southern, midland, northern shires,
Pour their thousands forth in arms,
Nobles, gentles, burghers, squires,
Mustering fast to the loud alarms?
Is there danger nigh?
Warder, stand and tell us why
March the yeomen, stoutly striding,
In their jerkins blue and red,
With that stately woman riding,
All in armor, at their head;
England's king, whate'er betide her,
With her lions on the wind,
And her English peers beside her,
English archery behind?
Is there danger nigh?
March the yeomen, stoutly striding,
In their jerkins blue and red,
With that stately woman riding,
All in armor, at their head;
England's king, whate'er betide her,
With her lions on the wind,
And her English peers beside her,
English archery behind?
Is there danger nigh?
153
Englishmen, hold fast the spear:
From the shores of Cadiz Bay,
From Arcasson's stormy bight,
From the billows of Biscay,
From Corunna's castled height,
From the wild Cantabrian mountains,
From Alhambra's Moorish bowers.
From the Guadalquivir's fountains,
From San Ildefonso's towers,
Their is danger near.
From the shores of Cadiz Bay,
From Arcasson's stormy bight,
From the billows of Biscay,
From Corunna's castled height,
From the wild Cantabrian mountains,
From Alhambra's Moorish bowers.
From the Guadalquivir's fountains,
From San Ildefonso's towers,
Their is danger near.
Englishmen, hold fast the spear:
From the crucifix and cope,
From the gibbet and the sack,
From the minions of the Pope,
From the fagot and the rack,
From Loyola's bigot zeal,
From the old Castilian bands,
From the princely Parma's steel,
From Don Philip's ruthless hands,
There is danger near!
From the crucifix and cope,
From the gibbet and the sack,
From the minions of the Pope,
From the fagot and the rack,
From Loyola's bigot zeal,
From the old Castilian bands,
From the princely Parma's steel,
From Don Philip's ruthless hands,
There is danger near!
Englishmen, hold fast the spear:
England's southron counties nearing,
O'er the calm and narrow sea,
Spanish war-ships swift are steering,
Ten times ten and fifty-three;
Great Sidonia points them forward,
Thirty thousands in his train,
Mighty galleons to the vaward,
Rich with spoils of the Spanish main.
There is danger near!
England's southron counties nearing,
O'er the calm and narrow sea,
Spanish war-ships swift are steering,
Ten times ten and fifty-three;
Great Sidonia points them forward,
Thirty thousands in his train,
Mighty galleons to the vaward,
Rich with spoils of the Spanish main.
There is danger near!
Englishmen, hold fast the spear:
Fierce Martinez de Ricaldo,
With Diego de Tournar,
And the Italian prince Ubaldo;
And the Conde of Alvar,
With Toledo's hearts of steel,
And Farnese's musketeers,
'Neath the castles of Castile,
Hitherward the Armada steers.
There is danger near!
Fierce Martinez de Ricaldo,
With Diego de Tournar,
And the Italian prince Ubaldo;
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With Toledo's hearts of steel,
And Farnese's musketeers,
'Neath the castles of Castile,
Hitherward the Armada steers.
There is danger near!
Englishmen, hold fast the spear:
To our kingdom and our queen,
To our soil and to our sod,
To our country's graveyards green,
To our right to worship God,
To our liberties and lives,
To our churches and our altars,
To the honor of our wives,
From the faith that never falters,
There is danger near!
To our kingdom and our queen,
To our soil and to our sod,
To our country's graveyards green,
To our right to worship God,
To our liberties and lives,
To our churches and our altars,
To the honor of our wives,
From the faith that never falters,
There is danger near!
Englishmen, hold fast the spear:
Hold it now with might and main,
Hold it now or never more!
Lo! the battle-drums of Spain
Roll along our English shore!
In each drum-beat is perdition,
If ye be not men this morn!
From the bloody Inquisition,
To your children yet unborn,
There is danger near!
Hold it now with might and main,
Hold it now or never more!
Lo! the battle-drums of Spain
Roll along our English shore!
In each drum-beat is perdition,
If ye be not men this morn!
From the bloody Inquisition,
To your children yet unborn,
There is danger near!
Englishmen, hold fast the spear:
Ye remember Bloody Mary;
Ye her savage spouse have seen,
With his whiskerandos hairy,
And his sandalled monks between;
With his Smithfield bishop-burnings,
And his Jesuits from Spain.
Will ye have his fagot-turnings?
Will ye have his Pope again?
There is danger near!
Ye remember Bloody Mary;
Ye her savage spouse have seen,
With his whiskerandos hairy,
And his sandalled monks between;
With his Smithfield bishop-burnings,
155
Will ye have his fagot-turnings?
Will ye have his Pope again?
There is danger near!
Englishmen, hold fast the spear:
Ye have nothing now to save you
But your own hearts and your hands,
And the hardihood God gave you,
And the temper of your brands.
On, then, Englishmen, for England!
On, then, England, for her Grace!
None shall ever rule in England
But our ancient English race!
There is danger near!
Ye have nothing now to save you
But your own hearts and your hands,
And the hardihood God gave you,
And the temper of your brands.
On, then, Englishmen, for England!
On, then, England, for her Grace!
None shall ever rule in England
But our ancient English race!
There is danger near!
Englishmen, hold fast the spear:
And if slaves your sons must be,
Let it be to an English king
They shall bend the servile knee;
Not to a gilded, wooden thing.
If your necks you must render up,
Let it be to an English rope;
Not to the yoke of cross and cup,
Or the nod of a Roman Pope!
There is danger near!
And if slaves your sons must be,
Let it be to an English king
They shall bend the servile knee;
Not to a gilded, wooden thing.
If your necks you must render up,
Let it be to an English rope;
Not to the yoke of cross and cup,
Or the nod of a Roman Pope!
There is danger near!
Warder,—thus we make reply,—
By the mothers that us bare;
By the sires we've not forgotten;
By the wives our beds who share;
By the children we've begotten;
By the hills which saw our birth;
Vales in which we hope to lie;
By our chainless English earth,
By our liberal English sky,—
We will do or die!
By the mothers that us bare;
By the sires we've not forgotten;
By the wives our beds who share;
By the children we've begotten;
By the hills which saw our birth;
Vales in which we hope to lie;
By our chainless English earth,
By our liberal English sky,—
We will do or die!
156
Warder,—thus we make reply,—
By the torch in Oxford lighted
On the day when Ridley burned,
Ne'er in England to be slighted,
Or to heathen darkness turned;
By the souls of those who perished,
Fearless at the fiery stake;
By the tortures which they cherished
For their Lord and Saviour's sake,—
We will do or die!
By the torch in Oxford lighted
On the day when Ridley burned,
Ne'er in England to be slighted,
Or to heathen darkness turned;
By the souls of those who perished,
Fearless at the fiery stake;
By the tortures which they cherished
For their Lord and Saviour's sake,—
We will do or die!
Warder,—thus we make reply,—
Where our royal queen is leading
With her lions in the van,
There will one and all be bleeding,
One and every Englishman.
English ever shall the land,
English shall the ocean be.
Be it on the rocky strand,
Be it on the rolling sea,
We will do or die!
Where our royal queen is leading
With her lions in the van,
There will one and all be bleeding,
One and every Englishman.
English ever shall the land,
English shall the ocean be.
Be it on the rocky strand,
Be it on the rolling sea,
We will do or die!
Warder,—thus we make reply,—
Never son of savage Spain,
Never bloody Romish beast,
Shall be English king again,
Shall again be English priest.
Better Mahound's crescent wear
Than the cross of Rome adore;
Better serve the Russian bear,
Than the Babylonian whore.
We will do or die!
Never son of savage Spain,
Never bloody Romish beast,
Shall be English king again,
Shall again be English priest.
Better Mahound's crescent wear
Than the cross of Rome adore;
Better serve the Russian bear,
Than the Babylonian whore.
We will do or die!
Warder,—thus we make reply,—
Nothing that the Pope can make,
Nothing that Don Philip can,
Shall an Englishwoman shake!
How, then, shake an Englishman?
Let them come! we do defy them,
Though their boastings be so brave.
But, whatever we deny them,
We will give an English grave.
We will do or die!
Nothing that the Pope can make,
Nothing that Don Philip can,
Shall an Englishwoman shake!
How, then, shake an Englishman?
157
Though their boastings be so brave.
But, whatever we deny them,
We will give an English grave.
We will do or die!
Warder,—thus we make reply,—
We've a Raleigh's glorious daring;
We've a Percy's spur of flame;
We've a Blount's chivalric bearing;
We've an Oxford's noble name;
We've a Hawkins and a Howard;
We've a Frobisher and Drake;
And who should be the coward,
Such commanders to forsake?
We will do or die!
We've a Raleigh's glorious daring;
We've a Percy's spur of flame;
We've a Blount's chivalric bearing;
We've an Oxford's noble name;
We've a Hawkins and a Howard;
We've a Frobisher and Drake;
And who should be the coward,
Such commanders to forsake?
We will do or die!
Warder,—thus we make reply,—
With a Howard for Recaldo;
With a Hawkins for Tournar;
With a Drake for Prince Ubaldo;
With a Blount for the Count Alvar,—
I trow that we can meet them
In the Straits as on the Main;
I trow as we have beat them,
We can beat them yet again.
We will do or die!
With a Howard for Recaldo;
With a Hawkins for Tournar;
With a Drake for Prince Ubaldo;
With a Blount for the Count Alvar,—
I trow that we can meet them
In the Straits as on the Main;
I trow as we have beat them,
We can beat them yet again.
We will do or die!
Warder, pass. Our say is said.
Naught of earth can now avail us;
You have heard our last reply;
If our country's fortune fail us,
It is only left to die.
If Don Philip's minions dare,
Dare to try the battle plain,
We will leave it, you may swear,
We will leave it or remain
Conquerors, or dead!
Naught of earth can now avail us;
You have heard our last reply;
If our country's fortune fail us,
It is only left to die.
If Don Philip's minions dare,
Dare to try the battle plain,
We will leave it, you may swear,
We will leave it or remain
Conquerors, or dead!
| Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) | |