They recked not then of anguish, Recked not of pain and care, Thought but of England's glory, That England's foe was there.

Then Englishmen for England,
And Spaniards fought for Spain;
Then foot spurned foot in battle,
And hand struck hand amain;
Rose high the shriek of vengeance
Above the varied din,

And through the mist of combat
The sword went flashing in.

Upon a scanty remnant

The Spanish legions close,
Yet never a whit our sailors
Give way before their foes:
Never a whit they yield them,
Still sturdily press on,
Till once again the bulwarks
Are by their courage won.

Then fiercer grows the combat,
As some low beacon fire,
Whose flame before it dieth

Streams on a sudden higher,

Came one mad rush of fury,

The Spaniards turned and fled; The sea took back the living,

The deck bore up the dead.

Yet all in vain the courage
That dearly bought retreat;
The day's dark doom is spoken,
The end must be defeat.

For on the silent waters

Helpless the vessel lay; And helm and mast were shattered, And rigging torn away.

And all her brave defenders

With toil were wearied now; They leant against the bulwarks, Blood-streaked from foot to brow. And there was none to help them, And safety there was none;

And those who were their comrades Had left them, and were gone.

Then to the sailors standing
About his dying bed,
Together grouped in silence,

The dauntless captain said-
"The fight was bravely foughten,
Although not ours the prize;
And now our good old vessel
A battered hulk she lies.

"Shall we yield up to Spaniards
What England to our care

Entrusted, to restore her,

In cowardly despair?

What think?-there is powder

Yet stored in casks belowA spark will do the businessSay, will ye cheat the foe ?"

From out the row of sailors A master gunner came— "Well hast thou spoken, captain,

Death is less hard than shame.
Though faint with wounds and bruises,
Our weary spirits drag,
Our ship shall never battle
Beneath the Spanish flag."

So spake he; but few voices.
Were heard in loud applause,
And slowly rose a murmur
Against the weaker cause.
So one took up the answer
In name of all the rest.
(At last their courage wavered
Before that fearful test.)

"Comrades this day has witnessed No dastard 'mongst our crew,

In day-light and in darkness

We've done all man could do. Heaven gives our foes the honour, Makes weakness yield to might; Not ours 'gainst heaven's ordinance Presumptuously to fight.

"Wives watch for us in England,
And children lisp our names,

And maids are praying heaven to guard
Sweethearts from seas and flames.
Shall we leave hearts that sicken,
E'en now in hope deferred,
To close their watch in anguish,
And find their prayers unheard?

"Defeat is no dishonour.

Where cowardice is not,

And veering gales of fortune
Are every sailor's lot.
Awhile our life is darkened,

Captives on Spanish land,
Hereafter we'll have vengeance,—
Slaves to her command.

"Yield now, for future freedom
Take sorrow now in hope;
We yet shall see the Spaniards flee,

Unfit with us to cope.

But let no false pride sever

The cords that bind for men

The present to the future,

Sure 'now' to hopeful 'then."

Then spoke the captain slowly, "If ye will have it so,

Haul down the flag that never

Yet fell before a foe.

At last defeat has found me,

I know what must be must-
Yet hear me, comrades, witness
I've not betrayed my trust."

And slowly the shamed pennon

Crept down the quivering shrouds,
That long had streamed in freedom
Beneath the flying clouds.
So sailed the gallant vessel
Beneath the flag of Spain,
And in a Spanish prison

The captain bore his pain.
Two weary days of anguish

Within stone walls he lay,

Then death came down and met him,

And bore his soul away.

"Beeton's Boys' Magazine," by permission of Messrs Ward, Lock, & Tyler.

A BALLAD OF SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE.

A GOODLY ship of English mould

Rode forth upon the main,

To waft across a famous knight
Unto the shores of Spain;

Sir Richard Fanshawe was the name

This noble pilgrim bore,

And he might veil his cap to none

For valour, wit, and lore.