Chapter 20
Meanwhile, young Bess of Sydenham, the queen Of Drake's deep heart, emprisoned in her home, Fenced by her father's angry watch and ward Lest he--the poor plebeian dread of Spain, Shaker of nations, king of the untamed seas-- Might win some word with her, sweet Bess, the flower Triumphant o'er their rusty heraldries, Waited her lover, as in ancient tales The pale princess from some grey wizard's tower Midmost the deep sigh of enchanted woods Looks for the starry flash of her knight's shield; Or on the further side o' the magic West Sees pushing through the ethereal golden gloom Some blurred black prow, with loaded colours coarse, Clouded with sunsets of a mortal sea, And rich with earthly crimson. She, with lips Apart, still waits the shattering golden thrill When it shall grate the coasts of Fairyland.
Only, to Bess of Sydenham, there came No sight or sound to break that frozen spell And lonely watch, no message from her love, Or none that reached her restless helpless hands. Only the general rumour of the world Borne to her by the gossip of her maid Kept the swift pictures passing through her brain Of how the _Golden Hynde_ was hauled ashore At Deptford through a sea of exultation, And by the Queen's command was now set up For an everlasting memory! Of how the Queen with subtle statecraft still Kept Spain at arm's-length, dangling, while she played At fast and loose with France, whose embassy, Arriving with the marriage-treaty, found (And trembled at her daring, since the wrath Of Spain seemed, in their eyes, to flake with foam The storm-beat hulk) a gorgeous banquet spread To greet them on that very _Golden Hynde_ Which sacked the Spanish main, a gorgeous feast, The like of which old England had not seen Since the bluff days of boisterous king Hal, Great shields of brawn with mustard, roasted swans, Haunches of venison, roasted chines of beef, And chewets baked, big olive-pyes thereto, And sallets mixed with sugar and cinnamon, White wine, rose-water, and candied eringoes. There, on the outlawed ship, whose very name Rang like a blasphemy in the imperial ears Of Spain (its every old worm-eaten plank Being scored with scorn and courage that not storm Nor death, nor all their Inquisition racks, The white-hot irons and bloody branding whips That scarred the backs of Rome's pale galley-slaves, Her captured English seamen, ever could daunt), There with huge Empires waiting for one word, One breath of colour and excuse, to leap Like wolves at the naked throat of her small isle, There in the eyes of the staggered world she stood, Great Gloriana, while the live decks reeled With flash of jewels and flush of rustling silks, She stood with Drake, the corsair, and her people Surged like a sea around. There did she give Open defiance with her agate smile To Spain. "Behold this pirate, now," she cried, "Whose head my Lord, the Invincible, Philip of Spain Demands from England. Kneel down, Master Drake, Kneel down; for now have I this gilded sword Wherewith to strike it off. Nay, thou my lord Ambassador of France, since I be woman, And squeamish at the sight of blood, give thou The accolade." With that jest she gave the hilt (Thus, even in boldness, playing a crafty part, And dangling France before the adventurous deed) To Marchaumont: and in the face of Europe, With that huge fleet in Cadiz and the whole World-power of Spain crouching around her isle, Knighted the master-thief of the unknown world, Sir Francis Drake. And then the rumour came Of vaster privateerings planned by Drake Against the coasts of Philip; but held in check And fretting at the leash, as ever the Queen Clung to her statecraft, while Drake's enemies Worked in the dark against him. Spain had set An emperor's ransom on his life. At home John Doughty, treacherous brother of that traitor Who met his doom by Drake's own hand, intrigued With Spain abroad and Spain's dark emissaries At home to avenge his brother. Burleigh still Beset Drake's path with pitfalls: treacherous greed For Spain's blood-money daggered all the dark Around him, and John Doughty without cease Sought to make use of all; until, by chance, Drake gat the proof of treasonable intrigue With Spain, against him, up to the deadly hilt, And hurled him into the Tower. Many a night She sat by that old casement nigh the sea And heard its ebb and flow. With soul erect And splendid now she waited, yet there came No message; and, she thought, he hath seen at last My little worth. And when her maiden sang, With white throat throbbing softly in the dusk And fingers gently straying o'er the lute, As was her wont at twilight, some old song Of high disdainful queens and lovers pale Pining a thousand years before their feet, She thought, "O, if my lover loved me yet My heart would break for joy to welcome him: Perchance his true pride will not let him come Since false pride barred him out"; and yet again She burned with shame, thinking, "to him such pride Were matter for a jest. Ah no, he hath seen My little worth." Even so, one night she sat, One dark rich summer night, thinking him far Away, wrapped in the multitudinous cares Of one that seemed the steersman of the State Now, thro' the storm of Europe; while her maid Sang to the lute, and soft sea-breezes brought Wreathed scents and sighs of secret waves and flowers Warm through the casement's muffling jasmine bloom.
SONG
I
_Nymphs and naiads, come away, Love lies dead! Cover the cast-back golden head, Cover the lovely limbs with may, And with fairest boughs of green, And many a rose-wreathed briar spray; But let no hateful yew be seen Where Love lies dead._
II
_Let not the queen that would not hear, (Love lies dead!) Or beauty that refused to save. Exult in one dejected tear; But gather the glory of the year, The pomp and glory of the year, The triumphing glory of the year, And softly, softly, softly shed Its light and fragrance round the grave Where Love lies dead_. The song ceased. Far away the great sea slept, And all was very still. Only hard by One bird-throat poured its passion through the gloom, And the whole night breathlessly listened. A twig Snapped, the song ceased, the intense dumb night was all One passion of expectation--as if that song Were prelude, and ere long the heavens and earth Would burst into one great triumphant psalm. The song ceased only as if that small bird-throat Availed no further. Would the next great chord Ring out from harps in flaming seraph hands Ranged through the sky? The night watched, breathless, dumb. Bess listened. Once again a dry twig snapped Beneath her casement, and a face looked up, Draining her face of blood, of sight, of life, Whispering, a voice from far beyond the stars, Whispering, unutterable joy, the whole Glory of life and death in one small word-- _Sweetheart!_ The jasmine at her casement shook, She knew no more than he was at her side, His arms were round her, and his breath beat warm Against her cheek.
* * * *
Suddenly, nigh the house, A deep-mouthed mastiff bayed and a foot crunched The gravel. "Hark! they are watching for thee," she cried. He laughed: "There's half of Europe on the watch Outside for my poor head, 'Tis cosier here With thee; but now"--his face grew grave, he drew A silken ladder from his doublet--"quick, Before yon good gamekeeper rounds the house We must be down." And ere the words were out Bess reached the path, and Drake was at her side. Then into the star-stabbed shadow of the woods They sped, his arm around her. Suddenly She drew back with a cry, as four grim faces, With hand to forelock, glimmered in their way. Laughing she saw their storm-beat friendly smile Welcome their doughty captain in this new Adventure. Far away, once more they heard The mastiff bay; then nearer, as if his nose Were down upon the trail; and then a cry As of a hot pursuit. They reached the brook, Hurrying to the deep. Drake lifted Bess In his arms, and down the watery bed they splashed To baffle the clamouring hunt. Then out of the woods They came, on the seaward side, and Bess, with a shiver, Saw starlight flashing from bare cutlasses, As the mastiff bayed still nearer. Swiftlier now They passed along the bare blunt cliffs and saw The furrow ploughed by that strange cannon-shot Which saved this hour for Bess; down to the beach And starry foam that churned the silver gravel Around an old black lurching boat, a strange Grim Charon's wherry for two lovers' flight, Guarded by old Tom Moone. Drake took her hand, And with one arm around her waist, her breath Warm on his cheek for a moment, in she stepped Daintily o'er the gunwale, and took her seat, His throned princess, beside him at the helm, Backed by the glittering waves, his throned princess, With jewelled throat and glorious hair that seemed Flashing back scents and colours to a sea Which lived but to reflect her loveliness.
Then, all together, with their brandished oars The seamen thrust as a heavy mounded wave Lifted the boat; and up the flowering breast Of the next they soared, then settled at the thwarts, And the fierce water boiled before their blades While with Drake's iron hand upon the helm They plunged and ploughed across the starlit seas To where a small black lugger at anchor swung, Dipping her rakish brow i' the liquid moon. Small was she, but not fangless; for Bess saw, With half a tremor, the dumb protective grin Of four grim guns above the tossing boat.
But ere his seamen or his sweetheart knew What power, as of a wind, bore them along, Anchor was up, the sails were broken out, And as they scudded down the dim grey coast Of a new enchanted world (for now had Love Made all things new and strange) the skilled musicians Upraised, at Drake's command, a song to cheer Their midnight path across that faery sea.
SONG
I
Sweet, what is love? 'Tis not the crown of kings, Nay, nor the fire of white seraphic wings! Is it a child's heart leaping while he sings? Even so say I; Even so say I.
II
Love like a child around our world doth run, Happy, happy, happy for all that God hath done, Glad of all the little leaves dancing in the sun, Even so say I; Even so say I.
III
Sweet, what is love? 'Tis not the burning bliss Angels know in heaven! God blows the world a kiss Wakes on earth a wild-rose! Ah, who knows not this? Even so say I; Even so say I.
IV
Love, love is kind! Can it be far away, Lost in a light that blinds our little day? Seems it a great thing? Sweetheart, answer nay; Even so say I; Even so say I.
V
Sweet, what is love? The dust beneath our feet, Whence breaks the rose and all the flowers that greet April and May with lips and heart so sweet; Even so say I; Even so say I.
VI
Love is the dust whence Eden grew so fair, Dust of the dust that set my lover there, Ay, and wrought the gloriole of Eve's gold hair, Even so say I; Even so say I.
VII
Also the springing spray, the little topmost flower Swung by the bird that sings a little hour, Earth's climbing spray into the heaven's blue bower, Even so say I; Even so say I.
And stranger, ever stranger, grew the night Around those twain, for whom the fleecy moon Was but a mightier Cleopatra's pearl Dissolving in the rich dark wine of night, While 'mid the tenderer talk of eyes and hands And whispered nothings, his great ocean realm Rolled round their gloomy barge, robing its hulk With splendours Rome and Egypt never knew. Old ocean was his Nile, his mighty queen An English maiden purer than the dawn, His cause the cause of Freedom, his reward The glory of England. Strangely simple, then, Simple as life and death, anguish and love, To Bess appeared those mighty dawning dreams, Whereby he shaped the pageant of the world To a new purpose, strangely simple all Those great new waking tides i' the world's great soul That set towards the fall of tyranny Behind a thunderous roar of ocean triumph O'er burning ships and shattered fleets, while England Grasped with sure hands the sceptre of the sea, That untamed realm of Liberty which none Had looked upon as aught but wilderness Ere this, or even dreamed of as the seat Of power and judgment and high sovereignty Whereby all nations at the last should make One brotherhood, and war should be no more. And ever, as the vision broadened out, The sense of some tremendous change at hand, The approach of vast Armadas and the dawn Of battle, reddening the diviner dawn With clouds, confused it, till once more the song Rang out triumphant o'er the glittering sea.
SONG
I
_Ye that follow the vision Of the world's weal afar, Have ye met with derision And the red laugh of war; Yet the thunder shall not hurt you, Nor the battle-storms dismay; Tho' the sun in heaven desert you, "Love will find out the way."_
II
_When the pulse of hope falters, When the fire flickers low On your faith's crumbling altars, And the faithless gods go; When the fond hope ye cherished Cometh, kissing, to betray; When the last star hath perished, "Love will find out the way."_
III
_When the last dream bereaveth you, And the heart turns to stone, When the last comrade leaveth you In the desert, alone; With the whole world before you Clad in battle-array, And the starless night o'er you, "Love will find out the way."_
IV
_Your dreamers may dream it The shadow of a dream, Your sages may deem it A bubble on the stream; Yet our kingdom draweth nigher With each dawn and every day, Through the earthquake and the fire "Love will find out the way."_
V
_Love will find it, tho' the nations Rise up blind, as of old, And the new generations Wage their warfares of gold; Tho' they trample child and mother As red clay into the clay, Where brother wars with brother, "Love will find out the way."_
Dawn, ever bearing some divine increase Of beauty, love, and wisdom round the world, Dawn, like a wild-rose in the fields of heaven Washed grey with dew, awoke, and found the barque At anchor in a little land-locked bay. A crisp breeze blew, and all the living sea Beneath the flower-soft colours of the sky, Now like a myriad-petalled rose and now Innumerably scalloped into shells Of rosy fire, with dwindling wrinkles edged Fainter and fainter to the unruffled glow And soft white pallor of the distant deep, Shone with a mystic beauty for those twain Who watched the gathering glory; and, in an hour, Drake and sweet Bess, attended by a guard Of four swart seamen, with bare cutlasses, And by the faithful eyes of old Tom Moone, Went up the rough rock-steps and twisted street O' the small white sparkling seaport, tow'rds the church Where, hand in hand, before God's altar they, With steadfast eyes, did plight eternal troth, And so were wedded. Never a chime of bells Had they: but as they passed from out the porch Between the sleeping graves, a skylark soared Above the world in an ecstasy of song, And quivering heavenwards, lost himself in light.