And when a fair wind rose again, there seemed...

And when a fair wind rose again, there seemed

No hope of passage by that fabled way

Northward, and suddenly Drake put down his helm

And, with some wondrous purpose in his eyes,

Turned Southward once again, until he found

A lonely natural harbour on the coast

Near San Francisco, where the cliffs were white

Like those of England, and the soft soil teemed

With gold. There they careened the Golden Hynde —

Her keel being thick with barnacles and weeds —

And built a fort and dockyard to refit

Their little wandering home, not half so large

As many a coasting barque to-day that scarce

Would cross the Channel, yet she had swept the seas

Of half the world, and even now prepared

For new adventures greater than them all.

And as the sound of chisel and hammer broke

The stillness of that shore, shy figures came,

Keen-faced and grave-eyed Indians, from the woods

To bow before the strange white-faced newcomers

As gods. Whereat the chaplain all aghast

Persuaded them with signs and broken words

And grunts that even Drake was but a man,

Whom none the less the savages would crown

With woven flowers and barbarous ritual

King of New Albion — so the seamen called

That land, remembering the white cliffs of home.

Much they implored, with many a sign and cry,

Which by the rescued slaves upon the prize

Were part interpreted, that Drake would stay

And rule them; and the vision of the great

Empire of Englishmen arose and flashed

A moment round them, on that lonely shore.

A small and weather-beaten band they stood,

Bronzed seamen by the laughing rescued slaves,

Ringed with gigantic loneliness and saw

An Empire that should liberate the world;

A Power before the lightning of whose arms

Darkness should die and all oppression cease;

A Federation of the strong and weak,

Whereby the weak were strengthened and the strong

Made stronger in the increasing good of all;

A gathering up of one another's loads;

A turning of the wasteful rage of war

To accomplish large and fruitful tasks of peace,

Even as the strength of some great stream is turned

To grind the corn for bread. E'en thus on England

That splendour dawned which those in dreams foresaw

And saw not with their living eyes, but thou,

England, mayst lift up eyes at last and see,

Who, like that angel of the Apocalypse

Hast set one foot upon thy sea-girt isle,

The other upon the waters, and canst raise

Now, if thou wilt, above the assembled nations,

The trumpet of deliverance to thy lips.

At last their task was done, the Golden Hynde

Undocked, her white wings hoisted; and away

Westward they swiftly glided from the shore

Where, with a wild lament, their Indian friends,

Knee-deep i’ the creaming foam, all stood at gaze,

Like men that for one moment in their lives

Have seen a mighty drama cross their path

And played upon the stage of vast events

Knowing, henceforward, all their life is nought.

But Westward sped the little Golden Hynde

Across the uncharted ocean, with no guide

But that great homing cry of all their hearts.

Far out of sight of land they steered, straight out

Across the great Pacific, in those days

When even the compass proved no trusty guide,

Straight out they struck in that small bark, straight out

Week after week, without one glimpse of aught

But heaving seas, across the uncharted waste

Straight to the sunset. Laughingly they sailed,

With all that gorgeous booty in their holds,

A splendour dragging deep through seas of doom,

A prey to the first great hurricane that blew

Except their God averted it. And still

Their skilled musicians cheered the way along

To shores beyond the sunset and the sea.

And oft at nights, the yellow fo'c' sle lanthorn

Swung over swarthy singing faces grouped

Within the four small wooden walls that made

Their home and shut them from the unfathomable

Depths of mysterious gloom without that rolled

All around them; or Tom Moone would heartily troll

A simple stave that struggled oft with thoughts

Beyond its reach, yet reached their hearts no less.