With haste they therefore all their
galleons
moor.
Marvell - Poems
If fortune can make guilty what she will.
But whilst I draw that scene, where you, ere
long.
Shall conquests act, you present are unsung.
For Santa Cruz the glad fleet takes her way.
And safely there casts anchor in the bay.
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122 THE POEMS
Never so many, with one joyful cry,
That place salated, where they all must die.
Deluded men I Fate with you did hut 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 higher.
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 pro-
duce
A grief, above the cure of grape's 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 beside, triumphantly do live.
With haste they therefore all their galleons moor.
And flank with cannon from the neighbouring
shore ;
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OP MARVELL. 123
Forts, lines, and sconces, all the bay along,
They build, and act all that can make them
strong.
Fond men ! who knew 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 had, for now undaunted Blake,
With winged speed, for Santa Cruz does make.
For your renown, the conquering fleet does ride,
O'er seas as vast as is the Spaniard's pride.
Whose fleet and trenches viewed, you soon did
say,
We to their strength are more obliged tlian
they;
Wer't not for that, they firom 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 passed, now we have found
them out.
Behold their navy does at anchor lie.
And they are ours, for now they cannot fly.
