At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile. 
  At sunrise she escaped their van, by God’s especial grace;
  And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase. 
  Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall;
  The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgcumbe’s lofty hall;
  Many a light fishing bark put out to pry along the coast;
  And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post. 
  With his white hair unbonneted the stout old sheriff comes;
  Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums;
  His yeomen, round the market-cross, make clear an ample space,
  For there behoves him to set up the standard of her Grace. 
  And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,
  As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells. 
  Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancien crown,
  And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down. 
  So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,
  Bohemia’s plume, and Genoa’s bow, and Caesar’s eagle shield: 
  So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay,
  And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay. 
  Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, sir knight:  ho! scatter flowers,
          fair maids: 
  Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute; ho! gallants draw your blades: 
  Thou sun, shine on her joyously:  ye breezes waft her wide: 
  Our glorious SEMPER EADEM,—­this banner of our pride. 
  The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner’s massy fold,
  The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold: 
  Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea;—­
  Such night in England ne’er had been, nor e’er again shall be. 
  From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford bay,
  That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day: 
  For swift to east and swift to west the warning radiance spread;
  High on St. Michael’s mount it shone, it shone on Beachy Head. 
  Far on the deep the Spaniards saw, along each southern shire,
  Cape beyond cape, in endless rage, those twinkling points of fire: 
  The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar’s glittering waves;
  The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip’s sunless caves. 
  O’er Longleat’s towers, o’er Cranbourne’s oaks, the fiery herald flew;
  He roused the Shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu. 
  Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town;
  And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down. 
  The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,
  And saw o’erhanging Richmond-hill the streak of blood-red light. 
  Then bugle’s note and cannon’s roar the death-like silence broke,
  And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke. 
  At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires: