a gloom
Unfathomable. Once only his lips moved
Half-consciously, breathing those mighty words,
_The clouds His chariot_! Then, suddenly, he turned
And looked upon the little flock of ships
That followed on the fleet of England, sloops
Helpless in fight. These, manned by the brave zeal
Of many a noble house, from hour to hour
Had plunged out from the coast to join his flag.
"Better if they had brought us powder and food
Than sought to join us thus," he had growled; but now
"Lord God," he cried aloud, "they'll light our road
To victory yet!" And in great sweeping strokes
Once more he drew his mighty battle-plan
Before the captains. In the thickening gloom
They stared at his grim face as at a man
Risen from hell, with all the powers of hell
At his command, a face tempered like steel
In the everlasting furnaces, a rock
Of adamant, while with a voice that blent
With the ebb and flow of the everlasting sea
He spake, and at the low deep menacing words
Monotonous with the unconquerable
Passion and level strength of his great soul
They shuddered; for the man seemed more than man,
And from his iron lips resounded doom
As from the lips of cannon, doom to Spain,
Inevitable, unconquerable doom.

And through that mighty host of Spain there crept
Cold winds of fear, as to the darkening sky
Once more from lips of kneeling thousands swept
The vespers of an Empire--one vast cry,
SALVE REGINA! God, what wild reply
Hissed from the clouds in that dark hour of dreams?
AVE MARIA, _those about to die
Salute thee_! See, what ghostly pageant streams
Above them? What thin hands point down like pale moonbeams?

Thick as the ghosts that Dante saw in hell
Whirled on the blast thro' boundless leagues of pain,
Thick, thick as wind-blown leaves innumerable,
In the Inquisition's yellow robes her slain
And tortured thousands, dense as the red rain
That wellnigh quenched her fires, went hissing by
With twisted shapes, raw from the racks of Spain,
Salve Regina!--rushing thro' the sky,
And pale hands pointing down and lips that mocked her cry,

Ten thousand times ten thousand!--what are these
That are arrayed in yellow robes and sweep
Between your prayers and God like phantom seas
Prophesying over your masts? Could Rome not keep