ere are many ills to conquer, there are many wrongs to right,
For the glory of the moment, for the triumph by-and-bye;
For the love of truth and duty, up and dare, and do or die,
And though fire and shot and whirlwind join to tear the standard
down,
Up and nail it to the masthead, as we did at Camperdown.

THE ARMADA.

BY LORD MACAULAY.

Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise,
I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,
When that great Fleet Invincible against her bore, in vain,
The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts in Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,
There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;
The crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,
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 Edgecombe'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:
The yeomen, round the market cross, make clear and 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 ancient 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 flagstaff 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!_ the 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