That was afar.  The land and nearer sea
Lay sweltering in hot sunshine.  The brown beach
Scarce whispered, for a soft incoming tide
Was gentle with it.  Green the water lapped
And sparkled at all edges.  The night-heavens
Are not more thickly speckled o’er with stars
Than that fair harbour with its fishing craft. 
And crowds of galleys shooting to and fro
Did feed the ships of war with their stout crews,
And bear aboard fresh water, furniture
Of war, much lesser victual, sallets, fruit,
All manner equipment for the squadron, sails,
Long spars. 
              Also was chaffering on the Hoe,
Buying and bargaining, taking of leave
With tears and kisses, while on all hands pushed
Tall lusty men with baskets on their heads
Piled of fresh bread, and biscuit newly drawn.

Then shouts, ‘The captains!’
                               Raleigh, Hawkins, Drake,
Old Martin Frobisher, and many more;
Howard, the Lord High Admiral, headed them—­
They coming leisurely from the bowling green,
Elbowed their way.  For in their stoutness loth
To hurry when ill news first brake on them,
They playing a match ashore—­ill news I say,
’The Spaniards are toward’—­while panic-struck
The people ran about them, Drake cries out,
Knowing their fear should make the danger worse,
’Spaniards, my masters!  Let the Spaniards wait. 
Fall not a-shouting for the boats; is time
To play the match out, ay to win, and then
To beat the Spaniards.’ 
                         So the rest gave way
At his insistance, playing that afternoon
The bravest match (one saith) was ever scored.

’T was no time lost; nay, not a moment lost;
For look you, when the winning cast was made,
The town was calm, the anchors were all up,
The boats were manned to row them each to his ship,
The lowering cloud in the offing had gone south
Against the wind, and all was work, stir, heed,
Nothing forgot, nor grudged, nor slurred, and most
Men easy at heart as those brave sailors seemed.

And specially the women had put by
On a sudden their deep dread; yon Cornish coast
Neared of his insolency by the foe,
With his high seacastles numerous, seaforts
Many, his galleys out of number, manned
Each by three hundred slaves chained to the oar;
All his strong fleet of lesser ships, but great
As any of ours—­why that same Cornish coast
Might have lain farther than the far west land,
So had a few stout-hearted looks and words
Wasted the meaning, chilled the menace of
That frightful danger, imminent, hard at hand.

‘The captains come, the captains!’ and I turned
As they drew on.  I marked the urgency
Flashing in each man’s eye:  fain to be forth
But willing to be held at leisure.  Then
Cried a fair woman of the better sort
To Howard, passing by her pannier’d ass,
’Apples, Lord Admiral, good captains all,
Look you, red apples sharp and sweet are these,’