Where England Sets her Feet by Bernard Capes

‘The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, / Merrily did we drop / Below the kirk, below the hill, / Below the light-house top. '

A sky of liquid blue freighted with lazy argosies of clouds; the green lift of the Hoe under, like England on its feet to cry them God speed; drums and fiddles sounding on the quay; sunshine and merriment and colour in infinite variety coming up from the water and going down to it; beyond all, the ships themselves, resplendent painted craft, beflagged and picture-sailed, webbed with glistening shrouds, their fighting tops streaming blood-red pennons, like giant beacons alive with tongues of flame, their prows and side galleries minutely carved and frosted with gilding, coats of arms emblazoned on their poops, eyes of excitement appearing even in their port-holes, where each gun seemed to have thrust up its own little window to peep forth and see what all the fun was about -- so, to such views and accompaniments, was brazen Adventure launched in Brion's day, and so had been his. He had found it all very right and inspiring.