Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,

For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought thy walls

annoy.

Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of

war;

Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre.

O, how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ;
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears.
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land,
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand;
And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled
flood,

And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,
To fight for his own holy name and Henry of Navarre.

The King is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest,
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest;
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.

Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing

Down all our line in deafening shout, "God save our lord, the King!"

"And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may,For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray,

Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks

of war,

And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre. "

Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring cul-
verin !

The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. André's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies! upon them with the lance!
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white

crest;

And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding

star,

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein,

;

D'Aumale hath cried for quarter, the Flemish Count is slain Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail;

And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van,
Remember St. Bartholomew !" was passed from man to man.
But out spake gentle Henry: "No Frenchman is my foe;
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go."
O, was there ever such a knight in friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ?

Ho, maidens of Vienna ! ho, matrons of Lucerne !
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall

return.

Ho, Philip! send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles,

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's

souls.

Ho, gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright!

Ho, burghers of St. Geneviève, keep watch and ward to-night! For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the

slave,

And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the brave. Then glory to his holy name from whom all glories are ;

And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre. THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.

BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

OF Nelson and the North

Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone;

By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold, determined hand,

And the prince of all the land
Led them on.

Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line :

It was ten of April morn by the chime :

As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;

BATTLE ECHOES

247

And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.

But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rushed

O'er the deadly space

between.

"Hearts of oak!" our captain cried; when each gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.

Their shots along the deep slowly boom :-
Then ceased-and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail;
Or in conflagration pale

Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hailed them o'er the wave:
"Ye are brothers! ye are men!
And we conquer but to save :-
So peace instead of death let us bring;
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet

Then Denmark blessed our chief,
That gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief

From her people wildly rose,

As death withdrew his shades from the day.

While the sun looked smiling bright

O'er a wide and woeful sight,

Where the fires of funeral light

Died away.

Now joy, Old England, rise,
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,

Let us think of them that sleep
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died
With the gallant good Riou;

Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,

And the mermaid's song condoles,

Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave!

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

BORDER SONG

MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale !

Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order?
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale !

All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.
Many a banner spread

Flutters above your head,

Many a crest that is famous in story.

Mount and make ready, then,

Sons of the mountain glen,

Fight for the Queen and the old Scottish glory.
Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing;
Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,
Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.
Trumpets are sounding,

War-steeds are bounding,

Stand to your arms, then, and march in good order;
England shall many a day

Tell of the bloody fray

When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.

SIR WALTER SCOTT (The Monastery).

THE "REVENGE"

A BALLAD OF THE

FLEET

AT Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,

And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away: Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!"'

Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: ""Fore God, I am no

coward,

But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, And the half my men are sick; I must fly, but follow quick. We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?" Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: "I know you are no coward;

You fly them for a moment to fight with them again :

But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.

I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,

To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain."

So Lord Howard past away with five ships of war that day,
Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven;
But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land
Very carefully and slow,

Men of Bideford in Devon,

And we laid them on the ballast down below;

For we brought them all aboard,

And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain,

To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.

He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight,
And he sail'd away fom Flores till the Spaniard came in sight,
With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weather bow.
"Shall we fight or shall we fly ?

Good Sir Richard, tell us now,

For to fight is but to die!

There 'll be little of us left by the time this sun is set."

And Sir Richard said again :

We be all good Englishmen ; Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil, For I never turn'd my back upon

Don or devil yet."

Sir Richard spoke, and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a hurrah,

and so

The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe; With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below; For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between.

Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their decks and laugh'd;

Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft Running on and on, till delay'd

By their mountain-like San Philip, that, of fifteen hundred tons, And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of

guns,

Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd.