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, And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; The King is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, 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 The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. André's plain, 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, Ho, maidens of Vienna ! ho, matrons of Lucerne ! 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 Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; 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, But the might of England flushed 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 :- As they strike the shattered sail; Light the gloom. Out spoke the victor then, As he hailed them o'er the wave: Then Denmark blessed our chief, 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, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; Let us think of them that sleep Brave hearts! to Britain's pride Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave! 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? All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. 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. War-steeds are bounding, Stand to your arms, then, and march in good order; 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, 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, 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. |