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, a 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 culverin.

The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. Andre'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.

Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,

As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre?

Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France to-day,

And many a lordly banner God gave them for a

prey.

But we of the religion have borne us best in

fight;

And the good Lord of Rosny has ta'en the cornet white.

Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath

ta'en,

The cornet white with black, the flag of false

Lorraine.

Up with it high; unfurl it wide; that all the host may know

How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought His church such woe.

Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest point of war,

Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for Henry 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, the 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 Saint Genevieve, 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,

THE ARMADA:

A FRAGMENT.

ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble Eng. land'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 of Spain.

It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day,

There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay;

Her crew hath 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 Edgecumbe'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;

His yeomen round the market cross make clear an ample space,

For there behoves him to set up the standard of Her Grace.

And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gayly dance the bells,

As slow upon the laboring 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 Cæsar'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 ne'er again shall be.

From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,