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POETRY.

THE BATTLE OF MONCONTOUR.

[The Huguenots, under Admiral Coligny, were defeated at Moncontour by the Duke of Anjou in October, 1569.]

Оn, weep for Moncontour! Oh, weep for the hour
When the children of darkness and evil had power,
When the horsemen of Valois triumphantly trod

On the bosoms that bled for their rights and their God!

Oh, weep for Moncontour! Oh, weep for the slain,
Who for faith and for freedom lay slaughtered in vain!
Oh, weep for the living, who linger to bear
The renegade's shame, or the exile's despair!

One look, one last look, to our cots and our towers,
To the rows of our vines, and the beds of our flowers,
To the church where the bones of our fathers decayed,
Where we fondly had deemed that our own would be laid.

Alas! we must leave thee, dear desolate home,
To the spearmen of Uri, the shavelings of Rome,
To the serpent of Florence, the vulture of Spain,
To the pride of Anjou, and the guile of Lorraine.

Farewell to thy fountains, farewell to thy shades,
To the song of thy youths, and the dance of thy maids,
To the breath of thy gardens, the hum of thy bees,
And the long waving line of the blue Pyrenees.

Farewell, and forever. The priest and the slave
May rule in the halls of the free and the brave.
Our hearths we abandon; our lands we resign;
But, Father, we kneel to no altar but thine.

THE ARMADA. (1588.)

[A Fragment.]

ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble England'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 behooves 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.

(1) The Isle of Alderney.

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 flag-staff 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 sunk upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea, Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be. From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford

Bay,

That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;
For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame

spread,

High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy

Head.

Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of

fire.

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves: The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless

caves:

O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew:

IIe roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.(')

(') The battle of Crécy.

(2) Beaulieu Abbey is in Hampshire, and Cranbourne Chase in Dorsetshire. Longleat, in Wiltshire, the seat of the Marquis of Bath, at the time of the Armada

Right sharp and quick the bells all night rung out from Bristol town,

And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton

down;

The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night, And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light.

Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence

broke,

And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke.
At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires;
At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;
From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of

fear;

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder

cheer:

And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying

feet,

And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street;

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in : And castward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike er

rand went,

And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.

Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;

High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north;

And on, and on, without a pause untired they bounded still: All night from tower to tower they sprung; they sprung from

hill to hill:

Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky

dales,

Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales,

was already in the possession of the Thynne family. Macaulay admired it more than any other country-house in England.

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