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 Picard1
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 hun-
ters 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 fresh'ning 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, as busy, as the day; For swift to east, and swift to west, the warning radiance

spread

High on St. Michael's Mount it shone-it shone on Beachy Head.

Far o'er 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

He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge-the rangers of Beaulieu.

1 Battle of Cressy, 1346.

Right sharp and quick the bells rang out, all night, 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, that streak of bloodred light.

The bugle's note and cannon's roar the deathlike 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 furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying

feet,

And the broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down each rousing street;

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in; And eastward straight for wild Blackheath the warlike errand went;

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

Southward for Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright coursers forth;

High on black 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 sprang, all night from hill to hill;

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

dales;

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

LADY OF PROVENCE

131

Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely

height;

Till streamed in crimson, on the wind, the Wrekin's crest of

light.

Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately

fane,

And town and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain :

Till Belvoir's lordly towers the sign to Lincoln sent,

And Lincoln sped the message on, o'er the wide vale of Trent ; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burnt on Gaunt's embattled pile,

And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.

XXI.-LADY OF PROVENCE.

(MRS. HEMANS.)

This piece is founded on an incident in early French history. It has been necessarily curtailed.

THE war-note of the Saracen

Was on the winds of France;

It had stilled the harp of the troubadour,
And the clash of the tournay's lance.

The sounds of the sea, and the sounds of the night,
And the hollow echoes of charge and flight,

Were around Clotilde, as she knelt to pray

In a chapel where the mighty lay,

On the old Provençal shore:
Many a Chatillon beneath,

Unstirred by the ringing trumpets' breath,

His shroud of armour wore.

But meekly the voice of the lady rose
Through the trophies of their proud repose;
And her fragile frame, at every blast
That full of the savage war-horn passed,
Trembling, as trembles a bird's quick heart
When it vainly strives from its cage to part,-
So knelt she in her woe;

A weeper alone with the tearless dead!

Oh, they reck not of tears o'er their quiet shed,
Or the dust had stirred below!

Hark! a swift step; she hath caught its tone Through the dash of the sea, through the wild wind's moan. Is her lord returned with his conquering bands?No! a breathless vassal before her stands!

Hast thou been on the field? art thou come from the host?"

"From the slaughter, lady! all, all is lost! Our banners are taken-our knights laid lowOur spearmen chased by the Paynim foe-And thy lord"-his voice took a sadder sound"Thy lord-he is not on the bloody ground! There are those who tell that the leader's plume Was seen on the flight through the gathering gloom!"

A change o'er her mien and spirit passed:
She ruled the heart which had beat so fast;
She dashed the tears from her kindling eye,
With a glance as of sudden royalty.

"Dost thou stand by the tombs of the glorious dead,
And fear not to say that their son hath fled?
Away! he is lying by lance and shield:--
Point me the path to his battle-field!"

Silently, with lips compressed,

Pale hands clasped above her breast,
Stately brow of anguish high,

Death-like cheek, but dauntless eye;—
Silently, o'er that red plain,

Moved the lady, 'midst the slain.

She searched into many an unclosed eye,
That looked without soul to the starry sky;
She bowed down o'er many a shattered breast,
She lifted up helmet and cloven crest-
Not there, not there he lay!

"Lead where the most has been dared and done
Where the heart of the battle hath bled ;-Lead on!”
And the vassal took the way.

LADY OF PROVENCE.

He turned to a dark and lonely tree
That waved o'er a fountain red;
Oh, swiftest there had the current free
From noble veins been shed!
Thickest there the spear-heads gleamed,
And the scattered plumage streamed,
And the broken shields were tossed,
And the shivered lances crossed-

HE WAS THERE! the leader amidst his band
Where the faithful had made their last vain stand;
With the falchion yet in his cold hand grasped,
And a banner of France to his bosom clasped !--
She quelled in her soul the deep floods of woe,--
The time was not yet for their waves to flow;
And a proud smile shone o'er her pale despair,
As she turned to her followers-" Your lord is there!
Look on him; know him by scarf and crest!
Bear him away with his sires to rest!"

There is no plumed head o'er the bier to bend-
No brother of battle-no princely friend :-

By the red fountain the valiant lie-
The flower of Provençal chivalry.

But one free step and one lofty heart

Bear through that scene to the last their part.

"I have won thy fame from the breath of wrong; My soul hath risen for thy glory strong;

Now call me hence by thy side to be:

The world thou leav'st has no place for me.
Give me my home on thy noble heart!
Well have we loved-let us both depart!"
And pale on the breast of the dead she lay,
The living cheek to the cheek of clay;
The living cheek! oh, it was not in vain
That strife of the spirit, to rend its chain!-
She is there, at rest, in her place of pride!
In death, how queen-like!—a glorious bride!
From the long heart-withering early gone:

She hath lived-she hath loved-her task is done!

133