Hurrah! Hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war, Hurrah! Hurrah ! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre.

2 Oh! 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 Coligny'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.

3 The king is come to marshal us, in all his armour 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.”

4 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 Saint 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.

5 Now, God be praised, the day is ours !-Mayenne hath turned

his rein! D'Aumale hath cried for quarter !-The Flemish count is

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 ? 6 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 hath ta’en the cornet white. Our own true Maximilian the cornet white has ta’en, The cornet white with crosses 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.

7 Ho! maidens of Vienna; ho! matrons of Lucerne !

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those whonevershall return.
Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy exican pistoles,
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's

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 valour of the brave. Then glory to His holy Name, from whom all glories are ! And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre !

- 39

THE ARMADA.'

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's day, 5 There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay; Her crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile.

St. Genevieve, Paris.
'TheArmada was sent by Philip II.

of Spain to crush England, the great
Protestant power. It sailed from
Lisbon, May 19th, 1588, and con-
sisted of 132 ships of war, and
very many transports; 8,766 sailors,
2,088 galley-slaves (as rowers),
21,855 soldiers, 1,355 noble volun-
teers, and 150 monks, headed by the
Vicar of the Inquisition. The Duke

of Medina-Sidonia commanded. Mexico had been conquered by Cortes, 1519-21. Spain received an

P

immense wealth of gold, &c.

from it.
5 Summer's day. The Armada

entered the English channel on
July 19th.
Plymouth, a Devonshire seaport.
Castile, a Spanish kingdom united

with Aragon, by the marriage of

Ferdinand and Isabella, in 1474. Black Fleet. The ships were

painted black. Aurigny, one of the Channel

Islands.

At sunrise she escaped their van, by Goi's especial grace,
And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase. 10
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 ; 15
Behind bim 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 gaily dance the bells,
As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells. 20
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, 25
And crush'd and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters

lay. Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, Sir Knight! ho! scatter flowers,