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

Hath ta'en the cornet white.
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 loudestpoint 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,
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. 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 !

LORD MACAULAY.

XLV

CRESCENTIUS.

I looked upon his brow,- -no sign
Of guilt or fear was there;

He stood as proud by that death-shrine

As even o'er despair

He had a power; in his eye

There was a quenchless energy,

A spirit that could dare

The deadliest form that death could take,

And dare it for the daring's sake.

He stood, the fetters on his hand,—
He raised them haughtily;

And had that grasp been on the brand,
It could not wave on high

With freer pride than it waved now. Around he looked with changeless brow On many a torture nigh—

The rack, the chain, the axe, the wheel, And, worst of all, his own red steel.

I saw him once before: he rode
Upon a coal-black steed;

And tens of thousands thronged the road
And bade their warrior speed.

His helm, his breastplate were of gold, And graved with many a dent, that told Of many a soldier's deed;

The sun shone on his sparkling mail And danced his snow-plume on the gale.

But now he stood, chained and alone,
The headsman by his side;
The plume, the helm, the charger gone;
The sword, that had defied
The mightiest, lay broken near,

And yet no sound nor sign of fear
Came from that lip of pride;
And never king's or conqueror's brow

Wore higher look than his did now.

He bent beneath the headsman's stroke
With an uncovered eye;

A wild shout from the numbers broke

Who thronged to see him die.
It was a people's loud acclaim,
The voice of anger and of shame,
A nation's funeral cry.

Rome's wail above her only son,
Her patriot-and her latest one.

L. E. LANDON.

XLVI

THE WAR-HORSE.

The fiery courser, when he hears from far
The sprightly trumpets and the shouts of war,
Pricks up his ears, and trembling with delight,
Shifts place, and paws, and hopes the promised fight:
On his right shoulder his thick mane reclined
Ruffles at speed, and dances in the wind.

Eager he stands,-then, starting with a bound,
He spurns the turf, and shakes the solid ground.
Fire from his eyes, clouds from his nostrils flow,
He bears his rider headlong on the foe!

DRYDEN.

XLVII

THE KNIGHT OF TOGGENBURG.

"Knight, to love thee, like a sister,
Vows this heart to thee;
Ask no other warmer feeling,-
That were pain to me.
Tranquil would I see thy coming,

Tranquil see thee go;

What that starting tear would tell me
I must never know."

He with silent anguish listens,

Though his heart-strings bleed;
Clasps her in his last embraces,
Springs upon his steed,
Summons every faithful vassal,
From his Alpine home,
Binds the cross upon his bosom,
Seeks the Holy Tomb.

There full many a deed of glory
Wrought the hero's arm;
Foremost still his plumage floated
Where the foemen swarm;
Till the Moslem, terror-stricken,
Quailed before his name.

But the pang that wrings his bosom
Lives at heart the same.