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THE BATTLE OF IVRY.
[Henry the Fourth, on his accession to the French crown, was opposed by a large part of his subjects under the Duke of Mayenne, with the assistance of Spain and Savoy. In March, 1590, he gained a decisive victory over that party at Ivry. Before the battle, he addressed his troops, "My children, if you lose sight of your colours, rally to my white plume-you will always find it in the path to honour and glory.” His conduct was answerable to his promise. Nothing could resist his impetuous valour, and the leaguers underwent a total and bloody defeat. In the midst of the rout, Henry followed, crying-"Save the French!" and his clemency added a number of the enemies to his own army.—Aikin's Biographical Dictionary.]
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!
And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre! Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, Through thy cornfields green and sunny vines, oh! pleasant land of France.
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters.
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war;
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre.
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
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 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;
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,
Down all our line, in deafening shout, " God save our lord, the King."
"And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he mayFor 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. 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 now upon them with the lance! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snowwhite 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
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. Batholomew," was passed from man to
But out spake gentle Henry then, "No Frenchman is my
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.
Ho! maidens of Vienna,-ho! matrons of Luzerne, Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall
Ho! Philip, send for charity, thy Mexican pistoles,
Ho! gallant nobles of the league, look that your arms be bright;
Ho! burghers of St. Généviève, keep watch and ward to
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised
And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valour of the
Then glory to his holy name from whom all glories are; And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre.
ATTEND, all ye who list to hear
It was about the lovely close
There came a gallant merchant-ship
Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet,
At earliest twilight, on the waves,
Lie heaving many a mile.
And with loose rein and bloody spur
With his white hair unbonneted,
In wrath he turned to bay,
And crushed and torn beneath his claws
Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, Sir Knight:
Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute:
The freshening breeze of eve unfurled
Night sank upon the dusky beach,
And on the purple sea,
Such night in England ne'er hath been
Nor e'er again shall be.