“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." 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 snowwhite crest; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Na varre. Now, God be praised, the day is ours. turned his rein. Mayenne hath D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain. 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 Saint 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." O, was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Na varre? Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey. 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. THE OLD SCOTTISH CAVALIER WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN OME listen to another song, Should make your heart beat high, Bring crimson to your forehead, Of days long since gone by, As e'er wore sword on thigh! Like a brave old Scottish cavalier, He kept his castle in the north, And not a man of all that clan Had ever ceased to pray For the Royal race they loved so well, Though exiled far away From the steadfast Scottish cavaliers, His father drew the righteous sword And chiefs of ancient names, He never owned the foreign rule, But kept his clan in peace at home, And when they asked him for his oath, Like a leal old Scottish cavalier, At length the news ran through the land,The Prince had come again! That night the fiery cross was sped O'er mountain and through glen; And our old baron rose in might, And rode away across the hills With the valiant Scottish cavaliers, He was the first that bent the knee The foremost still he trod, He gave his soul to God, Like a good old Scottish cavalier, O, never shall we know again The fair white rose has faded From the garden where it grew, But no fond tears save those of heaven, The glorious bed bedew Of the last old Scottish cavalier, All of the olden time. |