MacMillan's Reading Books Part 11

To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce s.h.i.+ne; All thine shall be the subject main: And every sh.o.r.e it circles thine.

The Muses, still with freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair: Blessed isle! with matchless beauty crowned, And manly hearts to guard the fair: Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, Britons never will be slaves!

THOMSON.

[Notes: _James Thomson_, born 1700, died 1748. He was educated for the Scotch ministry, but came to London, and commenced his career as a poet by the series of poems called the 'Seasons,' descriptive of scenes in nature.

_The Muses, i.e._, the Sciences and Arts, which flourish best where there are free inst.i.tutions.]

WATERLOO.

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell;-- But hus.h.!.+ hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it?--No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet-- But hark!--That heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!

Arm! arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening roar!

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness: And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning-star; While throng'd the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips,--"The foe! they come!

they come!"

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pa.s.s, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,--alas!

Ere evening to be trodden like the gra.s.s, Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure; when this fiery ma.s.s Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low!

Last noon beheld them full of l.u.s.ty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms,--the day Battle's magnificently stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover--heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,--friend, foe,--in one red burial blent!

BYRON.

[Notes:_Waterloo_. Fought, 1815, between Napoleon on one side, and Wellington and Blucher (the Prussian General) on the other. Its result was the defeat of Napoleon, and his imprisonment by the Allies in St.

Helena. The festivities held at Brussels, the headquarters of the British Army, on the eve of the battle, were rudely disturbed by the news that the action had already begun.

_Ardennes_. A district on the frontier of France, bordering on Belgium.

_Ivry_. The battle in which Henry IV., in the struggle for the crown of France, completely routed the forces of the Catholic League (1590).

_My white plume s.h.i.+ne_. The white plume was the distinctive mark of the House of Bourbon.

_Oriflamme_, or Auriflamme (lit. Flame of Gold), originally the banner of the Abbey of St. Denis, afterwards appropriated by the crown of France. "Let the helmet of Navarre (Henry's own country) be to-day the Royal Standard of France."

_Culverin_. A piece of artillery of long range.

_The fiery Duke_ (of Mayenne).

_p.r.i.c.king fast_. Cf. "a gentle knight was p.r.i.c.king o'er the plain"

(Spencer).

_With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne_. The allies of the League. Almayne or Almen, a district in the Netherlands.

IVRY.

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 look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye: He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high, Right graciously he smiled on us, as roll'd from wing to wing, Down all our line a deafening shout, "G.o.d 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 b.l.o.o.d.y fray, Press where ye see my white plume s.h.i.+ne, 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 p.r.i.c.king fast across St. Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.

Now by the lips of those we 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 rush'd, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

Now, G.o.d 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 gale.

The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail.

And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, "Remember St. Bartholomew!" was pa.s.s'd 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 friends.h.i.+p or in war, As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the soldier 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 ma.s.s for thy poor spearmen's souls.