50 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; 55 And the good lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cornet white

Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath

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.

60 Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest point of war,

Fling the red shreds a footcloth meet for Henry of Navarre.

Ho! maidens of Vienna; ho! matrons of Luzerne, Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return.

Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles,

65 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 crush'd the tyrant, our God hath rais'd the slave,

And mock'd the counsel of the wise and the valor

of the brave.

70 Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are;

And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of
Navarre!

Alfred Tennyson

1809-1892

LOCKSLEY HALL

(From Poems, 1842)

COMRADES, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn:

Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn.

'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the
curlews call,

Dreary gleams, about the moorland flying over
Locksley Hall;

5 Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts,

And the hollow-ocean ridges roaring into cata

racts.

Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I
went to rest,

Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the
West.

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising thro' the mellow shade,

10 Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver

braid...

Here about the beach I wander'd, nourishing a youth sublime

With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time;

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land

reposed;

When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed.

15 When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see;

Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.

In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast;

In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest;

In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove;

20 In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young,

And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung.

And I said, 'My Cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me,

Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets, to thee.'

25 On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour

and a light,

As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the

northern night.

And she turn'd-her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of sighs

All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel

eyes

Saying, 'I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me wrong;'

30 Saying, 'Dost thou love me, cousin?' weeping, 'I have loved thee long.'

Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it in his glowing hands

Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might;

Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.

35 Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring,

And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fullness of the Spring.

Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships,

And our spirits rush'd together at the touching of the lips.

O my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, mine no more!

40 O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, barren shore!

Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser. than all

songs have sung,

Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue!

Is it well to wish thee happy?-having known me -to decline

On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than mine!

45 Yet it shall be: thou shalt lower to his level day by day,

What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathise with clay.

As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown,

And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force,

50 Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

What is this? his eyes are heavy: think not they are glazed with wine.

Go to him: it is thy duty: kiss him: take his hand in thine.

It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is overwrought:

Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with thy lighter thought.

55 He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand

Better thou wert dead before me, tho' I slew thee with my hand!

Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace,

Roll'd in one another's arms, and silent in a last embrace.