Victor I will remain, Or on this earth lie slain, Loss to redeem me. "Poitiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Than when our grandsire-great, By many a warlike feat Lopped the French lilies." The Duke of York so dread Exeter had the rear, On the false Frenchmen! They now to fight are gone, To hear, was wonder; Well it thine age became, Which didst the signal aim To our hid forces; When from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, The English archery Stuck the French horses. With Spanish yew so strong, When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilbos drew, Not one was tardy; Arms were from shoulders sent, This while our noble king, As to o'erwhelm it, And many a deep wound lent, Gloucester, that duke so good, Warwick in blood did wade, Oxford the foe invade, And cruel slaughter made, Still as they ran up; Suffolk his axe did ply, Upon Saint Crispin's day Oh, when shall English men Such a King Harry? KING HENRY V. AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX 191 KING HENRY V. AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX ROBERT SOUTHEY By the Treaty of Troyes (1420), Henry V. was recognized as heir to the throne of France and regent of the realm during the life of the mad king. He obtained the hand of the French princess Katherine in marriage, and nothing seemed lacking to complete his victory. But the French people, hating a foreign rule, rose in revolt, and the French towns had to be recaptured one by one. The resources of England were heavily taxed to support the war, and the king himself sickened and died (1422). The French chronicler relates how, while Henry V. was besiegging Dreux, on the river Blaise, an ancient hermit came to his hut and, denouncing his ruthless ambition, warned him that God would punish his cruel deeds. He pass'd unquestion'd through the camp, In silent reverence, or begg'd A blessing as he went; And so the Hermit pass'd along And reached the royal tent. King Henry sate in his tent alone, To grace the future day. King Henry lifted up his eyes The intruder to behold; With reverence he the Hermit saw, For the holy man was old, His look was gentle as a Saint's, And yet his eye was bold. "Repent thee, Henry, of the wrongs "I have pass'd forty years of peace But what a weight of woe hast thou "I used to see along the stream "Henry! I never now behold The white sail gliding down; Famine, Disease, and Death, and Thou Destroy that wretched town. "I used to hear the traveller's voice Or maiden as she loiter'd home "No traveller's voice may now be heard, In fear he hastens by; In vain for succour cry. "I used to see the youths row down And watch the dripping oar, |