Victor I will remain,

Or on this earth lie slain,
Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

"Poitiers and Cressy tell,

When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell.
No less our skill is,

Than when our grandsire-great,
Claiming the regal seat,

By many a warlike feat

Lopped the French lilies."

The Duke of York so dread
The eager va'ward led;
With the main, Henry sped,
Amongst his henchmen.

Exeter had the rear,
A braver man not there,
O Lord, how hot they were

On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone,
Armour on armour shone,
Drum now to drum did groan,

To hear, was wonder;
That with the cries they make,
The very earth did shake,
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham,

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,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw,

And forth their bilbos drew,
And on the French they flew,

Not one was tardy;

Arms were from shoulders sent,
Scalps to the teeth were rent,
Down the French peasants went,
Our men were hardy.

This while our noble king,
His broad sword brandishing,
Down the French host did ding,

As to o'erwhelm it,

And many a deep wound lent,
His arms with blood besprent,1
And many a cruel dent
Bruised his helmet.

Gloucester, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood,
With his brave brother;
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.

Warwick in blood did wade,

Oxford the foe invade,

And cruel slaughter made,

Still as they ran up;

Suffolk his axe did ply,
Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily,
Ferrers and Fanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry;

Oh, when shall English men
With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed again

Such a King Harry?
1 sprinkled.

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,
Their heads the soldiers bent

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,
The map before him lay,
Fresh conquests he was planning there

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
Which thou hast done this land!
O King, repent in time, for know
The judgment is at hand.

"I have pass'd forty years of peace
Beside the river Blaise,

But what a weight of woe hast thou
Laid on my latter days!

"I used to see along the stream
The white sail gliding down,
That wafted food in better times
To yonder peaceful town.

"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
As here he passed along,

Or maiden as she loiter'd home
Singing her even-song.

"No traveller's voice may now be heard,

In fear he hastens by;
But I have heard the village maid

In vain for succour cry.

"I used to see the youths row down And watch the dripping oar,