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Oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,

We saw the army of the League drawn out in long

array;

With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish

spears.

There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land!

And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand;

And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,

And good Coligni's* hoary hair, all dabbled with his blood;

And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate

of war,

To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Na

varre.

The king has come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest.

He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern

and high.

Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,

Down all our line, a deafening shout, 'God 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 bloody fray,— Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,

And be your ori-flamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre!

* Co-leen-ye's.

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 Al

mayne.

Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,

Charge for the golden lilies now,-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 rushed, while, like a guiding star,

Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Na

varre.

Now God 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 heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail;

And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our

van,

"Remember St. 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 breth

ren go."

Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship 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's 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 Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to night!

For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,

And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave.

Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are; And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Na

varre.

LESSON CL.

THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.

The following characteristic description of the death of one of a class of warriors, who, in the middle ages, were often more powerful than kings, is by ALBERT G. GREENE, of Rhode Island. It is worthy of the land and the age of chivalry, though written in neither the one nor

the other.

O'er a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest

ray,

Where in his last strong agony a dying warrior lay, The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent

By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent.

They come around me here, and say my days of life

are o'er,

That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band

no more;

They come, and to my beard they dare to tell me now, that I,

Their own liege lord and master born, that I, ha! ha! must-die!

And what is death? I've dared him oft before the Paynim spear,

Think ye he's entered at my gate, has come to seek me here ?

I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot,—

I'll try his might-I'll brave his power; defy, and fear

him not.

Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower,-and fire the culverin,

Bid each retainer arm with speed,-call every vassal

in,

Up with my banner on the wall,—the banquet board prepare,

Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there!"

A hundred hands were busy then,-the banquet forth was spread,

And rang the heavy oaken floor with many a martial

tread,

While from the rich, dark tracery along the vaulted

wall,

Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall.

Fast hurrying through the outer gate the mailed retainers poured

On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board.

While at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of state,

Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion,

sate.

"Fill every beaker ing wine,

up, my men, pour forth the cheer

There's life and strength in every drop,-thanksgiving to the vine!

Are ye all there, my vassals true ?-mine eyes are waxing dim ;

Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim.

Ye're there, but yet I see you not. Draw forth each trusty sword,

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And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board:

I hear it faintly-Louder yet!--What clogs my heavy breath?

Up all, and shout for Rudiger, 'Defiance unto Death!”

Bowl rang to bowl,--steel clanged to steel,—and rose a deafening cry,

That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high: :

"Ho! cravens, do ye fear him ?--Slaves, traitors! have ye flown ?

Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone!

But I defy him :-let him come !" Down rang the massy cup,

While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half-way up;

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