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So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turned to
bay, And crushed and torn, beneath his claws, the princely
hunters lay. Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, sir knight! ho! scatter
flowers, fair maids ! Ho, gunners ! fire a loud salute ! ho, gallants ! draw
your blades !
Thou sun, shine on her joyously! ye breezes, waft her
wide! Our glorious semper eadem! the banner of our pride!
The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's
The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty
scroll of gold. Night sunk upon the dusky beach, and on the purple
sea ; Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again
shall be. From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to
Milford bay, That time of slumber was as bright, as busy as the day; For swift to east, and swift to west, the warning
radiance spreadHigh on St. Michael's Mount it shone-it shone on
Beachy Head. Far o'er the deep, the Spaniard saw, along each
southern shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling
points of fire. The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar’s glittering
waves, The rugged miners poured to war, from Mendip's
sunless caves :
O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery
herald flewHe roused the shepherds of Stonehenge—the rangers
of Beaulieu. Right sharp and quick the bells rang out, all night,
from Bristol town; And, ere the day, three hundred horse had met on
Clifton Down. The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the
night, And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill, that streak of
blood-red light. The bugle's note, and cannon's roar, the deathlike
silence broke, And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city
woke; At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering
fires; At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling
spires; From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the
voice of fear, And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a
louder cheer: And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of
hurrying feet, And the broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down
each rousing street: And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the
As fast from every village round the horse came spur
ring in; And eastward straight, for wild Blackheath, the warlike
errand went; And roused, in many an ancient hall, the gallant
squires of Kent:
Southward, for Surrey's pleasant hills, flew those bright
coursers forth; High on black Hampstead's swarthy moor, they started
for the north; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded
All night from tower to tower they sprang, all night
from hill to hill; Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Derwent's
rocky dales; Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of
Wales; Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's
lonely height; Till streamed in crimson, on the wind, the Wrekin's
crest of light; Till, broad and fierce, the star came forth, on Ely's
stately fane, And town and hamlet rose in arms, o'er all the bound
less plain : Till Belvoir's lordly towers the sign to Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on, o'er the wide vale of
Trent; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burnt on Gaunt's
embattled pile, And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.
ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.
THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,
The moping owl does to the moon complain, Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their harrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team a-field !
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour:
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the notes of praise.
Can storied urn and animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Or waked to ecstacy the living lyre:
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll,
And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;