War
174
A WAR SONG TO ENGLISHMEN
Prepare, prepare the iron helm of War,
Bring forth the lots, cast in the spacious orb;
The Angel of Fate turns them with mighty hands,
And casts them out upon the darkened earth!
Prepare, prepare!
Prepare your hearts for Death’s cold hand! prepare
Your souls for flight, your bodies for the earth;
Prepare your arms for glorious victory;
Prepare your eyes to meet a holy God!
Prepare, prepare!
Whose fatal scroll is that? Methinks ’tis mine!
Why sinks my heart, why faltereth my tongue?
Had I three lives, I’d die in such a cause,
And rise, with ghosts, over the well-fought field.
Prepare, prepare!
The arrows of Almighty God are drawn!
Angels of Death stand in the lowering heavens!
Thousands of souls must seek the realms of light,
And walk together on the clouds of heaven!
Prepare, prepare!
Soldiers, prepare! Our cause is Heaven’s cause;
Soldiers, prepare! Be worthy of our cause:
Prepare to meet our fathers in the sky:
Prepare, O troops, that are to fall to-day!
Prepare, prepare!
Alfred shall smile, and make his harp rejoice;
The Norman William, and the learned Clerk,
And Lion Heart, and black-browed Edward, with
His loyal Queen, shall rise, and welcome us!
Prepare, prepare!
William Blake
175
FOR SOLDIERS
Ye buds of Brutus’ land, courageous youths, now play your parts;
Unto your tackle stand, abide the brunt with valiant hearts.
For news is carried to and fro, that we must forth to warfare go:
Men muster now in every place, and soldiers are prest forth apace.
Faint not, spend blood,
To do your Queen and country good;
Fair words, good pay,
Will make men cast all care away.
The time of war is come, prepare your corslet, spear and shield;
Methinks I hear the drum strike doleful marches to the field;
Tantarâ, tantarâ, ye trumpets sound, which makes our hearts with joy abound.
The roaring guns are heard afar, and everything denounceth war.
Serve God; stand stout;
Bold courage brings this gear about.
Fear not; fate run89;
Faint heart fair lady never won.
Ye curious90 carpet-knights, that spend the time in sport and play;
Abroad and see new sights, your country’s cause calls you away;
Do not to make your ladies’ game, bring blemish to your worthy name.
Away to field and win renown, with courage beat your enemies down.
Stout hearts gain praise,
When dastards sail in Slander’s seas;
Hap what hap shall,
We sure shall die but once for all.
Alarm methinks they cry, Be packing, mates, begone with speed;
Our foes are very nigh; shame have that man that shrinks at need!
Unto it boldly let us stand, God will give Right the upper hand.
Our cause is good, we need not doubt, in sign of coming give a shout.
March forth, be strong,
Good hap will come ere it be long.
Shrink not, fight well,
For lusty lads must bear the bell.
All you that will shun evil, must dwell in warfare every day;
The world, the flesh, and devil, always do seek our soul’s decay;
Strive with these foes with all your might, so shall you fight a worthy fight.
That conquest doth deserve most praise, where vice do yield to virtue’s ways.
Beat down foul sin,
A worthy crown then shall ye win;
If ye live well,
In heaven with Christ our souls shall dwell.
Humphrey Gifford
176
BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;
His truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;
His day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel:
“As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on.”
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat;
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
Julia Ward Howe
177
“I HEARD A SOLDIER”
I heard a soldier sing some trifle
Out in the sun-dried veldt alone:
He lay and cleaned his grimy rifle
Idly, behind a stone.
“If after death, love, comes a waking,
And in their camp so dark and still
The men of dust hear bugles, breaking
Their halt upon the hill,
“To me the slow, the silver pealing
That then the last high trumpet pours
Shall softer than the dawn come stealing,
For, with its call, comes yours!”
What grief of love had he to stifle,
Basking so idly by his stone,
That grimy soldier with his rifle
Out in the veldt, alone?
Herbert Trench
178
THE DUG-OUT
Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled,
And one arm bent across your sullen cold
Exhausted face? It hurts my heart to watch you,
Deep-shadowed from the candle’s guttering gold;
And you wonder why I shake you by the shoulder;
Drowsy, you mumble and sigh and turn your head...
You are too young to fall asleep for ever;
And when you sleep you remind me of the dead.
Siegfried Sassoon
179
NOCTURNE
Be thou at peace this night
Wherever be thy bed,
Thy slumbering be light,
The fearful dreams be dead
Within thy lovely head;
God keep thee in His sight.
No hint of love molest
Thy quiet mind again;
Night fold thee to her breast
And hush thy crying pain;
Let memory in vain
Conspire against thy rest.
So may thy thoughts be lost
In the full hush of sleep.
Lest any sight accost
Thine eyes to make them weep,
In darkness buried deep
For ever be my ghost.
Edward L. Davison
180
THE DEAD
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
Rupert Brooke
181
The End
After the blast of lightning from the east,
The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot throne;
After the drums of time have rolled and ceased,
And, from the bronze west, long retreat is blown—
Shall Life renew these bodies? Of a truth
All death will he annul, all tears assuage?—
Or fill these void veins full again with youth,
And wash, with an immortal water, Age?
When I do ask white Age, he saith, “Not so:
My head hangs weighed with snow.”
And when I hearken to the Earth, she saith:
“My fiery heart sinks aching. It is death.
Mine ancient scars shall not be glorified.
Nor my titanic tears, the seas, be dried.”
Wilfred Owen
182
THE CROWNS
Cherry and pear are white,
Their snows lie sprinkled on the land like light
On darkness shed.
Far off and near
The orchards toss their crowns of delight,
And the sun casts down
Another shining crown.
The wind tears and throws down
Petal by petal the crown
Of cherry and pear till the earth is white,
And all the brightness is shed
In the orchards far off and near,
That tossed by the road and under the green hill;
And the wind is fled.
Far, far off the wind
Has shaken down
A brightness that was as the brightness of cherry or pear
When the orchards shine in the sun.
—Oh there is no more fairness
Since this rareness,
The radiant blossom of English earth—is dead!
John Freeman
183
CORONACH91
He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,
Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest.
The font, reappearing,
From the rain-drops shall borrow,
But to us comes no cheering,
To Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are serest,
But our flower was in flushing,
When blighting was nearest.
Fleet foot on the correi,92
Sage counsel in cumber,93
Red hand in the foray,
How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and for ever.
Sir Walter Scott
184
THE CHILDREN’S BELLS
Where are your Oranges?
Where are your Lemons?
What, are you silent now,
Bells of St. Clement’s?94
You, of all bells that rang
Once in old London,
You, of all bells that sang,
Utterly undone?
You whom all children know
Ere they know letters,
Making Big Ben himself
Call you his betters?
Where are your lovely tones
Fruitful and mellow,
Full-flavoured orange-gold,
Clear lemon-yellow?
Ring again, sing again,
Bells of St. Clement’s!
Call as you swing again,
“Oranges! Lemons!”
Fatherless children
Are listening near you—
Sing for the children,
The fathers will hear you.
Eleanor Farjeon
185
MEN WHO MARCH AWAY
We be the King’s men, hale and hearty,
Marching to meet one Buonaparty;
If he won’t sail, lest the wind should blow,
We shall have marched for nothing, O!
Right fol-lol!
We be the King’s men, hale and hearty,
Marching to meet one Buonaparty;
If he be sea-sick, says “No, no!”
We shall have marched for nothing, O!
Right fol-lol!
We be the king’s men hale and hearty,
Marching to meet one Buonaparty;
Never mind, mates; we’ll be merry, though
We may have marched for nothing, O!
Right fol-lol!
Thomas Hardy
186
BUDMOUTH DEARS
When we lay where Budmouth Beach is,
O, the girls were fresh as peaches,
With their tall and tossing figures and their eyes of blue and brown!
And our hearts would ache with longing
As we paced from our sing-songing,
With a smart Clink! Clink! up the Esplanade and down.
They distracted and delayed us
By the pleasant pranks they played us,
And what marvel, then, if troopers, even of regiments of renown,
On whom flashed those eyes divine, O,
Should forget the countersign, O,
As we tore Clink! Clink! back to camp above the town.
Do they miss us much, I wonder,
Now that war has swept us sunder,
And we roam from where the faces smile to where the faces frown?
And no more behold the features
Of the fair fantastic creatures,
And no more Clink! Clink! past the parlours of the town?
Shall we once again there meet them?
Falter fond attempts to greet them?
Will the gay sling-jacket glow again beside the muslin gown?
Will they archly quiz and con us
With a sideway glance upon us,
While our spurs Clink! Clink! up the Esplanade and down?
Thomas Hardy
187
TRAFALGAR
In the wild October night-time, when the wind raved round the land,
And the Back-sea met the Front-sea, and our doors were blocked with sand,
And we heard the drub of Dead-man’s Bay, where bones of thousands are,
We knew not what the day had done for us at Trafalgár.
(All) Had done,
Had done,
For us at Trafalgar!
“Pull hard, and make the Nothe, or down we go!” one says, says he.
We pulled; and bedtime brought the storm; but snug at home slept we.
Yet all the while our gallants after fighting through the day,
Were beating up and down the dark, sou’-west of Cadiz Bay.
The dark,
The dark,
Sou’-west of Cadiz Bay!
The victors and the vanquished then the storm it tossed and tore,
As hard they strove, those worn-out men, upon that surly shore;
Dead Nelson and his half-dead crew, his foes from near and far,
Were rolled together on the deep that night at Trafalgar!
The deep,
The deep,
That night at Trafalgar!
Thomas Hardy
188
MESSMATES
He gave us all a good-bye cheerily
At the first dawn of day;
We dropped him down the side full drearily
When the light died away.
It’s a dead dark watch that he’s a-keeping there,
And a long, long night that lags a-creeping there,
Where the Trades and the tides roll over him
And the great ships go by.
He’s there alone with green seas rocking him
For a thousand miles round;
He’s there alone with dumb things mocking him,
And we’re homeward bound.
It’s a long, lone watch that he’s a-keeping there,
And a dead cold night that lags a-creeping there,
While the months and the years roll over him
And the great ships go by.
I wonder if the tramps come near enough
As they thrash to and fro,
And the battle-ships’ bells ring clear enough
To be heard down below;
If through all the lone watch that he’s a-keeping there,
And the long, cold night that lags a-creeping there,
The voices of the sailor-men shall comfort him
When the great ships go by.
Henry Newbolt
189
SONG FOR ALL SEAS, ALL SHIPS
To-day a rude brief recitative,
Of ships sailing the seas, each with its special flag or ship-signal,
Of unnamed heroes in the ships—of waves spreading and spreading far as the eye can reach,
Of dashing spray, and the winds piping and blowing,
And out of these a chant for the sailors of all nations,
Fitful, like a surge.
Of sea-captains young or old, and the mates, and of all intrepid sailors,
Of the few, very choice, taciturn, whom fate can never surprise nor death dismay,
Picked sparingly without noise by thee, old ocean, chosen by thee,
Thou sea that pickest and cullest the race in time, and unitest nations,
Suckled by thee, old husky nurse, embodying thee,
Indomitable, untamed as thee....
Flaunt out, O sea, your separate flags of nations!
Flaunt out visible as ever the various ship-signals!
But do you reserve especially for yourself and for the soul of man one flag above all the rest,
A spiritual woven signal for all nations, emblem of man elate above death,
Token of all brave captains and all intrepid sailors and mates,
And all that went down doing their duty,
Reminiscent of them, twined from all intrepid captains young or old,
A pennant universal, subtly waving all time, o’er all, brave sailors,
All seas, all ships.
Walt Whitman
190
HOHENLINDEN
On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed
To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven;
Then rushed the steed, to battle driven;
And louder than the bolts of Heaven
Far flashed the red artillery.
But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden’s hills of stainèd snow;
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
’Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye Brave,
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!
Few, few shall part, where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier’s sepulchre.
Thomas Campbell
191
HAME, HAME, HAME
Hame, hame, hame, hame, fain wad I be:
O hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie!
When the flower is in the bud, and the leaf is on the tree,
The lark shall sing me hame to my ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame! O hame fain wad I be!
O hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie!
The green leaf o’ loyalty’s beginning now to fa’;
The bonnie white rose it is withering an’ a’;
But we’ll water it with the blude of usurping tyrannie,
And fresh it shall blaw in my ain countrie!
O, there’s nocht now frae ruin my countrie can save,
But the keys o’ kind heaven, to open the grave,
That a’ the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie
May rise again and fight for their ain countrie.
The great now are gane, who attempted to save;
The green grass is growing abune their graves;
Yet the sun through the mirk seems to promise to me—
I’ll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame, hame, fain wad I be;
O hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie!
Allan Cunningham
192
DARK ROSALEEN
O my dark Rosaleen,
Do not sigh, do not weep!
The priests are on the ocean green,
They march along the deep.
There’s wine from the royal Pope
Upon the ocean green,
And Spanish ale shall give you hope,
My dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope,
Shall give you health, and help, and hope,
My dark Rosaleen!
Over hills and through dales
Have I roamed for your sake;
All yesterday I sailed the sails
On river and on lake.
The Erne, at its highest flood,
I dashed across unseen,
For there was lightning in my blood,
My dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
Oh! there was lightning in my blood,
Red lightning lightened through my blood,
My dark Rosaleen!
All day long, in unrest,
To and fro do I move.
The very soul within my breast
Is wasted for you, love!
The heart in my bosom faints
To think of you, my Queen,
My life of life, my saint of saints,
My dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
To hear your sweet and sad complaints,
My life, my love, my saint of saints,
My dark Rosaleen!
Woe and pain, pain and woe,
Are my lot, night and noon,
To see your bright face clouded so,
Like to the mournful moon.
But yèt will I rear your throne
Again in golden sheen;
’Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone
My dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
’Tis you shall have the golden throne,
’Tis you shall reign, and reign alone,
My dark Rosaleen!
Over dews, over sands,
Will I fly for your weal:
Your holy delicate white hands
Shall girdle me with steel.
At home, in your emerald bowers,
From morning’s dawn till e’en,
You’ll pray for me, my flower of flowers,
My dark Rosaleen!
My fond Rosaleen!
You’ll think of me through daylight hours,
My virgin flower, my flower of flowers,
My dark Rosaleen!
I could scale the blue air,
I could plough the high hills,
Oh, I could kneel all night in prayer,
To heal your many ills!
And one beamy smile from you
Would float like light between
My toils and me, my own, my true,
My dark Rosaleen!
My fond Rosaleen!
Would give me life and soul anew,
A second life, a soul anew,
My dark Rosaleen!
Oh! the Erne shall run red
With redundance of blood,
The earth shall rock beneath our tread,
And flames wrap hill and wood,
And gun-peal and slogan-cry
Wake many a glen serene,
Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die,
My dark Rosaleen!
My own Rosaleen!
The Judgment Hour must first be nigh,
Ere you shall fade, ere you can die,
My dark Rosaleen!
James Clarence Mangan
193
MY LUVE’S IN GERMANY
“My Luve’s in Germany;
Send him hame, send him hame;
My Luve’s in Germany,
Send him hame:
My Luve’s in Germany,
Fighting for Royalty;
He may ne’er his Jeanie see;
Send him hame, send him hame;
He may ne’er his Jeanie see,
Send him hame.
“He’s brave as brave can be,
Send him hame, send him hame;
He’s brave as brave can be,
Send him hame.
He’s brave as brave can be,
He wad rather fa’ than flee;
But his life is dear to me,
Send him hame, send him hame;
Oh! his life is dear to me,
Send him hame.
“Our faes are ten to three,
Send him hame, send him hame;
Our faes are ten to three,
Send him hame.
Our faes are ten to three,
He maun either fa’ or flee,
In the cause o’ Loyalty;
Send him hame, send him hame;
In the cause o’ Loyalty,
Send him hame.”
“Your luve ne’er learnt to flee,
Bonnie Dame, winsome Dame;
Your luve ne’er learnt to flee,
Winsome Dame.
Your luve ne’er learnt to flee,
But he fell in Germany,
Fighting brave for Loyalty,
Mournfu’ Dame, bonnie Dame,
Fighting brave for Loyalty,
Mournfu’ Dame!”
“He’ll ne’er come owre the sea,
Willie’s slain, Willie’s slain;
He’ll ne’er come owre the sea,
Willie’s gane!
He’ll ne’er come owre the sea,
To his Love and ain Countrie—
This warld’s nae mair for me,
Willie’s gane, Willie’s gane!
This warld’s nae mair for me
Willie’s slain!”
194
A WEARY LOT IS THINE
“A weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.
A lightsome eye, a soldier’s mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doubtlet of the Lincoln green—
No more of me you knew,
My love!
No more of me you knew.
“This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;
But she shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again.”
He turned his charger as he spake
Upon the river shore,
He gave the bridle-reins a shake,
Said, “Adieu for evermore,
My love!
And adieu for evermore.”
Sir Walter Scott
195
CHARLIE HE’S MY DARLING
An’ Charlie he’s my darling,
My darling, my darling!
Charlie he’s my darling,
The young Chevalier!
’Twas on a Monday morning,
Right early in the year,
That Charlie cam’ to our town,
The young Chevalier!
As he was walking up the street,
The city for to view,
O, there he spied a bonnie lass
The window lookin’ through.
Sae light’s he jimpèd up the stair,
An’ tirlèd at the pin;
An’ wha sae ready as hersel
To let the laddie in?
He set Jenny on his knee,
A’ in his Highland dress;
For brawlie weel he kenned the way
To please a lassie best.
It’s up yon heathery mountain,
An’ down yon scroggy glen,
We daur na gang a-milking
For Charlie an’ his men!
An’ Charlie he’s my darling,
My darling, my darling!
Charlie he’s my darling,
The young Chevalier!
196
THE FAREWELL
It was a’ for our rightfu’ king
We left fair Scotland’s strand;
It was a’ for our rightfu’ king
We e’er saw Irish land,
My dear,
We e’er saw Irish land.
Now a’ is done that man can do,
And a’ is done in vain;
My love, and native land, farewell,
For I maun cross the main,
My dear,
For I maun cross the main.
He turned him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore;
And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
With Adieu for evermore,
My dear,
Adieu for evermore.
The sodger frae the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main;
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,
My dear,
Never to meet again.
When day is gane, and night is come,
And a’ folks bound to sleep;
I think on him that’s far awa’,
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep.
Robert Burns
197
THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST
I’ve heard them lilting at our ewe-milking,
Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day;
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning:—
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
At bughts in the morning nae blythe lads are scorning;
The lasses are lanely, and dowie, and wae;
Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her away.
In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering:
The bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray.
At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching—
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
At e’en, in the gloaming, nae swankies are roaming
‘Bout stacks wi’ the lasses at bogle to play;
But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie—
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border!
The English, for ance, be guile wan the day;
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land, lie cauld in the clay.
We’ll hear nae mair lilting at our ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning:
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
Jean Elliot
198
“As I Was Going”
As I was going by Charing Cross,
I saw a black man upon a black horse;
They told me it was King Charles the First;
Oh dear, my heart was ready to burst!
199
OF THE GREAT AND FAMOUS
Ever to be honoured Knight, Sir Francis Drake, and of my little-little selfe.
The Dragon that our Seas did raise his Crest
And brought back heapes of gold unto his nest,
Unto his Foes more terrible than Thunder,
Glory of his age, After-ages’ wonder,
Excelling all those that excelled before;
It’s feared we shall have none such any more;
Effecting all he sole did undertake,
Valiant, just, wise, milde, honest, Godly Drake.
This man when I was little I did meete
As he was walking up Totnes’ long street.
He asked me whose I was? I answered him.
He asked me if his good friend were within?
A faire red Orange in his hand he had,
He gave it me whereof I was right glad,
Takes and kist me, and prayes God blesse my boy:
Which I record with comfort to this day.
Could he on me have breathèd with his breath,
His gifts, Elias-like, after his death,
Then had I beene enabled for to doe
Many brave things I have a heart unto.
I have as great desire as e’re had hee
To joy, annoy, friends, foes; but ’twill not be.
Robert Hayman
200
A LAMENTATION
All looks be pale, hearts cold as stone,
For Hally now is dead and gone.
Hally in whose sight,
Most sweet sight,
All the earth late took delight.
Every eye, weep with me,
Joys drowned in tears must be.
His ivory skin, his comely hair,
His rosy checks so clear and fair,
Eyes that once did grace
His bright face,
Now in him all want their place.
Eyes and hearts, weep with me,
For who so kind as he?
His youth was like an April flower,
Adorned with beauty, love, and power.
Glory strewed his way,
Whose wreaths gay
Now are all turnèd to decay.
Then, again, weep with me,
None feel more cause than we.
No more may his wished sight return.
His golden lamp no more can burn.
Quenched is all his flame,
His hoped fame
Now hath left him nought but name.
For him all weep with me,
Since more him none shall see.
Thomas Campion
201
WHAT IF SOME LITTLE PAIN THE PASSAGE HAVE
... What if some little paine the passage have,
That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter wave?
Is not short paine well borne, that brings long ease,
And layes the soule to sleepe in quiet grave?
Sleep after toyle, port after stormie seas,
Ease after warre, death after live does greatly please....
Edmund Spenser
202
HENRY BEFORE AGINCOURT: October 25, 1415
... Our King went up upon a hill high
And looked down to the valleys low:
He saw where the Frenchmen came hastily
As thick as ever did hail or snow.
Then kneeled our King down, in that stound,95
And all his men on every side:
Every man made a cross and kissed the ground,
And on their feet fast gan abide.
Our King said, “Sirs, what time of the day?”
“My Liege,” they said, “it is nigh Prime.”
“Then go we to our journey,
By the grace of Jesu, it is good time:
For saints that lie in their shrine
To God for us be praying.
All the Religious of England, in this time,
Ora pro nobis for us they sing.”
St. George was seen over the host:
Of very truth this sight men did see.
Down was he sent by the Holy Ghost,
To give our King the victory....
John Lydgate
203
ALEXANDER THE GREAT
Four men stood by the grave of a man,
The grave of Alexander the Proud:
They sang words without falsehood
Over the prince from fair Greece.
Said the first man of them:
“Yesterday there were around the king
The men of the world—a sad gathering!
Though to-day he is alone.”
“Yesterday the king of the brown world
Rode upon the heavy earth:
Though to-day it is the earth
That rides upon his neck.”
“Yesterday,” said the third wise author,
“Philip’s son owned the whole world:
To-day he has nought
Save seven feet of earth.”
“Alexander the liberal and great
Was wont to bestow silver and gold:
To-day,” said the fourth man,
“The gold is here, and it is nought.”
Thus truly spoke the wise men
Around the grave of the high-king:
It was not foolish women’s talk
What those four sang.
204
THE MYRTLE BUSH GREW SHADY
“The myrtle bush grew shady
Down by the ford.”—
“Is it even so?” said my lady.
“Even so!” said my lord.
“The leaves are set too thick together
For the point of a sword.”
“The arras in your room hangs close,
No light between!
You wedded one of those
That see unseen.”—
“Is it even so?” said the King’s Majesty.
“Even so!” said the Queen.
Mary Coleridge
205
THE FORT OF RATHANGAN
The fort over against the oak-wood,
Once it was Bruidge’s, it was Cathal’s,
It was Aed’s, it was Ailill’s,
It was Conaing’s, it was Cuiline’s,
And it was Maelduin’s;
The fort remains after each in his turn—
And the kings asleep in the ground.