POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES. "We have seen no better book of its kind, so happy is the idea of the selection, so convenient is the form, and so moderate the price." Spectator, July 29, 1882. ' ' An admirable little book. . . . No better book for children to learn by heart has fallen into our hands for a long time." Academy, May 27, 1882. " No better book of selections could be found, nor any more fitting present to an English boy." Pall Mall Gazette, August 25, 1882. "Just the sort of book to take with the young of either sex." Morning Post, August 21, 1882. "A worthy embodiment of a capital idea. It deserves to be, and will be, popular among youthful readers." Scotsman, March 23, 1882. "A rich treasury of brave, grand song." Chris- tian World, August 17, 1882. POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM FROM BRUNANBURH TO LUCKNOW FROM ATHELSTAN TO ALBERT COLLECTED AND ARRANGED WITH NOTES HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE BY ARTHUR COMPTON AUCHMUTY, M.A. * Love thou thy land, with love far-brought From ou> the >toi.;ie4 Pa&c " NEW EDITION LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LT PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD 1895 ( The rights of translation and oj reproduction are reserved?* TO MY CHILDREN KENNETH-CHARLES COMPTON-HENRY AND JANET-FRANCES WITH ALL OTHER ENGLISH BOYS AND GIRLS "HEIRS OF ALL THE AGES " A POSY OF FLOWERS FROM THE FIELD OF THEIR NATIONAL HERITAGE 380712 CONTENTS. 1. BATTLE OF BRUNAXBURH ... 2. THE FIGHT OF MALDON ... A. 3. HAROLD AND STAMFORD-BRIDGE ... 4. HAROLD AND SENLAC 5. CIVIL WAR, AND THE CRUSADES ... < 5. SlMON DE MONTFORT AND THE BATTLE OF LEWES 7. THE BLACK PRINCE AND CRESSY ... 8. THE BLACK PRINCE ON HIS DEATH- BED ... 9. NEVILLE'S CROSS, OR DURHAM FIELD 10. CHEVY-CHASE 1 1. THE GLORY OF ENGLAND IN ECLIPSE 12. PRINCE HENRY OF MONMOUTH 13. THE Two HARRYS 14. PRAISE OF AN ENEMY PAGE Tennyson I C. Auchimity 7 Tennyson Tennyson Shakspere 16 1 8 Creighton 19 Shakspere 20 Chandos 2 1 Old Ballad 23 Old Ballad 27 Shakspere 38 Shakspere 39 Shakspere 41 Shakspere 42 VI 11 CONTENTS. 15. A PRINCE INDEED 1 6. THE COURTEOUS VICTOR ... 17. REVERENCE FOR LAW 1 8. ENGLISHMEN IN THE FIELD 19. THE EVE OF ST. CRISFIAN 20. HENRY THE FIFTH AND AGINCOURT 21. BALLAD OF AGINCOURT 22. FATHER AND SON 23. RICHMOND AT BOSWORTH FIELD ... 24. LATIMER AND RIDLEY : CRANMER ... 25. THE ARMADA 26. THE REVENGE : A BALLAD OF THE FLEET 27. CROMWELL AND HAMPDEN 28. To SIR HENRY VANE, THE YOUNGER 29. To THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX .,. 30. CHATHAM AND WOLFE 31. ENGLISH FREEDOM AND ENGLISH CHARACTER : A FALLING AWAY 32. BATTLE OF THE BALTIC ... 33. " MILTON ! THOU SHOULDST BE LIVING ' 34. THE HERITAGE OF ENGLISHMEN 35. A PATRIOT'S FEARS 36. To THE MEN OF KENT 37. BUONAPARTE Wordsworth Wordsworth Wordsworth Wordsworth 57 59 PACE Shakspere 44 Shakspere 45 Shakspere 46 Shakspere 47 Shakspere 49 Shakspere 50 Dray ton 52 Shakspen Shakspen Tennyson 60 Macaulay 63 Tennyson 68 Lowell 76 ^/tf/to* 80 Milton 8 1 Cotvper 82 Cowper 83 Campbell 85 88 89 90 Tennyson 91 CONTENTS. 38. CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR Wordsworth 39. "YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND" ... Campbell 40. To WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ. ... Cou'per 41. To THOMAS CLARKSON ... ... Wordsworth 42. ARNOLD OF RUGBY ... Matthew Arnold 43. ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON ... ... Tennyson 44. THE Loss OF THE BIRKENHEAD ... Doyle 45. BATTLE OF THE ALMA ... ... Trench 46. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE Tennyson 47. FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE .... ... Longfellow 48. THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW ... Tennyson 49. ALBERT THE GOOD ... ... Tennyson PAGE 91 95 97 98 99 103 114 116 118 120 122 130 NOTES 133 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. I. BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH. ATHELSTAN King, Lord among Earls, Bracelet-bestower and Baron of Barons, He with his brother, Edmund Atheling, Gaining a lifelong Glory in battle, Slew with the sword-edge There by Brunanburh, Brake the shield-wall, Hew'd the lindenwood, Hack'd the battleshield, Sons of Edward with hammer 'd brands. B POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. II. Theirs was a greatness Got from their Grandsires Theirs that so often in Strife with their enemies Struck for their hoards and their hearths and their homes. in. Bow'd the spoiler, Bent the Scotsman, Fell the shipcrews Doom'd to the death. All the field with blood of the fighters Flow'd, from when first the great Sun-star of morningtide, Lamp of the Lord God Lord everlasting, Glode over earth till the glorious creature Sunk to his setting. IV. There lay many a man Marr'd by the javelin, Men of the Northland Shot over shield. There was the Scotsman Weary of war. BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH. 3 V. We the West-Saxons, Long as the daylight Lasted, in companies Troubled the track of the host that we hated, Grimly with swords that were sharp from the grindstone, Fiercely we hack'd at the flyers before us. VI. Mighty the Mercian, Hard was his hand-play Sparing not any of Those that with Anlaf, Warriors over the Weltering waters Borne in the bark's-bosom, Drew to this island, Doom'd to the death. VII. Five young kings put asleep by the sword-stroke, Seven strong Earls of the army of Anlaf Fell on the war-field, numberless numbers, Shipmen and Scotsmen. VIII. Then the Norse leader, Dire was his need of it, POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Few were his following, Fled to his warship : Fleeted his vessel to sea with the king in it, Saving his life on the fallow flood. IX. Also the crafty one, Constantmus, Crept to his North again, Hoar-headed hero ! x. Slender reason had He to be proud of The welcome of war-knives He that was reft of his Folk and his friends that had Fallen in conflict, Leaving his son too Lost in the carnage, Mangled to morsels, A youngster in war ! XI. Slender reason had He to be glad of The clash of the war-glaive Traitor and trickster And spurner of treaties * ~~ BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH. He nor had Anlaf With armies so broken A reason for bragging That they had the better In perils of battle On places of slaughter The struggle of standards, The rush of the javelins, The crash of the charges, The wielding of weapons The play that they play'd with The children of Edward XII. Then with their nail'd prows Parted the Norsemen, a Blood-redden'd relic of Javelins over The jarring breaker, the deepsea billow Shaping their way toward Dyflen again, Shamed in their souls. XIII. Also the brethren, King and Atheling, Each in his glory, Went to his own in his own West-Saxonland, Glad of the war. POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. XIV. Many a carcase they left to be carrion, Many a livid one, many a sallow-skin Left for the white-tail'd eagle to tear it, and Left for the horny-nibb'd raven to rend it, and Gave to the garbaging war-hawk to gorge it, and That gray beast, the wolf of the weald xv. Never had huger Slaughter of heroes Slain by the sword-edge Such as old writers Have writ of in histories Hapt in this isle, since Up from the East hither Saxon and Angle from Over the broad billow Broke into Britain with Haughty war-workers who Harried the Welshman, when Earls that were lured by the Hunger of glory gat Hold of the land. TENNYSON (from the Old English). ( 7 ) II. THE FIGHT OF MALDON. i. * * * * THEN 'gan Brihtnoth His men to array : Rode past and rank'd them, Taught them their places, Bade them their round shields Hold fast with hand-grip, At nothing frighten' d. When he his folk thus Had duly order' d, There down he lighted 'Mid whom he wist Dearest and faithfullest, Bands of his hearth. II. Then stood forth stern-voiced on the river-brink Wiking's herald, and thrill'd out a threatening Sea-folk's errand across to the Earl. in. " Me have they hither sent, They, the swift sea-farers, POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Bade me say thus to thee : 4 Send, for thy safety's sake, Bracelets right speedily ; Better the spear-rush ye Buy off with gift-money Than in hard-foughten fight Slaying where no need is Either the other. List ye this thing to do, Fast shall a peace be made, Clench'd with the gold.' Haply thou holdest thee, Thou that here richest art, Willing to free thy folk, Paying the seamen's price, Peace to win peaceably, So with the scot will we Back to our ships, and sail Forth on our fleet, and hold Peace with you still." IV. Out spake Brihtnoth, His shield upheaving, Shook the slight ash-shaft, and Fierce and unflinching With words made answer. THE FIGHT OF MALDON. V. " Hearest thou, sea-farer, What this folk saith to thee? This is the gift ye shall Take of them, javelins, Spear-point and sword-edge, Heriot of weapons, but Not for your welfare. Turn again, therefore, thou, Sea-people's errand-man, Bear these ill tidings back : Here stands a stout-hearted Earl with his following ; Stand for our own land we, Home of mine Elderman, Folk of our Athelred, Athelred's ground ! Now shall the heathen men Fall on the war-field. This were, methinketh, Shame overpassing, Ye should on ship-board Scot from us carry Unbefoughten. . Fared have ye thus far Over this earth of ours ; But not so lightly now Fare shall ye forth and bear io POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Treasure in triumph. Judge first between us shall Spear-point and sword-edge, Yea, the grim battle-game, Ere we pay tribute." VI. Then the Earl bade His folk set forward, Bearing their shield-boards, Till by the stream-brink, Craving to come at their Foemen across the flood, Every man stood : East-Saxons' front rank Facing the fleet-men : There over Panta's stream The wikings waited Eager for warfare. VII. Then he, the chieftain and helper of heroes, Bade hold the bridge a stout war- worker, Wulfstan Ceola's son was he : He with his javelin Shot down the foremost man, Him that there boldest set Foot on the bridge. There stood with Wulfstan THE FIGHT OF MALDON. II Warmen unfearing, Alfere and Maccus, High-mettled twain. Theirs not to flinch nor flee : Fast at the ford they stood, Beating the foemen back, Till they no longer might Brandish their weapons. VIII. Bitter the work that the bridge-warders wrought for them : Sorely it irk'd them, the strangers, the hated ones : Crafty they craved to cross over and close with them. Yielded the headstrong Earl in his hardihood, Brihthelm's bairn, o'er the water calling : Hearken'd the warmen. IX. " Lo ! we give ground to you : Come o'er and fight with us. God wotteth which shall stand Last in the slaughter-place." x. Waded the slaughter-wolves ; Reck'd not for water they : Host of the wikings. West over Panta's stream 12 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Bearing their linden shields Came they to land. XL Then men closed in the glory of battle-strokes : Then was the hour for the falling of fated ones : Shouts from the earth arose : Ravens wheel'd round above, Eagles for feasting fain, Greedy for corpses. Fast from their hands flew the File-harden'd spears, and the Stone- whetted javelins : Bows were busy, and shields were dinted, Bitter the battle-rush, Warriors fell : Youths lay dead on the earth around. XII. Then drew nigh in his fierceness the fell one, Fenced with his shield and his weapons upheaving, Facing the hero. Drew to the meeting Earl against Churl : Either for other Evil was thinking. There flew a dart then Shot from the seamen's side ; Therewith was wounded THE FIGHT OF MALDON. 13 The lord of warriors. Then with shield thrusting Knapp'd he the spear-shaft Wroth was the hero : He with his javelin Pierced the proud wiking, Wounding his wounder. Blithe was the Earl, and he laugh d in his lustihood ; Own'd the good day's work his Maker had given him ; Praised and gave thanks to the Lord who had prosper'd him. XIII. HurPd then some fellow a Dart from 'his hands at him : Forth it flew piercing him, Pierced thro' the noble one, Athelred's Thane. Hard by his side stood A stripling, a boy-knight, Deftly he drew out The dart with the blood on it, Bairn of the bridge-warder, Wulfstan's young Wulfmaer. XIV. Soft one stole to the spoil of the wounded : Lusted his heart for the filching of bracelets, The robe, and the rings, and the jewell'd brand. 14 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Out drew Brihtnoth His sword from the sword-case : Broad and brown was the blade, and he bang'd it Full on the corselet. Swift came a back- stroke Struck by a fleet-man, Quelling the Earl's arm. Out of his hands fell the Sword with the fallow hilt ; Might he no longer hold Falchion, or wield again Weapons of warfare. xv. Spake he a word yet, Hoar-headed hero, Cheering his comrades, Bidding his brave youths Fight and go forward. Might he not long now Fast on his feet stand ; Look'd he to heaven : "Thanks be to thee, Lord, Wielder of nations ; Thank Thee for all the good I in this world have known ! Now, O my Maker mild, Need have I most that Thou HAROLD AND STAMFORD-BRIDGE. 15 Good to my ghost shouldst grant, E'en that my soul may pass Safe to the Angels' land, Where Thou art King and Lord, In good peace journeying. Yea, God, that never Hell-fiends may hurt it, Hear now my prayer ! " XVI. Then the heathen soldiers hew'd him ; Hew'd the twain who stood to aid him. There on the earth they lay Fast by their chieftain, Alfnoth and Wulfmaer ; Sold they their lives. A. C. AUCHMUTY (from the Old English}. III. HAROLD AND STAMFORD-BRIDGE. Address of Harold at a Banquet after the Battle. EARLS, Thanes, and all our countrymen ! the day, Our day beside the Derwent will not shine Less than a star among the goldenest hours 1 6 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Of Alfred, or of Edward his great son, Or Athelstan, or English Ironside Who fought with Knut, or Knut who coming Dane Died English. Every man about his king Fought like a king ; the king like his own man, No better ; one for all, and all for one, One soul ! and therefore have we shatter'd back The hugest wave from Norseland ever yet Surged on us, and our battle-axes broken The Raven's wing, and dumb'd his carrion croak From the gray sea for ever. Many are gone Drink to the dead who died for us, the living Who fought and would have died, but happier lived, If happier be to live ; they both have life In the large mouth of England, till her voice Die with the world. TENNYSON, Harold, Act IV. Sc. 3 IV. HAROLD AND SEN LAC. William (on the field of the dead}. Wrap them together in a purple cloak And lay them both upon the waste sea-shore At Hastings, there to guard the land for which HAROLD AND SENLAC. 17 He did forswear himself a warrior ay, And but that Holy Peter fought for us, And that the false Northumbrian held aloof, And save for that chance arrow which the Saints Sharpen' d and sent against him who can tell ? Three horses had I slain beneath me : twice I thought that all was lost. Since I knew battle, And that was from my boyhood, never yet No, by the splendour of God have I fought men Like Harold and his brethren, and his guard Of English. Every man about his king Fell where he stood. They loved him : and, pray God My Normans may but move as true with me To the door of death. Of one self-stock at first, Make them again one people Norman, English ; And English, Norman ; we should have a hand To grasp the world with, and a foot to stamp it ... Flat. Praise the Saints. It is over. No more blood ! I am king of England, so they thwart me not, And I will rule according to their laws. TENNYSON, Harold, Act v. Sc, 2, i8 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. V. CIVIL WAR, AND THE CRUSADES. King Henry IV. No more the thirsty entrance of this soil Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood ; No more shall trenching war channel her fields, Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes, Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, All of one nature, of one substance bred, Did lately meet in the intestine shock And furious close of civil butchery, Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, March all one way, and be no more opposed Against acquaintance, kindred and allies : The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, As far as to the sepulchre of Christ Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross, We are impressed, and engaged to fight Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ; Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb To chase these pagans in those holy fields, Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet, Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd For our advantage on the bitter cross. SHAKSPERE, i Henry IV.^ Act i. Sc. i. VI. SIMON DE MO NT FORT AND THE BA TTLE OF LE WES. A Fragment Now does fair England breathe again, hoping for liberty ; And may the grace of God above give her prosperity ! Liken' d to dogs the Englishmen of little price were made; Now o'er their conquer' d enemies once more they raise their head ! The sword was strong, and many men were slaughter'd in the fight ; But truth prevail' d, and traitors were turn'd to shameful flight ; For the Lord God of valour the perjured men with- stood, And cast His guarding shield of truth over the pure and good. By sword without and fear within the one side was opprest ; The other by the favouring grace of Heaven was at rest. 20 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Earl Simon's faith and faithfulness all England's peace secure ; He smites the rebels, calms the realm, and drooping hearts makes sure. He felt that he must fight for truth, or else must truth betray : To truth he gave his right hand brave, and trod the rugged way. Read, read, ye men of England, of Lewes' fight my lay; For guarded by that fight ye live securely at this day. If victory had fall'n to those who there were sorely chased, The memory of England had sorely been disgraced. M. CREIGHTON (from a contemporary Latin poem). VII. THE BLACK PRINCE AND CRESS Y. To King Henry V. Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb, From whom you claim : invoke his warlike spirit, And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince, Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy, Making defeat on the full power of France, THE BLACK PRINCE ON HIS DEATH-BED. 21 Whiles his most mighty father on a hill Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp Forage in blood of French nobility. O noble English, that could entertain With half their forces the full tide of France, And let another half stand laughing by, All out of work and cold for action ! SHAKSPERE, King Henry V., Act i. Sc. 2. VIII. THE BLACK PRINCE ON HIS DEATH-BED. THEN the Prince caused his chambers to be opened And all his followers to come in, Who in his time had served him, And served him with a free will : " Sirs," said he, " pardon me, For, by the faith I owe you, You have served me loyally, Though I cannot of my means Render to each his guerdon ; But God, by His most holy name And saints, will render it you." Then each wept heartily And mourn'd right tenderly, 22 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. All who were there present, Earl, baron, and batchelor : Then he said in a clear voice, " I recommend to you my son, Who is yet but young and small, And pray that, as you served me, So from your heart you would serve him." Then he call'd the King his father, And the Duke of Lancaster his brother, And commended to them his wife, And his son, whom he greatly loved, And straightway entreated them ; And each was willing to give his aid, Each swore upon the book, And they promised him freely That they would comfort his son, And maintain him in his right \ All the princes and barons Swore all round to this. And the noble Prince of fame Gave them an hundred thousand thanks. But -till then, so God aid me, Never was seen such bitter grief, As was at his departure. CHANDOS. IX. BALLAD OF NEVILLES CROSS, OR DURHAM FIELD. THE King looked toward litle Durham, & that hee well beheld, that the Earle Percy was well armed, With his battell axe entred the feild. the King looket againe towards litle Durham, 4 ancyents there see hee ; there were to standards, 6 in a valley, he cold not see them with his eye. My lord of Yorke was one of them, My lord of Carlile was the other ; & my Lord ffluwilliams, the one came with the other. the Bishopp of Durham commanded his men, & shortlye he them bade, " that never a man shold go to the feild to fight til he had served his god." 500 priests said masse that day in durham in the feild ; & afterwards, as I hard say, they bare both speare and sheelo. 24 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. the Bishopp of Durham orders himself to fight with his battell axe in hand ; he said, " this day now I will fight as long as I can stand." " & soe will I," sayd my Lord of Carlile, " in this faire morning gay ; " " & soe will I," sayd my Lord ffluwilliams, " for Mary, that myld may." our English archers bent their bowcs shortlye and anon, they shott over the Scottish oast & scantlye toucht a man. " hold downe your hands," sayd the Bishopp of Durham, " my archers good and true." the 2 d shoote that thb shott full sore the Scottes it rue. the Bishopp of Durham spoke on hye that both partyes might heare, " be of good cheere, my merrymen all, the Scotts flyen, & changen there cheere ! " but as the saidden, soe the didden, they fell on heapes hye ; our Englishmen laid on with their bowes as fast as they might dree. BALLAD OF NEVILLES CROSS. 25 The King of Scotts in a studye stood amongst his companye, an arow stroke him thorrow the nose and thorrow his armorye. The King went to a marsh side & light beside his steede, and leaned him down on his sword hilt, to let his nose bleede. there followed him a yeoman of merry England, his name was John of Coplande ; " yield thee Traytor ! " cries Coplande then, " thy liffe lyes in my hand." " how shold I yeeld me ? r> sayes the King, " & thou art noe gentleman." " Noe, by my troth," sayes Copland there, " I am but a poore yeoman ; " What art thou better than I, Sir King ? tell me if that thou can ! What art thou better than I, Sir King ? now -we be but man to man ? " the King smote angerly at Copland then, angerly in that stonde ; & then Copland was a bold yeoman, & bore the King to the ground 26 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. He sett the King upon a Palfrey, himselfe upon a steede, he tooke him by the bridle rayne, towards London he gan him Lead & when to London that he came, the King from ffrance was new come home, & there unto the King of Scottes, he sayd these words anon. " how like you my shepards & my millers, my priests with shaven crownes ? " " by my fayth, they are the sorest fighting men that ever I mett on the ground ; " there was never a yeoman in merry England but he was worth a Scottish knight ! " "I, by my troth," said King Edward, and laugh e, " for you fought all against the right." but now the Prince of merry England worthilye under his Sheelde hath taken the King of ifrance at Poytiers in the ffeelde. the Prince did present his father with that fcod, the lovely King off ffrance, & fforward of his Journey he is gone : god send us all good chance ! THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 27 Thus ends the battell of ffaire Durham in one morning of may, the battell of Cressey, & the battle of Potyers, All within one monthes day. then was welthe and welfare in mery England, Solaces, game, & glee, & every man loved other well, & the King loved good yeomanrye. but God that made the grasse to growe, & leaves on greenwoode tree, now save & keepe our noble King, & maintaine good yeomanrye ! Old Ballad. X. THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY* CHASE. THE Percy out of Northumberland, And a vow to God made he, That he would hunt in the mountains Of Cheviat within days three, In the mauger of doughty Douglas, And all that ever with him be. 28 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. The fattest harts in all Cheviat He said he would kill, and carry them away : " By my faith," said the doughty Douglas again, " I will let that hunting if that I may." Then the Percy out of Bamborough came, With him a mighty meany ; With fifteen hundred archers bold ; They were chosen out of shires three. This began on a Monday at morn In Cheviat the hills so he ; The child may rue that is unborn, It was the more pity. The drivers thorough the woodes went For to rouse the deer ; Bowmen bickarte upon the bent With their broad arrows clear. They began in Cheviat the hills above Early on a Monynday : By that it drew to the hour of noon A hundred fat harts dead there lay. They blew a mort upon the bent, They 'sembled on sides sheer ; To the quarry then the Percy went, To see the brittling of the deer. THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 29 He said, " It was the Douglas' promise This day to meet me here ; But I wist he would fail verament : " A great oath the Percy sware. At the last a squire of Northumberland Looked at his hand full nigh, He was ware o' the doughty Douglas coming : With him a mighty meany. Both with spear, bill, and brand : It was a mighty sight to see. Hardier men both of heart nor hand Were not in Christianity. They were twenty hundred spearmen good, Withouten any fail : They were born along by the water of Tweed I' th' bounds of Tividale. " Leave off the brittling of the deer," he said, " And to your bows look ye take good heed : For never sith ye were on your mothers born, Had ye never so mickle need.' 7 The doughty Douglas on a steed He rode at his men beforne ; His armour glittered as did a glede, A bolder bairn was never born. 30 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. " Tell me what men ye are," he says, " Or whose men that ye be : Who gave you leave to hunt in this Cheviat chase in the spite of me ? " The first man that ever him an answer made, It was the good lord Percy : " We will not tell thee what men we are," he says, " Nor whose men that we be : But we will hunt here in this chase In the spite of thine and of thee. " The fattest harts in all Cheviat We have kill'd, and cast to carry them away." " By my troth," said the doughty Douglas again, " Therefor the one of us shall die this day." Then said the doughty Douglas Unto the lord Percy : " To kill all these guiltless men, Alas ! it were great pity. " But, Percy, thou art a lord of land, I am an Earl called within my country ; Let all our men upon a party stand ; And do the battle of thee and of me." "Now Christ's curse on his crown," said trie lord Percy, "Whosoever thereto says nay; THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 31 By my troth, doughty Douglas," he says, " Thou shalt never see that day ; "Neither in England, Scotland, nor France Nor for no man of a woman born, But an fortune be my chance, I dare meet him one man for one." Then bespake a squire of Northumberland Richard Witharington was his name ; " It shall never be told in South England," he says, " To king Harry the Fourth for shame. "I wot you bin great lordes twa, I am a poor squire of land ; I will never see my captain fight on a field, And stand myself and look on ; But while I may my weapons wield, I will not fail, both heart and hand." The English men had their bows y-bent, Their hearts were good enow ; The first of arrows that they shot off, Seven score spearmen they slew. The Douglas parted his host in three, Like a chief chieftain of pride ; With sure spears of mighty tree They came in on every side. 32 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. The English men let their bows be, And pull'd out brands that were bright ; It was a heavy sight to see Eiight swords on basnets light At last the Douglas and the Percy met, Like two captains of might and main ; They swapte together, till they both swat, With swords that were of fine Milan. These worthy freckys for to fight Thereto they were full fain, Till the blood out of their basnets sprent, As ever did hail or rain. " Hold thee, Percy," said the Douglas, " And, i' faith, I shall thee bring Where thou shalt have an Earl's wages Of Jamy our Scottish King. " Thou shalt have thy ransom free, I hight thee here this thing, For the manfullest man yet art thou, That ever I conquer'd in field fighting." " Nay," then said the lord Percy, " I told it thee beforne, ., ,. That I would never yielded be To no man of a woman born," THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 33 With that there came an arrow hastily Forth of a mighty one, It hath stricken the Earl Douglas In at the breast-bone. Thorough liver and lungs both The sharp arrow is gone, That never after, in all his life days, He spake more words but one, That was, " Fight ye, my merry men, whiles ye may, For my life days ben gone." The Percy leaned on his brand, And saw the Douglas de ; He took the dead man by the hand, And said, "Woe is me for thee ! " To have saved thy life I would have parted with My lands for years three, For a better man of heart nor of hand Was not in all the north country." Of all that see, a Scottish knight, Was called Sir Hugh the Mongon-byrry, He saw the Douglas to the death was dight ; He spendyd a spear, a trusty tree : He rode upon a corsiare Thorough a hundred archery ; 34 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. He never stinted, nor never blane, Till he came to the good lord Percy. He set upon the lord Percy A dint, that was full sore ; With a sure spear of a mighty tree Clean thorough the body he the Percy bore. At the t'other side, that a man might see, A large cloth yard and mare : Two better captains were not in Christianty Than that day slain were there. An archer of Northumberland Saw slain was the lord Percy, He bare a bent bow in his hand, Was made of trusty tree : An arrow, that a cloth-yard was long, To th' hard steel haled he ; A dint, that was both sad and sore, He set on Sir Hugh the Mongon-byrry. The dint it was both sad and sore That he on Mongon-byrry set ; The swan-feathers, that his arrow bore, With his heart blood they were wet. There was never a freake one foot would flee, But still in stour did stand, THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 35 Hewing on each other while they might dre, With many a baleful brand. This battle began in Cheviat An hour before the noon, And when evensong bell was rung, The battle was not half done. They took on on either hand By the light of the moon ; Many had no strength for to stand In Cheviat the hills aboon. Of fifteen hundred archers of England Went away but fifty and three : Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland But even five and fifty. But all were slain Cheviat within ; They had no strength to stand on hie The child may rue, that is unborn, It was the more pity. There was slain with the lord Percy, Sir John of Agerstone, Sir Roger the hinde Hartly, Sir William the bold Hearone. Sir George the worthy Lovele, A Knight of great renown, 36 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Sir Raff the rich Rugby, With dints were beaten down. For Witharington my heart was woe, That ever he slain should be : For when both his legs were hewn in two, Yet he kneel'd and fought on his knee. There was slain with the doughty Douglas Sir Hugh the Mongon-byrry, Sir Davy Lwdale, that worthy was, His sister's son was he : Sir Charles a Murray, in that place, That never a foot would flee ; Sir Hugh Maxwell, a lord he was, With the Douglas did he de. So on the morrow they made them biers Of birch and hazel so gray ; Many widows with weeping tears Came to fetch their mates away. Tividale may carpe of care, Northumberland may make great moan : For two such captains as slain were there On the march party shall never be none. Word is comen to Edin-burrow To Jamy our Scottish King, THE ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE. 37 That doughty Douglas, lieutenant of the marches, He lay slain Cheviat within. His hands did he weal and wring, He said, " Alas ! and woe is me ! Such another captain Scotland within," He said, "i' faith should never be." Word is comen to lovely London To the fourth Harry our king, That Lord Percy, lieutenant of the marches, He lay slain Cheviat within. " God have mercy on his soul," said King Harry, " Good Lord, if thy will it be ! I have a hundred captains in England," he said, " As good as ever was he : But Percy, an I brook my life, Thy death well quit shall be." As our noble king made his a-vow, Like a noble prince of renown, For the death of the Lord Percy, He did the battle of Hombyll-down, Where six and thirty Scottish knights On a day were beaten down : Glendale glitter' d on their armour -bright, Over castle, tower and town. ****** 38 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Jesu Christ our balys bete And to the bliss us bring ! Thus was the hunting of the Cheviat : God send us all good ending ! Unknown, XL THE GLORY OF ENGLAND IN ECLIPSE. Speech of John of Gaunt. METHINKS I am a prophet new inspired ****** This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle. This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war ; This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands ; This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, PRINCE HENRY OF MONMOUTH. 39 Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son ; This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation thro' the world, Is now leased out I die pronouncing it Like to a tenement or pelting farm : England, bound in with the triumphant sea. Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds ; That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself. Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life, How happy then were my ensuing death ! SHAKSPERE, King Richard //, Act ii. Sc. r. XII. PRINCE HENRY OF MONMOUTH. King Henry IV. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ? Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 40 FOEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Prince Henry. Do not think so ; you shall not find it so : And God forgive them that so much have sway'd Your majesty's good thoughts away from me ! I will redeem all this on Percy's head, And, in the closing of some glorious day, Be bold to tell you that I am your son ; When I will wear a garment all of blood, And stain my favours in a bloody mask, Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it : And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, That this same child of honour and renown, This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. For every honour sitting on his helm, Would they were multitudes, and on my head My shames redoubled ! for the time will come, That I shall make this northern youth exchange His glorious deeds for my indignities. * # # # * * This, in the name of God, I promise here ; The which, if He be pleased I shall perform, I do beseech your majesty may salve The long-grown wounds of my intemperance : If not, the end of life cancels all bands ; And I will die a hundred thousand deaths, Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. SHAKSPSRE, i Henry IV., Act iii. Sc. 2. ( 41 ) XIII. THE TWO HARRYS. Hotspur. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales, And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside, And bid it pass ? Vernon. All furnish'd, all in arms : All plumed like estridges, that with the wind Bated, like eagles having lately bathed ; Glittering in golden coats, like images ; As full of spirit as the month of May, And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship. Hotspur. No more, no more; worse than the sun in March, This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come ; They come like sacrifices in their trim, And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war 42 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. All hot and bleeding will we offer them : The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit, Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire, To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse, Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales : Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. SHAKSPERE, i Henry IV^ Act iv. Sc. i. XIV. PRAISE OF AN ENEMY. Prince. In both our armies there is many a soul Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world In praise of Ilenry Percy : by my hopes, This present enterprise set off his head, I do not think a braver gentleman, More active-valiant or more valiant-young, More daring or more bold, is now alive, To grace this latter age with noble deeds. For my part, I may speak it to my shame, I have a truant been to chivalry ; PRAISE OF AN ENEMY. 43 And so, I hear, he doth account me too ; Yet this before my father's majesty I am content that he should take the odds Of his great name and estimation, And will, to save the blood on either side, Try fortune with him in a single fight. King. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, Albeit considerations infinite Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no, We love our people well : even those we love That are misled upon your cousin's part ; And, will they take the offer of our grace, Both he and they and you, yea, every man Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his : So tell your cousin, and bring me word What he will do : but if he will not yield, Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, And they shall do their office. So, be gone ; We will not now be troubled with reply : We offer fair ; take it advisedly. SHAKSPERE, i Henry IV.> Act v. Sc. i. 44 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM, XV. A PRINCE INDEED. Hotspur. O ! 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads, And that no man might draw short breath to-day, But I and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me, How stood his tasking ? seem'd it in contempt ? Vernon. No, by my soul : I never in my life Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, Unless a brother should a brother dare To gentle exercise and proof of arms. He gave you all the duties of a man ; Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue, Spoke your deservings like a chronicle, Making you ever better than his praise, By still dispraising praise, valued with you ; And, which became him like a prince indeed, He made a blushing cital of himself. And chid his truant youth with such a grace, As if he master' d there a double spirit Of teaching and of learning instantly. There did he pause : but let me tell the world, If he outlive the envy of this day, England did never owe so sweet a hope, So much misconstrued in his wantonness. SHAKSPERE, i Henry IV., Act v. Sc. 2. ( 45 ) XVI. THE COURTEOUS VICTOR. Hotspur. O Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth ! I better brook the loss of brittle life, Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ; They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh: But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool ; And time, that takes survey of all the. world, Must have a stop. O ! I could prophesy, But that the earthy and cold hand of death Lies on my tongue : no, Percy, thou art dust, And food for [Dies. Prince. For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well, great heart ! Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk ! When that this body did contain a spirit, A kingdom for it was too small a bound ; But now, two paces of the vilest earth Is room enough : this earth, that bears thee dead, Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. If thou wert sensible of courtesy, 1 should not make so dear a show of zeal : But let my favours hide thy mangled face ; And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 46 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. For doing these fair rites of tenderness. Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven ! Thy ignomy sleep with thee in the grave, But not remember' d in thy epitaph ! SHAKSPERE, i Henry IV., Act v. Sc. 4, XVII. REVERENCE FOR LAW. King Henry V. You are right, justice, and you weigh this well ; Therefore still bear the balance and the sword : And I do wish your honours may increase, Till you do live to see a son of mine Offend you, and obey you, as I did. So shall I live to speak my father's words : " Happy am I, that have a man so bold, That dares do justice on my proper son ; And not less happy, having such a son, That would deliver up his greatness so Into the hands of justice." You did commit me ; For which I do commit into your hand The unstain'd sword that you have used to bear ; With this remembrance, that you use the same With the like bold, just and impartial spirit As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand. ENGLISHMEN IN THE FIELD. 47 You shall be as a father to my youth ; My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear, And I will stoop and humble my intents To your well-practised, wise directions. And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you : My father is gone wild into his grave, For in his tomb lie my affections ; And with his spirit sadly I survive, To mock the expectation of the world, To frustrate prophecies, and to raze out Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down After my seeming. The tide of blood in me Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now : Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea, Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, And flow henceforth in formal majesty. SHAKSPERE, 2 Henry IV.> Act v. Sc. 2. XVIII. ENGLISHMEN IN THE FIELD. King Henry V. (before Harfleur}. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness^and humility : 48 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. But, when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger ; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, * * * * * * Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; ****** Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height ! On, on, you noblest English, Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof ! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought, And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. ****** And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear That you are worth your breeding ; which I doubt not: For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot : Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry" God for Harry ! England and Saint George ! " SHAKSPERE, King Henry V., Act iii, Sc, i. ( 49 ) XIX. THE EVE OF ST. CRISP I AN. THE poor condemned English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The morning's danger ; and their gesture sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. O ! now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruin'd band, Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, Let him cry Praise and glory on his head ! For forth he goes, and visits all his host, Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile, And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen. Upon his royal face there is no note How dread an army hath enrounded him j Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Unto the weary and all-watched night : But freshly looks, and overbears attaint With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty ; That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. A largess universal, like the sun, His liberal eye doth give to every one, 50 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night. SHAKSPERE, King Henry K, Act iv,, Chorus. XX. HENRY THE FIFTH AND AGIN- COURT. Westmoreland. O ! that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day ! King Henry. What's he that wishes so ? My cousin Westmoreland ? No, my fair cousin : If we are mark'd to die, we are enow To do our country loss ; and if to live, The fewer men the greater share of honour. God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But, if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England : God's peace ! I would not lose so great an honour. HENRY THE FIFTH AND AGINCOURT. 5* As one man more, methinks, would share from me, For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, thro' my host, That he, which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart ; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse : We would not die in that man's company, That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian : He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian : He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say, " To-morrow is Saint Crispian " : Then will he strip his sleeve and -show his scars, And say, " These wounds I had on Crispin's day ". Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember with advantages What feats he did that day : then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words, Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. This story shall the good man teach his son ; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered ; 52 POEMS OF ENGLISH HEROISM. We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition : And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accurst they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. SHAKSPERE, King Henry K, Act iv. Sc. 3. XXI. BALLAD OF AGINCOURT, FAIR stood the wind for France, When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry ; But, putting to the main, At I