While, her dark eyes declining, by his side And once, alas! nor in a distant hour, He rests in holy earth with them that went before. ROGERS. HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID. WHEN Israel, of the Lord belov'd, There rose the choral hymn of praise, Forsaken Israel wanders lone; Our fathers would not know Thy ways, But, present still, though now unseen! And, oh! when stoops on Judah's path Our harps we left by Babel's streams, And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn; 1 SCOTT. THE BATTLE OF IVRY.2 THE king is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 1 Psalm li. Near Dreux (Dept. de l' Eure). In this battle, fought 1590, Henry IV. gained a signal victory over the army of the League, composed of French and Spanish, and commanded by the Duke of Mayenne. Henry's address to his soldiers was "Mes amis, vous êtes Français, je suis votre roi ; plus de gens, plus d'honneur. Si l'étendard vous manque, suivez mon panache, vous le verrez toujours au chemin de l'honneur et du devoir." It was doubtless in recollection of these words that, at the battle of Rocroy, the great Condé (then Duc d'Enghien) would not wear a helmet, but went to battle in a hat with white feathers, which served as a rallying point to his soldiers. H Right graciously he smil'd on us, as roll'd from wing to wing, [our Lord the King! Down all our line a deafening shout, "God save "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, [Navarre." "And be your oriflamme1 to-day, the helmet of Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din [culverin 2! Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. André's plain, [Almayne. With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and 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 spears 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 rush'd, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blaz'd the helmet of Navarre. 1 The sacred standard of France, which used to be preserved in the Abbey of St. Denis. * Culverin, a species of ordnance. In the beginning of the 15th century, the different kinds of cannon were called either by the names of birds, on account of the swiftness of their motion, as falconet, saker, culverin (all species of hawks); or by the names of animals, as indicative of their cruelty and destructiveness, as basilisk, serpentine, dragon, syren, aspic. They at present take their names from the weight of the ball they discharge. Now, God be prais'd, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turn'd his rein, D'Aumale1 hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count 2 is slain. Their ranks are breaking, like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, "Remember St. Bartholomew!" was pass'd from man to man : But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is my foe; 66 Down, down with every foreigner; but let your brethren 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 Vienne; 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 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 St. Geneviève3, keep watch and ward to-night; 1 Governor of Paris. * Count Egmont, who commanded the Flemish troops sent by Philip II. Paris, of which city St. Geneviève was the patron saint, in consequence of the signal services which she had rendered to its inhabitants. When the barbarians, under Attila, threatened Paris, St. Geneviève animated the citizens, and persuaded For our God hath crush'd the tyrant, our God hath rais'd the slave, And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave. Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are; And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre. MACAULAY. OUR DAILY PATHS. THERE'S beauty all around our paths, if but our watchful eyes Can trace it 'midst familiar things, and through their lowly guise; We may find it where a hedge-row showers its blossoms o'er our way, Or a cottage window sparkles forth in the last red light of day. We may find it where a spring shines clear, beneath an aged tree, With the foxglove o'er the water's glass borne downwards by the bee: Or where a swift and sunny gleam on the birchen stems is thrown As the soft wind playing parts the leaves, in copses green and lone. them not to desert the city. At another time, when they were suffering from a long scarcity, St. Geneviève ascended the Seine to Troyes and brought them abundance of supplies. It is also said that she was instrumental in the conversion of Clovis. She built, at her own expense, a church on the spot where St. Denis and his companions had received martyrdom; and she was buried in the church of St. Peter and St. Paul, which she had induced Clovis to build, and in which that prince was also interred. |