網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

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 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,
All down 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 oriflamme1 to-day, the helmet of Navarre."

Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin.2
The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint André's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.3
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies 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 Navarre.

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 Saint 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 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 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 monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls.

(1) Oriflamme-from the Latin aurea flamma, golden flame; the name given to the great standard of France, reputed to have been brought from heaven by an angel, and given to the monks of St Denis. It was a blazing flag of blue cloth, besprinkled over with golden fleurs-de-lis, and quartered with a cross of scarlet cloth. (2) Culverin-from the Latin coluber, a serpent, through the French coulevrine, -a piece of ordnance long and thin, like the body of a serpent.

(3) Almayne-Allemagne, Germany; Austria is particularly indicated.

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 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.

THE DAFFODILS.1

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils;

Beside a lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee :
A poet could not but be gay

In such a jocund company.

I gazed, and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Wordsworth.

(1) The leading idea suggested by these simple, yet philosophical lines, is also conveyed in the "Lines on revisiting the Wye," by the same author, in which the following passage occurs:

"Here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years."

(2) Which is, &c.-which makes or furnishes, &c.

A CALM WINTER'S NIGHT.

How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh,
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear,
Were discord to the speaking quietude

That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,

Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which love has spread

To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills,
Robed in a garment of untrodden snow-
Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend,
So stainless that their white and glittering spires
Tinge not the moon's pure beam-yon castled steep,
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower
So idly that rapt fancy deemeth it

A metaphor of peace;-all form a scene
Where musing solitude might love to lift
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness;
Where silence undisturbed might watch alone,
So cold, so bright, so still.

Shelley.

MARCH.

LIKE as that lion through the green woods came,
With roar which startled the hushed solitude,
Yet soon as he saw Una,3 that fair dame
To virtue wedded, quieted his rude

And savage heart, and at her feet sank tame
As a pet lamb-so March, though his first mood
Was boisterous and wild, feeling that shame

Would follow his fell steps, if Spring's young brood

(1) Speaking quietude-This metaphor is by no means new, but its fitness to illustrate the subject renders it particularly striking here.

(2) Whose banner, &c.-An exquisite fancy. The poet's touch converts the emblem of war into a symbol of peace, and thus blends it into harmony with th other features of this calm, still, beautiful scene.

(3) Una-See the extracts from Spenser's "Faerie Queene," in the second part of this work.

Of buds and blossoms withered where he trod-
Calmed his fierce ire. And now blue violets
Wake to new life; the yellow primrose sits
Smiling demurely from the wayside clod;
And early bees are all day on the wing,
And work like labour, yet like pleasure sing.

Cornelius Webbe.

"ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE."

OH that those lips had language! Life has past
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.2
Those lips are thine-thine own sweet smile I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say,
"Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!"
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes-
Blessed be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim
To quench it here shines on me still the same.
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
O welcome guest, though unexpected here!
Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother lost so long.

I will obey, not willingly alone,

But gladly, as the precept were her own:
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief,
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream, that thou art she.

(1) The tenderness and pathos of these lines have never been surpassed. The "charm," which the poet's fancy "weaves for his relief," cannot but entangle and hold every reader of refined feeling and taste.

The picture was sent him by his cousin, Mrs. Bodham. In his letter acknowledging the receipt of it he says:-" The world could not have furnished you with a present so acceptable as the picture which you have so kindly sent me. ...I kissed it and hung it where it is the last object that I see at night, and, of course, the first on which I open my eyes in the morning."

(2) Heard thee last-These lines were written by Cowper more than fifty years after his mother's death, which occurred when he was about six years old. (3) It-i. e. the meek intelligence, &c.

My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead,
Say, wast thou conscious' of the tears I shed?
Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss-
Ah, that maternal smile! it answers-Yes.
I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away;
And, turning from my nursery window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu!
But was it such ?-It was.-Where thou art gone,
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting word shall pass my lips no more!
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
What ardently I wished, I long believed,
And, disappointed still, was still deceived:
By expectation every day beguiled,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learned at last submission to my lot,
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.

Where once we dwelt, our name is heard no more.
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor;
And where the gardener, Robin, day by day,
Drew me to school along the public way,
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet-capt,
"Tis now become a history little known,
That once we called the pastoral house2 our own.
Short-lived possession! but the record fair,
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there,
Still outlives many a storm that has effaced
A thousand other themes less deeply traced.

(1) Conscious-from the Latin con, together, and scio, I know-knowing within oneself. The word is incorrectly used in this passage. We may be aware of the thoughts and actions of others, but we can be conscious only of our own.

(2) Pastoral house- The parsonage house of Great Berkhampstead, in Hertfordshire, of which place Cowper's father was rector, and where he himself was born, in the year 1731.

« 上一頁繼續 »