1 Vintage, wine. 2 Flora, the goddess of flowers, and hence the flowers themselves. 3 Provençal song, the song of the vinedressers in Provence. 4 Beaker, a drinking-bowl. 5 Hippocrene, a fountain at the foot of Mount Helicon in Boeotia. The Muses frequented the spot, and bestowed their sacred favours on all who drank of the limpid waters. 6 Charioted by Bacchus and his pards, conveyed by the wine-god in a chariot drawn by panthers. Bacchus is represented, in classical mythology, as drawn by tigers, lions, lynxes, or panthers. 7 Fays, fairies, elves. 8 Requiem, a dirge or hymn sung for the dead. 9 Through the sad heart of Ruth. See the beautiful Scripture narrative in the book of Ruth. BERNARDO AND KING ALPHONSO. With some good ten of his chosen men, Before them all in the palace hall, But ever and anon he frowned, And flame 2 broke from his eyes. A curse upon thee,' cries the king, But what from traitor's blood should spring, May think it were a pious part "Whoever told this tale, the king Cries Bernard; 'here my gage 3 I fling No treason was in Sancho's blood- Below the throne, what knight will own 130 BERNARDO AND KING ALPHONSO. 'Ye swore upon your kingly faith But, curse upon your paltering breath! He died in dungeon cold and dim, And visage blind, and mangled limb, 'The king that swerveth from his word, But noble vengeance shall be mine; The king hath injured Carpio's line, 'Seize-seize him!' loud the king doth scream: 'There are a thousand here; Let his foul blood this instant stream; Seize-seize the traitor!' But not one To move a finger dareth: Bernardo standeth by the throne, And calm his sword he bareth. He drew the falchion from its sheath, And all the hall was still as death!- And here's the sword that owns no lord, Fain would I know who dares its point- Then to his mouth his horn he drew It hung below his cloak; His ten true men the signal knew, And through the ring they broke. With helm on head, and blade in hand, BATTLE OF THE LEAGUE.1 Oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears.2 There rode the brood of false Lorraine,3 the curses of our land! And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand; 4 And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, And good Coligni's 5 hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; And we cried unto the living Power who rules the fate of war, To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of Navarre ! The king is come to marshal us, all in his armour drest ; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 132 BATTLE OF THE LEAGUE. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled, from wing to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, 'Long live 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 you see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre.' 9 Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin! 7 The fiery Duke is speeding fast across St André's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.10 '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 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, Heaven 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 St Bartholomew !'11 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 ! 12 return. Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles,13 That Antwerp 14 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 Genevieve,15 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 ; Macaulay. brother of the Duke of Guise, and 4 Mayenne was another brother of Guise, 1 Battle of the League. During the reign 3 Brood of false Lorraine. Lorraine was of Henry III. of France, the Roman Catholics formed a league for the extermination of the Huguenots from that country. Henry, Duke of Guise, headed the League, while Henry, king of Navarre, became the acknowledged leader of the Protestants. On the death of Henry III., the crown of France devolved on the king of Navarre, under the title of Henry IV. But he had still to contend with the Leaguers, who met him, with the Duke of Mayenne at their head, in the celebrated fields of Arques and Ivry. The battle of Ivry was the crisis of the struggle. The army of the League was totally defeated, and the Huguenots triumphed. This victory was gained eighteen years after the Massacre of St Bartholomew. 2 Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. Swiss Catholics joined the League, and several troops from the Low Countries were led by Count Egmont. 7 Culverin, an old kind of cannon. 10 Almayne, Germany, from Allemanni, 11 Remember St Bartholomew! The remembrance of that bloody Sunday |