Macmillan's Reading Books. Book V

John Stuart Mill · en
_Pricking fast_. Cf. "a gentle knight was pricking o'er the plain"
(Spencer).

 _With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne_. The
allies of the League. Almayne or Almen, a district in the Netherlands.




       *       *       *       *       *




    IVRY.


    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,
    Right graciously he smiled on us, as roll'd from wing to
         wing,
    Down all 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 Oriflamme 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!
    The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. André's plain,
    With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
    Now by the lips of those we 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 rush'd, 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 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;
    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!