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With his white hair, unbonnetted, the stout old sheriff
Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the
The yeomen, round the market cross, make clear an ample
For there behoves him to set up the standard of her Grace: And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the
As slow, upon the labouring wind, the royal blazon swells. Look how the lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down!
So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,
Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield:
So glared he when, at Agincourt, in wrath he turned to
And, crushed and torn, beneath his claws the princely hunters lay,
Ho! strike the flag-staff deep, sir knight! ho! scatter flowers, fair maids!
Ho, gunners! fire a loud salute! ho, gallants! draw your blades!
Thou, sun, shine on her joyously! ye breezes, waft her wide!
Our glorious semper eadem! the banner of our pride!
The fresh'ning breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold
The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll
Night sunk upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea; Such night in England ne'er had been, nor ne'er again
From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford bay,
That time of slumber was as bright, as busy as the day; For swift to east, and swift to west, the warning radiance spread
High on St. Michael's Mount it shone-it shone on Beachy Head.
Far o'er the deep, the Spaniard saw, along each southern
Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points
The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves, The rugged miners poured to war, from Mendip's sunless
O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew
He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge-the rangers of Beaulieu.
Right sharp and quick the bells rang out, all night, from Bristol town;
And, ere the day, three hundred horse had met on Clifton Down.
The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night, And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill, that streak of bloodred light.
The bugle's note, and cannon's roar, the deathlike silence broke,
And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke ; At once, on all her stately gates, arose the answering fires; At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;
From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice
And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder
And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurry
And the broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down each rousing street;
And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in; And eastward straight, for wild Blackheath, the warlike errand went;
And roused, in many an ancient hall, the gallant squires of Kent:
Southward, for Surrey's pleasant hills, flew those bright
High on black Hampstead's swarthy moor, they started for the north;
And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still; All night from tower to tower they sprang, all night from hill to hill;
Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Derwent's rocky
Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of
Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely
Till streamed in crimson, on the wind, the Wrekin's crest
Till, broad and fierce, the star came forth, on Ely's stately
And town and hamlet rose in arms, o'er all the boundless
Till Belvoir's lordly towers the sign to Lincoln sent,
Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burnt on Gaunt's embattled
And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of
Ои, weep for Moncontour! O weep for the hour
O weep for Moncontour! O weep for the slain !
The renegade's shame, or the exile's despair!
One look, one last look to the cots and the towers,
Alas! we must leave thee, dear desolate home,
Farewell to thy fountains, farewell to thy shades,
To the breath of thy gardens, the hum of thy bees,
Farewell and for ever! The priest and the slave
A BUTTERFLY AT A CHILD'S GRAVE.
A BUTTERFLY basked on an infant's grave,
Then it lightly soared through the sunny air,
And spoke from its shining track:
"I was a worm till I won my wings,
And she whom thou mourn'st, like a seraph singsWould thou call the blest one back?"
A KING is standing there,
And, with uncovered head,
Receives him in the name of France:
Receiveth whom?-The dead!