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There rode the brood of false Lorraine', the curses of our

land;

And dark Mayenne 2 was in the midst, a truncheon in his

hand :

And as we look'd on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,

3

And good Coligni's 3 hoary hair, all dabbled with his blood; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre.

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;

4

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. 5

6

The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Gueldres and Almayne. 7

ders, the leader of the Flemish cavalry. Flanders at this time was under the dominion of Philip II., king of Spain. Egmont had brought from the Low Countries, shortly before the battle, considerable reinforcements to Mayenne.

1 Lorraine, the family of Guise. The second son of the Duke of Lorraine was the first Duke of Guise. He was made so by Francis I., king of France.

Mayenne, the brother of Henry, the third Duke of Guise, who had been assassinated by orders of Henry III.

3 Coligni was admiral of France, and one of the most famous of the

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"Now, by the lips of those you 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 turn'd

his rein

D'Aumale hath cried for quarter 1

the Flemish 2 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 Saint Bartholomew !"3 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!
Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne ! 4
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 D'Aumale, the brother of Mayenne and governor of Paris.

Flemish Count, Count Egmont, the commander of the Flemish troops, which had been sent by Philip II. of Spain.

3 St. Bartholomew. On the night of 24th August, 1572, there was a general massacre in Paris of the Protestants by the Roman Catholics. The tocsin was sounded at two in the morning. The royalists broke into the houses of the Hugonots, and massacred them without distinction of age or sex. The same horrors were enacted simultaneously in several of the provinces. Charles, the king, armed with a gun, stationed

himself in a tower, and fired upon those fugitives that attempted to escape across the river Seine. Hence the allusion to "Seine's empurpled flood." The massacre lasted for eight days and nights.

4 The sisters, wives, &c., of the German and Swiss soldiers are here meant. Vienna, the capital of Austria; Lucerne, a canton and town in Switzerland.

Philip II. of Spain, who powerfully assisted the Roman Catholics of France.

6 Pistole, a gold coin. Mexico, noted for its gold, at this time belonged to Spain.

Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be

bright!

Ho! burghers of Saint Geneviève ', keep watch and ward to

night!

For our God hath crush'd the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,

And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the

brave.

Then glory to His holy name, from whom åll glories are; And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre.

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"ROOM for the leper!

sym'-bol, sign; type

Room!" And as he came,

The cry pass'd on "Room for the leper! Room!"

Sunrise was slanting on the city gates

Rosy and beautiful, and from the hills

The early-risen poor were coming in,

Duly and cheerfully, to their toil, and up

Rose the sharp hammer's click, and the far hum
Of moving wheels and multitudes astir,

And all that in a city murmur swells,

Unheard but by the watcher's weary ear,
Aching with night's dull silence, or the sick

Hailing the welcome light, and sounds that chase

The death-like images of the dark away.

1 Paris, St. Geneviève being the patron saint of the city. The citizens were warm partisans of the Guises.

And aside they stood,

"Room for the leper!"
Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood—all
Who met him on his way-and let him pass.
And onward through the open gate he came,
A leper, with the ashes on his brow,
Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip
A covering, stepping painfully and slow,
And with a difficult utterance like one
Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down,
Crying" Unclean! Unclean!"1

"Twas now the depth

Of the Judæan Summer, and the leaves,
Whose shadow lay so still upon the path,
Had budded on the clear and flashing eye
Of Judah's loftiest noble. He was young,
And eminently beautiful, and life
Mantled in eloquent fulness on his lip,
And sparkled in his glance; and in his mien
There was a gracious pride that every eye
Follow'd with benisons-and this was he!
With the soft air of summer there had come
A torpor on his frame, which not the speed
Of his best barb, nor music, nor the blast
Of the bold huntsman's horn, nor aught that stirs
The spirit to its bent, might drive away.
The blood beat not as wont within his veins;
Dimness crept o'er his eye; a drowsy sloth.
Fetter'd his limbs like palsy, and his port,
With all his loftiness, seem'd struck with eld.
Even his voice was changed. —a languid moan
Taking the place of the clear, silver key;
And brain and sense grew faint, as if the light,
And very air, were steep'd in sluggishness.
He strove with it awhile as manhood will,
Ever too proud for weakness, till the rein
Slacken'd within his grasp, and in its poise
The arrowy jereed like an aspen shook.
Day after day he lay as if in sleep;

His skin grew dry and bloodless, and white scales,

"And the leper in whom the plague is, his clothes shall be rent, and his head bare, and he shall put a

covering upon his upper lip, and shall cry, Unclean, unclean." - Lev. xiii. 45.

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Circled with livid purple, cover'd him.
And then his nails grew black, and fell away
From the dull flesh about them, and the hues
Deepen'd beneath the hard, unmoisten'd scales,
And from their edges grew the rank white hair1,
And Helon was a leper!

Day was breaking

When at the altar of the temple stood

The holy priest of God.

The incense lamp

Burn'd with a struggling light, and a low chant
Swell'd through the hollow arches of the roof
Like an articulate wail, and there alone,
Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt.2
The echoes of the melancholy strain
Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up,
Struggling with weakness, and bow'd down his head
Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off

His costly raiment for the leper's garb,
And with the sackloth round him, and his lip
Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still,

Waiting to hear his doom:

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Depart! depart, O child

Of Israel, from the temple of thy God;
For He has smote thee with his chastening rod,
And to the desert wild,

From all thou lovest, away thy feet must flee,
That from thy plague His people may be free.

Depart! and come not near

The busy mart, the crowded city, more;
Nor set thy foot a human threshold o'er3,
And stay thou not to hear
Voices that call thee in the way;
and fly
From all who in the wilderness pass by.

"And when the hair in the plague is turned white, and the plague in sight be deeper than the skin of his flesh, it is a plague of leprosy ; and the priest shall pronounce him unclean." -Lev. xiii. 3.

"When a man shall have in the skin of his flesh a rising, or a bright spot, and it be in the skin of his flesh like the plague of leprosy, then he

shall be brought unto Aaron the priest, or unto one of his sons the priests."— Lev. xiii. 2.

3

"All the days wherein the plague shall be in him he shall be defiled; he is unclean; he shall dwell alone without the camp shall his habitation be.” Lev. xiii. 46. See also Numb. v. 2.

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