When And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells,

Banners

are

Waving

As slow upon the laboring 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 bay,

And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay.

Ho! strike the flagstaff 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 freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold;

The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;

Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the When

purple sea,

Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er

again shall be.

From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,

That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;

For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame 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 shire,

Cape beyond cape, in endless range those twinkling points of fire.

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves:

The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves:

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 all night rang
out from Bristol town,

And ere the day three hundred horse had met on
Clifton Down;

Banners

are

Waving

When The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into Banners

the night,

And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill, that streak of blood-red light:

Then 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 reel

ing spires;

From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear;

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer:

And from the furthest wards was heard the rush

of hurrying feet,

And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring 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 from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went,

And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent:

And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still;

All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill;

Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales;

Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales;

Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height;

Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light;

Till broad and fierce the star came forth, on Ely's stately fane,

And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain;

Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln

sent,

And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide
vale of Trent:

Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on
Gaunt's embattled pile,

And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burgh-
ers of Carlisle.

THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY.

When Banners

are

Waving

Ivry

A Song of the Huguenots.

Now glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are!

And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre!

Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance,

Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France!

And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,

Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters.

As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our

joy,

For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.

Hurrah! Hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war,

Hurrah! Hurrah! for Ivry, and Henry of Na

varre.

Oh! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day

We saw the army of the League drawn out in

long array;