THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT

"And for myself," quoth he,
"This my full rest shall be ;
England, ne'er mourn for me,
Nor more esteem me.
Victor I will remain,

Or on this earth lie slain;
Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

"Poitiers and Cressy tell,

When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell:
No less our skill is

Then when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,

By many a warlike feat

Lopped the French lilies."

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;

With the main, Henry sped
Amongst his henchmen.

Exeter had the rear,

A braver man not there;
Oh, Lord! how hot they were

On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone:
Armor on armor shone,
Drum now to drum did groan,

To hear was wonder:

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That with the cries they make
The very earth did shake;
Trumpet to trumpet spake,
Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became,
O noble Erpingham,
Which did the signal aim
To our hid forces;
When from a meadow by,
Like a storm suddenly,

The English archery

Stuck the French horses,

With Spanish yew so strong,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,

And like true English hearts,

Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw,

And forth their bilbows drew,

And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardy;

Arms were from shoulders sent;
Scalps to the teeth were rent;

Down the French peasants went :
Our men were hardy.

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT

211

This while our noble king,
His broadsword brandishing,
Down the French host did ding,
As to o'erwhelm it;

And many a deep wound lent

His arms with blood besprent,
And many a cruel dent

Bruised his helmet.

Gloucester, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood,
With his brave brother;
Clarence, in steel so bright,
Though but a maiden knight,
Yet in that furious fight
Scarce such another.

Warwick in blood did wade,

Oxford the foe invade,

And cruel slaughter made,

Still as they ran up;

Suffolk his axe did ply,
Beaumont and Willoughby
Bare them right doughtily,-
Ferrers and Fanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry.
Oh, when shall Englishmen

With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry!

Michael Drayton.

TELLING THE BEES 1

HERE is the place; right over the hill

Runs the path I took;

You can see the gap in the old wall still,

And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook.

There is the house, with the gate red-barred,
And the poplars tall;

And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard,
And the white horns tossing above the wall.

There are the beehives ranged in the sun;
And down by the brink

Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun,
Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink.

A year has gone, as the tortoise goes,

Heavy and slow;

And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows, And the same brook sings of a year ago.

There's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze; And the June sun warm

Tangles his wings of fire in the trees,

Setting, as then, over Fernside Farm. 1 Note 17.

TELLING THE BEES

213

I mind me how with a lover's care

From my Sunday coat

I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair, And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat.

Since we parted, a month had passed,

To love, a year;

Down through the beeches I looked at last

On the little red gate and the well-sweep near.

I can see it all now, the slantwise rain

Of light through the leaves,

The sundown's blaze on her window-pane,
The bloom of her roses under the eaves.

Just the same as a month before, —

The house and the trees,

The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, -
Nothing changed but the hives of bees.

Before them, under the garden wall,
Forward and back,

Went drearily singing the chore-girl small,
Draping each hive with a shred of black.

Trembling, I listened: the summer sun
Had the chill of snow;

For I knew she was telling the bees of one
Gone on the journey we all must go!

Then I said to myself, "My Mary weeps
For the dead to-day :