be beaten. While I speak, the wind swells the sails of the Norse ships, bearing home the corpse of Hardrada. Accomplish, this day, the last triumph of England; add to these hills a new mount of the conquered dead! And when, in far times and strange lands, scald and scop shall praise the brave man for some valiant deed, wrought in some holy cause, they shall say: "He was brave as those who fought by the side of Harold, and swept from the sward of England the host of the haughty Norman !” SIR GALAHAD. ALFRED TENNYSON. My good blade carves the casques of men, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, How sweet are looks that ladies bend For them I battle till the end, But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. More bounteous aspects on me beam, When down the stormy crescent goes, Then by some secret shrine I ride; I hear a voice, but none are there; Fair gleams the snowy altar cloth, Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I leap on board: no helmsman steers: A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the holy Grail: With folded feet, in stoles of white, On sleeping wings they sail. Ah, blessed vision! blood of God! When on my goodly charger borne The tempest crackles on the leads, And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; But o'er the dark a glory spreads, And gilds the driving hail. I leave the plain, I climb the height; A maiden knight-to me is given I muse on you that will not cease, Whose odors haunt my dreams; This weight and size, this heart and eyes, The clouds are broken in the sky, Swells up, and shakes and falls. So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All-armed I ride, whate'er betide, Until I find the Holy Grail. BOADICEA. WILLIAM COWPER. WHEN the British warrior queen, Sage beneath a spreading oak Princess, if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. Rome shall perish -write that word Rome, for empire far renowned, Other Romans shall arise Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame. Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command. Regions Cæsar never knew, Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew Such the bard's prophetic words, She, with all a monarch's pride, |