THE HUGUENOT'S BATTLE HYMN.
161
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. The Flemish 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!" 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; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who
never shall return.