Cressy to Tel-el-Kebîr. A narrative poem, descriptive of the deeds of the British Army

Front matter

CRESSY TO TEL-EL-KEBlR: A NARRATIVE POEM, DESCRIPTIVE OF THE DEEDS OF THE BRITISH ARMY. BY CHARLES RATHBONE LOW, I.N., F.R.G.S., Author of "Life of Field- Marshal Sir George Bollock," "Soldiers of the Victorian Age," " Memoir of Lord Wolseley," " Memoir of Sir Frederick Kobcrts," "Battles of the British Army," &>c., &c. lionDon : W. MITCHELL & CO., 9a & 10, CRAIG'S COURT, S.W., AND 66, WHITCOMB STREET, W.C. 1S92. De&tcatt-'lJ TO THE OFFICERS, NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICERS & MEN OF THE BRITISH ARMY, And to the memory of their Comrades 70/10 have passed away. To those commemorative lays In which is sung our soldiers' praise, I would, with humbleness, Permission crave to add my page, Yet not in rivalry engage With those who've gone before. For though some have a spray or leaf In our brave army's glorious wreath Entwined, some feat have sung, Th' enthralling tale extends far down The centuries, and yields a crown To deck our country's brows.

I would then fully here unfold The scroll of England's warriors bold, And all their battles tell. From Cressy to Tel-el-Kebir The stream flows strong, unbroken, clear, With vict'ry on its crest. Oh ! may the flood rise ever higher, And may our soldiers all aspire To swell the glorious tide ! And to their comrades now no more — Who witness from the Silent Shore How they the burden bear Of adding to the glorious past Some deed whose memory will last For aye, like those they wrought — I, who their val'rous acts here trace, This chaplet of immortelles place To deck their honoured graves !

Preface

. This military poem is put before the world as a fairly complete record of the achievements of the British Arm}-, from the earliest times till now, commencing with Cressy, centuries before the establishment of a standing army, when (as we see repeated in great Continental States at the present time) that force was represented by the manhood of the nation trained to arms. Many episodes of this long and stirring history have been treated in verse, from Dravton's "Agincourt" to the Poet Laureate's "Charge of the Light Cavalry Brigade," but this is the first attempt to give a connected narrative of the whole. I have done this already in prose, and have written biographies of our two greatest living military commanders, with their sanction and assistance, as well as other military memoirs, so that, perhaps, I may claim, without presumption, so far as the knowledge of the subject goes, to be well enough equipped for the execution of the task.

Not only so, but the earliest years of my life were passed in camp and cantonment in India, and my family for generations have been military — from the days of Cromwell's campaigns in Ireland and the Boyne, where a Colonel Low was mortally wounded. Thus by associations, no less than by predilection and study, I may claim to be not wholly unfitted to execute this work, which I now launch on the tide of critical and public opinion with a hope that Prior's lines, deprecating a too harsh judgment, may be applied to it. I ask only of my critics a careful perusal of the book, for the production of which I have spared neither care, time, nor assiduity. It will be conceded I have attempted a task of considerable difficulty in seeking to describe not only battle scenes, but the movements and dispositions of armies, in rhymed verse, the exigencies of which are inexorable.

As most suitable for a narrative poem, I have adopted the metre employed by Scott in " Marmion," by Byron in the "Giaour," and by Coleridge, Moore, Campbell and other poets. While no military event of importance has been omitted, and I have striven to observe a due sense of proportion in the treatment of the theme as a whole, I have necessarily elaborated such Preface. VI. incidents as lend themselves to the poetic form of expression. Thus the deaths, on the battlefield, of Sidney, Wolfe, Abercrombie, Moore, and other great soldiers in more recent times, have been treated with more detail than would be permissible in a prose history. Waterloo has received the extended description its transcendent importance demands, but other events of less relative interest — which powerfully impress the imagination from their dramatic incidents or picturesque surroundings, and are hence specially susceptible to poetic treatment — have received the amplification justifiable, I would submit, in versified history.

Among such episodes is the loss of the Birkenhead, in which our soldiers displayed a heroism that excited unbounded admiration at home and abroad. I would draw especial attention to the description of the incidents of the shipwreck, and also to the imaginary muster of those who have perished at sea, a digression which will only be excused if it has been adequately treated. I trust, therefore, I may, en this ground, receive absolution from my readers and critics. Similarly I have seized on the disaster at Isandhlwana, the highly coloured treatment of which is not inappropriate, I venture to think, in a poem. And here I would draw attention to the trochaics, in which the advance of the Zulu army on the unsuspecting British camp, is written. I trust the attempt may be considered as not wholly unsuccessful.

Finally, there is the description of the death of General Gordon. More than one version has been given of this incident, which, with his life's career and the stubborn defence of Khartoum, lends itself in no common degree to dramatic treatment. I have adopted one of the versions of his death, which found currency at the time, though I am aware that by another account he was said to have been slain in the street, while hurrying to repel the assault of the Mahdi's followers, and not on the steps of the Viceregal Palace. In other instances also I have availed myself of the license always accorded to those who woo the poetic muse, but in no instance has there been a distortion of facts. I trust that the temerity I have displayed in undertaking so vast and difficult a task as a versified history of our army, whose services have been rendered in every clime and among the most diverse nationalties, will be forgiven on the score that it is not wholly unwarranted by the measure of literary success achieved. C R. LOW. 82, Elsham Road, Kensington, W. February, 1892. CONTENTS.

Chapter I

i Introduction — A Retrospect — Invasion of France by Edward III. — Cressy— Siege of Calais — Poicliers— The Black Prince in Spain — Navarette— Death of the Black Prince — Invasion of France by Henry V.— The march on Calais — The eve of Agincourt — King Henry and his soldiers — Agincourt — Repulse of the French attack— Slaughter of the enemy by the English archers— The field of battle- Death of Henry V.— Battle of the Spurs— Death of Sir Philip Sydney at Zutphen.

Chapter II

- - 23 The Duke of Marlborough— His early career under Turenne— The War of the Spanish Succession— British advance to the Danube— Schellenbcrg— Blenheim- Results of the Victory— Marlborough forces the French lines— Campaign of 1706— RamilHes— Narrow escape of Marlborough— Surrender of Ghent, Bruges and Ostend-Oudenarde— Siege of Lille— Captare of Tournay— Malplaquet.

Chapter III

- - - 43 Dettingen— Our defeats at Almanza and Fontenoy— The Irish Brigade— The " Seven Years' War "— Laffeldt and Minden— Quebec— Death of General Wolfe— The American War of Independence— Yorktown — Execution of Major Andre'— The American War of 1812-14— Bladensburg and New Orleans— The Defence of Gibraltar— The Expedition to Egypt— Alexandria— Death of General Abercromby — Maida.

Chapter IV

- - -63 Our soldiers in India— From Arcot to Delhi -A Retrospect— Lawrence and Forde — Clive in the Carnatic — Coote at Wandewash — Extinction of French power- Events in Bengal— Plassey— Munro at Buxar— The struggle with Hyder Ah— The Mahrattas— Second Mysore War— Victories of Sir Eyre Coote— Third Mysore Campaign— Capture of Seringapatam and Death of Tippoo Sultan The Mahratta War— Sir Arthur Wellesley's Victories at Assaye and Argaum —General Lake's Campaign— Storm of Allyghur— Delhi— Surrender of Agra— Laswarree— Deig— Repulse at Bhurtpore.

Chapter V

... - S6 The Peninsular War— Sir Arthur Wellesley— Roleia and Vimiera— Sir John Moore s Retreat— Corunna— Death of Moore— Wellesley's Second Campaign— Capture of Oporto and expulsion of the French from Portugal— Talavera and Busaco— Retreat to the lines of Torres Vedras— Giaham's victory at Barrosa— Fuentes d'Onor— Our soldiers at Albuera— Defence of Tarifa— Storm of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz— Salamanca— Repulse at Burgos— Final advance into Spain— Vittoria— The Pyrenees— Storm of San Sebastian— Invasion of trance— 1 he Nivelle— The Nive— Tarbes —Toulouse— End of the Peninsular War. Contents Vlll.

Chapter VI

---:---- 119 The Waterloo Campaign— Quatre Bras— The eve of the "Eighteenth of June" — Dispositions of the rival armies — Waterloo — Repulse of the French attack on Hougoumont— Death of Picton— Charge of the Union and Household Brigades — The British squares and the French Cavalry — Final repulse of the Imperial Guard— After the Battle— Napoleon— The Duke of Wellington.

Chapter VII

------- 148 Capture of Mauritius and Java— The Nepaul War— Death of Rollo Gillespie — Success of Ochterlony — The second Mahratta War— Mahidpore— The first Burmese War — Advance on Ava — Siege of Bhurtpore — The Afghan War — Storm of Ghuznee — Annihilation of Elphinstone's army — Sale's defence of Jellalabad-Nott at Candahar— Pollock forces the Khyber Pass and arrives at Cabul — The Scinde War— Sir Charles Napier and Sir James Outram— Meanee and Hyderabad— The Gwalior Campaign — Maharajpore and Punniar — The Sikh Invasion — The Sutlej Campaign — Moodkee— Sir Hugh Gough and. Sir Henry Hardinge— Ferozeshuhur— Aliwal — Sobraon — The Punjaub Campaign— Herbert Edwardes— Mooltan— Chillianwallah— Goojerat— Conquest of India completed.

Chapter VIII

-------- jSg The Crimean War— The Alma-Siege of Sebastopol- -Balaclava— Inkerman, the "Soldier's Battle "—Capture of the Quarries— Repulse at the Redan— Fall of Sebastopol.

Chapter IX

- - ----- 206 The Indian Mutiny— Siege of Delhi— Heroes of the Delhi Army— Vincent Eyre at Anah — Neill _ at Benares and Allahabad — The massacre of Cawnpore— Havelock's victories — The defence of Lucknow — Death of Sir Henry Lawrence- Sir James Outram— Havelock's first relief of Lucknow— Death of Neill— Events in the Punjaub— Storm of Delhi— Death of Nicholson— Relief of Lucknow by Sir Colin Campbell— Death of Havelock— Siege of Lucknow — Major Hodson — Sir Hugh Rose's Campaign in Central India — Other military incidents of the Mutiny — Lords Clyde and Strathnairn.

Chapter X

-------- 234 Our Wars in South Africa— The Kaft'raria Campaign— Defeat of the Boers by Sir Harry Smith— The War of 1851-53— Loss of the Birkenhead— Heroism of British Soldiers— Our China Wars of 1S40 anp 1860— Capture of the Taku Forts —Our Frontier Wars in India— The Second Burmese War— The Persian Campaign— Our New Zealand Wars— The Abyssinian Expedition— Lord Napier of Magdala.

CHAPTER XL

-------- 261 Sir Garnet Wolseley— The Red River Expedition— The Ashantee War— South Africa— The Zulu War— The Disaster at Isandhlwana— The Defence of Rorke's Drift — Evelyn Wood and Redvers Buller — Ulundi— Storm of Sekukuni's Stronghold— The Afghan War— Sir Frederick Roberts— The Khyber and other columns— Capture ot the Peiwar Kotul— Charasia— The Fighting round Cabul— Ahmel Kheyl— The Maiwand Disaster— Roberts' March from Cabul to Candahar

Chapter XII

- - - - . . - " - 294 The Egyptian War— Mahuta and Kassassin— Tel-el-Kebir— The Soudan Campaign- El leb and Tamai-The Nile Expedition-Abu Klea- Death of Colonel Burnaby— ljuoat— Ivirbekan-loo late at Khartoum— The fate of General Gordon— Death of Sir Heroert Stewart and General Earle— Tofrek— The Conquest of Upper Burmah— A Retrospect— Our Generals -Duty of England's Sons — Conclusion. & A NARRATIVE POEM.

Chapter I

Introduction — A Retrospect — Invasion of France by Edward III. Cressy— Siege of Calais— Poictiers— The Black Prince in Spain— Navarette — Death of the Black Prince — Invasion of France by Henry V.— The march on Calais— The eve of Agincourt— King Henry and his soldiers— Agincourt— Repulse of the French attack— Slaughter of the enemy by the English archers— The field of battle— Death of Henry V.— Battle of the Spurs— Death of Sir Philip Sydney at Zutphen. I sing of arms, and of a race, Who yield to none the pride of place In deeds of gallantry. " Old England long has had her day," So many think, and some will say Who yet believe it not. The wish is father to the thought ; But these ill-natured critics ought To be informed aright. es Our object, then, to have them taught What, in the past, our soldiers wrought, And hence they may believe it That these— whose fathers glory sought, And in all climes had bravely fought, And waved the Union Jack, And Death itself oft held as naught, When in the toils by numbers caught — Are equal to their sires.

To sing their deeds unfolds a tale, Which all true Britons will not fail To list to with delight. Few lands are there of man's abode, Or countries where the foot has trod, But there our flag is seen. The story's chequered, it is true, Yet England's foemen mostly rue When they cross swords with her. With France we often came to blows, And though the record's long, it shows Success was on our side. Great Marlb'rough's fame o'ershadows all, Who Europe rescued from the thrall Of Louis, France's King. And Spain has felt this country's might, Though chiefly with our fleet, the fight In past times has been waged. But as an ally she has filled A glorious page, and long since stilled Has been ill-will 'twixt us. Then to the front came one whose fame Will ever live, and his great name Evoke proud memories.

A Retrospect. 3 b 2 Oh, Wellington ! be thine the praise, From deepest failure thou didst raise On high thy country's arms. Thus on the pinnacle of might Was England placed, and from that height Has never been abased. Our retrospect on India turns The school in which the soldier learns The lessons taught by war. Her vast extent, her varied clime And nationalities, combine To give us scope for this. The North-west Frontier and Assam, By fierce tribes held, a field for fame Afford our officers. Oft have the hills re-echoed rounds Of British cheers, — those sav'rite sounds Of battle to our men. And savage races too have owned The weight of Britain's arm, and found Defeat the gate to peace. Thus our Maori wars, though small The glory gained, yet one and all In final vict'ry end. South Africa prolific fields For soldiers' prowess also yields, With similar results.

In China many wars we've had But the Celestials always glad Appeared to sue for peace. And our campaigns in Burmah show, How well our gallant soldiers know The way to take stockades. Then Abyssinia, Ashantee, Their great inferiority In battle learned to know. Far difFrent were the scenes when first The English man-at-arms did worst His enemies in fight. This warrior was the ancestor Of those brave soldiers, who in war Have carried off the palm. Bear witness this great Cressy's fight, When such as then could read aright The omens of the times, Acknowledged on that day had risen A power — emerging from its prison Of "rocks unscaleable" — Would shake the confines of the world, And wave aloft her flag, unfurled Throughout all lands and seas ! ****** When Edward gathered England's might To urge, by force of arms, his right To reign in France as well, The claim gave rise to many wars, And, for two centuries, the cause Became of bitter strife.

And long in England it was thus, Dynastic quarrels were the curse That brought on civil war. Cressy. 5 •j And Europe too oft lit the brand And drew the sword at the command Of some despotic prince, Who wished to seat himself or son— The Fourteenth Louis, he was one — Upon some foreign throne. The army led 'gainst England's foes By Edward, was composed of those Stout footmen, archers all, Who taught, 'ere long, the foreign lords, An English cloth-yard shaft accords Short shrift in skilful hands. The lesson's old, that steady drill And marksmanship most surely will Give final victory. The French King held the fords of Somme, But soon a peasant, who alone The river knew, proposed To show the army one, Blanche Taque, By which, behind King Philip's back, The passage could be made. The golden price of treach'ry paid, The English army safely wade The stream all unopposed.

Then Edward took at Cressy post, And there in confidence the host Awaited, then on march. The battle on an August day Was sought, which well we Britons may Enshrine in memory. 'Twas England's first great victory, And many more by land and sea She's gained since that was won. And first in honour as in date, With fruits far-reaching for the State, Was Cressy's battlefield. But great the odds, some eight to one, And yet before the day was done, The French had been dispersed. The first, or fighting line, was led By Edward's son, who claimed the head To be as Prince of Wales. With this brave boy, then but fifteen, Affording counsel, could be seen Some warriors of renown, As Warwick, Salisbury, brave lords, And Chandos, Holland, who'd crossed swOrds In many tented fields. More doughty knights in Christendom, And better soldiers were not known Than these stout cavaliers.

Two thousand archers stood in front, Who in these battles bore the brunt, And gained the chief success. And then eight hundred men-at-arms, All well inured to war's alarms, And last, one thousand foot. The second line, the same in force, Save fewer archers, Lord de Ros And Earl Northampton led. Cressy. 7 too The third division in reserve, Was posted on a hill, to serve As escort to the King. A storm of rain and thunder broke O'er both the armies, and awoke The echoes on the hills, But cleared by five, and then the sun. With level beams shone full upon The faces of the French. The Genoese cross-bowmen soon, Quite numb'ring fifteen thousand strong, Began to ply their arms, All motionless our ranks still stood, And England's archers, firm of mood, As yet gave forth no sign. Suddenly, with aim unerring, From their ranks one foot not stirring, Shot they flights of arrows !

Straight into those swarthy faces, Distant scarce one hundred paces, Flew the deadly missiles ! They pierced through shield, and armour The foot and horsemen overthrew, And wrought dismay around ! In detail, bootless 'tis to tell The great disaster that befell The French upon that day. One incident alone we'll give, As 'tis historic, and should live In song for evermore. Hard pressed by foes, the second line Engaged, the Prince now made the sign To send for the reserve. Sir Thomas Holland cut his way Through hordes of Frenchmen, and did lay About him lustily. The King, when reached, he told their plight And begged some reinforcements might Be sent to aid the Prince. " Your son," he said, " is hard beset, But there is time to save him yet ! " To which the King replied : — " Go back and let him win his spurs ; The day is his, and I'm averse To rob him of his chance."

And when the day its course had run, And Cressy's field was bravely won, The father kissed his boy. " Sweet son," he said, " to be my heir You're worthy, and my crown to wear, For royally you've fought." ' Oh, noble sire ! Oh, gallant son ! Though days of chivalry are done, Your bright example lives ! Such kings and princes, proud the land That owns, and equally the band That follows them to death ****** Next day the fighting was renewed, And Frenchmen's blood like water flowed In those fair, pleasant fields. Cressy. 9 'Twas said such slaughter was unknown Since barb'rous powers had overthrown The ancient Roman state. Of those then called " the baser sort," Some thirty thousand died, — for naught, So far as them concerned. Ten princes of the Royal blood, With eighty barons, who had stood At Cressy by their side, And some twelve hundred knights, with one Than all more famed abroad, were done To death on that great field.

The blind Bohemian King was he, The hero of French minstrelsy, Who died in thickest fray. " I serve," his motto, and his crest Adopted by the Prince, attest How great was his renown. Then died the " Grand Prior of France," And, in this battle, a entrance, A Cardinal was slain. As always happened in these wars, The priests, both sides, averred their cause Was blessed by Heaven alone. The God of Battles, they all said, Divine protection gave, and aid Would render to the flag. Ye priests ! " Goodwill ". should be your song To war and all its horrors, strong Resistance ye should make. Your exhortations smack of earth : 'Tis Hell, not Heaven, that's filled with death, And lit with flames of war. Next, Edward, Calais sought to take, And here, artillery, to make Short work, was first employed. Twelve weary months they held out well, And troops and townsmen all could tell The famine they endured.

The story every schoolboy knows, How these brave burghers from their foes, Were by Philippa saved. ****** A welcome peace for some nine years In England reigned, but it appears The Kings had cause for war. At least, they said they pretexts saw — Which is the same where power and law Are vested in one man. Again the rival chiefs are found At Poictiers, face to face, on ground Selected by the French. King John now led the hostile force, Outnumb'ring far, both foot and horse, The troops of our Black Prince. The latter were in woeful state, For two whole days no food they'd ate, And were dispirited. The Prince proposed that war should cease, But scorned to purchase terms of peace At cost of England's name, Poictiers. 11 And rather than capitulate, Declared he'd boldly meet his fate, And die with all his men.

But Chalons' bishop counselled war, And John, quite confident, no more Would now negotiate. Meantime our army threw up banks, And ditches dug, so that some thanks Were due for this delay. The battle joined, they tried to force Our strong position, but great loss The charging horsemen met. Our English archers, on their flanks Appeared so suddenly, their ranks Were in confusion thrown. The Black Prince, with two thousand horse Charged home, and slew without remorse Or stay the broken host. Prince Philip and the King were ta'en, And Clermont, the French Marshal, slain, With thousands of all ranks. ****** Twelve years had passed, and once again On war intent, but now in Spain, We find the brave Black Prince. With thirty thousand men he marched To "Cruel" Pedro's help, and launched His army 'gainst Enrique.

The Roncesvalles Valley saw our men Triumphant cross, and enter then The fields of sunny Spain. And when four centuries had passed, These same romantic scenes at last Beheld again our race. Here Charlemagne saw the " dol'rous rout " Of his brave paladins, and out Of Spain was quickly driven. And here, also, more famed in fight, Our hero, Wellington, outright His enemies dispersed. Great was the slaughter at Najar, Or Navarette, and near and far Was England's fame proclaimed. 2 The Castille men in panic fled, So great the fear our archers spread By their unerring aim. ****** This was the last successful war The Black Prince waged, and sickness Henceforth afflicted him. sore When only thirty-six, he died, Much honoured, and beloved beside, By foes as well as friends. He was at Canterbury laid, The noblest there, it may be said, Of that great company.

Above the tomb his gauntlets hang, And corselet, worn by him so long In all his foreign wars. Years hence, within those sacred walls, His troopers' horses Cromwell stalls Beside that monument. The Black Prince. 13 » With the chargers round him neighing, And the trumpets hoarsely braying (Sounds oft heard in battle) Must the hero in his coffin, Have bestirred himself, o'er-leaping Bounds of Death and Time ! " Blue Dick " and all his dastard crew, Who spared no monuments, and knew No feelings of respect, Now stayed the sacrilegious hand, And no one of that brutal band, But homage paid to him. The fingers, mutely clasped in prayer, The noble, yet pathetic, air And knightly grace they saw, Together with the warrior's name, Once dreaded both in France and Spain, That rabble held in awe. Long dormant feelings were aroused, And though they round his tomb caroused They honoured the appeal.

Brave deeds thus blossomed in the dust, And e'en the basest to their trust, Were not unfaithful found. * * * * * * King Harry, fifth of his brave line, Had thirty thousand men what time To Harfleur he laid siege. This captured, he began his march For Calais, but no measures harsh Allowed to gain supplies. Wet was the season, food ran short, And soon the hardships Harry taught How critical his state. Nine thousand men they only were, And Shakespeare represents how care Had made them " horrid ghosts." The King fell back on Agincourt, Where France's Constable had brought 'Gainst him six times his force. These passed the night carousing there, While their commanders counting were The ransom of the King. But one there was of sounder sense Among their leaders, who, from hence, Advised they should fall back.

This was the Duke of Berri, who Remembered how all France did rue The battle of Poictiers. Some sixty years had passed since then, And few were living of the men, Like him, who saw that field. But his advice was greatly scorned, Though with the morrow's sun there dawned Experience of its need. Our King was cheerful, and his eye Diffused upon all passers-by The warmth of noon-tide's sun. So writes our Shakespeare in the scene, So terse and vivid that, I ween, It must withal be true. Agincourt. 15 -. ') The King would have "not one man more When Westmoreland " but half a score " Desired " of thousands, who That day in England no work did." Such were the words with which he chid All those who then despaired. " Save honour, naught I seek to win, And if to covet that be sin, Then I confess my wrong."

So said our noble warrior-king, Whose deeds that day I fain would sing, Did space and power permit. He wore a helm of polished steel Above his crown, and all there feel The presence of a Man ! He rode along the serried lines, Recalling to their minds the times When, just as now, their sires On French ground fearless stood at bay, That ever-memorable day When Cressy gave them France. All hearts were stirred by this appeal, And each resolved, come woe, come weal They'd stand beside their King. At Cressy some good heads there were To lead our troops, so also here Sound judgment was displayed. Upon the foe's left flank and rear, Took post in ambush, and quite near, Our archers in great force. " Advance your banners, men," — thus gave The King the order, and soon wave The English battle-flags. Sir Thomas Erpingham led on The bowmen, who, in densest throng, Advanced upon the French.

Then drove they stakes into the ground, And, opening fire, shot round on round With seldom a return. Now charging forward rapidly, Their horsemen, France's chivalry, Strove hard to break our line. Fierce the shouts with which they're greeted, Which, on halting, were repeated, Arrows thickly flying. Now their leaders strove to rally Ranks quite broken, and a sally Made with desp'rate valour. But all in vain, so close the fire, And deadly, too, that none desire To seek for certain death. The horses, mad with pain and fright, Turned back, and soon confusion quite Beyond control ensued. The Constable of France here fell, And, charging by his side, as well, Some knights and noblemen. Our archers quick now slung their bows, And, drawing bill-hooks, on their foes Advanced with eagerness. Agincourt. 17 * C Though bare of foot and head were those Brave fellows, yet 'natheless their blows With deadly force rained down.

And they no mercy showed to prince Or peasant, but all slaughtered, since Their King had orders given. How great the valour of these " Kerns," 3 Each foreign noble quickly learns To his great cost that day. They scorned them as of low degree, But each man they were made to see Was worth a score of them. Pride ever goes before a fall, And these great lords were forced to call The " Kerns " their conquerors. Among our Anglo-Saxons were Those yeomen-farmers, who a share Of English soil each owned. All through this martial history, These stalwart countrymen and free, Play ever well their part. 'Twas such, fresh-caught at the plough's tail. Who stood against the iron hail Of shot at Waterloo ; And now, as steady as a rock, These dauntless yeomen bore the shock Of France's men-at-arms. They and the Knights— all clad in steel Of armour proof, from head to heel, On horses also barbed, — l> Upon that day their panoply Of no avail soon found to be Against the cloth-yard shafts, But all went down, as ripened grain Before the sickle falls amain Upon an autumn day, And like the grass by keen scythe mown The horse and rider, overthrown, In one red carnage lay.