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 Navarre.

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

*

The battle of Ivry was won by Henry IV., King of France and Navarre, over the leaders of the League in 1590.

We saw the army of the League drawn out in long

array

With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish

spears.

There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land;

And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his

hand:

And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,

And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;

And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate

of war,

To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre.

The king is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant

crest.

He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern

and high.

Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,

Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our Lord the King."

"An if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray,

Alfred Tennyson.

Born 1810.

THE MAY QUEEN.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother

dear;

To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad

New-year;

Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest

day;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

There's many a black black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;

There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline : But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say, So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,

B

Fling the red shreds, a footcloth meet for Henry of

Navarre.

Ho! maidens of Vienna; Ho! matrons of Lucerne ; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return.

Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls.

Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright;

Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night.

For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,

And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave.

Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are ; And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of

Navarre.