Now God be praised, the day is ours; Mayenne hath turned 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 heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. 
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van,
Remember Saint Bartholomew! was passed 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?

VI.

Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for
 France to-day;
And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey. 
But we of the religion have borne us best in fight;
And the good Lord of Rosny hath ta’en the cornet white—­
Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath ta’en,
The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false
 Lorraine,
Up with it high; unfurl it wide—­that all the host
may know
How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought
his church such woe. 
Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest
point of war,
Fling the red shreds, a foot-cloth meet for Henry of
Navarre.

VII.

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 St. 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 valor of the brave.  Then glory to His holy name, for whom all glories are; And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre!

LORD MACAULAY

The daffodils.

I.

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

II.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretch’d in never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

III.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company;
I gazed—­and gazed—­but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought;