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AGINCOURT arms arrow Ballad battle bear Becket Bishop blood boar bows brave called Canute Chevy Chase comes cried crown dear death deep doth Durham eagle Earl Douglas Earl Percy Edited Edward England English eyes fair faith father fear fell field fight followed fought French gates give gold gone hand Harold hath head heart heaven Henry Herbert hundred James John King king of France king's knight land Light lines live London look lord merry moon murder never noble NORTH o'er play poem Prince raised rest Richard Richmond rose sail Scotland Scots Scottish Selected sent ship side slain sleep soul speech stand stay stood story strong sword tears tell thee thou thought took true waves White Ship wind
Page 53 - And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say, " To-morrow is Saint Crispian : " Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say, " These wounds I had on Crispin's day.
Page 53 - God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; Such outward things dwell not in my desires : But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive.
Page 53 - Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse: We would not die in that man's company That fears his fellowship to die with us.
Page 55 - Have ever to the sun By fame been raised. And for myself, quoth he, This my full rest shall be ; England ne'er mourn for me Nor more esteem me. Victor I will remain, Or on this earth lie slain ; Never shall she sustain Loss to redeem me.
Page 2 - Such the Bard's prophetic words, Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending as he swept the chords Of his sweet but awful lyre. She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow : Rush'd to battle, fought and died ; Dying, hurl'd them at the foe.
Page 50 - This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings, Fear'd by their breed and famous by their birth, Renowned for their deeds as far from home, For Christian service and true chivalry, As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's Son, This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world...
Page 25 - Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames , and statesmen old In bearded majesty , appear.
Page 54 - This story shall the good man teach his son ; And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered ; We few, we happy few, we band of brothers...
Page 50 - This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land, Dear for her reputation through the world, Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it), Like to a tenement or pelting farm : England, bound in with the triumphant sea, Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame, With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds ; That England, that was wont to conquer others, Hath made a shameful conquest of itself...
Page 22 - On a rock whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air), And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.