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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
Swift as a blast
Of hymns in rapture of thanksgiving borne
O'er lands long parched when rain dissolves the drought,
Rushed the great tidings. Edward the Black Prince
And that fifth Henry, Crecy, and Agincourt
Had done their work; and now an alien babe
Lorded the realm. At last the shout had risen
‘Warriors and statesmen failed to shield our France:
A Maid shall save her;’ and the land believed.
While marched that Maid along the bank of Loire
'Mid pastures green new lit with fires of spring
Thousands around her flocked. Round Orleans' walls
The chiefest captains of that age were camped:
Warnings she sent them. Mad with merriment
They flung her missives on the winds: but some
Who laughed not, whispered: ‘Brothers, bide the event!
What God decrees shall come!’
Of hymns in rapture of thanksgiving borne
O'er lands long parched when rain dissolves the drought,
Rushed the great tidings. Edward the Black Prince
And that fifth Henry, Crecy, and Agincourt
Had done their work; and now an alien babe
Lorded the realm. At last the shout had risen
342
A Maid shall save her;’ and the land believed.
While marched that Maid along the bank of Loire
'Mid pastures green new lit with fires of spring
Thousands around her flocked. Round Orleans' walls
The chiefest captains of that age were camped:
Warnings she sent them. Mad with merriment
They flung her missives on the winds: but some
Who laughed not, whispered: ‘Brothers, bide the event!
What God decrees shall come!’
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |