 | The Poems of Robert Bloomfield |  |
Harry of Monmouth, o'er thy page,
Great chieftain of a daring age!
The stripling soldier burns to see
The spot of thy nativity;
His ardent fancy can restore
Thy castle's turrets, (now no more);
See the tall plumes of victory wave,
And call old valour from the grave;
Twang the strong bow, and point the lance,
That pierced the shatter'd hosts of France,
When nations, in the days of yore,
Shook at the rampant lion's roar.
Great chieftain of a daring age!
The stripling soldier burns to see
The spot of thy nativity;
His ardent fancy can restore
Thy castle's turrets, (now no more);
34
And call old valour from the grave;
Twang the strong bow, and point the lance,
That pierced the shatter'd hosts of France,
When nations, in the days of yore,
Shook at the rampant lion's roar.
| The Poems of Robert Bloomfield | |