Drawn up in three divisions, soon as the English
found
That the Frenchmen were advancing, they started
from the ground,
Alarm'd, and burning in their hearts to teach that
mighty host
How useless, where brace men are met, is every empty
boast;
Although four times as numerous is the array of France,
Each yeoman's eye flash'd sternest joy to see the foe
advance.
First in the first division, the men-at-arms before,
Sat the bold Black Prince on horseback, with gallants
many more,
All longing that the hour would come, to strike one
valiant more,
That should lift the Rose of England high, and sweep
the Lilies low;
But there were older heads than these, whom there
the king had plac'd,
That their cautious wisdom might allay the younger
warriors' haste.

In front of this division, two thousand archers stand
With cloth yard arrows at their back, and long bows
in the hand.
Well could those archers urge the shaft, and by their
shafts alone
Full many a valiant Frenchman was that day over-
thrown;
For when in merry England, at the butts they shot
each day,
And some i'faith would practise among the deer, men
say.

And close upon the prince's wing, to aid him if need
were,
The stout Earls of Northampton and Arundel stand
near;
Twelve hundred archers bend the bow beneath their
high command;
And close behind the archers, eight hundred spearmen
stand,
And with these two brave noblemen was many a
knight and squire,
The mem'ry of whose gallant deeds 'tis pity should
expire.

Edward the king in person the third division led;
Upon a little palfrey, through all the ranks he sped,
And with a bright triumphant smile, he bade them not
to fear,
'Those Frenchmen shall remember this day for many a
year;
For by my crown and sceptre, and by my sword and fay,
I prophesy, my gallant hearts, we conquer them this
day.'

As thus he spoke, in every soul the love of country
glow'd,
Each call'd to mind his wife and babes and best-belov'd
abode;
Each swore that he in Edward's cause would stand or
fall that day,
And 'St. George for merry England!' swept through
the small array;
The soldiers now with eager glance the thronging
foemen scann'd,
And they vow'd to give each Frenchman six feet of
his own land.

The host of France sway'd onward, no order they
maintain'd,
To marshal them in equal ranks their leaders scarcely
deign'd.
'This handful of wild Islanders we'll quickly crush,'
they cried;
And darkly on that field and day they suffered for their
pride.
As soon as France's sovereign came in sight of that
bold foe,
His blood began to boil with wrath-he burn'd to strike
the blow.

'Call up those tardy Genoese, and now the fight
begin,
In God's name, and St. Denis's 'tis time that France
should win.'
But here the cowardly Genoese with many words
complain,
That, with carrying of their cross-bows, on foot six
leagues with pain,
They were so worn and spent with toil that nothing
they could do
Against an army who had ta'en their rest the whole
night through.

'Now,' cries the Count Alençon, 'curse on their
craven hearts,
The villains ever fail us, when they most should play
their parts.'
And, as he spoke, one dense black cloud o'er all the
welkin glides-
Loud thunders roar, and an eclipse the sparkling sun-
beam hides;
And o'er all those battalions a monstrous flight of
crows
Hover awhile, then pass away, and again the sunbeam
glows.

The English had it in their backs, the Frenchmen in
their faces;
And now the Genoese women in the vanguard took
their places.
As they approach the Englishmen they raise a mighty
cry;
But it troubled not our Islanders, nor made them wink
an eye;
Then with a second louder shout they rush a little
way,
And then stand still to see, forsooth, the English run
away.

But, finding that they did not stir, a louder hoot than
all
They raised-so loud, the stoutest hearts, they thought
it must appal.
But still those hardy Islanders stood to their arms, I
trow,
Looking a calm defiance upon their noisy foe,
And even smiles of merriment across their features
stole,
To think how little they could know an English yeo-
man's soul.

But now the Genoese began their cross-bows tough to
bend,
And arrows 'mid the English host right liberally to send;
But when the Englishmen advanc'd one foot, and drew
their bows,
Their arrows seem'd so close, they shot even like to
winter's snows;
And when Genoese bowmen those deadly arrows
knew,
Some cut their bowstrings-others to earth their cross-
bows threw.

And all, as if with one consent, turning their backs,
retreat;
But 'twas their fate some horsemen of the French array
to meet,
Who, when they heard the King of France in sore dis-
pleasure say,
'Down with those gods of Genoese! they stop the
army's way,'
On those whom they had come to aid, turn'd now with
might and main,
And many of the Genoese were by those horsemen
slain.
And still the English archers their arrows shot so well,
That many of the horses were killed, or plunged, and
fell,
Dismounting all their riders, who, in their coats of
mail,
Full often, in attempting to rise again, would fail;
And then the Welsh and Cornishmen slew many with
their knives-
'Twas a cowardly and a cruel way of taking nobles'
lives.

And, for this act, our gallant king was often sore dis-
pleas'd,
But in the wrath of battle, their life-thirst unappeas'd
By any thoughts of mercy, is many a villain fierce,
Who, for a silken doublet, would its wearer treach'rous
pierce.
But surely in the English ranks such men do not
abound?
And 'tis a shame that they should dare to tread on
English ground.

And now Bohemia's aged king, in the winter of his
days,
Found on the field a warrior's grave, and won immor-
tal praise;
His son had left his father's side, and mingled with the
foes,
And now the old blind monarch could hear the clash of
blows;
And turning to the gallant knights, who round their
sovereign press'd,
The valiant greybeard thus proclaim'd the wish within
his breast:-

'I charge ye, by the oath ye took before Bohemia's
throne,
The last desire of this old heart to grant ere I am
gone;
Lead me so far amid the foes, that with my sword I
may
Strike one bold stoke for France's cause on this un-
lucky day.'
The knights, with reverence, hear his words, and,
tying horse to horse,
In wide array through England's ranks they run their
fatal course.

Not one of all those valiant knights surviv'd that hap-
less day,
But well and bravely did they keep their enemies at
bay;
And 'mong them beat no stancher heart, no firmer
hand was there
Than the old blind monarch's, with the long and snow-
white beard and hair;
And when, at last, the fight was o'er, a bloody group
they found-
That old blind monarch stretch'd in death, with all his
brave knights around.
It chanced that early in the day a mix'd confused crew
Of French, Savoyards, Germans, had managed to break
through
The prince's van of archers, and now had made a
stand,
And with the English men-at-arms fought boldly hand
to hand;
So num'rous and so fierce were they, the Earl of
Warwick gave
One of his knights command to haste and help from
Edward crave.

When to King Edward's side at length the knight had
won his way,
Alighting from his steed, he thus his message 'gan to
say-
'My Liege, the Earl of Warwick and others round
your son,
Seeing that in this quarter the day is almost won,
Hard press'd by numbers, humbly crave that thou
wouldst deign to send
A reinforcement that might yet their piteous plight
amend.'

Thus said the king-'Does, then, my son upon the
field lie dead?
Is he unhors'd, or fainting now from blood in battle
shed?'
'Nay, God forbid!' the knight replied; 'the prince is
safe and well.'
'Then go to them who sent thee, and this my answer
tell-
As long as he has life to fight, expect no aid from me;
Let my boy win his spurs to-day, or perish glo-
riously,'

When to the Earl of Warwick these words the knight
did bring,
He and the lords about him did much applaud the
king;
And, gall'd by shame at such reproof, each noble
knight and squire
Spurr'd hard their gallant coursers, and, fill'd with
fiercest ire,
Rush'd on, like billows of the deep, before the north
wind's breath,
Bearing among their fated foes, defeat, and wounds,
and death.

And still amid the battle's press flam'd high one gory
brand,
The talisman of victory in the princely Edward's hand;
In wild dismay the foemen met that stripling's eager
eye,
And all who dar'd oppose him, oppos'd him but to die;
While through their ranks he fiercely rode, and heap'd
his path with slain-
Helmet and hauberk, sword and shield, to stay his
course were vain.

And now the French throughout the field, are scatter'd
wide, or slain;
Around their king (frail body guard) scarce sixty men
remain.
Then quoth Sir John of Hainault, a valiant knight and
true,
'My Liege, though Heav'n this day declare 'gainst
France and you,
Another time shall o'er the Rose the Lilies flourish
high,
But now, my Liege, the field is lost, and certes you
must fly.'

So, wheeling his swift charger, this king has left the
ground,
Five barons only with him; next day the rest were
found-
Eleven valiant princes, twelve hundred knights lay
slain,
With thirty thousand men-at-arms upon that bloody
plain.
And for that glorious victory the English all that
night
Gave thanks unto the Lord of hosts, who shielded them
in fight.

O ever-glorious Cressy! In England's merry isle
That name will ever wake the heart's most bright
triumphant smile;
And never shall the sons of those who bled on that
great day,
Refuse to shed their dearest blood where England points
the way;
And though the bow be broken now, and the spear be
seen no more,
Yet the same blood in our veins that ran in theirs of
yore.