Their road through a host, for their England and honour's sake wasting
their blood,
Foolishness wiser than wisdom!--So these, since Azincourt morn,
First showing the world the calm open-eyed rashness of Englishmen born!

5

Foes ere the cloud went up, black Norris and Stanley in one
Pledge iron hands and kiss swords, each his mate's, in the face of the
sun,
Warm with the generous wine of the battle; and Willoughby's might
To the turf bore Crescia, and lifted again,--knight honouring knight;
All in the hurry and turmoil:--where North, half-booted and rough,
Launch'd on the struggle, and Sidney struck onward, his cuisses thrown
off,
Rash over-courage of poet and youth!--while the memories, how
At the joust long syne She look'd on, as he triumph'd, were hot on his
brow,
'Stella! mine own, my own star!'--and he sigh'd:--and towards him a flame
Shot its red signal; a shriek!--and the viewless messenger came;
Found the unguarded gap, the approach left bare to the prey,
Where through the limb to the life the death-stroke shatter'd a way.

6

--Astrophel! England's pride!
O stroke that, when he died,
Smote through the realm,--our best, our fairest ta'en!
For now the wound accurst
Lights up death's fury-thirst;--