III.

When lo, the King that wreathed his shield With lilies pluck’d on Cressy’s field Heav’d from its base the mouldering Norman frame. New glory cloath’d the exulting steep, The portals tower’d with ampler sweep, And Valour’s softened Genius came, Here held his pomp and trained the pall Of triumph through the trophied hall; And War was clad awhile in gorgeous weeds, Amid the martial pageantries; While Beauty’s glance adjudged the prize, And beamed sweet influence an heroic deeds. Nor long ere HENRY’s holy zeal to breath A milder charm upon the scenes beneath, Rear’d in the watery glade his classic shrine, And called his stripling squire to woo the willing Nine.