Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
France: Vols. IX–X. 1876–79.
King Henry the Fifth and the Hermit of Dreux
By Robert Southey (1774–1843)H
Their heads the soldiers bent
In silent reverence, or begged
A blessing as he went;
And so the hermit passed along,
And reached the royal tent.
The map before him lay:
Fresh conquests he was planning there
To grace the future day.
The intruder to behold;
With reverence he the hermit saw,
For the holy man was old;
His look was gentle as a saint’s,
And yet his eye was bold.
Which thou hast done this land;
O King! repent in time, for know
The judgment is at hand.
Beside the river Blaise;
But what a weight of woe hast thou
Laid on my latter days!
The white sail gliding down,
That wafted food, in better times,
To yonder peaceful town.
The white sail gliding down;
Famine, Disease, and Death, and Thou,
Destroy that wretched town.
As here he passed along,
Or maiden as she loitered home
Singing her even-song.
In fear he hastens by:
But I have heard the village maid
In vain for succor cry.
And watch the dripping oar,
As pleasantly their viol’s tones
Came softened to the shore.
I now see floating down!
Thou man of blood! repent in time,
And leave this leaguered town.”
“And conquer this good land:
Seest thou not, hermit, that the Lord
Hath given it to my hand?”
And angrily looked down:
His face was gentle, and for that
More solemn was his frown.
The murderer’s arm control;
Think you, for that, the weight of blood
Lies lighter on his soul?
Or dread the coming woe!
For, Henry, thou hast heard the threat,
And soon shalt feel the blow!”
As the hermit went his way;
But Henry soon remembered him
Upon his dying day.