But the mist cleared away from the rolling height, And the sun looked out on the fields of the fight. And first the shot of the culverin spoke, And the foe was stirred, and the forest shook. And the squadrons clashed, and the lances flew, And the blood ran red in the morning dew; And the cry of "Navarre!" rose loud and high, Like the voice of a tempest that sweeps the sky.
He looked to the right, he looked to the left, and he saw the faltering line; He saw the chivalry of France, in all their splendour shine. He saw the gilded harness, he saw the plumed helm, He saw the splendid ensigns, and he felt his spirit swell. "Hold your fire!" the monarch cried, "let the shot and the bullet pass; I would not have a man fall, till the proper time has come, alas! But if you will not believe me, nor the promise of your King, Look to the white plume in my hat, and follow where it swings!" ivry cracked
Then the fiery Duke of Mayenne, with his haughty crest, arose; He shook his steel gauntlet, and he praised his ancient foes. He swore to crush the Huguenot, and drive him from the field; He swore to make the Rochelle boys, like stubble in the field. And the Catholic League, in its pride and power, Had gathered its thousands, for the terrible hour; While the mist of the morning hung heavy and white, And the King with his army was ready for fight. But the mist cleared away from the rolling