Page:Biographical and critical studies by James Thomson ("B.V.").djvu/264

 248 CRITICAL STUDIES come in all worthy books of specimens of the choicest British poetry. The time is the eve of Cressy ; the scene is the camp of Edward : a minstrel sings : — " O Sons of Trojan Brutus, clothed in war, Whose voices are the thunder of the field. Your ancestors came from the fires of Troy (Like lions roused by lightning from their dens, Whose eyes do glare against the stormy fires), Heated with war, filled with the blood of Greeks, With helmets hewn, and shields covered with gore ; In navies black, broken with wind and tide. They landed in firm array upon the rocks Of Albion : they kissed the rocky shore : ' Be thou our mother and our nurse,' they said, ' Our children's mother ; and thou shalt be our grave, The sepulchre of ancient Troy, from whence Shall rise cities, and thrones, and awful powers.' Our fathers swarm from the ships. Giant voices Are heard from out the hills ; the enormous sons Of Ocean run from rocks and caves ; wild men Naked, and roaring like lions, hurling rocks. And wielding knotty clubs, like oaks entangled, Thick as a forest ready for the axe. Our fathers move in firm array to battle ; The savage monsters rush like roaring fire. Like as a forest roars with crackling flames When the red lightning borne by furious storm Lights on some woody shore, and the parched heavens Rain fire into the molten raging sea. Our fathers, sweating, lean on their spears and view The mighty dead : giant bodies streaming blood, Dread visages frowning in silent death.