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Rh

Who thitherward in long procession move?

Sen. It is the pious brethren, as I guess, Come forth to meet you from yon neighb'ring abbey. And at their head the holy Hexulf comes.

Hex. Accept our humble greetings, royal sire! Victorious be your arms! and in the dust Low be your foes, as in this glorious day! Favour'd of heaven, and of St. Alban, hail!

King. I thank your kindly zeal, my rev'rend father; And from these holy brethren do accept With thanks this token of good will, not doubting That I am much beholden to your prayers.

Hex. In truth, most gracious king, your armed host Has not more surely in your cause prevail'd Than hath our joint petition, offer'd up With holy fervour, most importunate. Soon as the heav'n-rais'd voices sweetly reach'd The echoing arches of yon sacred roofs, Saint Alban heard, and to your favour'd side Courage and strength, the soul of battle, sent; Fear and distraction to th' opposing foe.

King. Ah then, good father, and ye pious monks! Would that ye had begun your prayers the sooner! For long in doubtful scales the battle hung; And of the men who, with this morning's sun, Buckled their harness on to follow me,