VII
They tonsured me but Easter year,
I swore to Christ and Rome.
My name is not mine older name....
But ah! to see them as they came,
With thundering and with points aflame,
I smelt foam.
And my heart was like a wandering man’s,
Who piles his boat on Moorna sands
And serves a slave in alien lands,
And then beneath a harper’s hands
Hears suddenly of home.
. . . . . .
For their cavalry came in a curling leaf,
They shouted as they drave,
And the Bastard’s line was like a reef
But theirs was like a wave.
VIII
As the broad ships out of Barbary
Strike rock.
And the stem shatters, and the sail flaps;
Streaming seaward; and the taut shroud snaps,
And the block
Clatters to the deck of the wreck.
So did the men of Longuevaile
Take the shock.
IX
Our long line quivered but it did not break,
It countered and was strong.
The first bolt went through the wind with a wail,
And another and a-many with a thudding on the mail;
Pattered all the arrows in an April hail;
Whistled the ball and thong:
And I, the priest, with that began
The singing of my song.
X
Press inward, inward, Normandy;
Press inward, Cleres and Vaux;
Press inward, Mons and Valery;
Press inward, Yvetot.
Stand hard the men of the Beechen Ford
(Oh! William of Falaise, my lord!)
Battle is a net and a struggle in a cord.
Battle is a wrestler’s throw.
The middle holding as the wings made good,
The far wings closing as the centre stood.
Battle is a mist and battle is a wood,
And battle is won so.
XI
The fishermen fish in the River of Seine,
They haul the long nets in.
They haul them in and they haul again,
(The fishermen fish in the River of Seine)
They haul them in and they haul again,
A million glittering fin:
With the hauling in of our straining ends
That Victory did begin.