The halls beneath thee lie
Which pour’d forth to the fields of yore
Our England’s chivalry.
How bravely and how solemnly
They stand, midst oak and yew!
Whence Cressy’s yeomen haply framed
The bow, in battle true.
And round their walls the good swords hang
Whose faith knew no alloy,
And shields of knighthood, pure from stain: