CALAIS. 237

Darkened their hour of fate. Well had they taxed The midnight thought, and nerved the wearied arm, While months and seasons thinned their wasting ranks. The harvest failed, the joy of vintage ceased, Vine-dresser and grape-gather manned the walls, And when they sank with hunger, others came, Of cheek more pale, perchance, but strong at heart. Yet still those spectres poured their arrow-flight, Or hurled the deadly stone, while at the gates The conqueror of Cressy sued in vain. Lead them to die ! " he bade.

In nobler hearts

There was a throb of pity for the foe So fallen and so unblenching ; yet none dared Meet that fierce temper with the word, forgive !

Who comes, with hasty step and flowing robe,

And hair so slightly bound ? The Queen ! the Queen !

An earnest pity on her lifted brow,

Tears in her azure eye, like drops of light.

What seeks she with such fervid eloquence ?

Life for the lost ! And ever as she fears

Her suit in vain, more wildly heaves her breast,

In secrecy of prayer, to save her lord

From cruelty so dire, and from the pangs

Of late remorse. At first, the strong resolve

Curled on his lip, and raised his haughty head,

While every firm-set muscle prouder swelled

To iron rigor. Then his flashing eye

Rested upon her, till its softened glance

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