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The Standard giving to the care
Of him who heretofore did bear
That charge, impatient Norton sought
The Chieftains to unfold his thought,
And thus abruptly spake,—“We yield
(And can it be ?) an unfought field!
—How often hath the strength of heaven
To few triumphantly been given !
Still do our very children boast
Of mitred Thurston, what a Host
He conquered !—Saw we not the Plain,
(And flying shall behold again)
Where faith was proved?-while to battle moved
The Standard on the sacred wain,
On which the grey-haired Barons stood,
And the infant Heir of Mowbray’s blood,
Beneath the saintly Ensigns three,
Their confidence and victory!
