King Henry of Navarre

cinematic, epiccore, epic violin, symphonic metal, power ballad

[Epic Instrumental Violin Intro]

[Chorus]
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all
glories are!
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of
Navarre!

[Verse 1]
O, how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of
day,
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long
array;
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And Appeiizell's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish
spears.
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of
our land!
And dark. Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in
his hand;
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate
of war,
To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre.

[Chorus]
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all
glories are!
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of
Navarre!

[Verse 2]
The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest;
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant
crest.
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern
and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing
to wing,
Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our
lord the King!"
Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the
ranks of war.
And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre."

[Chorus]
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all
glories are!
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of
Navarre!

[Verse 3]
Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled
din
Of fife and steed, and trump and drum, and roaring
culverin!
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of
France,
Charge for the golden lilies now — upon them with the
lance!
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears
in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snowwhite
crest;
Aud in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a
guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

[Chorus]
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all
glories are!
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of
Navarre!

[Epic Violin Instrumental]

[Verse 4]
Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath
turned his rein.
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count
is slain.
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a
Biscay gale;
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and
cloven mail.
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our
van,
" Remember St. Bartholomew!" was passed from man
to man;
But out spake gentle Henry," No Frenchman is my
foe:
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren
go."

[Bridge]
0, was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, of Navarre!

[Chorus]
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all
glories are!
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of
Navarre!

[Epic Violin Solo]

[Verse 5]
Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne!
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never
shall return.
Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles,
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor
spearmen's souls!
Our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath
raised the slave,
And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of
the brave.
Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories
are;
And glory to our sovereign lord. King Henry of Navarre!

[Chorus]
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all
glories are!
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of
Navarre!

[End]

Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories
are;
And glory to our sovereign lord. King Henry of Navarre!

[Chorus]
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all
glories are!
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of
Navarre!

[End]

3664/7500

[Epic Instrumental Violin Intro] [Chorus] Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre! [Verse 1] O, how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appeiizell's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land! And dark. Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. [Chorus] Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre! [Verse 2] The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest; And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our lord the King!" Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war. And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre." [Chorus] Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre! [Verse 3] Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din Of fife and steed, and trump and drum, and roaring culverin! Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies now — upon them with the lance! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snowwhite crest; Aud in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. [Chorus] Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre! [Epic Violin Instrumental] [Verse 4] Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein. D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, " Remember St. Bartholomew!" was passed from man to man; But out spake gentle Henry," No Frenchman is my foe: Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go." [Bridge] 0, was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord, King Henry, of Navarre! [Chorus] Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre! [Epic Violin Solo] [Verse 5] Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne! Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls! Our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the brave. Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are; And glory to our sovereign lord. King Henry of Navarre! [Chorus] Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre! [End] Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are; And glory to our sovereign lord. King Henry of Navarre! [Chorus] Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre! [End]

0/500