For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong, Who sate in the high places, and slew the saints of God. It was about the noon of a glorious day of June, That we saw their banners dance, and their cui rasses shine, IO And the Man of Blood° was there, with his long essenced hair, And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of the Rhine. Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword, The General rode along us to form us to the fight, When a murmuring sound broke out, and swell'd into a shout 15 Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right. And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore, The cry of battle rises along their charging line! For God! for the Cause! for the Church, for the Laws! For Charles King of England, and Rupert of the Rhine! 20 The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums, His bravoes of Alsatia,° and pages of Whitehall; They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes, close your ranks, For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall. They are here! They rush on! We are broken! We are gone! 25 Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast. O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right! Stand back to back, in God's name, and fight it to the last. Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath given ground: Hark! hark!-What means the trampling of horsemen on our rear? 30 Whose banner do I see, boys? 'Tis he, thank God, 'tis he, boys. Bear up another minute; brave Oliver is here. Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row, Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes, Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the accurst, 35 And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes. Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar.° And he he turns, he flies; - shame on those cruel eyes That bore to look on torture and dare not look on LARS PORSENA of Clusium By the Nine Gods he swore Should suffer wrong no more. To summon his array. East and west and south and north The messengers ride fast, And tower and town and cottage Have heard the trumpet's blast. Shame on the false Etruscan Who lingers in his home, When Porsena of Clusium Is on the march for Rome. The horsemen and the footmen From many a stately market-place; From many a fruitful plain; From many a lonely hamlet, Which, hid by beech and pine, 15 20 From the proud mart of Pisa, Queen of the western waves, Where ride Massilia's° triremes Heavy with fair-haired slaves; From where sweet Clanis wanders Through corn and vines and flowers; 30 35 From where Cortona lifts to heaven Her diadem of towers. Tall are the oaks whose acorns Drop in dark Auser's rill; Fat are the stags that champ the boughs Of the Ciminian hill; Beyond all streams Clitumnus Is to the herdsman dear; Best of all pools the fowler loves The great Volsinian mere. But now no stroke of woodman Is heard by Auser's rill; No hunter tracks the stag's green path Up the Ciminian hill; Unwatched along Clitumnus Grazes the milk-white steer; 40 45 50 55 Unharmed the water fowl may dip In the Volsinian mere. The harvests of Arretium, This year old men shall reap, This year, young boys in Umbro And in the vats of Luna, This year, the must shall foam Round the white feet of laughing girls Whose sires have marched to Rome. 65 |