Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword, The General rode along us to form us for the fight, When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled into a shout, Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right. And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore, Laws! For Charles King of England and Rupert of the Rhine! 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! 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? 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 Ac curst, 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 war. Ho! comrades, scour the plain; and, ere ye strip the slain, First give another stab to make your search secure, Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces and lockets, The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor. G Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold, When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans to-day; And to-morrow shall the fox, from her chambers in the rocks, Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey. Where be your tongues that late mocked at heaven and hell and fate, And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades, Your perfumed satin clothes, your catches and your oaths, Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades? Down, down, for ever down with the mitre and the crown, With the Belial of the Court and the Mammon of the Pope! There is woe in Oxford halls; there is wail in Durham's Stalls; The Jesuit smites his bosom; the Bishop rends his cope. And She of the seven hills shall mourn her children's ills, And tremble when she thinks on the edge of Eng land's sword; And the Kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they hear What the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and the Word. - LORD MACAULAY. 13. THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. I. OF Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand, In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; On the lofty British line; It was ten of April morn by the chime: As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death; And the boldest held his breath, III. But the might of England flushed To anticipate the scene; And her van the fleeter rushed O'er the deadly space between. "Hearts of oak!" our captains cried; when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Of the sun. IV. Again! again! again! Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back; Their shots along the deep slowly boom :- As they strike the shattered sail, Light the gloom. V. Out spoke the victor then, As he hailed them o'er the wave; With the crews, at England's feet, VI. Then Denmark blest our chief, As death withdrew his shades from the day. |