MARSTON MOOR.

1644.

COME forth with me to Marston Moor,
And see a glorious sight:
Full fifty thousand men-at-arms
Are waiting for the fight!
A lull before a thunderstorm,-
No clash of swords is heard,

So calm, so breathless, all might hear
The singing of a bird.

The summer sun is still on high,
The summer air is sweet,
O warriors, soon the azure sky
May shine beneath your feet,

And ere the sun fades from the west,
How many here below

Will glory in eternal rest,
Or sigh in endless woe!

Fairfax and all his men I see,

And Leven's Scotchmen too,

With Manchester, and those who sacked
Fair Lincoln's city true.
Cromwell's invincibles are there

In grave and dark array

I hear no shouting in their lines,
I hear no martial lay ;

But forth the gloomy preachers go,
With accents deep and stern,
Rousing each man to warlike deeds
By words that seem to burn
The thirst of blood into his soul,
As heated iron sears

A noble tree, a heart of oak,

That else had bloomed for years.

"Men of the deep and earnest soul,
Men of the iron sword,

Reserved to show the heathen tribes
The judgments of the Lord,
Strike as the blade of Gideon struck,
And spare not one of those,

But cleanse our Israel from her sins,
Our Zion from her foes!"

Thus spake the gloomy preachers loud,
As slowly up and down,

All through the serried ranks they go Where anxious zealots frown, And answer their inflaming words With battle-breathing Psalms. But, hark! the Cavaliers advance, Prince Rupert cries "To arms!" "Forward! O gallant Cavaliers,

Your steeds are bounding forth : Victorious Rupert calls to arms

The knighthood of the North!

Remember how at Nottingham

Ye raised the standard high, And swore beside your gracious king To conquer or to die! Remember noble Falkland's death On Newbury's sad day, Carnarvon, Sunderland, and all Who perished in the fray. Revenge! revenge! for martyred friends, And death to living foes; The sun shall have a stormy eve, Though calmly he arose.

"I charge you by your loyalty
To England's ancient crown,
By churches sacked, by burning halls,
By altars broken down :

I charge you by your ladies' love,
And by your fathers' fame, .
By the dear mem'ry of the dead
And by your noble name,-
By all your hopes of joy above,
By all your wrongs below,
By all your glory yet to come,

Strike down King Charles's foe!
Oh would our gracious king were here
To see his servants fight!

Forward! each loyal Cavalier,

And Heaven defend the right!"

The trumpets sound, the banners wave,

In brilliant array;

The snorting horses paw the ground,

As on a hunting day;

The morions1 and the flashing swords

Are glancing in the sun,

A shout, a rush, a headlong charge,
The battle is begun.

As silver-crested waves rise up
To dash upon the shore,
As ringing hailstones rattle down
When rushing tempests roar,
So charge the Royal Cavalry,
So fall their heavy blows,
Hurrah! the bullets whistle by,-
Death to the rebel foes!

On, Lucas, on! the rebels fly!
Now, Rupert, to the chase,
It is a glorious hunting day,
A deadly battle race!

They thunder o'er the level turf,

They fly across the plain,

They clatter o'er the barren moor,

The bridles ring again.

See! Cromwell and his Ironsides

Are riding after too!

1 Helmets.

Turn, Cavaliers, for Lambert's troops
Have wildly broken through
The lines ye left; and Newcastle,
With all his gallant men,
Is fighting like a stag at bay,
A royal "stag of ten."

Now, Broughton! Dacres! Carnaby!
Ride to the rescue, ride!
Too late! the men of Newcastle
Are lying side by side:

Their leader fled, their bravest dead,
Their last faint hope is o'er,

For foot to foot, and hand to hand,
They fell on Marston Moor.

Back ride Prince Rupert and his men,—

Alas! to what a sight:

The ghastly dead in scattered heaps,

The living put to flight.

And firmly waiting, heavy lines

Of Roundhead Musqueteers ;

"Charge once again for Church and Crown, King Charles's Cavaliers."

In vain that rush upon the foe,
In vain the battle shock-
They break upon those iron lines
Like waves upon a rock.