That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;

For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread,

High on St. Michael's Mount it shone: it shone on Beachy Head.

Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,

Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire.

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves:

The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves:

O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew:

He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu.

Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,

And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down;

The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked forth into the night,

And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light.

Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the deathlike silence broke,

And with one start, and with one cry, the

city woke.

royal

At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires;

At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;

From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear;

And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer:

And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,

And the broad streams of pikes and flags rushed down each roaring street;

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,

As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in:

And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand went,

And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.

Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;

High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north;

And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still:

All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill:

Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales,

Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales,

Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height,

Tillstreamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light,

Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,

And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain;

Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the word to Lincoln sent,

And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent;

Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's

embattled pile,

And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burgh ers of Carlisle.

THE BATTLE OF NASEBY.

BY OBADIAH BIND THEIR-KINGS-IN-CHAINS-AND

THEIR-NOBLES-WITH-LINKS-OF-IRON, SER

GEANT IN IRETON'S REGIMENT.

(1824.)

OH! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North,

With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red?

And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout?

And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread?

Oh evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit. And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod;

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

cuirasses shine,

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 fight, When a murmuring sound broke out, and swell'd into a shout,

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!

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 center 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 Accurst,

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 broadpieces and lockets,

The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the

poor.

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 perfum'd satin clothes, your catches and your oaths,

Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades?