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Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword,
When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled into a
Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right.
And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore,
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!
Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast,
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
Ho! comrades, scour the plain; and, ere ye strip the slain,
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, 50 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 England'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.
While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray,
My true love has mounted his steed and away,
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down;
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown!
He has doffed the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear, 5
For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws,
They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all
With the Barons of England, that fight for the Crown?
Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier!
In a pledge to Fair England, her Church, and her Crown.
THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
Of Nelson and the North
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,
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.
But the might of England flushed
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,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.
Again! again! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
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,
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.
Out spoke the victor then,
As he hailed them o'er the wave:
Then Denmark blessed our chief,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
On the deck of fame that died,
With the gallant good Riou :
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave!
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Of the brave!
On Linden, when the sun was low,
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.