MARSTON MOOR. 1644. COME forth with me to Marston Moor, So calm, so breathless, all might hear The summer sun is still on high, And ere the sun fades from the west, Will glory in eternal rest, Fairfax and all his men I see, And Leven's Scotchmen too, With Manchester, and those who sacked In grave and dark array I hear no shouting in their lines, But forth the gloomy preachers go, A noble tree, a heart of oak, That else had bloomed for years. "Men of the deep and earnest soul, Reserved to show the heathen tribes But cleanse our Israel from her sins, Thus spake the gloomy preachers loud, 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 I charge you by your ladies' love, Strike down King Charles's foe! 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, As silver-crested waves rise up On, Lucas, on! the rebels fly! 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 Now, Broughton! Dacres! Carnaby! Their leader fled, their bravest dead, For foot to foot, and hand to hand, 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, |