The next, in accents stern and slow,`
He bade young Stockdale, "Swiftly go,
Summon the captain of the guard;
See all for midnight strife prepared ;
Order the troops to stand to arms,
And silent wait the foe's alarms;

Move not one step from bivouac ground,
Till loud thou hear'st my trumpet sound;
Tell them on silence all depends,
Fairfax himself the message sends."

Then to Guy Dayrell, when alone,
""Tis time, good friend, that we were gone;
Leven and Manchester must know
Thy story, as thou told'st it now;

Some weighty change must Leven make,
Ere dawn and Rupert on us break;
God give us guidance in our strait,
And, if it please Him, Micklegate."
In silent and in thoughtful mood
Fairfax and Dayrell swiftly strode
Into the darkness of the night,

And past the flickering watchfires' light.
They heard the guard upon the wall
The hour of midnight faintly call;

They heard his scornful questioning,
And the loud musket's answering ring.

They gained the rough-hewn beams that cross
The sluggish stream of sullen Foss;
And, silent still, with swifter speed
They passed the intervening mead,

Where, glimmering pale, the sortie's track
Loomed ghostly from the herbage black;
And reached at length the Northern road,
Where proud Earl Manchester abode.

It boots not now to paint the scene
Fairfax and stubborn Scot between,
When Dayrell's tale the leaders knew,
And Dayrell to the porch withdrew;
How Fairfax urged the Scot in vain
Instant assault to make and gain

The shattered wall and bar;
Or tardy Leven cursed the fate
That led him from the northern state
To join in England's war.

Their vote is cast; 'tis not for fight,
But secret countermarch by night
To gain the western bank,

The army throw athwart the road,

By which Prince Rupert's squadrons rode, And strike the instant that he shewed

Centre or wing or flank.

If Rupert's musketeers were stayed,
Where sinuous Nidd their march delayed,
Some vantage would the moor afford
For lance's thrust or play of sword;
And Wilstrop would our squadrons hide,
If Rupert gained Nidd's southern side,
Whence Cromwell on his vaward wing,
Or Fairfax on his rear might spring.

It had not chimed the hour of one,
Ere all were from the council gone;
And hurrying feet with muffled tread
To trench and bivouac swiftly sped,
And order passed with bated breath;
"Stand all to arms, be still as death,
Ready to march when culverin
And saker from the front came in
To Bishopsthorpe and Poppleton,
And cross the Ouse ere night be done."

Like shadowy army of the dead,
Uprose in silence from their bed
On heath and stray and rampart mound
The embattled leaguer's circle round,
Trooper and musketeer in haste,
As on the message swiftly passed;
And fast they formed in dark array,
With caske and breastplate glimmering gray,
And shouldered pike and sheathed blade,
Pennon and lance in stirrup stayed,
And falconet for march arrayed.

So wake, 'tis said, the fallen brave
At midnight from their honoured grave,
And form their ranks for war,
As, on the battle-field arrayed,
Grim, motionless, and unaffrayed,
Beneath the morning star

They stood, resolved ere close of day,
The price of victory to pay

In torrent streams of blood;

And shield their land from ruthless foes,
Whose ranks illimitably rose

Upon her like a flood.

Unseen by mortal eye, they trace
The victory on their leader's face,
And mark his dauntlessness of pace,
As down the ranks he rode;
Unheard by mortal ear they note
The triumph in his trumpet's throat,
The neigh of his exultant steed,
The stirring notes that bid them bleed
For native land and God.

So, moving like the spectre host
Of patriots in battle lost,

In silence grim and terrible,

As touched by some mysterious spell,
Each to his rank in order fell;
And stood in mute expectancy,
With ear attent and wakeful eye,
And hand that trembled on the blade,
And lips that left the curse unsaid.

Not long they stood with ranks arrayed,
Not long their secret march was stayed
Ere ceased the distant cannonade,
And sullen tramp and muffled din
Told of retreating culverin.

Then waked to life that phalanx grim,
And silent moved each spectre dim,
Each following, as his comrade strode,
The path his glimmering harness shewed.
Save for the clanging bridle chain

Of steeds that tossed their heads in vain,
Or steel-clad pike by accident
Against a neighbouring pikeshaft leant,
No sound of arms the march betrayed,
Or told in York the foe had fled.
To scornful cry from battlement
No answer now the musket sent;
Yet knew not York the siege was o'er,
But deemed some ambushment in store,
Or mine by fiery Fairfax sprung,
And fierce assault on Walmgate flung.

So, for the coming strife they wait
With marshalled pikes within the gate,
While musketeers their ladders crowd
Where roof or tower advantage shewed;
Each lattice, bright by armour made,
Betrayed the tiny ambuscade;

Like shadowy army of the dead,
Uprose in silence from their bed
On heath and stray and rampart mound
The embattled leaguer's circle round,
Trooper and musketeer in haste,
As on the message swiftly passed;
And fast they formed in dark array,
With caske and breastplate glimmering gray,
And shouldered pike and sheathed blade,
Pennon and lance in stirrup stayed,

And falconet for march arrayed.

So wake, 'tis said, the fallen brave
At midnight from their honoured grave,
And form their ranks for war,

As, on the battle-field arrayed,
Grim, motionless, and unaffrayed,
Beneath the morning star

They stood, resolved ere close of day,
The price of victory to pay

In torrent streams of blood;

And shield their land from ruthless foes,

Whose ranks illimitably rose

Upon her like a flood.

Unseen by mortal eye, they trace
The victory on their leader's face,
And mark his dauntlessness of pace,
As down the ranks he rode;
Unheard by mortal ear they note
The triumph in his trumpet's throat,
The neigh of his exultant steed,
The stirring notes that bid them bleed
For native land and God.

So, moving like the spectre host
Of patriots in battle lost,