And Douglas stout and Randolf hot
Their faces homeward set.
And hark, upon the southern gale
Deep thunders tell the unvarying tale
Of wasted hope and toil;
And starts each soldier at the sound,
One moment leans him on the ground,
One moment lists like startled hound
Stayed by low growl in act to bound,
When lions seize the spoil.
Some spring a spear's length in their haste,
Some leap the line's new order past,
But all their ranks regain;
More tightly each the weapon grasped
His hand in restless dreams had clasped,
And stood full-armed again.
'Twas Dayrell's lips that told the news, 'Twas Dayrell's steed that swam the Ouse, 'Twas Dayrell spied the royal wing Break through the mist on Myton ing, 'Twas Dayrell heard their harness clang As through Alne beck their chargers sprang, 'Twas Dayrell hovered on their flank, Their squadrons told, their depth of rank, As, narrowing in the forest's throat, They gaily passed from ken and note; Then turned, nor checked his willing steed, Re-swam the Ouse at Monkton mead, And safe regained the banks of Nidd.
Of all that stern and warlike host,
That cursed the hope of battle lost,
Bryan alone with shaded eye
Had scanned the margin of the sky,
Since morn, in anguish, doubt, and dread,
Where o'er the hill the roadway led,
And gabled roof and lattice sheen
Framed in an ambushment of green,
And coted barn and glittering vane
Revived his boyhood's days again,
And shewed to his untiring sight
The refuge of his Janet's flight.
What if War's tide should surge around
That more to him than sacred ground,
And Rupert seize the peaceful farm
For vantage post against the storm,
His red cross standard there unfurl,
And round it all the battle whirl,
And Roundhead balls on lattice hail,
And Roundhead pikes the porch assail!
Small chance were there in such affray
For helpless maid or yeoman gray.
Hope grew, as every lingering hour
Brought naught of martial pride or power
Against the sky or on the slope;
And Dayrell's news assured his hope
The tide of war would roll away
To other scene and future day,
Nor mar nor scar with blighting spell
The home his youth had loved so well.
Yet, had his arm and heart been free
To join the battle's phrenesy,
Twice nerved had been that arm to kill,
Twice edged his sword, by hate and skill,
And in the foremost charge had proved
By what strong power his heart was moved;
But now, some southern shire shall hear
The wail that waits on Rupert's spear;
And western homesteads, scarred and black,
Shall mark the tyrant plunderer's track;
And many a castle, rent and riven,
Shall tell where fell the wrath of Heaven,
Till angered Justice raise her hand,
And sweep him from the outraged land.
PRINCE RUPERT'S ARRIVAL-MARSTON MOOR.
THE night is past ;-'tis noon once more,
Still lingers Fairfax near the moor,
Where, gently rising from the plain,
A hill o'erlooked the wide champaign,
And shewed all bare the nearer scene,
Then woods, with fields of corn between,
With varying tints of summer green.
Beyond, deluding foliage hid
All works of man 'twixt Tees and Nidd
Behind sparse trees, by distance massed
To semblance of a forest vast;
Till Hambleton, with barrier high,
Rose blue and dark against the sky;
Presage of change in sky and earth
Ere morrow gave her morning birth;
Presage of change to those who trace
All human ills in Nature's face.
Why lingers Fairfax? Is the spell
Which Nature breathes invincible?
Must he too yield to Nature's mood,
And feel her tides in nerve and blood
Swell unresisted to their flood?
Ah, Nature's voice, so sweet, so still,
The echoing caverns of the heart can thrill,
And move the boldest breast to do her soft yet iron will.
Why lingers Fairfax with the horse?
While Leven speeds the Scottish force
Southward on foot, and glances stern
His eyes on lagging footsteps turn,
And oft the eastern roadways scan
For Rupert's vaward wing or van;
In fear lest Rupert gain the bridge,
Or vantage seize on neighbouring ridge;
Such vantage might their fate decide,
Or whelm in Wharfe their Scotland's pride;
In ruin drive them, whence they come,
Dishonoured to their mountain home.
Why lingers Fairfax, when such haste
Lord Leven makes till Wharfe be passed?
No sign of battle marks the heath,
No trumpet calls to life and death;
A careless band wheels o'er the plain,
Retreats, and Peace resumes her reign.
Yet lingers Fairfax. Overhead
The clouds in airy squadrons sped,
Now charging, as to battle driven
By some resistless impulse given,
And, in bright phalanxes arrayed,
Their march majestical displayed;
Now in light troops that scour the plain
In flank and rear of battle main,
And ever gathering as they fly
Some secret strength from sun and sky;
Till troops to regiments are grown,
And regiments are cohorts shewn
Rolling in ceaseless waves of war
To join the boisterous strife in unseen regions far.
But not alone does Fairfax mark
The northern hills distinct and dark,
The gathering clouds in anger rolled,
The shadows sweeping o'er the wold;
Cromwell and Leslie see the sign,
And form their troops' retreating line ;
But, ere Lord Leven's track they take,
A hundred shouts the stillness break,
And Echo's hundred throats their joyful a make.
Nor had the shout forsook the tongue,
When forward in wild haste the downcast tr
And loud the hated name in angry clamour rung
'Twas "Rupert, Rupert," choked their breath,
“Rupert has reached the further heath;
See, from the wood his squadrons glide,
Faster they come,-their ranks divide,
And marshalled order take in line extending wid
O'er mead and field his footmen stream;
Orchard and copse with whitecoats gleam;
Hessay is rumbling with the din
Of many a ponderous culverin ;
Tells a true tale that waking hum,
Rupert with all his force has come."
Fairfax beheld the sight with joy,
The kindling fire illumed his eye,
Flushed his swarth cheek with warlike glow
And drove the darkness from his brow.
"Summon Guy Dayrell," Dayrell came;
"Ride like the wind or levin flame,
O'ertake the Scots, Lord Leven seek,
Tell him the news, if thou canst speak
Bid him return with utmost speed;
Fairfax will hold the hill at need;
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