Ex. 123.

'Heaven bless thee now!' the parent said,
'Thy courage shames my fear;

Man tramples on his brother man,
But God is ever near !'

The bow was bent, the arrow went,
As by an angel guided;
In pieces two, beneath the tree,
The apple fell divided.

""Twas bravely done,' the ruler said,
'My plighted word I keep;
'Twas bravely done by sire and son,-
Go home and feed your sheep.'

'No thanks I give thee for thy boon,'
The peasant coldly said;

'To God alone my praise is due,
And duly shall be paid.

'Yet know, proud man, thy fate was near,
Had I but missed my aim;

Not unavenged my child had died,—

Thy parting hour the same.

'For see! a second shaft was here,
If harm my boy befell;

Now go and bless the heavenly powers
My first has sped so well.'

God helped the right, God spared the sin ;
He brings the proud to shame ;

He guards the weak against the strong,—
Praise to His holy name!

The Battle of Naseby.

J. H. Gurney.

O! 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 in 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 for the fight, When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled 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 famous German comes, with his clarions and his drums, His bravos of Alsatia and pages of Whitehall;

They are bursting on our flanks :-grasp your pikes :-close your ranks

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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 Skipton hath a wound ;-the centre 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 are 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 ha-he turns, he flies!-shame to those cruel eyes
That love 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 guest secure :
Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces and
lockets,

The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor.

Macaulay.

Ex. 124.

Marston Moore.

To horse! to horse! Sir Nicholas, the clarion's note is high! To horse to horse! Sir Nicholas, the big drum makes reply!

Ere this hath Lucas marched, with his gallant cavaliers,

And the bay of Rupert's trumpets grows fainter in our ears. To horse to horse! Sir Nicholas ! White Guy is at the

door,

And the raven whets his beak o'er the field of Marston Moor. Up rose the Lady Alice from her brief and broken prayer, And she brought a silken banner down the narrow turretstair;

Oh! many were the tears that those radiant eyes had shed, As she traced the bright word 'Glory' in the gay and glancing thread;

And mournful was the smile which o'er those lovely features

ran,

As she said: 'It is your lady's gift; unfurl it in the van!'

'It shall flutter, noble wench, where the best and boldest ride,

'Midst the steel-clad files of Skipton, the black dragoons of Pride;

The recreant heart of Fairfax shall feel a sicklier qualm,
And the rebel lips of Oliver give out a louder psalm,

When they see my lady's gewgaw flaunt proudly on their wing,

And hear her loyal soldiers shout, 'For God and for the King!'

"Tis noon. The ranks are broken, along the royal line

They fly, the braggarts of the Court! the bullies of the Rhine! Stout Langdale's cheer is heard no more, and Astley's helm is down,

And Rupert sheathes his rapier with a curse and with a frown, And cold Newcastle mutters, as he follows in their flight, The German boar had better far have supped in York tonight.'

The knight is left alone, his steel-cap cleft in twain,

His good buff jerkin crimsoned o'er with many a gory stain Yet still he waves his banner, and cries amid the rout, 'For Church and King, fair gentlemen! spur on, and fight it out!'

And now he wards a Roundhead's pike, and now he hums a stave,

And now he quotes a stage-play, and now he fells a knave.

God aid thee now, Sir Nicholas! thou hast no thought of

fear;

God aid thee now, Sir Nicholas! for fearful odds are here! The rebels hem thee in, and at every cut and thrust,

'Down, down,' they cry, 'with Belial! down with him to the dust!'

'I would,' quoth grim old Oliver, 'that Belial's trusty sword This day were doing battle for the Saints and for the Lord!' The Lady Alice sits with her maidens in her bower,

The gray-haired warder watches from the castle's topmost tower;

'What news? what news, old Hubert?'-'The battle's lost and won:

The royal troops are melting like the mists before the sun! And a wounded man approaches—I'm blind and cannot see, Yet sure I am that sturdy step my master's step must be !' 'I've brought thee back thy banner, wench, from as rude and red a fray

As e'er was proof of soldier's thew, or theme for minstrel's lay!

Here, Hubert, bring the silver bowl, and liquor quantum suff.

I'll make a shift to drain it yet, ere I part with boots and buff

Though Guy through many a gaping wound is breathing forth his life,

And I come to thee a landless man, my fond and faithful wife!

'Sweet, we will fill our money-bags, and freight a ship for France,

And mourn in merry Paris for this poor land's mischance;
For if the worst befall me, why better axe and rope,
Than life with Lenthal for a king, and Peters for a Pope !
Alas! Alas! my gallant Guy!-curse on the crop-eared boor
Who sent me, with my standard, on foot from Marston
Moor!'
Praed.

Ex. 125.

The Battle of Blenheim.

But O, my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find
To sing the furious troops in battle joined!
Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound,
The victor's shouts and dying groans confound;
The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies,
And all the thunder of the battle rise.

'Twas then great Marlbro's mighty soul was proved,
That, in the shock of charging hosts unmoved,

Amidst confusion, horror, and despair,
Examined all the dreadful scenes of war ;
In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed,
To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage,
And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
So when an angel, by divine command,
With rising tempests shakes a guilty land,
Such as of late o'er pale Britannia passed,
Calm and serene he drives the furious blast,
And, pleased th' Almighty's orders to perform,
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

Ex. 126.

The Victory of Blenheim.

It was a summer evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he, before his cottage door,
Was sitting in the sun;

And by him sported on the green,
His little grandchild, Wilhelmine.
She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,
That he beside the rivulet,

Addison.

In playing there had found;
She ran to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant by ;

And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh,

""Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he,
'Who fell in the great victory.

'I find them in my garden, for
There's many hereabout;
And often when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out,
For many thousand men,' said he,
Were slain in that great victory.'
'Now tell us what 'twas all about,
Young Peterkin, he cries,
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes;
'Now tell us all about the war,
And what they killed each other for?'