 | Contributions to a Ballad History of England and the States Sprung from Her |  |
RUPERT IS OUT!
1642.
Rupert is out, Rupert is out;
You know it by shrieks and by sobs miles about,
By the crowds, miles around, from his troopers that fly,
By the fires of fair farms that are flushing the sky,
By the fierce looks of those whom, though spared in their lives,
He has left with spoiled homes, he has left with wronged wives;
You may track his curst path, if you, shuddering, list,
By the gashes of those who have dared to resist,
By the corpse of the bullet-slain farmer whose eyes
From his threshold stare up, cries to God in His skies,
By the mother wild-wailing, the daughter with hair
Dishevelled, who hides, 'gainst the earth, her despair;
You may know it by horror and death miles about;
Rupert is out, Rupert is out.
You know it by shrieks and by sobs miles about,
By the crowds, miles around, from his troopers that fly,
By the fires of fair farms that are flushing the sky,
By the fierce looks of those whom, though spared in their lives,
He has left with spoiled homes, he has left with wronged wives;
You may track his curst path, if you, shuddering, list,
By the gashes of those who have dared to resist,
By the corpse of the bullet-slain farmer whose eyes
From his threshold stare up, cries to God in His skies,
By the mother wild-wailing, the daughter with hair
Dishevelled, who hides, 'gainst the earth, her despair;
You may know it by horror and death miles about;
Rupert is out, Rupert is out.
Rupert's away, Rupert's away,
To spoil and to spare not, to fire and to slay;
O flee, ye who can from his pitiless path
Whom the Lord for our sins has let loose in His wrath!
O fair fields of England! O once happy homes
God's vengeance is on ye, wherever he comes;
Our sins were of scarlet, deep-dyed, Lord, were they
When Thou gavest Thine own up to him for a prey;
O brimmed is Thy cup and O bitter Thy wine
We have drank at the hands of this fiend from the Rhine;
O heavy's Thy hand and O biting's Thy scourge;
Must we yet suffer long our transgressions to purge!
O when shall hell hold him, that we, Lord, may say,
Rupert's away, Rupert's away.
To spoil and to spare not, to fire and to slay;
O flee, ye who can from his pitiless path
Whom the Lord for our sins has let loose in His wrath!
70
God's vengeance is on ye, wherever he comes;
Our sins were of scarlet, deep-dyed, Lord, were they
When Thou gavest Thine own up to him for a prey;
O brimmed is Thy cup and O bitter Thy wine
We have drank at the hands of this fiend from the Rhine;
O heavy's Thy hand and O biting's Thy scourge;
Must we yet suffer long our transgressions to purge!
O when shall hell hold him, that we, Lord, may say,
Rupert's away, Rupert's away.
| Contributions to a Ballad History of England and the States Sprung from Her | |