A Metrical History of England Or, Recollections, in Rhyme, Of some of the most prominent Features in our National Chronology, from the Landing of Julius Caesar to the Commencement of the Regency, in 1812. In Two Volumes ... By Thomas Dibdin |
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WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. |
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 | A Metrical History of England |  |
WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.
PARODY.
The Curfew tolls the knell of Danish sway,
The British Chiefs their arms reluctant yield,
The soldiers homeward march their weary way,
And leave to William the disputed field!
The British Chiefs their arms reluctant yield,
The soldiers homeward march their weary way,
And leave to William the disputed field!
137
Now fades each gleam of freedom on the sight,
And ev'ry Englishman is doom'd a slave,
Save those who nobly perish'd in the fight,
And sunk unconquer'd to a patriot grave.
And ev'ry Englishman is doom'd a slave,
Save those who nobly perish'd in the fight,
And sunk unconquer'd to a patriot grave.
Save Gurth and Le'fwin to their brother true,
Who shared with Harold that disastrous hour,
Save Morcar, Edwin, and a loyal few,
Who lived to combat oft the victor's power.
Who shared with Harold that disastrous hour,
Save Morcar, Edwin, and a loyal few,
Who lived to combat oft the victor's power.
Beneath those ruin'd walls
that ivy's shade,
Where whitening bones in sad promiscuous heap,
Unseemly to the trav'ler's eye are laid,
The gallant victims of the battle sleep.
Where whitening bones in sad promiscuous heap,
Unseemly to the trav'ler's eye are laid,
The gallant victims of the battle sleep.
The hollow drum at incense-breathing morn,
No more resounding thro' the tented shed,
The warlike clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
No more resounding thro' the tented shed,
The warlike clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
For them no more shall royal Harold show'r
Reward for loyalty and val'rous deed,
No lady fair awaits them in the bower,
To pay with beauty's smile the warrior's meed.
Reward for loyalty and val'rous deed,
No lady fair awaits them in the bower,
To pay with beauty's smile the warrior's meed.
138
Oft did invaders to their prowess yield,
Their biting bills full many a helm have broke,
How loudly rang their anlace on the shield,
How bow'd the foe beneath their sturdy stroke!
Their biting bills full many a helm have broke,
How loudly rang their anlace on the shield,
How bow'd the foe beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not the modern soldier mock their toil
Who, cased in iron, trod th' ensanguined plain,
Nor light-arm'd cavalry at heroes smile
Whose mail-clad steeds still answer'd to the reign.
Who, cased in iron, trod th' ensanguined plain,
Nor light-arm'd cavalry at heroes smile
Whose mail-clad steeds still answer'd to the reign.
The rich pelisse, the gorgeous epaulette,
The tube destructive, and the sabre brave,
Can only pay the same much honoured debt,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
The tube destructive, and the sabre brave,
Can only pay the same much honoured debt,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor men of wealth impute to these the blame,
No marble monument, with studied lays,
At Paul's or Peter's consecrates their fame,
While nasal organ'd vergers chaunt their praise.
No marble monument, with studied lays,
At Paul's or Peter's consecrates their fame,
While nasal organ'd vergers chaunt their praise.
Cou'd Praxiteles, were he now alive,
Cou'd famed Pygmalyon, or Promethean lore,
Cou'd Roubilliac's or Bacon's art revive,
The daring chiefs who fell to rise no more?
Cou'd famed Pygmalyon, or Promethean lore,
Cou'd Roubilliac's or Bacon's art revive,
The daring chiefs who fell to rise no more?
139
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some head, once fraught with diplomatic fire,
Hands that Calcutta's sceptre might have sway'd,
And brought from India many a rich Jaghire.
Some head, once fraught with diplomatic fire,
Hands that Calcutta's sceptre might have sway'd,
And brought from India many a rich Jaghire.
But commerce to their eyes her figur'd page,
Rich with a Nabob's spoil, did ne'er unroll,
No navy seconded advent'rous rage,
To barter wealth “from Indus to the Pole.”
Rich with a Nabob's spoil, did ne'er unroll,
No navy seconded advent'rous rage,
To barter wealth “from Indus to the Pole.”
Full many a mind with force to guide a storm,
Or politics, or trade, must think alone;
Full many a heart of valour's boldest form
Is doom'd to wither in the ranks unknown.
Or politics, or trade, must think alone;
Full many a heart of valour's boldest form
Is doom'd to wither in the ranks unknown.
Some Abercrombie who, with dauntless breast,
Aggressing Gaul had chaced from Egypt's shore;
Some Marlbro', Wolfe, Cornwallis, here may rest,
A Smith, a Stuart, Wellington, or Moore.
Aggressing Gaul had chaced from Egypt's shore;
Some Marlbro', Wolfe, Cornwallis, here may rest,
A Smith, a Stuart, Wellington, or Moore.
The thanks of British Senates to command,
The threats of Gaul's Colossus to despise,
To fight for freedom in Iberia's land,
And raise our fame in Lusitania's eyes.
The threats of Gaul's Colossus to despise,
To fight for freedom in Iberia's land,
And raise our fame in Lusitania's eyes.
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Their lot forbad, nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtue's but their crimes confin'd,
Forbade to wade thro' blood to Gallia's throne,
And shut the gates of freedom on mankind.
Their growing virtue's but their crimes confin'd,
Forbade to wade thro' blood to Gallia's throne,
And shut the gates of freedom on mankind.
The struggling pangs of murder'd truth to hide,
To quench the useful ardor of the press,
To heap the shrine of self-created pride
With honours which but make the wearer less.
To quench the useful ardor of the press,
To heap the shrine of self-created pride
With honours which but make the wearer less.
Far from subverting an establish'd throne,
Such modern doctrines were by them denied,
They'd hands and hearts to combat for their own,
And for their sov'reign's rights they fought and died.
Such modern doctrines were by them denied,
They'd hands and hearts to combat for their own,
And for their sov'reign's rights they fought and died.
Yet e'en these bones which grave nor tomb protect,
Nor sculptured arts, with letter'd graces vie,
Oft shall the feeling passer by reflect,
And pay their patriot virtue with a sigh.
Nor sculptured arts, with letter'd graces vie,
Oft shall the feeling passer by reflect,
And pay their patriot virtue with a sigh.
For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey
But thinks on him whose patriotic mind
Can for his country cast his life away,
Tho' mindful of the friends he leaves behind.
But thinks on him whose patriotic mind
Can for his country cast his life away,
Tho' mindful of the friends he leaves behind.
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Nor name, nor years, sung by the loftiest muse,
Cou'd praise to equal their desert supply,
Who, scorning Norman William, dared refuse
To yield, and for that bold refusal die.
Cou'd praise to equal their desert supply,
Who, scorning Norman William, dared refuse
To yield, and for that bold refusal die.
For William, bane of those most honour'd dead,
Few are the lines that may his tale relate,
A life of warfare in his reign he led,
His sons, and Harold's sons, still cross'd his fate.
Few are the lines that may his tale relate,
A life of warfare in his reign he led,
His sons, and Harold's sons, still cross'd his fate.
And foreign wars he waged, and built the Tow'r,
And caus'd our laws the Norman tongue to speak,
And tax'd poor devils who were in his power,
And help'd the strong to triumph o'er the weak.
And caus'd our laws the Norman tongue to speak,
And tax'd poor devils who were in his power,
And help'd the strong to triumph o'er the weak.
The Exchequer first at Westminster he placed,
Next, to secure of hunting ground a stock,
New forest for his pleasure he laid waste,
And made folks go to bed at eight o'clock.
Next, to secure of hunting ground a stock,
New forest for his pleasure he laid waste,
And made folks go to bed at eight o'clock.
At Mantes, to burn a town it was his will,
His horse took fright, Will pull'd him up in vain,
And, or he died, or was used very ill,
For certainly they buried him at Caen.
His horse took fright, Will pull'd him up in vain,
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For certainly they buried him at Caen.
There, at due stated periods of the year,
Were requiems and masses sung and said,
And little choristers oft warbled there,
As choristers will do when they are paid.
Were requiems and masses sung and said,
And little choristers oft warbled there,
As choristers will do when they are paid.
Around his tomb they march in sad array,
Where is an Epitaph inscribed most fair,
Whether the following, I dare not say,
Because I own, I never saw it there.
Where is an Epitaph inscribed most fair,
Whether the following, I dare not say,
Because I own, I never saw it there.
143
The EPITAPH.
Here rests his head upon its native earth
A Prince to fame and fortune greatly known,
Of high ambition, tho' of doubtful birth,
Albion he saw, and mark'd her for his own.
A Prince to fame and fortune greatly known,
Of high ambition, tho' of doubtful birth,
Albion he saw, and mark'd her for his own.
Large was his army, numerous his fleet,
Fate did commensurate success send down,
He gave to Harold a severe defeat,
He gain'd from victory, all he wish'd, a crown.
Fate did commensurate success send down,
He gave to Harold a severe defeat,
He gain'd from victory, all he wish'd, a crown.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or on a conqueror's faults too nicely look,
He'll find, when waking from the tomb's repose,
His sentence is inscribed in doomsday-book.
Or on a conqueror's faults too nicely look,
He'll find, when waking from the tomb's repose,
His sentence is inscribed in doomsday-book.
| A Metrical History of England | |