The poetical works of John Nicholson ... Carefully edited from the original editions, with additional notes and a sketch of his life and writings. By W. G. Hird |
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 | The poetical works of John Nicholson |  |
Where Bolton Abbey rears its ancient head,
The field, ere noon, was quickly changed to red;
Brave dauntless Lister brought his hundreds there,
Who well could wield the sword or sharpened spear.
Pudsay and Hammerton, and Heber brought
Strong lusty warriors, who as bravely fought;
While Parker led his followers o'er the moor,
Shouting to see their comrades were before.
Though not adorned with lace of shining gold,
They each could fight as Britons fought of old;
Fearless of death, each bore a dauntless mind,
Which priests had blessed, but learning not refined.
The best old ale the Abbey could afford
Was brought in plenty to the warrior's board;
Wives, daughters, mothers, deep in grief were sunk,
But Craven youths grew cheerful as they drunk;
Told wives and lovers never more to mourn—
All crowned with fame, with Clifford would return.
The word was given, and as they marched along,
Huzzah'd, and left old Bolton with a song:
The field, ere noon, was quickly changed to red;
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Who well could wield the sword or sharpened spear.
Pudsay and Hammerton, and Heber brought
Strong lusty warriors, who as bravely fought;
While Parker led his followers o'er the moor,
Shouting to see their comrades were before.
Though not adorned with lace of shining gold,
They each could fight as Britons fought of old;
Fearless of death, each bore a dauntless mind,
Which priests had blessed, but learning not refined.
The best old ale the Abbey could afford
Was brought in plenty to the warrior's board;
Wives, daughters, mothers, deep in grief were sunk,
But Craven youths grew cheerful as they drunk;
Told wives and lovers never more to mourn—
All crowned with fame, with Clifford would return.
The word was given, and as they marched along,
Huzzah'd, and left old Bolton with a song:
We all will bravely stand, my lord,
Or where's our homes and lasses,
If Scottish Jamie with his sword
But once through Craven passes?
Or where's our homes and lasses,
If Scottish Jamie with his sword
But once through Craven passes?
Let us meet them o'er the Tweed,
And fight for fame and glory;
And if our men are doomed to bleed,
Let Scotland's plains be gory.
And fight for fame and glory;
And if our men are doomed to bleed,
Let Scotland's plains be gory.
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At every village we march through,
Our numbers are increasing;
And England, if we beat the foe,
Will give us all her blessing.
Our numbers are increasing;
And England, if we beat the foe,
Will give us all her blessing.
If, leagued with France, they would come down,
To rob our halls and burn 'em;
Like mountain sheep, when once we meet,
We'll kill, or take, or turn 'em.
To rob our halls and burn 'em;
Like mountain sheep, when once we meet,
We'll kill, or take, or turn 'em.
| The poetical works of John Nicholson | |