Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads Jacobite Ballads, &c. &c. By George W. Thornbury ... with illustrations by H. S. Marks |
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THE TOWN-GATE. |
 | Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads |  |
169
THE TOWN-GATE.
In the dusky summer evenings,
When the light was growing dim;
The watch from the darkening chamber
Oft heard the distant hymn,
As groups, through the twilight breaking,
Moved over the dry scorched down,
Waving the palm-branch and the staff,
At the sight of the stately town.
When the light was growing dim;
The watch from the darkening chamber
Oft heard the distant hymn,
As groups, through the twilight breaking,
Moved over the dry scorched down,
Waving the palm-branch and the staff,
At the sight of the stately town.
Soon, slowly through the dusky gate,
To the light that lay beyond,
Trod all the dusty pilgrims,
Happy as men from bond;
Pointing out tower and steeple
To the boys with the palm-leaf crown,
Chanting the songs of Zion,
To welcome the stately town.
To the light that lay beyond,
Trod all the dusty pilgrims,
Happy as men from bond;
Pointing out tower and steeple
To the boys with the palm-leaf crown,
Chanting the songs of Zion,
To welcome the stately town.
170
The old men, tired and travel-worn,
Were telling tales of home;
Prating of many dangers past,
Of desert or sea-foam.
They sang one hymn together,
Though a few looked sadly down,
The rest with glad flushed faces
Entered the stately town.
Were telling tales of home;
Prating of many dangers past,
Of desert or sea-foam.
They sang one hymn together,
Though a few looked sadly down,
The rest with glad flushed faces
Entered the stately town.
In the dark midnights of winter,
Oft came, with bloody plume,
With dinted helm and bleeding horse,
The trooper and the groom;
Red-hot from rout and rally,
“Once they were stricken down,”—
Then spurred, with wild and staring eyes,
Into the stately town.
Oft came, with bloody plume,
With dinted helm and bleeding horse,
The trooper and the groom;
Red-hot from rout and rally,
“Once they were stricken down,”—
Then spurred, with wild and staring eyes,
Into the stately town.
In the merry April mornings,
The laughing players come;
One blows a pipe and capers,
Another beats a drum:
One bawls out strings of ballads,
And a boy in a woman's gown,
Screams scraps of “dying Juliet,”
As they enter the stately town.
The laughing players come;
One blows a pipe and capers,
Another beats a drum:
One bawls out strings of ballads,
And a boy in a woman's gown,
Screams scraps of “dying Juliet,”
As they enter the stately town.
171
With a blaze of cloak and feather,
Of fluttering cloth of gold,
Through the dull white fogs of autumn,
With crimson wreath and fold,
Rode knights unto the tournay,
Trampling over the down,
Grand as a cloud of summer,
Into the stately town.
Of fluttering cloth of gold,
Through the dull white fogs of autumn,
With crimson wreath and fold,
Rode knights unto the tournay,
Trampling over the down,
Grand as a cloud of summer,
Into the stately town.
Driven before the pikemen,
Half-naked, pale, aghast,
Flying like leaves of autumn
Before the chasing blast,
Now hurry bleeding burghers,
Their gashed heads bending down,
Urged on with shouts and curses,
Fast from the stately town.
Half-naked, pale, aghast,
Flying like leaves of autumn
Before the chasing blast,
Now hurry bleeding burghers,
Their gashed heads bending down,
Urged on with shouts and curses,
Fast from the stately town.
In the dreadful year of famine,
When black Death moved about,
Three livid, maddened creatures,
With groans and a shrieking shout,
Ran naked through the gateway,
Their shorn heads bandaged down,
From the red-crossed door left open,
To scare the stately town.
When black Death moved about,
Three livid, maddened creatures,
With groans and a shrieking shout,
Ran naked through the gateway,
Their shorn heads bandaged down,
From the red-crossed door left open,
To scare the stately town.
172
When bells shook every steeple,
And flags deck'd every roof;
‘Bess’ on a milk-white palfrey,
Trapped with a purple woof,
Smiled, as the pursy alderman,
With the massy keys knelt down;
Then through a flame of cannon
Swept into the stately town.
And flags deck'd every roof;
‘Bess’ on a milk-white palfrey,
Trapped with a purple woof,
Smiled, as the pursy alderman,
With the massy keys knelt down;
Then through a flame of cannon
Swept into the stately town.
In a balmy noon of summer,
With clash and shock of drums,
'Midst roar of guns and waving flags,
Hoarse shouts and rabble hums,
The iron Cromwell entered,
His stern eyes looking down,
Not heeding all the pomp and wealth
That filled the stately town.
With clash and shock of drums,
'Midst roar of guns and waving flags,
Hoarse shouts and rabble hums,
The iron Cromwell entered,
His stern eyes looking down,
Not heeding all the pomp and wealth
That filled the stately town.
| Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads | |