The visions of England Lyrics on leading men and events in English history by Francis T. Palgrave |
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THE FUGITIVE KING
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THE FUGITIVE KING
August 7: 1645
Cold blue cloud on the hill-tops,
Cold buffets of hill-side rain:—
As a bird that they hunt on the mountains,
The king, he turns from Rhôs lane:
A writing of doom on his forehead,
His eyes wan-wistful and dim;
For his comrades seeking a shelter:
But earth has no shelter for him!
Cold buffets of hill-side rain:—
As a bird that they hunt on the mountains,
The king, he turns from Rhôs lane:
A writing of doom on his forehead,
His eyes wan-wistful and dim;
For his comrades seeking a shelter:
But earth has no shelter for him!
Gray silvery gleam of armour,
White ghost of a wandering king!
No sound but the iron-shod footfall
And the bridle-chains as they ring:
Save where the tears of heaven,
Shed thick o'er the loyal hills,
Rush down in the hoarse-tongued torrent,
A roar of approaching ills.
White ghost of a wandering king!
No sound but the iron-shod footfall
And the bridle-chains as they ring:
Save where the tears of heaven,
Shed thick o'er the loyal hills,
Rush down in the hoarse-tongued torrent,
A roar of approaching ills.
But now with a sweeping curtain,
In solid wall comes the rain,
And the troop draw bridle and hide them
In the bush by the stream-side plain.
King Charles smiled sadly and gently;
‘'Tis the Beggar's Bush,’ said he;
‘For I of England am beggar'd,
‘And her poorest may pity me.’
In solid wall comes the rain,
And the troop draw bridle and hide them
In the bush by the stream-side plain.
King Charles smiled sadly and gently;
‘'Tis the Beggar's Bush,’ said he;
‘For I of England am beggar'd,
‘And her poorest may pity me.’
—O safe in the fadeless fir-tree
The squirrel may nestle and hide;
And in God's own dwelling the sparrow
Safe with her nestlings abide:—
But he goes homeless and friendless,
And manlike abides his doom;
For he knows a king has no refuge
Betwixt the throne and the tomb.
The squirrel may nestle and hide;
And in God's own dwelling the sparrow
Safe with her nestlings abide:—
But he goes homeless and friendless,
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For he knows a king has no refuge
Betwixt the throne and the tomb.
And the purple-robed braes of Alban,
The glory of stream and of plain,
The Holyrood halls of his birthright
Charles ne'er will look on again:—
And the land he loved well, not wisely,
Will almost grudge him a grave:
Then weep, too late, in her folly,
The dark Dictator's slave!
The glory of stream and of plain,
The Holyrood halls of his birthright
Charles ne'er will look on again:—
And the land he loved well, not wisely,
Will almost grudge him a grave:
Then weep, too late, in her folly,
The dark Dictator's slave!
This incident occurred during the attempt made by Charles, in the dark final days of his struggle, to march from South Wales with the hope of joining Montrose in Scotland. He appears to have halted for the night of Aug. 6, 1645, at Old Radnor: and ‘the name of Rails Yat, (Royal gate) still points out the spot where, on the following morning, he left the Rhôs Lane for the road which brought him to shelter at Beggar's Bush’: a name which is reported to be still preserved.
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