Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast. Stout Skippon hath a centre hath given ground. Hark! hark! what means the trampling of horsemen on our rear? Whose banner do I see, boys? 'T is he! thank God! 't is he, boys! Bear up another minute! Brave Oliver is here! Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row: Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide Ho, comrades! scour the plain; and ere ye strip the slain, The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor. Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold, When you kiss'd your lily hands to your lemans to-day; And to-morrow shall the fox from her chambers in the rocks Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl about the prey. Where be your tongues, that late mock'd at heaven and hell and fate? And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades? Your perfumed satin clothes, your catches and your oaths? Your stage-plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and your spades? Down, down, for ever down with the mitre and the crown, With the Belial of the court, and the Mammon of the Pope ! There is woe in Oxford halls, there is wail in Durham' stalls; The Jesuit smites his bosom, the bishop rends his cope. And she of the seven hills shall mourn her children's ills, And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England's sword; And the kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they hear What the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and the Word! JOHN HENRY NEWMAN THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD LEAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, The night is dark, and I am far from home Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene, one step enough for me. I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that Thou Shouldst lead me on. I loved to choose and see my path; but now I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, So long Thy power hath bless'd me, sure it still O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till The night is gone; And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN (1803-1849) DARK ROSALEEN O MY Dark Rosaleen, Do not sigh, do not weep! The priests are on the ocean green, Upon the ocean green; And Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Over hills, and through dales, The Erne, at its highest flood, For there was lightning in my blood, My own Rosaleen ! O! there was lightning in my blood, All day long, in unrest, To and fro, do I move, The very soul within my breast The heart in my bosom faints To think of you, my queen, My own Rosaleen! To hear your sweet and sad complaints, Woe and pain, pain and woe, But yet will I rear your throne 'Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, My own Rosaleen! 'Tis you shall have the golden throne, 'Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen! Over dews, over sands, Will I fly for your weal: From morning's dawn till e'en, You'll pray for me, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! You'll think of me through daylight's hours, My virgin flower, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen! I could scale the blue air, I could plough the high hills, And one beamy smile from you Would float like light between My toils and me, my own, my true, My fond Rosaleen! Would give me life and soul anew, My Dark Rosaleen! O! the Erne shall run red With redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread, Wake many a glen serene, Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! The Judgment Hour must first be nigh, RALPH WALDO EMERSON (1803-1882) BRAHMA If the red slayer think he slays, Shadow and sunlight are the same; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out; And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. The strong gods pine for my abode, Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. DAYS DAUGHTERS of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, |