. IV. Through hall and court and porch The swift avengers faint not in their toil : Vain now the matron's sighs, Vain now the infant's cries ; Look, sisters, look! who leads them to the spoil? V. Not Pyrrhus, though his hand Is on his father's brand; Not the fell framer of the accursed steed; Not Nestor's hoary head, Nor Teucer's rapid tread, Nor the fierce wrath of impious Diomede. VI. Visions of deeper fear To-night are warring here ; I know them, sisters, the mysterious Three: Minerva's lightning frown, And Juno's golden crown, And him, the mighty Ruler of the sounding sea! VII. Through wailing and through woe Silent and stern they go; So have I ever seen them in my trance: Exultingly they guide Destruction's fiery țide, And lift the dazzling shield, and poise the deadly lance. VIII. Lo, where the old man stands, Folding his palsied hands, And muttering, with white lips, his querulous prayer: "Where is my noble son, My best, my bravest one Troy's hope and Priam's-where is Hector, where?" IX. Why is thy falchion grasped? Why is thy helmet clasped? Fitter the fillet for such brow as thine ! O sisters, look no more! It is our father's blood upon the shrine! And X. ye, alas! must roam Far from your desolate home, Far from lost Ilium, o'er the joyless wave; Ye may not from these bowers Gather the trampled flowers To wreathe sad garlands for your brethren's grave. XI. Away, away! the gale Stirs the white-bosomed sail; Hence look not back to freedom or to fame ; Labour must be your doom, Night-watchings, days of gloom, The bitter bread of tears, the bridal couch of shame. XII. Even now some Grecian dame And waits, expectant, the returning fleet; Hath he not sheathed his sword? Will he not bring my handmaid to my feet?" XIII. Me, too, the dark Fates call: Captor and captive, prison-house and throne : They hear me, heed me not! Hide, angry Phoebus, hide from me mine own! (1830.) SIR NICHOLAS AT MARSTON MOOR. To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas! the clarion's note is high; To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas! the huge drum makes reply: Ere this hath Lucas marched with his gallant cavaliers, And the bray of Rupert's trumpets grows fainter on our ears. To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas ! White Guy is at the door, And the vulture whets his beak o'er the field of Marston Moor. Up rose the Lady Alice from her brief and broken prayer, And she brought a silken standard down the narrow turret stair. Oh, many were the tears that those radiant eyes had shed, As she worked the bright word "Glory" in the gay and glancing thread ; And mournful was the smile that o'er those beauteous features ran, As she said, "It is your lady's gift, unfurl it in the "It shall flutter, noble wench, where the best and boldest ride, Through the steel-clad files of Skippon and the black dragoons of Pride; The recreant soul of Fairfax will feel a sicklier qualm, And the rebel lips of Oliver give out a louder psalm, When they see my lady's gew-gaw flaunt bravely on their wing, And hear her loyal soldiers' shout, for God and for the King!" 'Tis noon; the ranks are broken along the royal line; They fly, the braggarts of the Court, the bullies of the Rhine: Stout Langley's cheer is heard no more, and Astley's helm is down, And Rupert sheathes his rapier with a curse and with a frown; And cold Newcastle mutters, as he follows in the flight, "The German boar had better far have supped in York to-night." |