From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs down, Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown! For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws, God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Crown! They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes; There's Erin's high Ormond and Scotland's Montrose! Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and Brown, With the Barons of England that fight for the Crown? Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier! Sir Walter Scott. On the Statue of King Charles I at Charing Cross T (1674) HAT the First Charles does here in triumph ride, See his son reign where he a martyr died, To which we owe the statue and the stone; Waller. The Song of the Western Men (1688) [When Sir Jonathan Trelawney, one of the Seven Bishops, was committed to the Tower, the Cornish men rose, and marched towards London to compel his liberation.] A GOOD sword and a trusty hand! King James's men shall understand And have they fix'd the where and when? Here's twenty thousand Cornish men Out spake their Captain brave and bold, "If London Tower were Michael's hold, "We'll cross the Tamar, land to land, With 'one and all', and hand in hand, "And when we come to London Wall Come forth! Come forth, ye Cowards all, "Trelawney he's in keep and hold, Trelawney he may die; But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold, Will know the reason why!" She said, After Aughrim (1691) R. S. Hawker. HE said, "They gave me of their best, 66 I never gave them aught, Not mine the power, if mine the will; I let them starve, I let them bleed, They bled and starved, and loved me still". (B 838) She said, "Ten times they fought for me, She said, "I stayed alone at home, She said, "I never called them sons, She said, "Not mine, not mine that fame; Cast forth like rubbish from my shores, She said, "God knows they owe me nought, I tossed them to the foaming sea, I tossed them to the howling waste, Hon. Emily Lawless. (B 838) 2 The Battle of Blenheim (1704) T was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he, before his cottage door, Was sitting in the sun; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin In playing there had found; She ran to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh, "T is some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory. "I find them in my garden, for The ploughshare turns them out; For many thousand men ", said he, "Were slain in that great victory." "Now tell us what 't was all about," Young Peterkin he cries, And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; |