Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row, Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes, Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst, 35 And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes. Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar: And he--he turns, he flies:--shame on those cruel eyes That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war. 40 Ho! comrades, scour the plain; and, ere ye strip the slain, First give another stab to make your search secure, Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces and lockets, The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor. Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold, 45 When you kissed 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 above the prey. Where be your tongues that late mocked at heaven and hell and fate, And the fingers that once were so busy with your blades, 50 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’s Stalls: 55 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. 60 _Lord Macaulay._ CCVI _CAVALIER SONG._ While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, My true love has mounted his steed and away, Over hill, over valley, o’er dale, and o’er down; Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown! He has doffed the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear, 5 He has placed the steel-cap o’er his long-flowing hair, 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, Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause; 10 His watchword is honour, his pay is renown,-- God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Crown! They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall; But tell these bold traitors of London’s proud town, 15 That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown.