While yet I gazed on Soutra's fell, A sight appeared (I live and tell!), Strange, ominous, and yet obscure, But fate has wrought the vision sure; Too soon explained, it bodes no good, But desolation marks, and blood, I saw at once in full career Equestrian troops dire-armed appear, Descending swift the mountains steep No earthly steed could footstep keep; Yet many hundreds were their might. The glitt'ring stars revealed the sight-- Lightnings, forbidding to conceal, Burst, 'midst drawn swords and helmets' steel. On me when burst their dreadful gleam Faint my sunk soul emits a scream; And Walter Selby thus began-- (Walter still less, or more than man) Shouting till every echo round The mountain nymphs appalled resound; "Saw ever man such gallant sight? A thousand steeds on Soutra's height, Its fierce descent--in martial pride A thousand riders stem its side, With managed pride and daring front! What mortal force shall bide their brunt? See how they gallop down yon rock!-- What mortal eye can bear the shock? The roe of Soutra's lightest bound Shrinks from the delvy deep profound, Where not the falcon strains her flight Above the eagled eyrey's height. O, for a steed so sure and swift That might me with these horsemen lift-- These airy knights! My wanton brown, Famed far and wide for fleet renown, That darts o'er Derwent like a bird, Matched with such palfrey and its lord With wonder froze, its progress slow, Would think the Derwent ceased to flow. Ne'er gossamer in summer race So swift, so sylphy held the chace. Alarm in every village dwells, For we all know what this foretells-- A battle lost, a ruined cause. I heard my father say there was Then seen on dread Helvellyn's side An armed host like this to ride: Yet difference marked--beneath a crown The eye of royalty there frowns; A regal glaive, like mailed Mars, That streams a meteor thro' the wars, Points at their head to Marston Moor, Soon to be drenched with British gore. On those whose standard new unfurls, Menace the coronets of earls; The wode weird sisters waft each count, And thanes ride wild at their surmount. "Now Heav'n's right hand protect us!" cried The dame that shares stern Wilton's pride; (Once bride of Grey, for beauty famed, And oft for boast of lineage named; But now her blood, by age grown cold, Yet tumult's in her mortal mould); "What evils shall I yet sustain! Portentous scene--terrific train! What follows these?" with instant breath The pedlar cries; "misfortune--death: To many, misery--death, to some-- Some who are present, sure will come Death sudden, early--" "Cease thy croak, Thou northern raven," Walter spoke; "If they are phantoms, let them pass--