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." The knight is all alone, his steel cap cleft in twain, His good buff jerkin crimsoned o'er with many a gory stain; But still he waves the standard, and cries amid the rout, "For church and king, fair gentlemen, spur on, and fight it out!"-- And now he wards a roundhead's pike, and now he hums a stave, And here he quotes a stage-play, and there he fells a knave. Good speed to thee, Sir Nicholas! thou hast no thought of fear, Good speed to thee, Sir Nicholas! but fearful odds are here. The traitors ring thee round, and with every blow and thrust, "Down, down," they cry, "with Belial, down with him to the dust!" "I would," quoth grim old Oliver, "that Belial's trusty sword This day were doing battle for the saints and for the Lord!" III. The lady Alice sits with her maidens in her bower; The gray-haired warden watches on the castle's highest tower.-- "What news, what news, old Anthony?"--"The field is lost and won; The ranks of war are melting as the mists beneath the sun; And a wounded man speeds hither,--I am old and cannot see, Or sure I am that sturdy step my master's step should be." "I bring thee back the standard from as rude and red a fray As e'er was proof of soldier's thews, or theme for minstrel's lay: Bid Hubert fetch the silver bowl, and liquor quantum suff.; I'll make a shift to drain it, ere I part with boot and buff; Though Guy through many a gaping wound is breathing out his life, And I come to thee a landless man, my fond and faithful wife. Sweet, we will fill our money-bags, and freight a ship for France, And mourn in merry Paris for this poor realm's mischance: Or, if the worst betide me, why better ax or rope, Than life with Lenthal for a King, and Peters for a Pope! Alas, alas, my gallant Guy!--out on the crop-eared boor, That sent me with my standard on foot from Marston Moor." [From Fraser's Magazine.] LIFE AT A WATERING PLACE. ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN. "Hurrah, old fellow!" shouted Ashburner's host, on the seventh morning of his visit; "here's a letter from Carl. I have been expecting it, and he has been expecting us, some time. So prepare yourself to start to-morrow." "He can't have been expecting _me_, you know," suggested the guest, who, though remarkably domesticated for so short a time, hardly felt himself yet entitled to be considered one of the family.