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O! wherefore come ye forth in triumph from the North,
With your hands and your feet and your raiment all red?
And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout?
And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye
tread?
Oh, evil was the root and bitter was the fruit
And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod;For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the
strong,
Who sate in the high places and slew the saints of God.It was about the noon of a glorious day in June,
That we saw their banners dance and their cuirasses shine;
And the man of Blood was there, with his long essenced hair,
And Astley and Sir Marmaduke and Rupert of the Rhine!
Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword,
The General rode along us to form us for the fight
When a murmuring sound broke out and swelled into a
shout
Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant’s right.
And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore,
The cry of battle rises along their charging line! —
For God! for the Cause! for the Church! for the Laws!
For Charles King of England and Rupert of the Rhine!
The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums, His bravos of Alsatia and pages of Whitehall,
They are bursting on our flanks;—grasp your pikes; —close your ranks; —
For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall.
They are here! —they rush on! We are broken—we are
gone; —
Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast,
O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right;
Stand back to back, in God’s name, and fight to the last
Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath given ground;
Hark! hark! what means the trampling of horsemen
on our rear?
Whose banner do I see, boys? —’Tis he, thank God, ’tis he, boys!
Bear up another minute. Brave Oliver is here!
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,
And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes.
Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some nook to hide
Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar.
And he—he turns, he flies!—shame to those cruel eyes That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war.
Ho! comrades, scour the plain; and ere ye strip the slain,
First give another stab to make your guest 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,
When you kissed your lily hands to your lemans today,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
Your perfumed satin clothes, your catches and your oaths,
Your stage plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and
your spades?
Notes: Lord Macaulay’s poem on the battle of Naseby is supposed to be spoken by one of the sergeants of the Parliamentary forces. This was the most important battle of the English Civil War, and was fought on the 14th of June, 1645, resulting in a decisive victory for the Parliamentary forces under Fairfax and Cromwell. Charles I. was with the Royal army, the main body of which was under the command of Lord Astley, Prince Rupert leading the right wing, Sir Marmaduke Langdale the left, and the King himself the reserve. The King fled, losing his cannon, baggage, and nearly 5,000 men taken prisoners.