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And aching head and heart some rest required,

I've drawn thee forth for pastime, rubb'd thee bright, And pondering o'er each deeply-treasured word, Cried' onward!' in despite of hope deferr'd.

“ 'Tis onward now, and on a different path.”

Here he replaced his implements of war,
And put his best pace forth.-" Yet when one hath

Good faith and manhood for one's leading star,
Then' omne solum,' says some Philomath,

Est forti patria ;' but bereavement's scar Heals not with heathen maxims cold and tame. Say, then, 'Heaven's power is everywhere the same.'

"My father ! this, and all I know of good,

Wild urchin as I was, I owed to thee.
True knight, and Christian of a different brood

From the starch cut-throats who our masters be.
The fatal field that drank thy bold heart's-blood

* Is circled by yon distant hills I see, The Highcleres. Ay the glimpse that now appears Adds half a century to my sense of years.

“Falkland, Caernarvon, Sunderland, --and thou,

Father and mother, both ; for since the loss Of my poor mother, thou disdt ne'er allow

The nurse's fooleries to mar or cross The making of a man--such, I'll avow,

Were thy own words--my nurture did engross Thy time at study, martial sport, and board.-How rich that ill-starr'd harvest of the sword!

“ It was my first pitch'd field ; (though Albourne Chase

Was a tough prelude, where we cut them down, Worrying their rear, while the King made a race

From Gloucester, to seize first on Newbury town.) Westward from north to south our lines did face,

Flank'd by the stream ; the standard of the Crown Flew on that spot in the rough upland plain, Mark'd now by three green mounds that hide the slain.

* The autumn sun rose gaily in our rear

On carbine bright, steel cap, and banderolle, And glancing on their distant pikes, show'd clear

The Roundhead lines defiling down the knoll From Enborne's woodland hamlet ; a quick ear

Could catch the growing hum, the creak and roll Of ordnance, and the tramp of horse and man Through the deep vale that stretch'd beneath our van.

"I could not share the gallant recklessness

Of our young nobles, when distinct I saw Troop after troop of rebel horsemen press

Up to the front: I thought with solemn awe, • Who knows but I am this night fatherless ?"

Yet, pondering still on Heaven's own written law, Honour the King,'I felt unshaken trust, And strength to play the man in quarrel just.

"''Tis Essex ; look, he gallops from the rear,'

Whisper'd my father, ' fronts their vanguard ; see His arm's proud motion ;--ay, he ne'er knew fear;

He wears his bullet-mark defyingly,

The plumed white hat. Hark | how the train-bands cheer!

They know that rallying-point, and fair and free
The churls will strike for t; 'twill be no child's play.
Well, if we win, we win a well-fought day.

"Curse on court arts !—the self-styled Solomon

Left an inheritance of strife and ruth,
Which Heaven avert! to his right noble son:

Essex owes little to the Crown, in truth.
Comrades we've been; and when I think upon

The base rank outrages that wrong'd his youth-
(I come, my Lord!)-'t would drive a wise man mad.
Fall in, and God be with you, my brave lad.'

Their foremost column of attack was now

Deploying from Cope Hall and Skinner's Green;
Our cannoneers had conn'd their range, toplough

Deep in their van, when Rupert, hot and keen,
Dash'd with a cloud of horse a cross the brow,

And, baulking our good culverins, rush'd between
On their dragoons, who boldly met the brunt,
And all was furious mêlée in our front.

"I saw a look exchanged of deep suspense

Between the King and Ruthven, who just pass'd
Our regiment then; a posture of offence,

They knew, placed all things on a doubtful cast.
Reining their own impatience, and the men's,

Our brave Caernarvon and my sire stood fast,
With those who, inly burning for the fray,
Knew the first point of duty-to obey.

"If deeds could have atoned for rashness then,

They shone in Rupert's charge; for what, in truth,
But Centaurs, could on horseback cope with men

Like their barbs, thorough-bred, and from their youth
Swordsmen and hunters keen? In minutes ten

Down went the koaves by hundreds; but, good sooth,
When, routed, on their pikemen back they fell,
Our gallants had a different tale to tell.

" The ribald taunt of city horns,' so rife,

Was paid in kind; rooted the irain-bands stood
Like wary ball, o'ermastering in the strife

By strength and skill the ban-dog's hardihood.
Like true-bred mastiffs, prodigal of life,

Batter'd and gored, our cavaliers renew'd
Their charge on volleying gun and serried pike.
What comrades could stand still and view the like?

"Three minutes more had shamed our discipline;

But Rupert's trumpet sounded a retreat;
The smoke clear'd, and out-flanking our left line,

Dalbier and Stapleton cheer'd on th'élite
Of Iheir horse regiments; then the King in fine

Gave signal, and three thousand chargers' feet
Out-peal'd the kettle-drums, as to engage
We spurr'd at once-2 moment worth an age.

Lord Ruthven, who commanded under the King at the first battle of Newbary, afterwards created Earl of Brentford.

“ 'Twas in that charge I won thee, my good blade,

My own was shiver'd to the hilt, I found, When leaving them all shatter'd and dismay'd,

We breathed and rallied on the well-won ground. His own page brought ihee, ere again array'd

We crush'd them in a second onset, crown'd With like result. I flesh'd thee deep and well, Good comrade, when thy noble donor fell.

“ Brave heart! he saw my father by my side,

Fell as a brother when those words he spoke. He fell; and memory proves but a faint guide

For three more hours: on all sides forth we broke Charging their central masses; far and wide

The combat ragell, and the arrillery's smoke Hid the sun, sinking from his noonday height, Who look'd as yet upon a doubtful fight.

“The foot gain'd on us; on the brow at last,

In groups that seem'd all order to defy, Hover'd the royal horse; at trumpet-blast

Our corps was rallying, when my father's eye Caught a deep train-band column inounting fast

The hill-side. 'Now or never! do or die! Forward ! avenge Caernarvon !-and the word Fired the whole regiment, who ihe twain adored.

My presage was fulfill'd : I saw him drop

At the next volley. But the foe was near; We had no time lo sorrow, think, or stop;

Headlong we clove our way from front to rear,
Ere E-sex gain’d the vantage of th' hill-top.

Poor George, who seconded my mad career
With arm of proof, equall'd whaie'er is told
In legends of the Paladins of old.

" But what avail'd stout hand and desperate heart,

When Heaven will'd otherwise? The column, cleft In sunder, forın'd anew; from every part

Gali’d by close fire, and of all hope bereft, Our remnant made an unexpected dart,

And cut their way again to the far left, Where, slackening speed to rest tired man andjhorse, We reach'd by a detour the King's main force.

"And now on equal ground both armies faced,

Mangled and worn: the bright September sun,
Fast sinking on the heights of Enborne, traced

Miles in our rear, the shadow long and dun
Of the thick cannon-smoke: the ordnance, placed

At murderous range, as though we had begun
The fray that moment, flash'd and peal'd amain
From both battalia, heaping slain on slain.

“My memory sickens at the drawn fight's close,

And the next morning's ghastly duties. How Slept the bold hearts, that when the last sun rose

Beat warm and high ? On that lone common's brow The herdsman, couch'd in undisturb'd repose,

Sees all their visible memorial now
In the green mounds, where foe on foeman piled,
Wait the last trumpet, in death reconciled.

" That night of wretchedness! a smart flesh-wound

Was welcome, as it partly turn'd away
More painful thoughts. The signal-cannon's sound

Spoke the foe marching east at break of day,
And with our party first upon the ground,

We mark'd their rear-guard's soldier-like array
A furlong off, who, guessing our intent,
Made us a sign of truce, and on we went.

"The noble Falkland's host soon join'd our train,

With some of Byron's troopers, on a quest
In which we aided; our two honoured slain

Were ranged beside the corse of his late guest ;
And as we bore them from that bloody plain,

The rudest soldier's grief flowed unrepressed.
How fellow-feeling, when once moved to tears,
Turns strangers into friends of many years !
“The men, pour fellows, nothing loth, received

A cordial bidding to good cheer; to me
He said, 'Young friend, whom war hath thus bereaved,

Thou art my guest-nay, words of courtesy
Are needless, if thy grief can be relieved

By homely welcome, and communion free
Of thoughts to heavenward.—Hark! the work of death
Seems now renew'd again on Crookham Heath.

" " May God deliver us from mortal sin!

Thus, mid the dying and the dead, to hear
A second day of kindred feud begin !'-

''Tis Rupert's horse,' I answer'd; 'with their rear
He deals ev'n now; yon musketry's close din

Tells that his hoped success may cost him dear.
Kind friend, were I to speak my inward mood,
I might confess more than a soldier should.'

"Your words recall to me- I paused; he read

My thoughts, and press'd my hand. 'I knew full well
The Major by fair fame,' the good man said;

• Brave and humane, whose influence much did tell
Down in your White-Horse Vale; a soldier bred,

Yet all for peace, as long as peace could dwell
In this doom'd land; he served abroad, they say,
With honour upon Lutzen's fearíul day.'

"' Fearful indeed; it made him heart and soul,'

I answer'd,' a staid man of peace and thought.
I've heard him oft describe his night-patrol

After that fight;-whole regiments where they fought
Lay stiff and stärk, save--but he spared the whole

Of minor features, which a word had wrought
To horror. Sir, you knew his worth, I find;
I take you at your word; 't is more than kind.'

" Anon he told me how upon the night

Before the battle his illustrious guest
Shared our good Church's sacramental rite*

With the whole household, at his own request,

* See the Antiquities of Newbury, published by Messrs. Hall and Marsh of that town, a work of merit, to which the writer has to acknowledge many obligations.

As hoping to return no more from fight,

And wishing with a calm unburthen's breast To meet his Maker, as a brave man ought.Would the same mind had been in all who fought!'

"Amen!' said I. 'Howbeit, my gallant sire,

Stretch'd there beside him, was prepared by prayer, His natural temper was brimfull of tire

And buoyant hope, though widowhood and care Had turn'd to better thoughts each vain desire

Of worldly happiness; now lies he there With Heaven's own peace writ plainly on his brow.Bear with me; I can weep more freely now.' " With such like converse lightening sorrow's smart,

We took our way. He was a burgess good, Of grave and manly bearing, who apart

From the town's party feuds had ever stood; His calm, wise words sunk deep into my heart,

And cool'd the vengeful fever of my blood. flow often I have thought of Falkland since ! The noblest subject ever lost by prince.

" I see him now, as cool as on parade,

In Byron's front rank rushing on his fate, Where the foe's sweeping fire the thickest play'd.

Stern unto courtiers, true to King and State, Long his commanding worth had check'd and stay'd

Ill counsels; but when once he lost his weight,
And civil war ensued, his courage high
Chose the proud Roman's easier part-to die.

“I left that roof recover'd of my wound,

Rich in a good man's prayers and benison, Calm, but forlorn; for in the narrow ground

Which held that honour'd, loved, lamented one, My heart was buried. Duty's sense I found

Sustain'd me, but the spring of life was gone; And praise, if praise I won, smote on my ear Like echo from a churchyard, cold and drear.

George Ward ne'er left my side: in distress

The strong, rough soldier did a mother's part, And taught me well to know the thoughtfulness,

The warmth, the worth of a poor peasant's heart; And when he fell in the fight's hottest press

Beside Shaw House, I felt as if death's dart Had done its all.-A year and month before, And the same scene of blood repeated o'er !

" The former field, too, within cannon-shot !

Old Homer may cry up the joy of strife; Such boyish petulance is soon forgot

In loss of friends; contempt of drum and fife Succeeds, and cool intent to bate no jot

Of a dear bargain for one's joyless life. 'Such, boy, is duty's sticking-stuff,' said Lisle, When after that third charge we breathed a while. “ Not much was taken, as we lawyers say,

By that same motion; charging o'er and o'er Our front with fearful odds, they made no way;

'Twas a drawn fight again, with blows good store.

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