Rupert's soldiers came riding, riding,
All in the sunshine riding down,
Scented curls on the breezes flowing,
Banners dancing and bugles blowing,
Gaily the troops came riding, riding,
Through the streets of Newbury town.
Bells in the church towers all were swinging,
Flags were waving and flowers were strown;
Roses lay in the road before them,
Roses rained from the casements o'er them,
All in the streets, with shout and singing,
Prayed that the King might win his own.
Rupert's soldiers came riding, riding,
All in the darkness riding down;
Never a church-bell chimed to greet them,
Never a maid came forth to meet them;
Broken, defeated, they came riding
Through the streets of Newbury town.
Never more while the bells are calling
Rupert's soldiers come riding down;
They have ridden, with bugles blowing
Into a land beyond our knowing,
Never more shall their footsteps falling
Haunt the streets of Newbury town.
Yet, as I sit here, idly dreaming,
Watching the water onward flow,
Still I see, in the sun or shadow,
Rupert's soldiers across the meadow,
Banners blowing and lovelocks streaming,
Riding back from the long ago.
And in my dreams they still are riding,
Victor or vanquished, riding down;
Now with the roses strewn before them—
Now with the darkness gathering o'er them—
Rupert's soldiers, forever riding
Through the streets of Newbury town.
A CHRISTMAS HYMN
No room for Thee, O Baby Jesukin,
No room within the inn;
Only the stable door is standing wide,
And there inside
The ox and ass their patient foreheads bow
Before Thee now.
No room for Thee, O little Lord of all,
In cottage or in hall;
Yet o'er Thy stable angel voices sound
Telling around
To the wide world a Prince is born to them
In Bethlehem.