Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail
Against her beauty? May she mix
With men and prosper! Who shall fix
Her pillars? Let her work prevail.
... Let her know her place;
She is the second, not the first,
A higher hand must make her mild,
If all be not in vain; and guide
Her footsteps, moving side by side
With wisdom, like the younger child.
Tennyson
MARSTON MOOR
(A Cavalier Song)
To horse! to horse! Sir Nicholas, the clarion's
note is high!
To horse! to horse! Sir Nicholas, the big drum
makes reply!
Ere this hath Lucas marched, with his gallant
cavaliers,
And the bray of Rupert's trumpets grows fainter
in our ears.
To horse! to horse! Sir Nicholas! White Guy is
at the door,
And the raven whets his beak o'er the field of
Marston Moor.
Up rose the Lady Alice, from her brief and
broken prayer,
And she brought a silken banner down the narrow
turret-stair,
Oh! many were the tears that those radiant eyes
had shed,
As she traced the bright word "Glory" in the
gay and glancing thread;
And mournful was the smile which o'er those
lovely features ran
As she said, "It is your lady's gift, unfurl
it in the van!"
"It shall flutter, noble wench, where the best
and boldest ride,
Midst the steel-clad files of Skippon, the
black dragoons of Pride;
The recreant heart of Fairfax shall feel a
sicklier qualm,
And the rebel lips of Oliver give out a
louder psalm,
When they see my lady's gewgaw flaunt proudly
on their wing,
And hear her loyal soldier's shout, 'For God
and for the King.'"
'Tis noon. The ranks are broken, along the
royal line
They fly, the braggarts of the court! the
bullies of the Rhine!
Stout Langdale'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
their flight,
"The German boor had better far have supped in
York to-night."