WHEN I RIDE INTO THE TOWN
WHEN I go riding into the town,
When I ride into the town,
I fill my skin at the nearest inn
When I ride into the town.
Oh, what is there then to trouble about?
There are no such things as despair and doubt—
For when ale goes in the truth comes out,
When I ride into the town!
When I go riding out of the town,
When I ride out of the town,
I have my men behind me then
When I ride out of the town;
Halberd, battle-axe, culverin, bow,
Four hundred strong as out we go,
Four hundred yeomen to meet the foe,
When I ride out of the town!
When I ride into the Town of Death—
That strange and unknown town!—
It will not be all cap-à-pie,
But with sword and lance laid down.
Then may our Lady beside me stand;
Saint Michael guard at my good right hand—
God rest my soul and the souls of my band,
When we ride into the Town!
REQUIEM
WHEN my last song is sung and I am dead
And laid away beneath the kindly clay,
Set a square stone above my dreamless head,
And sign me with the cross and signing say:
“Here lieth one who loved the steadfast things
Of his own land, its gladness and its grace,
The stubbled fields, the linnets’ gleaming wings,
The long, low gables of his native place,
Its gravelled paths, and the strong wind that rends
The boughs about the house, the hearth’s red glow,
The surly, slow good-fellowship of friends,
The humour of the men he used to know,
And all their swinging choruses and mirth”—
Then turn aside and leave my dust in earth.
AVE ATQUE VALE!
MY friends, I may no longer ride with you
To bear a sword in your brave company,
Or follow our poor tattered flag which knew
No shame or slur—or any victory.