There is woe in Oxford Halls; there is wail in Durham’s Stalls: 55
The Jesuit smites his bosom: the Bishop rends his cope.
And She of the seven hills shall mourn her children’s ills,
And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England’s sword;
And the kings of earth in fear shall shudder when they hear
What the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and the Word. 60
Lord Macaulay.
CCVI
CAVALIER SONG.
While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray,
My true love has mounted his steed and away,