And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space, The toll-men thinking as before That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did and won it too, For he got first to town, Nor stopp’d till where he had got up He did again get down.
—Now let us sing, Long live the king, And Gilpin long live he, And when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see!
[ HOHENLINDEN]
On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay th’ untrodden snow; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast array’d Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh’d To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven; Then rush’d the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of Heaven, Far flash’d the red artillery.