26 Lavs of tJie EnglisJi Cavaliers.
And gentle maidens watched all night
Like angels by his side,
Till morning rose, and hope was quenched,
And the great Grenville died.
Round the pale corse, in speechless woe,
The Cornish warriors stand.
And Slanning kneels, and in his own
Grasps the dead Grenville's hand.
Trevanion weeps, as women weep.
And sobs convulsive start,
And groans of deep-drawn agony
From Hopton's bursting heart ;
And Basset bows his aching head
Down as a bulrush low.
And o'er his friend and brother mourns,
With more than brother's woe.
On Lansdown stands his monument â
Kilkhampton has his dust â
His spirit slumbers with the blest,
In holy, humble trust ;
And Cornwall has his lofty name
To tell, with sacred pride,
How like a hero-saint he lived,
And like a martyr died.
The Betiih of tlie Earl (xt Borthamptxin, in
ihc Battli3 af Hoptan 3;icath, xMrnv Stafford,
T was a Sunday morn in March-
And we were met once more
At matins in St. Mary's,
God's mercy to implore
On our loved Church, low laid in dust,
Crushed 'neath th' oppressor's heel,
On our discrowned monarch,
And the bleeding commonweal.
And, as we knew the foe was nigh,
More fervently we prayed â
Priest, noble, trooper, citizen,
The matron and the maid-
Prayed to the God of battles
That in the murderous strife,
If so He pleased. His watchful care
Might shield each precious life ;
28 Lays of the English Cavaliers.
That all who died might die in Christ,
In Christ at rest remain,
And, on the resurrection morn,
Might meet in Christ again.
But 'twas a sad and solemn hour,
For well, too well, we knew,
That of our gallant company,
So loved, so brave, so true,
Of soldier, or of officer,
Of father, or of son,
Death would a bloody harvest reap
Before the day was done.
So prayed we in St. Mary's,
And grace in Jesus won
By litany and sacrament ;
But scarce our prayer was done,
Ere the alarum sounded.
And bells, and trump, and drum
Proclaimed in mixt, discordant notes
That the stern foe was come.
A clash of arms rang through the Church-
Prayer was abruptly stayed â
The Death of the Earl of Northampton. 29
Flashed helm and corslet ; clattered spurs ;
Hard fingers clutched the blade ;
The firelocks rattled on the floor ;
The banners fluttered high ;
" Forth !" said the Earl ; and forth we went â
Northampton went to die.
We met the foe on Hopton Heath â
Northampton led the van â â¢
Down like an avalanche we came,
And crushed them, horse and man ;
Hard on their yielding ranks we pressed.
And many a biting thrust
Left many a charger ranging free.
His rider in the dust.
Woe for the cruel wounds of war !
Woe for the bitter need !
Our very hearts wept drops of blood
To see our brothers bleed.
But, as we urged the hot pursuit,
"Back!" cried Northampton, "back!" â -
His eagle eye had scanned afar
Cell's troopers on our track.
30 Lays of the English Cavaliers.
We turned ; the foe was nearing fast,
And massed in triple rank
Came bearing down, a thousand strong,
To smite us on the flank.
" Charge !" cried the Earl ; " God and the King !"
We charged â what words can tell
The carnage dire, the lengthened toil,
Of that encounter fell.
Steed rushed on steed â man grappled man â
High rose the heaps of dead â
Seemed that the solid earth did quake
Under that combat dread.
The foe was fresh ; our blood was spent ;
Our breath and strength outworn ;
Yet â where our Chief, there victory â
And they were backwards borne.
Gell fiercely cheered, reviled, implored,
And headlong burst away â
Thrice did they rally â thrice they broke â
Forced back in wild dismay.
Against our wall of naked steel
They rushed but to recede ; â
But in the rout Northampton fell.
Crushed by his falling steed.
The Death of the Earl of NortJianipton. 3 1
Round the fallen Chief the foenien closed,
Like tigers on their prey ;
He swept his sword with giant stroke,
And kept a host at bay.
They gashed his head, and hacked his breast â
His blood found ready vent
At every vein ; a hundred blades
On that lone man were bent.
" Take quarter, Earl, and yield thy sword,"
The rebel leader cried ;
" I scorn my life at hands like thine,"
The dying Chief replied.
And dripping sore with sweat and gore,
A wound in every limb,
Still as he bled he smote amain,
And scowled with visage grim,
Till a base backstroke crushed his skull.
And, on a ghastly bed,
Which his own hand had piled with foes,
Northampton's Earl lay dead.
They bore his mangled corse awa}^ ;
We had no power to save ;
We begged the body of the foe,
To give our chief a grave â
32 Lays of the English Cavaliers.
And they denied. In bitterest shame,
In wounds and anguish deep,
Back to our soHtary homes
We turned to pray and weep.
The Sunday night came darkly on ;
Once more for evening prayer
St. Mary's bell tolled solemnly â
Sadly we gathered there.
We bowed our knees ; before the Lord
Our hearts like water poured ;
Confessed the retribution due,
And of His grace implored
That He would stay His wasting hand,
And bid war's havoc cease.
And heal His Church's bleeding wounds,
And give her children peace.
The $i^g^ (xf I^atham 1;jausi3^ J^ancaslun^,
ivanx Feb. to Biay, ,l(U4.
NOBLE name is Stanley â
On Time's emblazoned page
The noblest name is Stanley
Through many a storied age,
For princely birth, and gracious worth.
For wealth, and wide demesne,
For chivalry and loyalty.
And honour without stain,
For deeds of might and prowess high
In battle bravely done â
But the proudest charge in Stanley's shield
Was by a woman won.
The Countess is in Lathom ;
The Earl is far away ;
And Fairfax, in his folly.
Counts a woman easy prey.
34 Lays of tJie English Cavaliers.
"Now yield thee, Lady Derby" â
In scorn, and pride of soul,
She tore in twain, and 'neath her feet
Trod the insulting scroll ;
And bade them take this answer back â
" Nay, false heart, rebel base,
A woman and a stranger,
I defy thee to thy face ;
'Gainst thee, and all thy traitor horde.
If God me succour bring,
I hold my honour for my lord,
My castle for my King ;
I am a daughter of Nassau,
And ere I yield to thee,
These flaming towers and crumbling walls
My monument shall be."
Forthwith round lordly Lathom
Is rigid leaguer laid.
With trench, and mine, and rampier.
And sconce, and palisade ;
And mortar, sacre, culverin,
Belch forth in volleys hot.
From morn to eve, from eve to morn,
Grenado, stone, and shot.
TJie Siege of Lathoni House. 35
But Lathom's walls are broad and high,
The moat is wide and deep ;
At every gate brave hearts, strong hands
Keen ward and sentry keep ;
There Ogle stands, there Chisenall,
There Worrall, Rawstorne, Kay,
Bold leaders in the sally,
Fell combatants in fray :
And what though scant three hundred,
With captains eight or ten ?
The Lady in her bravery
Is worth a thousand men.
How" calm she looks, how saintly !
So grave, and yet so fair !
Four times a-day to nerve her soul
She meets her God in prayer'';
" "Her Ladiship's first care was the service of God, which in sermons
and solemne prayers shee duely saw performed ; 4 tymes a day was shee
commonly present in pubhlce prayers, attended with 2 litle ladyes her
children, the Lady Mary and the Lady Catherine, for piety and sweet-
ness truelye the children of soe princely a mother ; and if daringness
in tyme of danger may adde anything to their age and virtues, lett them
have this testimonye, that though truely apprehensive of the enemyes
malice, they were never startled with any appearance of danger. "â â Journal
of Siege of LathoDi House.
36 Lays of the English Cavaliers.
And when the assault is fiercest,
And where the breach is wide,
The Lady in her bravery-
Stands at the soldier's side.
And speaks high words of hope and praise,
That make his heart's blood glow.
Of honour and of loyalty.
And of mercy to the foe ;
And walks unmoved through flames and wounds,
By tottering tower and wall,
Nor trembles at the bursting bomb,
Nor dreads the whistling ball ;
Till fighting chiefs, and captains old.
Grown grey in war's stern art.
Marvel to think a frame so frail
Should hold so brave a heart.
All night hath Lathom been astir,
And in the twilight grey,
Forth issuing from the eastern gate,
Three companies make way.
With crouching knee, and bated breath,
And silent tread they go â
Then, with a gallant thundershout,
Burst in upon the foe.
The Siege of LatJioui House. 37
The shock is sharp â the trench is won â
And, through the crowded pass
Fighting and fleeing, friend and foe,
Rush on in mingled mass.
Then follows deadly fight within,
And surging to and fro,
Like waves at sea, they fight, they flee.
Maddened in frantic throe.
Tis fearful odds â ten men to twoâ
But Ogle cleaves a way,
And Fox, and Brome, and Worrall,
Close up in dense array ;
With shout and thrust, and trumpet clang,
Still on they fiercely press
To reach their wasting scourge and dread,
The mortar-piece, Black Bess ^
*> "The next day they pLiyed theire morter peece 3 times loaden with
stone ; on Thursday, one shott, and one granadoe, chosen men upon the
o-uards, standing ready with greene and wett hides, to quench the burn-
ing. Our men made a sallye, and nailed and battered the morter with
smiths' hammers, but it had too wide a mouth to bee stopt. It was now
more terrible than formerly, insomuch that the souldiers lodged in rooms
with clay walls. A shell struck a Iniilding, and left only the carcase
standing, yet without hurt to any person, saveing that 2 women in a
neere chamber had their hands scorcht to putt them in mind hereafter
38 ' Lays of tJie English Cavaliers.
For one brief space the foe is crushed,
And round Black Bess they crowd â
No precious moment to be lost â
And Ogle shouts aloud,
" Haste ! ere the rebel rally !
Ho ! soldiers, forty strong ;
With rope, and chain, and lever,
Roll the huge mass along."
They toil, and strain, and heave, and sweat,
Black Bess makes weary way â
But ere the noon within the walls
The dreaded mortar lay.
'Twas strange to note the soldiers' joy.
The women's wild delight.
To see Black Bess, their dread by day.
Their troubled dream by night,
they were in siege at Lathom, and her Ladyshipp was forced to seeke
a new lodgeing, with this protest, tliat shee would keepe the house while
there was a building to cover her head. The morter peece was that that
still troubled us all : the litle ladyes had stomach to digest canon, but
the stoutest souldiers had noe hearts for granadoes." â Journal of Siege
of Lathom House.
The Siege of Lathoin House. 39
That scared them from their thoughts and prayers,
Their slumbers and their meat,
Like a dead Hon quietly
Lie harmless at their feet.
And Lady Kate and Mary came,
Sweet maidens, nought afraid,
And laid their fingers on its mouth,
And round the monster played,
And e'en the Lady caught the joy,
And bade her chaplains raise
A jubilant Magnificat
Of gratitude and praise ^.
Three months the leaguer lingered on,
And aye, on fresh attack,
"= "But now neither ditches, nor ought els troubled our souldiers, theire
grand terror, the morter peece, being taken ; every one had his eye and
his foote upon him, shouteing and rejoiceing merrily : indeed every one
had this apprehencion of the service, that the main worke was done, and
what was yet behind was but a meere pastime. It was the greatest and
most fortunate exployt. Her Ladishipp, though not often overcarryed
with any light expressions of joy, yet religiously sensible of soe great
a blessing, and desireous, according to her pious disposition, to returne
acknowledgements to the right authour, God alone, presently comands
her chaplaynes to a publike thanksgiving." â Journal of Siege of Lathoin
40 Lays of the English Cavaliers.
The Lady, in her bravery,
Beat their fierce battle back.
At last the Prince to succour came,
And on the coward foe,
Now flying fast in hideous rout,
Dealt an o'erwhelming blow ;
And laid at that brave Lady's feet
Those banners, proud and high.
Which late before her castle walls,
Had flaunted on the sky '^.
'' "The Prince Rupert that day not only releeved, but revenged,
the most noble Ladye his cosen, leaveing i,6oo of her besiegers dead
upon the place, and carrying away 700 prisoners. For a perpetuall
memoriall of his victory, in a brave expression of his owne noblenesse,
and a gracious respect to her Ladishipp's sufferings, the next day he
presented her Ladishipp with 22 of those collours, which 3 dayes be-
fore were proudly flourisht before her house." â Journal of Siege of LatJwin
IS midnight â and a prison. By the Hght
Of one faint, flickering lamp, behold, two men,
Arthur, Lord Capel, and the priest of God.
This is the solemn hour of Eucharist â
To-morrow, by the noon, must Capel die,
Following so soon his master's track to heaven.
" I would to God," thus wrote he from the Tower,
Ere Charles put on the crown of martyrdom,
"Ye would accept my life a sacrifice,
And spare to shed my Sovereign's sacred blood."
Aye the same man ; â whether in headlong charge
He led the Guards to battle â or in council
Beyond his years far-sighted and sagacious â
Or dropping tears on Killigrew's cold face â
Or keeping midnight watch at Colchester â
Or with defiant mien, and haughty words,
Daring the mock tribunal â or in prison
42 Lays of the English Cavaliers.
Baring his naked soul before his God â
Or shaking hands with death upon the scafifold ;-
So brave, so wise, so noble, kind and true.
So just, so pious, so severely good,
A very Cato with a Christian's heart.
" I have good hope in Christ, yet on my soul
Doth press," he said, " one sin too heavily :
It is, that when great Strafford stood in doom,
I gave my voice for blood. But ere I die,
I would all possible atonement make.
And if thou think it needful, man of God,
I will confess my crime upon the scaffold."
" I think it needful," said the man of God ;
And Capel, on the morrow, ere he died,
Confessed the crime, and made the expiation.
'Tis midnight â and a prison. By the light
Of one faint, flickering lamp, behold, a table.
Spread with fair linen, and the bread and wine,
Dear symbols of our dying Jesu's love.
E'en now the sacred service is begun ; â
The place, the time, the circumstance of death
Giving the mystery a character
Of strange solemnity and awe unwonted.
The dying hero feels the awful hour ;
A light seraphic plays about his brow ;
Tlic Last Sacrauicnt of ^Irt/n/r, Lord Capcl. 43
His soul dissolves in ecstacy of praise,
Long, fervent, silent, and he soars away
In beatific flight, to realms of joy,
Until the consecrating priest, in low
And measured utterance, devoutly saith,
" Arthur, Lord Capel, take this sacrament.
Thy last communion, mystery sublime,
And bind thy dying spirit to thy Christ,"
The seal was set â the blest viaticum
Applied by faith, and prayer, and Jesu's grace â
The dying saint received the living God.
And, as the morning broke, " I feel," he said,
" Strong in unwonted strength : now call my wife.
And let me say farewell." She came â an hour
They spent in plenteous tears, and fond regrets,
And all the tenderness of parting love ;
Until the w^ife and woman sank, and faint.
And pale as death, they tore her from his arms.
" Oh, this is bitter agony !" he cried ;
And for awhile he trembled like a leaf.
And all the man was bowed in mighty woe ;
But in a moment, gathering up his soul,
He curbed the vehement pang, and calmly said,
" 'Tis past â and now I only have to die."
He stands upon the scaffold, all himself,
44 Lays of tJie English Cavaliers.
Grand in his loneliness and bravery,
And with unquailing eye, and full, clear voice,
Bareheaded to the heavens, he cries aloud,
" I die for conscience to my God and King :
I loved my country aye, and to her laws
Have rendered due obedience cheerfully ; â
I ever honoured with affection true
My mother Church of England, Ln whose bosom
I have been nourished tenderly in life,
In whose blest fellowship I die with joy,
The pride of all the Churches, purest, best ; â
And of my martyred Monarch, now with God,
Before this people, and the court of heaven.
Before the God of truth, at whose dread bar
My naked spirit shortly must appear,
I do avouch he was the worthiest man.
Best Christian, husband, father, master, friend,
With fewest faults and sinful weaknesses,
This realm and generation have begot."
Then calling to the headsman, " Man, didst thou
Cut off my master's head ?" " I did," said he.
" Where is the instrument i*" He brought the axe.
" Now, sirrah, wilt thou swear before thy God
Thou didst the deed, and with this instrument T
" I swear to God I did." "And didst not fear?"
The Last Sacrament of Arthur, Lord Capel. 45
" They threatened me with death if I forbore."
"Give me the axe." He laid it on his heart,
Embraced, and kissed it ; and it soothed his soul,
And sweetened death itself, to feel he died
In close communion with his master's pangs.
Tha B^ath 0f tli^ Fnnt^ss fJiznh^ih, IHtinghiet
(xf BliarUs I., -an Smtxlaij^ Sijpt. $, 1650,
ROM day to day the maiden
Wasted in hopeless woe ;
And death crept o'er her trembling limbs
With steady pace and slow :
She rose to weep at morning,
And in the hours of sleep,
When men lie down to slumber,
She laid her down to weep.
Soft airs from sunny Normandy
Came o'er the summer sea.
And called to life all beauteous things
In bird, and flower, and tree ;
But song-birds sing unheeded,
And vainly roses bloom,
For her, whose heart lies withered
In stern and early doom.
TJie Death of the Princess Elizabeth. 47
She was a monarch's daughter â
The martyred Charles's child ;
By birth a princess â in her soul
A lowly maid and mild ;
And since the day her father died
She mourns in hopeless woe â
The blow that reached the saintly sire
Laid the meek daughter low.
But not the father's blood appeased
Rebellion's wolf-hounds wild â
They counted it a crime in her
To be the Stuart's child.
The same red fangs that had so late
The lordly lion torn,
Now mangle in fierce thirst of blood
The gentle lamb forlorn.
'Mid glances steeled and gloomy,
And hearts as cold as stone,
She roamed through frowning Carisbrook
All friendless and alone,
48 Lays of tJic Ejiglish Cavaliers.
Save that her brother by her side,
Bound in like bondage trod,
And angels often came to her
With messages from God.
And day by day the maiden
Wasted in hopeless woe,
And night by night unbidden tears
Gushed forth in ceaseless flow,
Till weary worn with weeping.
She laid her down to sleep,
And dreamed she heard her father's voice,
And woke again to weep.
As on that solemn even,
When in his martyr cell.
He charged her with his dying words,
And bade her long farewell 'â ^,
â â¢' The Princess Elizabeth, second daughter of Charles I., was born in
1635. At the age of six, the horrors of war separated her from her
parents, and the remaining nine years of her short life were spent in misery,
desolation, and imprisonment. Slie was admitted, with her brother, the
The Death of the Princess Elizabeth. 49
So oft in sleep she sees him near,
In dreams she hears him speak,
And feels his blessing on her head,
His kisses on her cheek.
Duke of Gloucester, to an interview with her father on the night before
"His children being come to meet Him, Hee first gave His blessing
to the Ladie Elizabeth."
"What the King said to me the nine and twentieth of Jan. 1648. Hee
told mee Hee had not time to sale much, yet somewhat Hee had to saie
to mee, which Hee had not to another. Hee wished mee not to grieve
and torment my self for Him, for that would bee a glorious death that
Hee should die ; it beeing for the Laws and Liberties of this Land, and
for maintaining the true Protestant Religion. Hee bid mee read Bishop
Andrew's Sermons, Hooker's Ecclesiastical Politie, and Bishop Laud's
Book against Fisher, which would ground mee against Poperie. Hee
told mee Hee had forgiv'n all His Enemies, and hoped God would for-
give them also ; and commanded Us, and all the rest of my Brothers
and Sisters to forgive them. He bid mee tell my Mother, That His
thoughts had never straied from Her, and that His Love should bee
the same to the last." [This message of undying love remained un-
delivered, for the gentle girl never again saw her mother.] "\YJthal,
Hee commanded mee and my Brother to be obedient to Her, and bid
mee send His blessing to the rest of my Brothers and Sisters, with Com-
mendation to all His Friends. Hee commanded the Duke of Glocester
to fear the Lord, and hee would provide for him. With manie other
things which at present I cannot remember. So, after Hee had giv'n
mee His blessing, I took my leav." â A Relation from the Ladic Elisabeth's
50 Lays of the English Cavaliers.
Ah, meek and woeful maiden !
Thy woe shall soon be o'er,
And thou shalt see thy sainted sire
On that eternal shore,
Where to thy fond and faithful heart
Shall come no parting day,
But thy good God shall give thee
Angelic joys for aye.
The sunbeams of a Sunday morn
Broke early o'er the sea ;
But her prison bars were earlier burst,
And the captive child was free.
They found her wan, woe-wasted form
In death's grim grasp compressed.
But the glad, triumphant spirit
Was with the saints at rest.
"Then said the King to her, Sweet Heart, you'l forget this. No (said
shee) I shall never forget it while I live : and pouring forth abundance of
tears, promised Him to write down the Particulars." " How the wretched
child passed the day of her father's execution in the ancient house of Sion,
at Brentford, God, who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, only knows."
âBook of Days,
The Death of the Princess Elisabeth. 5 1
Her hands in prayer enfolded,
Her Bible open spread ^,
Her pale cheek on her pillow,
The Stuart Rose lay dead.
Thus nursed in tears and early pangs
Of sorrow's bitter rod,
The daughter of the Martyr King
Went to the martyrs' God.
And long unknown, unhonoured.
Her sacred dust had slept Â°,
When to the Stuart maiden's grave
A mourner came, and wept.
b (( Yiev father's last and cherished gift."
"= " Her remains were embahiied and buried with considerable pomp
in the church of St. Thomas, at Newport, Isle of Wight, the letters E. S.
on an adjacent wall alone pointing out the spot. In time the obscure
resting-place of a king's daughter was forgotten, and it came upon people
like a discovery when, in 1793, while a grave was being prepared for
a son of Lord De la Warr, a leaden coffin, in excellent preservation,
was found, bearing this inscription : â
2ND DAUGHTER OF THE LATE KiNG ChARLES.
Deceased, September Sth, MDCL.
52 Lays of the English Cavaliers.
Go, read that Royal Mourner's woe
In lines a world reveres,
And see the tomb of Charles's child
Wet with Victoria's tears 'I
'' 111 1856, Queen Victoria erected a monument in memory of the
Princess ; it is of wliite marble, tlie work of Baron Marochetti, and
represents her lying on her bed, with her cheek leaning on a page of
her open Bible, which bears these words from St. Matt. xi. , "Come
unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest." The inscription is as follows : â
In INIemorv of
The Princess Elizabeth, Daughter of Charles I.,
Who died at Carisbrooke Castle, on Sunday, Sep. 8, 1650,
AND IS interred BENEATH THE CHANCEL OF THIS ChURCH,
This Monument is erected,
A Token of Respect for her Virtues, and of Sympathy for
By Utctorin Iv 1856.
The Exi3i:^utian at ^ames^ Earl at Bx^rbij, at
Baltan, Wedn^sxlai), Bci, 15, 1G5J.
HE Lady Kate is sick, Lord Derby's child ;
Her widowed mother watches by her side :
" Tell me again," she saith, in accents mild,
" Tell me, dear mother, how my father died."
" Oft have I told thee, child," the Lady said,
" And thou hast wept too much â thou canst not
The sad recital now. There, rest thy head.
And sing thy evening hymn, and say thy prayer."
" I said my prayer," the gentle maid replied,
"And sang my hymn just now : I will not cry:
Tell me, my mother, how my father died.
That by his dying I may learn to die."