THIS I got on the day that Goring Fought through York, like a wild beast roaring -- The roofs were back, and the streets were full, The doors built up with packs of wool; But our pikes made way through a storm of shot, Barrel to barrel till locks grew hot; Frere fell dead, and Lucas was gone, But the drum still beat and the flag went on. This I caught from a swinging sabre, All I had froth a long night's labor; 'When Chester flamed, and the streets were red, In splashing shower fell the molten lead, The fire sprang up, and the old roof split, The fire-ball burst in the middle of it; With a clash and a clang the troopers they ran, For the siege was over ere well began. This I got from a pistol butt (Lucky my head's not a hazel nut); The horse they raced, and scudded and swore; There were Leicestershire gentlemen, seventy score; Up came the "Lobsters," covered with steel -- Down we went with a stagger and reel; Smash at the flag, I tore it to rag, And carried it off in my foraging bag. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CENTER OF GRAVITY by DAVID IGNATOW TO AN AEOLIAN HARP by SARA TEASDALE ADVICE TO A RAVEN IN RUSSIA by JOEL BARLOW BY THE FIRESIDE by ROBERT BROWNING LINES WRITTEN BY A DEATH-BED by MATTHEW ARNOLD A POETICAL VERSION OF A LETTER, FROM THE EARL OF ESSEX TO SOUTHAMPTON by JOHN BYROM SONG: ON HEARING A SONG IN PRAISE OF A LADY'S BEAUTY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |