Salkeld
O men of Dorset! hear the voice,
The pale-lipp'd voice that hurries by,
With news to make your souls rejoice,
With news to draw your deepest sigh;
It runs the crowded mart, and tells
Its tale amid the rail-train's roar,—
To startling women at the wells,
To waiters at the church's door.
And all it meets it quickly greets,
‘There's glory you will share,
Your worthy son has nobly won
A name that's ev'rywhere.’
'Tis Fame that tells, as on she goes,
How truth has call'd to lead the van
Some heart that fear'd no sword, no foes,
And Dorset quickly found the man;
She tells what youthful Salkeld bore
To win the good his arm has won,
And cries at ev'ry Dorset door,
‘Rejoice, and glory in your son.
His deed of war is told as far
As there are voice and air.
Old Dorset raise thy head for praise,
Thy name is ev'rywhere.’
When demons shed our dearest blood,
And slew our women in their bloom,
And smote our children in the bud,
Then justice rose, and gave their doom,
And cried, ‘O why should justice wait
Below the walls of boasting sin—
What son will shiver me their gate,
And let my sword of vengance in?
Let fire then blast their bars so fast
To atoms in the air.
The deed was done by Dorset's son,
Its fame is ev'rywhere.
If now, where first you saw his face,
You build a monument of stone,
For once you knew him by his place,
But now his place through him is known,
You need not carve for eyes of men,
His deeds amid the battle's rage.
With them great Hist'ry's mighty pen
Will mark her adamantine page.
The stone cut deep awhile may keep
His name for wand'rers there,
From Salkeld's name the stone wins fame,
His name is ev'rywhere.’
So spake with eager accents Fame,
And down from Heaven's high abode
Sweet Faith—a holier angel—came,
But took a straighter, stiller road;
With Hope and Peace she wing'd her way
To mourners at his childhood's nest,
And bore the hallow'd book that lay
Beside him when he sank to rest.
‘He died to fly where none can die,’
She sweetly told them there,
‘And his reward is with the Lord,
Whose love is ev'rywhere.’
The pale-lipp'd voice that hurries by,
With news to make your souls rejoice,
With news to draw your deepest sigh;
It runs the crowded mart, and tells
Its tale amid the rail-train's roar,—
To startling women at the wells,
To waiters at the church's door.
And all it meets it quickly greets,
‘There's glory you will share,
Your worthy son has nobly won
A name that's ev'rywhere.’
'Tis Fame that tells, as on she goes,
How truth has call'd to lead the van
Some heart that fear'd no sword, no foes,
And Dorset quickly found the man;
She tells what youthful Salkeld bore
To win the good his arm has won,
And cries at ev'ry Dorset door,
‘Rejoice, and glory in your son.
His deed of war is told as far
As there are voice and air.
Old Dorset raise thy head for praise,
Thy name is ev'rywhere.’
When demons shed our dearest blood,
And slew our women in their bloom,
And smote our children in the bud,
Then justice rose, and gave their doom,
And cried, ‘O why should justice wait
Below the walls of boasting sin—
What son will shiver me their gate,
And let my sword of vengance in?
Let fire then blast their bars so fast
To atoms in the air.
The deed was done by Dorset's son,
Its fame is ev'rywhere.
If now, where first you saw his face,
You build a monument of stone,
For once you knew him by his place,
But now his place through him is known,
You need not carve for eyes of men,
His deeds amid the battle's rage.
With them great Hist'ry's mighty pen
Will mark her adamantine page.
The stone cut deep awhile may keep
His name for wand'rers there,
From Salkeld's name the stone wins fame,
His name is ev'rywhere.’
So spake with eager accents Fame,
And down from Heaven's high abode
Sweet Faith—a holier angel—came,
But took a straighter, stiller road;
With Hope and Peace she wing'd her way
To mourners at his childhood's nest,
And bore the hallow'd book that lay
Beside him when he sank to rest.
‘He died to fly where none can die,’
She sweetly told them there,
‘And his reward is with the Lord,
Whose love is ev'rywhere.’
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