Classic Poem

A RISE ! and away! for the King and the land;
Farewell to the couch and the pillow:
With spear in the rest, and with rein in the hand,
Let us rush on the foe like a billow.

Call the hind from the plough, and the herd from the fold,
Bid the wassailer cease from his revel:
And ride for old Stowe, where the banner's unrolled,
For the cause of King Charles and Sir Beville.

Trevanion is up, and Godolphin is nigh,
And Harris of Hayne's o'er the river,
From Lundy to Looe, “One and all” is the cry,
And the King and Sir Beville for ever.

Aye! by Tre, Pol, and Pen, ye may know Cornish men,
'Mid the names and the nobles of Devon;—
But if truth to the King be a signal, why then
Ye can find out the Grenville in heaven.

Ride! ride! with red spur, there is death in delay,
'Tis a race for dear life with the devil;
If dark Cromwell prevail, and the King must give way,
This earth is no place for Sir Beville.

So with Stamford he fought, and at Lansdown he fell,
But vain were the visions he cherished;
For the great Cornish heart, that the King loved so well,
In the grave of the Grenville it perished.