Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Holland: Vols. XIV–XV. 1876–79.
The Antwerp Image-breakers
By Walter Thornbury (18281876)Y
Monday clove a shaven crown—
That beat all; but—gelden loo!—
I quite forgot the other two.
It will flare all through the night,—
Altars, crucifix, and shrine:
Curse the Mass and drink this wine.
Why, here ’s clothes for fifty Popes!
How the incense stinks! but whesh!—
That ’s the greasy abbot’s flesh.
Here ’s a Breviary,—but hold!
Scorch the Fathers, twenty score:
They will build the fire up more.
Here ’s a work for Lutheran.
Hoog and Hendrick, mind the fire—
Hear it bellow in the choir!
Toppler, ’ware the beams, and Hoof!
Let the saints go—what a roar!
Hell has got five Papists more!
Would the rascal had more hair!
Then we ’d hang him to the vane,
There to bleach in sun and rain.
Take this scarf and gag him dumb.
When I fire my pistol off,
Drag the Papist to the trough.
Holy Virgin jewels? Fie!
See that saint in cloth of gold;—
Paul made tents, so we are told.
Only Popes should sit alone;
Smash that blood-red window-pane:
Black Rome’s loss is Fleming’s gain.
And the quick fire-tongues leap out.
Ha! the nave has got it—loo!
And the roof is catching too!
Heaven helps their many sins.
Down the beams crash through the dark!
What a splash of smoke and spark!
Nearly red-hot; faster swell,
Stifling smoke-cloud, so it smother
One by one each praying brother.
One had thought it would stand fast.
Hurrah! for the Pope’s nest burnt!
Is n’t our day’s pay well earnt?