Thomas Shadwell (1642–1692)

HARK! how the Duke of Lorraine comes.

The brave victorious soul of war;

With trumpets and with kettle-drums.

Like thunder rolling from afar.

On the left wing, the conqu’ring horse,

The brave Bavarian Duke does lead.

These heroes with united force,

Fill all the Turkish host with dread.

Their bright caparisons behold!

Rich habits, streamers, shining arms,

The glittering steel and burnished gold,

The pomp of war with all its charms.

With solemn march, and fatal pace,

They bravely on the foe press on;

The cannons roar, the shot takes place;

Whilst smoke and dust obscure the sun.

The horses neigh, the soldiers shout;

And now the furious bodies join;

The slaughter rages all about;

And men in groans their blood resign.

The weapons clash; the roaring drum,

With clangour of the trumpets’ sound;

The howls and yells of men o’ercome;

And from the neighbouring hills rebound.

Now, now, the infidels give place;

Then, all in routs, they headlong fly!

Heroes, in dust, pursue the chase;

While deaf’ning clamours rend the sky.