The Three Scars

George Walter Thornbury (1828–1876)

THIS I got on the day that Goring

Fought through York, like a wild beast roaring—

The roofs were black, 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 from 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.