Mercer Chronicle

THE MERCER CHRONICLE.
The setting sun had shed its parting ray
On Scarborough's silent walls and peaceful bay ;
The sea no ripple on its surface bore ;
There on earth's bosom, as from care released,
Its weary life in murmuring kisses ceased.
Gently the vessels rocked their crews untossed,
Like nurse-watched babes, their cares in slumber lost ;
Within the walls the thoughtless soldier slept ;
Bad watch the guard o'ercome with vassail kept.
Light fleecy clouds the shimmering stars obscure ;
The foe's approach, unlooked for, still is sure.
When next the sun arose, his beams to greet,
In Scarborough's bay behold a hostile fleet;
And ere his high meridian he could reach,
In deadly strife he saw upon the beach,
The English struggling with their banded foes,
And heard the cries of battle as they rose —
" St. George for England !" " St. Denis pour la France !'
" St. James !" " St. Andrew !" " Bonny Scots, advance 1"
" Hurrah for the gret Poul ! " " For liberty ! "
" We'll die, we'll die, our countryman to free !"
Bight well they fight, those gallant English hearts
Ply their keen swords, and speed their deadly darts.
O'erpowered at length they waver, turn and fly,
To gain the shelter of the walls they try —
But all in vain ; the foemen press them sore,
And through the gates in headlong torrent pour.
The town is won ; the castle's stately pile
Arrests the stream and stays its course awhile,
Yields with a crash, then on the human spate
Impetuous, sweeping everything before,
Hurls its huge force against the donjon door,
At once.'tis shattered like a bolt- struck tree,
His chains wrenched off, again is Mercer free ;
Again the thrilling slogan rends the sky,
Hurrah for " the gret Poul— for liberty ! "