The Tombs Of The Regicides Poem by Silas Weir Mitchell

LUDLOW AND BROUGHTON

ALONE on the vine-covered hillside,
Set gray 'gainst the ivy-clad walnuts,
Stands, sombre as Calvin, and barren
Of crucifix, altar, and picture,
The church of St. Martin. A stranger,
I stood where the pride of its arches
Looks scorn on the Puritan's sadness.
Not prouder for Switzerland's annals.
The glory of Morat or Sempach
Than these darkened tablets that tell us
How gladly for Ludlow and Broughton
She lifted the shield of protection,.
How sternly she answered the summons
To render her guests to the headsman.
The parents that gave their true soul-life
Were England and Freedom. Ah, surely
With courage and conscience they honored
That parentage costly of sorrow,
And did the just deed and abided.
Long, long were the days that God gave them
With friendships and peace in this refuge,
Where sadly they yearned for the home-land,
And saw their great Oliver's England
Bowed low in the dust of dishonor.