George Walter Thornbury Quotes (1828-1876)

“He tripp’d up the steps with a bow and a smile, Offering snuff to the chaplain the while, A rose at his button-hole that afternoon— ’Twas the tenth of the month, and the month it was June.Then shrugging his shoulders he look’d at the man With the mask and the axe, and a murmuring ran Through the crowd, who, below, were all pushing to see The gaoler kneel down, and receiving his fee.He look’d at the mob, as they roar’d, with a stare, And took snuff again with a cynical air. “I’m happy to give but a moment’s delight To the flower of my country agog for a sight.”Then he look’d at the block, and with scented cravat Dusted room for his neck, gaily doffing his hat, Kiss’d his hand to a lady, bent low to the crowd, Then smiling, turn’d round to the headsman and bow’d.“God save King James!” he cried bravely and shrill, And the cry reach’d the houses at foot of the hill, “My friend, with the axe, à votre service,” he said; And ran his white thumb ’long the edge of the blade.When the multitude hissed he stood firm as a rock; Then kneeling, laid down his gay head on the block, He kiss’d a white rose, in a moment ’twas red With the life of the bravest of any that bled.”

“Half-stripped, or wrapped in furs and gowns,   The broken ranks went on: They ran if any one called out   “The Cossacks of the Don!””

“"The Basileus"—for so he began— "Is a royal sagacious Mars of a man,    Than the very lion bolder; He has married the stately widow of Thrace"—    "Hush!" cried a voice at his shoulder. ... “The Porphyrogenita Zoe the fair    Is about to wed with a prince much older, Of an unpropitious mien and look"—    "Hush!" cried a voice at his shoulder. ... "The child of the Basileus," wrote the monk,    “Is golden-haired, tender the Queen's arms fold her, Her step-mother Zoe doth love her so"—    "Hush!" cried a voice at his shoulder. ... "The queen," wrote the monk, "rules firm this realm,    For the king gets older and older; The Norseman Thorkill is brave and fair"—    "Hush!" cried a voice at his shoulder.”

“"Go, bid the vassals saddle   The steed at Mons I rode; By the holy cross at Lucca,   'Tis the best I e'er bestrode."”