Thomas Babbington Macaulay Poems on Name (8 Poems)

The Battle Of The Lake Regillus (Thomas Babbington Macaulay Poems)

A Lay Sung at the Feast of Castor and Pollux on the Ides of Quintilis in the year of the City CCCCLI. I.Ho, trumpets, sound a war-note!Ho, lictors, clear the way!The Knights will ride, in all their pride,Along the streets … Continue reading →

Pompeii (Thomas Babbington Macaulay Poems)

A Poem Which Obtained the Chancellor’s Medal at the Cambridge Commencement, July 1819. Oh! land to Memory and to Freedom dear,Land of the melting lyre and conquering spear,Land of the vine-clad hill, the fragrant grove,Of arts and arms, of Genius … Continue reading →

Ivry (Thomas Babbington Macaulay Poems)

NOW glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are!And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance,Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant … Continue reading →

The Battle Of Ivry (Thomas Babbington Macaulay Poems)

Now glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are!And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance,Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant … Continue reading →

Sermon in a Churchyard (Thomas Babbington Macaulay Poems)

Let pious Damon take his seat,With mincing step and languid smile,And scatter from his ‘kerchief sweet,Sabaean odours o’er the aisle;And spread his little jewelled hand,And smile round all the parish beauties,And pat his curls, and smooth his band,Meet prelude to … Continue reading →

The Battle of Naseby (Thomas Babbington Macaulay Poems)

Oh! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North,With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red?And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout?And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread? Oh, … Continue reading →

The Last Buccaneer (Thomas Babbington Macaulay Poems)

The winds were yelling, the waves were swelling,The sky was black and drear,When the crew with eyes of flame brought the ship without a nameAlongside the last Buccaneer. ‘Whence flies your sloop full sail before so fierce a gale,When all … Continue reading →

Epitaph on Henry Martyn (Thomas Babbington Macaulay Poems)

Here Martyn lies. In Manhood’s early bloomThe Christian Hero finds a Pagan tomb.Religion, sorrowing o’er her favourite son,Points to the glorious trophies that he won.Eternal trophies! not with carnage red,Not stained with tears by hapless captives shed,But trophies of the … Continue reading →