Alas The White Rose Poem by Isadora Quagmire

Where now is that gleaming white flower?
The White Rose gleaming on high,
Where is that secure tower?
Why has it's glow left the world's dark sky?


Where now are the faithful men?
Those who weren't afraid to fight?
Why does smoke roll over Saltergate fen?
What happened last night?

They were of the noblest kind,
Men both brave and true,
Men of strong and holy minds,
Of their kind now are few.

Their wives, those who were not there,
Will look east where the coastal winds blow.
And their children will ask how they fare
But the mothers will not know.

These men wanted only,
Despite that evil's dark might had arisen.
to free their families,
but now their foes have taken those noble men to death or prison.

There was our uncle, and Wilfred Ring,
Both goodly leaders of the fight
Of them the remaining will sing
and wait out this black night.


There was Conlan and Dudley his son,
And Mace Wells with Massie Gray,
They dreamed of fighting ‘till they won,
Of bringing back the day.

There were the courageous McKnights,
And Amos Chadwick and Garten Flint the bold,
They fought to the end for our rights,
Someday may their tale be told.

There was Mr. Carpenter, Evan Border,
All of their sons too,
They were seized by the Chamberlain's order
They had been hearts filled with God's word true.

There was Mr. Granger, and the daring Baltimore brothers,
There was Peter Darris and the kindly Harrison sisters,
There were many valiant others
Gallant and ready resisters.


O, where now are the faithful men?
Those who weren't afraid to fight?
O, why does smoke roll over Saltergate fen?
What happened last night?

Where is the White Rose?
Why is it shriveled and faded?
This was not the end we chose,
We've fallen to the ones by whom we were hated.


They were taken by the fire
And those alive were hauled away.
None made it from the house to the mires
They found the Society's riflemen in the way.

All this unfolded because one man betrayed,
And all righteous plans were destroyed,
None were there any longer by break of day,
Because of Verdon Osbaston by our foes employed.

Those who remain,
The few last left with breath
Will fight on through both joy and pain.
Until we've restored our lives or they are met by death.

We'll battle on and forget them not,
In a secret war in both near distant lands.
And in the end history will honor their lot,
And we shall better celebrate their stand.