Gems of national poetry. Compiled and ed. by mrs. Valentine

Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war
That up the lake comes winding far!
To hero bound for battle-strife,

Or bard of martial lay,
"Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,
One glance at their array.

"Their light-armed archers far and near
Surveyed the tangled ground,
Their centre ranks, with pike and spear,
A twilight forest frowned,
Their barbed horsemen in the rear
The stern battalia crowned.
No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang,
Still were the pipe and drum;
Save heavy tread and armour's clang,
The sullen march was dumb. [shake,
There breathed no wind their crests to
Or wave their flags abroad;
Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake

That shadowed o'er their road.
Their vaward scouts no tidings bring,
Can rouse no lurking foe,
Nor spy a trace of living thing,

Save when they stirred the roe;
The host moves like a deep-sea wave,
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,
High-swelling, dark, and slow.
The lake is passed, and now they gain
A narrow and a broken plain

Before the Trossach's rugged jaws;
And here the horse and spearmen pause,
While to explore the dangerous glen
Dive through the pass the archer-men.

"At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends from heaven that fell
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell.

Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,

The archery appear.

For life! for life! their plight they ply-
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broadswords flashing to the sky,
Are maddening in the rear.
Onward they drive, in dreadful race,
Pursuers and pursued;
Before that tide of flight and chase,
How shall it keep its rooted place,

The spearmen's twilight wood?
'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances
down!

Bear back, both friend and foe!'
Like reeds before the tempest s frown,
That serried grove of lances brown
At once lay levelled low;

And closely shouldering side to side, The bristling ranks the onset bide. 'We'll quell the savage mountaineer,

As their Tinchel* cowes the game: They come as fleet as forest deer,We'll drive them back as tame."

"Bearing before them in their course
The relics of the archer force,
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.
Above the tide, each broadsword bright
Was brandishing like beam of light,

Each targe was dark below;
And with the ocean's mighty swing,
When heaving to the tempest's wing,
They hurled them on the foe.
I heard the lance's shivering crash,
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang,
As when the whirlwind rends the ash;
As if an hundred anvils rang!

But Moray wheeled his rearward rank
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank,

-'My banner-man advance!

I see,' he cried, 'their column shake.-
Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake

Upon them with the lance!'
The horsemen dashed among the rout,

As deer break through the broom; Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,

They soon make lightsome room.
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne-
Where, where was Roderick then?
One blast upon his bugle-horn

Were worth a thousand men.
And refluent through the pass of fear
The battle's tide was poured;
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear,
Vanished the mountain sword.
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and
steep,

Receives her roaring linn,

As the dark caverns of the deep

Suck the wild whirlpool in,
So did the deep and darksome pass
Devour the battle's mingled mass:
None linger now upon the plain,
Save those who ne'er shall fight again.

"Now westward rolls the battle's din,
That deep and doubling pass within,

* A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a great space, and gradually narrowing, brought immense quantities of deer together, which usually made desperate efforts to break through the Tinchel.

-Minstrel, away! the work of fate

Is bearing on: its issue wait,
Where the rude Trossach's dread defile.
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.-
Gray Benvenue I soon repassed,
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.
The sun is set; the clouds are met,
The lowering scowl of heaven
An inky view of vivid blue

To the deep lake has given; Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen

Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen.
I heeded not the eddying surge,
Mine eye but saw the Trossach's gorge,
Mine ear but heard the sullen sound,
Which like an earthquake shook the ground,
And spoke the stern and desperate strife
That parts not but with parting life,
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll
The dirge of many a passing soul.
Nearer it comes-the dim-wood glen
The martial flood disgorged agen,
But not in mingled tide;
The plaided warriors of the North
High on the mountain thunder forth,
And overhang its side;
While by the lake below appears
The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.
At weary bay each shattered band,
Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand;
Their banners stream like tattered sail,
That flings its fragments to the gale,
And broken arms and disarray
Marked the fell havoc of the day.

"Viewing the mountain's ridge askance, The Saxon stood in sullen trance, Till Moray pointed with his lance,

And cried, 'Behold yon isle !See! none are left to guard its strand, But women weak, that wring the hand: 'Tis there of yore the robber band

Their booty wont to pile; My purse, with bonnet pieces store, To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, And loose a shallop from the shore. Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then, Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, On earth his casque and corslet rung,

He plunged him in the wave :All saw the deed-the purpose knew, And to their clamours Benvenue

A mingled echo gave;

The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,
The helpless females scream for fear,
And yells for rage the mountaineer.

'Twas then, as by the outcry riven,
Poured down at once the lowering heaven,
A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast;
Her billows reared their snowy crest.
Well for the swimmer swelled they high,
To mar the Highland marksman's eye;
For round him showered, 'mid rain and hail,
The vengeful arrows of the Gael.—
In vain. He nears the isle-and lo!
His hand is on a shallop's bow.
Just then a flash of lightning came,
It tinged the waves and strand with flame!
I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame,
Behind an oak I saw her stand,

A naked dirk gleamed in her hand :
It darkened,-but amid the moan
Of waves, I heard a dying groan.
Another flash!-the spearman floats
A weltering corse beside the boats,
And the stern matron o'er him stood,
Her hand and dagger streaming blood.

"Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried,
The Gaels' exulting shout replied.
Despite the elemental rage,
Again they hurried to engage;
But, ere they closed in desperate fight,
Bloody with spurring came a knight,
Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag,
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.
Clarion and trumpet by his side
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide,
While, in the monarch's name, afar
An herald's voice forbade the war,
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold,
Were both, he said, in captive hold."

LAMENT.

"And art thou cold and lowly laid,
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid,
Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade!
For thee shall none a requiem say?
For thee, who loved the minstrel's lay,
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay,
The shelter of her exiled line,
E'en in this prison-house of thine,
I'll wail for Alpine's honoured Pine!

"What groans shall yonder valleys fill!
What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill!
What tears of burning rage shall thrill,
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done,
Thy fall before the race was won,
The sword ungirt ere set of sun!
There breathes not clansman of thy line
But would have given his life for thine.-
Oh, woe for Alpine's honoured Pine!

For not the faintest motion could be seen Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green, There was wide wand'ring for the greediest eye,

To peer about upon variety;

Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim; To picture out the quaint and curious bending

Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending; Or by the bowery clefts and leafy shelves, Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves.

I gazed awhile, and felt as light and free As though the fanning wings of Mercury Had played upon my heels: I was lighthearted,

And many pleasures to my vision started; So I straightway began to pluck a posy Of luxuries bright, milky, soft, and rosy.

A bush of May flowers with the bees about them; [them! Ah, sure no tasteful nook would be without And let a lush laburnum oversweep them, And let long grass grow round the roots to keep them [violets, Moist, cool, and green; and shade the That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight, With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,

And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.

THE STREAMLET.

LINGER awhile upon some bending planks, That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, And watch intently Nature's gentle doings: They will be found softer than ring-doves' cooings. [bend!

How silent comes the water round that Not the minutest whisper does it send To the o'erhanging sallows: blades of grass Slowly across the chequered shadows pass. Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach [preach

To where the hurrying freshnesses aye
A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds;
Where swarms of minnows show their little
heads,
[streams,
Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the
To taste the luxury of sunny beams
Tempered with coolness. How they ever
wrestle
[nestle

With their own sweet delight, and ever
Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand!
If you but scantily hold out the hand,
That very instant not one will remain ;
But turn your eye, and they are there again.
The ripples seem right glad to reach those
[tresses;

cresses,

And cool themselves among the emerald The while they cool themselves, they freshness give, [live; And moisture, that the bowery green may So keeping up an interchange of favours, Like good men in the truth of their behaviours. [drop Sometimes goldfinches one by one will From low-hung branches; little space they stop,

But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek; Then off at once, as in a wanton freak ; Or perhaps, to show their black and golden wings,

Pausing upon their yellow flutterings. Were I in such a place, I sure should pray That nought less sweet might call my

thoughts away

Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown Fanning away the dandelion's down; Than the light music of her nimble toes Patting against the sorrel as she goes.

PRIMROSES.

WHAT next? A tuft of evening primroses,
O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes;
O'er which it well might take a pleasant
sleep,

But that 'tis ever startled by the leap
Of buds into ripe flowers; or by the flitting
Of divers moths, that aye their rest are
quitting;

Or by the moon lifting her silver rim
Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim
Coming into the blue with all her light.
O maker of sweet poets, dear delight
Of this fair world, and all its gentle livers;
Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers,
Mingler with leaves, and dew, and tumbling
streams,

Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,
Lover of loneliness and wandering,
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.
For what has made the sage or poet write
But the fair Paradise of Nature's light?
In the calm grandeur of a sober line
We see the waving of the mountain pine;
And when a tale is beautifully staid,
We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade;
When it is moving on luxurious wings,
The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings;
Fair dewy roses brush against our faces,
And flowering laurels spring from diamond

Blissfully havened both from joy and pain; Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims pray;

Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.

Stolen to this Paradise, and so entranced,
Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,
And listened to her breathing, if it chanced
To wake into a slumberous tenderness;
Which when he heard, that minute did he
bless,
[crept,
And breathed himself; then from the closet
Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness;
And over the hushed carpet, silent, stept,
And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, lo!
how fast she slept.

Then by the bedside, where the faded moon
Made a dim silver twilight, soft he set
A table, and, half-anguished, threw thereon
A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet :-
Oh for some drowsy Morphean amulet !
The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,
The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,
Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:-
The hall door shuts again, and all the
noise is gone.

And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,
In blanched linen, smooth, and lavendered,
While he from forth the closet brought a

heap

[gourd;

Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon; Manna and dates, in argosy transferred From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedared Leba

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