« AnteriorContinuar »
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons He saw the wreck his rashness wrought; sweep
Reckless of life, he desperate fought, To break the Scottish circle deep
And fell on Flodden plain : That fought around their king.
And well in death his trusty brand, But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, Firm clenched within his manly hand, Though charging knights like whirl- Beseemed the monarch slain.
But oh! how changed since yon blithe Though billmen ply the ghastly blow,
night!Unbroken was the ring;
Gladly I turn me from the sight The stubborn spearmen still made good Unto my tale again. Their dark impenetrable wood, Each stepping where his comrade stood Short is my tale :-Fitz-Eustace' care The instant that he fell.
A pierced and mangled body bare No thought was there of dastard flight; To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ; Linked in the serried phalanx tight, And there, beneath the southern aisle, Groom fought like noble, squire like A tomb with Gothic sculpture fair knight,
Did long Lord Marmion's image bear.– As fearlessly and well,
Now vainly for its site you look ; Till utter darkness closed her wing 'T was levelled when fanatic Brook O'er their thin host and wounded king. The fair cathedral stormed and took. Then skilful Surrey's sage commands But, thanks to Heaven and good Saint Led back from strife his shattered bands ;
Chad, And from the charge they drew, A guerdon meet the spoiler had !-As mountain-waves from wasted lands There erst was martial Marmion found Sweep back to ocean blue.
His feet upon a couchant hound, Then did their loss his foemen know; His hands to heaven upraised; Their king, their lords, their mightiest And all around, on scutcheon rich, low,
And tablet carved, and fretted niche, They melted from the field, as snow, His arms and feats were blazed. When streams are swoln and south winds And yet, though all was carved so fair blow,
And priests for Marmion breathed th: Dissolves in silent dew,
prayer, Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, The last Lord Marmion lay not there. While many a broken band
From Ettrick woods a peasant swain Disordered through her currents dash, Followed his lord to Flodden plain,-. To gain the Scottish land;
One of those flowers whom plaintive la To town and tower, to down and dale, In Scotland mourns as “wede away : To tell red Flodden's dismal tale,
Sore wounded, Sibyl's Cross he spied, And raise the universal wail.
And dragged him to its foot, and died Tradition, legend, tune, and song
Close by the noble Marmion's side, Shall many an age that wail prolong ; The spoilers stripped and gashed the Still from the sire the son shall hear
slain, Of the stern strife and carnage drear And thus their corpses were mista en: Of Flodden's fatal field,
And thus in the proud baron's tomb Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear The lowly woodsman took the room. And broken was her shield !
Less easy task it were to show Day dawns upon the mountain's side.- Lord Marmion's nameless grave and low There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride, They dug his grave e'en where he lay, Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one; But every mark is gone : The sad survivors all are gone.
Time's wasting hand has done away View not that corpse mistrustfully, The simple Cross of Sibyl Grey, Defaced and mangled though it be ;
And broke her font of stone; Nor to yon Border castle high
But yet from out the little hill Look northward with upbraiding eye; Oozes the slender springlet still. Nor cherish hope in vain
Oft halts the stranger there. That. journeying far on foreign strand, For thence may best his curious eye The Royal Pilgrim to his land
The memorable field descry ; May yet return again.
And shepherd boys repair
eek the water-flag and rush,
rest them by the hazel bush, nd plait their garlands fair, dream they sit upon the grave t holds the bones of Marmion
brave.en thou shalt find the little hill, h thy heart commune and be still. rer in temptation strong u left'st the right path for the wrong, very devious step thus trod I led thee further from the road, ad thou to speak presumptuous doom noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; say, “ He died a gallant knight, thsword in hand, for England's
right." ► not rhyme to that dull elf o cannot image to himself ut all through Flodden's dismal night Iton was foremost in the fight, it when brave Surrey's steed was
slain 'as Wilton mounted him again ; ras Wilton's brand that deepest hewed id the spearmen's stubborn wood : named by Holinshed or Hall, was the living soul of all; at, after fight, his faith made plain, won his rank and lands again, d charged his old paternal shield, ith bearings won on Flodden Field. r sing I to that simple maid whom it must in terms be said at king and kinsmen did agree bless fair Clara's constancy ; ho cannot, unless I relate, int to her mind the bridal's state, at Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke, vre. Sands, and Denny, passed the joke; at bluff King Hal the curtain drew, ad Katherine's hand the stocking
threw; ad afterwards, for many a day, at it was held enough to say, blessing to a wedded pair, Love they like Wilton and like Clare!” November, 1806---January, 1808.
February 23, 1808. OLDIER, REST! THY WARFARE
O'ER OLDIER, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not break
ing; ream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more ; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking. No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Armor's clang, or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here
Mustering clan or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come
At the day break from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum,
Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champ
ing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping. Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done ;
While our slumbrous spells assail ye, Dream not, with the rising sun,
Bugles here shall sound reveillé. Sleep! the deer is in his den ;
Sleep! thy bounds are by thee lying: Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen
How thy gallant steed lay dying.
From The Lady of the Lake, 1810.
HAIL TO THE CHIEF WHO IN
TRIUMPH ADVANCES !
Hail to the Chief who in triumph ad
vances ! Honored and blessed be the ever-green
Pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that
glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our
Earth lend it sap anew,
While every Highland glen
Sends our shout back again. “Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho!
ieroe !" Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are searest. But our flower was in flushing,
When blighting was nearest.
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to
fade; When the whirlwind has stripped every
leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in
Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ;
Menteith and Breadalbane, then
Echo bis praise again, “ Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho!
ieroe !" Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen
Fruin, And Bannochar's groans to our slogan
replied : Glen-Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smok
ing in ruin, And the best of Loch Lomond lie
dead on her side.
Long shall lament our raid,
Shake when they hear again, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho!
Fleet foot on the correi,
Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray,
How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and forever!
From The Lady of the Lily.
HARP OF THE NORTH, FAREWELI.
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the
Highlands ! Stretch to your oars for the ever-green
Pine ! O that the rosebud that graces yon is
lands Were wreathed in a garland around
him to twine !
Worthy such noble stem
might grow !
Ring from her deepmost glen,
HARP of the North, farewell! The la
grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper shade &
scending; In twilight copse the glow-worm light
her spark, The deer, half-seen, are to the coren
wending. Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountad
lending, And the wild breeze, thy wilder min
strelsy ; Thy numbers sweet with nature's velki
blending, With distant echo from the fold as
lea, And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hur
of housing bee. Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstre
sway, And little reck I of the censure sharp
May idly cavil at an idle lay. Much have I owed thy strains on life
long way, Through secret woes the world ha
never known, When on the weary night dantel
wearier day, And bitterer was the grief derourel
alone.-That I o’erlive such woes, Enchantres
is thine own. Hark! as my lingering footsteps slop
HE is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,
When our need was the sorest.
From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering,
To Duncan no morrow !
Some spirit of the Air has waked thy
string! "is now a seraph bold, with touch of
fire, 'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic
wing. Leceding now, the dying numbers ring Fainter and fainter down the rugged
dell; And now the mountain breezes scarcely
bring A wandering witch-note of the distant
spell-And now, 't is silent all !--Enchantress,
fare thee well! Conclusion of The Lady of the Lake.
BRIGNALL BANKS During the composition of Rokeby Scott wrote bo Morritt: ** There are two or three Songs, and particularly one in Praise of Brignall Banks, which I trust you will like-because, entre nous, I like them myself One of them is a little dashing banditti song, called and entitled Allen-aDale." 0, BRIGNALL banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
Would grace a summer queen.
Beneath the turrets high, A maiden on the castle wall
Was singing merrily :
And Greta woods are green;
Than reign our English queen.” * If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with
me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we
That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read,
As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed,
As blithe as Queen of May.”
And Greta woods are green;
Than reign our English queen.
And by your palfrey good,
To keep the king's greenwood.”
And 't is at peep of light ;
Yet sung she, “ Brignall banks are fair,
And Greta woods are gay ;
To reign his Queen of May ! ** With burnished brand and musketoon
So gallantly you come,
That lists the tuck of drum."
No rnore the trumpet hear;
My comrades take the spear.
And Greta woods be gay,
Would reign my Queen of May ! * Maiden ! a nameless life I lead,
A nameless death I'll die ; The fiend whose lantern lights the mead
Were better mate than I ! And when I'm with my comrades met
Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget,
Nor think what we are now,
And Greta woods are green,
From Rokeby, 1813.
ALLEN-A-DALE ALLEN-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, Allen a-Dale has no fleece for the spin
ning, Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the
winning. Come, read me my riddle ! come, heark
en my tale! And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. The Baron of Ravensworth prances in
pride, And he views his domains upon Arkin
dale side. The mere for his net and the land for
The chase for the wild and the park for
the tame : Yet the fish of the lake and the deer of
the vale Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen
Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a kni nt, Though his spur be as sharp and his
blade be as bright;
Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone, Earth flits fast, and time draws on,Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan,
Day is near the breaking.
From Guy Mannering.
HIE AWAY, HIE AWAY
Over bank and over brae,
Hie to haunts right seldom seen,
From Waverley, 1814.
JOCK O' HAZELDEAN “WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie ?
Why weep ye by the tide ?
And ye sall be his bride :
Sae comely to be seen
For Jock o' Hazeldean. “Now let this wilfu' grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale ;
And lord of Langley-dale ;
His sword in battle keen ”-
For Jock o' Hazeldean.