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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 I'KENCH, «enjamin Franklin, historian, b. 
 in Richmond, Va., 8 June, 1799; d. in New York 
 city, 30 May, 1877. He studied law, but abandoned 
 it on account of failing health. From his early 
 manhood he contributed to magazines and news- 
 papers. He removed to Louisiana ^ in_ _1830, and 
 engaged in planting and commerce, continuing his 
 literary work and collecting an extensive library, 
 which he afterward presented to the Fiske free 
 library of New Orleans. In 1853 he removed to 
 New York, and, retiring from business, devoted 
 himself to historical writing. He published " Bio- 
 graphia Americana " (New York, 1825) ; " Memoirs 
 of Eminent Female Writers " (Philadelphia, 1827) ; 
 " Beauties of Byron, Scott, and Moore " (New 
 York, 1828) ; " Historical Collections of Louisiana " 
 (1846-'58); "History and Progress of the Iron 
 Trade of the United States "41858); and "His- 
 torical Annals of North America " (1801).
 
 Hi El■^'•H/J<ilKil.o^■ NOVv^ BEGIN'3 HER SPEIi; 
 rjirs SINGING- ^S SHE A\1NDS -A^TD WEAVES.. 
 
 IC J'-eKM THE GL
 
 THE 
 OF 
 
 SIR -WALTER SCOTT, 
 
 AND 
 
 THOMAS IVEOORE ESQUIRE; 
 
 sELi:cTED from: 
 
 THEIR WORKS; 
 
 WITH 
 
 HISTORICAL AND EXPLANATORY NOTES. 
 
 BT A GENTtE3IAN OF PHILADELPHIA, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 ASH & MASON, AND T. DESILVBR. 
 
 1, B. BAIIET, PRINTER. 
 1S26.
 
 EASTERN DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA, to wil : 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the eii^htecuth day of 
 
 (L. S.) September, in the fifty-first year of the Independence of the 
 
 United States of America, A. D. 1326, Ash zr Mason, of the said 
 
 District, have deposited in this Office the Title of a Book, the right 
 
 whereof they claim as Proprietors, in the words following, to wit:— 
 
 " The Beauties of Sir Walter Scott, and Thomas Moore Esquire ; se- 
 *' lected from their Works ; with Jiistorical and explanatory notes. By a 
 " Gentleman of Philadelphia." 
 
 In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, intituled, 
 "•An Act for the encouragement of i earaing, by securing t)ie copies of 
 maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, 
 during the times therein mentioned;" And also to the Act, entitled, "An 
 Act supplementary to an Act, entitled, ' An Act for the encouragement ^ 
 of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the au- 
 thors and proprietors of such copies duiing the tim^ s tlierein mentioned,' 
 and extending the benefits thereof to the aits of designing, engraving, 
 and etching historical and other prints." 
 
 D. CALDWELL, Clerk of the 
 
 Eastern District of Penns^jlvan-a-
 
 f^^- 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 OF 
 
 THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OP 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 ^ Sir Walter Scott was born at Edinburg-h, on the 15t& 
 
 uf August 1771, and is the eldest son of the late Walter 
 
 ^ Scott Esq., an eminent advocate of that city. In his early 
 
 I youth, he displayed a considerable taste ai\d genius in 
 
 drawing landscapes from nature, but was neither I'emai'k- 
 
 able for liveliness of disposition nor aptitude for learning. 
 
 ^ At a proper age he was sent to tiic High School of Edin- 
 
 biu'gh, and from thence to the University, where he com- 
 
 5 pleted his education in a manner that reflected the highest 
 
 ^ honour on the different professors of that distinguished in- 
 
 *J stitution. After the lapse of a short time, he tiu'ned his at- 
 
 ^1 tention to the study of the law, and was admitted a mem- 
 
 ^ ber of the Scottish bai- before he had attained the age of 
 
 twenty-one. 
 
 4S1.112
 
 IV BlOGnAPHlCAL SKETCH, 
 
 In 1798, he married a Miss Carpenter, a young* lady de- 
 scended from a good family, and of great beauty and ac- 
 complishments. 
 
 Towards the close of the following year, he was appoint- 
 ed sheriff depute of the county of Selkirk ; and in March 
 1806, he was appointed one of the principal clerks of the 
 Sessions in Scotland. Being now relieved from the drudge- 
 ry of professional labour, by the acquisition of two lucrative 
 situations, and having about this period succeeded to the 
 possession of a valuable estate on the death of his father, 
 he was enabled to cultivate his taste for poetry, and to in- 
 dulge in a variety of literary pursuits. His first pubhca- 
 tions consisted of translations from the German, which were 
 afterwards followed by two ballads, entitled, ** The Eve of 
 St. John," and " Glenfinlas." In the year 1802, Mr. Scott 
 pubhshed his first great work, " The Minstrelsy of the Scot- 
 tish Border," which attracted general attention. This was 
 followed by **Su- Tristem,*' and in 1805, he gave to the 
 world his **Lay of the Last Minstrel," one of the most 
 beautiful poems in any language, and which of itself is suf- 
 ficient to hand him down to posterity. In the following year, 
 he published a collection of " Ballads and Lyrical Pieces," 
 and in 1808 appeared his «* Marmion, a Tale of Flodden 
 Field," which the author has himself characterized as con- 
 taining the best and worst p^etiy that he has written. In 
 the same year, he favoured the world with a complete edi- 
 tion of the works of Dryden, to which he prefixed a new 
 life of that gi-eat writer, and interspersed many curious and 
 extensive notes. While these volumes were proceeding
 
 BIOGRAPHICAI SKETCH. \ 
 
 through the press, he also found tinie to bring out a quar- 
 to volume of " Descriptions and Illustrations of the Lay of 
 the Last Minstrel. " The rapidity of his pen was now be- 
 yond all example in the annals of genius. Within a few 
 months, he undertook the editing of a new edition of "Lord 
 Somer's Collection of Historical tracts," and at the same 
 time " Sir Ralph Sadler's State Papers," and " Anna Sew- 
 ard's Poetical works ;" while in the same, year in which 
 these publications appeared, another original poem, "The 
 Lady of the Lake," was ur^hered into the world ; a poem! 
 which raised the fame of its author to the highest pitch. 
 In 1811, appeared "The Vision of Don Roderick;" in 1813, 
 *'Rokeby," and in the following year " The Lv^rd of the 
 Isles," together with " The Border Antiquities of Eng- 
 land," and a new edition of " Swift's works," with a bio- 
 graphical memoir and annotations. " The Bridal of Trier- 
 main," and *' Harold the Dauntless," originally published 
 anonymously, have been acknowledged by him, and print- 
 ed unifor|nly with his other poems. When *'Waverley'* 
 first appeared, there was but one opinion on the subject of 
 its author ; which has since been confirmed by disclosui'es 
 ai'ising out of the late failure of his pubhshers. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott was created a Baronet by his present 
 majesty, and he has also been elected President of the 
 Royal Society of Edinburgh.
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 T^dy of the Lake, 
 
 . 
 
 1 
 
 Loch-Katrine, - 
 
 - 
 
 3 
 
 Harp of the North, 
 
 . 
 
 4 
 
 Stag Hunt, 
 
 . 
 
 5 
 
 Brian the Hermit, 
 
 . 
 
 11 
 
 Malcolm Grseme, 
 
 - 
 
 14 
 
 Roderick Vich Mpine, - 
 
 - 
 
 15 
 
 Ambuscade, 
 
 . 
 
 21 
 
 The Maniac, 
 
 . 
 
 25 
 
 The Goblin Cave, 
 
 . 
 
 27 
 
 Mary, 
 
 - 
 
 29 
 
 Melrose Abbey, 
 
 - 
 
 30 
 
 JDeloraine's Night Journey, 
 
 - 
 
 31 
 
 The Beacm Blaze of War, 
 
 . 
 
 47 
 
 The Minstrel, 
 
 . 
 
 49
 
 via 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Lave, . - - - 
 
 Patriotism, - - . 
 
 Combat between two Knights, - 
 
 The Dance of Death, - 
 
 A Hunting Song, 
 
 The Minstrel's Retreat, 
 
 Crichtoun Castle, 
 
 The Shepherd, 
 
 The Mysterious Palmer, 
 
 A Camp Scene, 
 
 Marmion's Reception at Norham Castle, 
 
 The Voyage of Lady Abbess and her Nuns, 
 
 The Battle of Flodden, 
 
 The Harp, - - - ' 
 
 The Cypress Wreath, 
 
 The Bandits' Cave, 
 
 Bertram the Buccaneer, 
 
 Allen-a-Dale, 
 
 Hellvellyn, 
 
 Hebridean Scenery, 
 
 Brace's Rencontre luith Robbers, 
 
 Lochinvar — Lady Heron's Song, 
 
 The Battle of Bannockbum, 
 
 Pitt and Fox, - - - 
 
 Christmas, . . - 
 
 JVilfrid Wycliffe,
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 IX 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 Hafed, 
 
 . 
 
 171 
 
 The Harerrit 
 
 . 
 
 174 
 
 Namouna^ the Enchantress^ 
 
 . 
 
 183 
 
 Paradise and the Periy 
 
 - 
 
 185 
 
 A Bream of Antiquity ^ - 
 
 ^ 
 
 205 
 
 Nuurmahal^ 
 
 . 
 
 209 
 
 The Fickleness of Love, 
 
 . 
 
 211 
 
 An Epistle from the Banks 
 
 of the St. LatvrencCf 
 
 218 
 
 Farewelly 
 
 . 
 
 220 
 
 Melodies^ 
 
 - - - 
 
 222 
 
 MusiCf 
 
 . 
 
 236
 
 BEAUTIES at' SCOT!'.
 
 THE 
 BEAUTXBS 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT, 
 
 LAST OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 
 A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 
 Of finer form, or lovelier face ! 
 What though the sun, with ardent frown. 
 Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown. 
 The sportive toil, which, short and light. 
 Had died her glowing hue so bright. 
 Served too in hastier swell to show 
 Short glimpses of a breast of snow ; 
 What though no rule of courtly gi-ace 
 To measured mood had trained her pace,— 
 A foot more light, a step more true, 
 Na'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew , 
 A
 
 SCOTT — vol. I, 
 
 E*en the slight hare-bell raised its head, 
 Elastic from her airj- tread : 
 What though upon her speech there hung 
 The accents of the mountain tongue. 
 Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear. 
 The listener held his breath to hear. 
 
 A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid j 
 Her satin snood, her silken pljdd, 
 Her golden brooch, such birth betrayed. 
 And seldom was a snood amid 
 Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, 
 Whose glossy black to shame might bring 
 The plumage of the raven's wing 5 
 And seldom o'er a breast so fair 
 Mantled a plaid with modest care, 
 And never brooch the folds combined 
 Above a heart more good and kind. 
 Her kindness and her worth to spy, 
 You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 
 Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, 
 Gives back the shagg}' banks more true, 
 Than every free-bom glance confessed 
 The guileless movements of her breast : 
 Whether joy danced in her dark eye, 
 Or wo or pity claimed a sigh. 
 Or filial love was glowing there, 
 Or meek devotion poured a prayer, 
 Or tale of injury called forth
 
 SCOTT — VOL. T. 
 
 The indicant spirit of the north. 
 One only passion, unrevealed. 
 With maiden pride the maid concealed, 
 Yet not less purely felt the flame ; — 
 O need I tell that passion's name ! 
 
 tOCH-KATRINE. 
 
 Gleaming with the setting sun, 
 One burnished sheet of livmg gold, 
 Loch-Katrine lay beneath him rolled ; 
 In all her length far winding lay. 
 With promontory, creek, and bay. 
 And islands that, empurpled bright, 
 Floated amid the livelier light ; 
 And mountains, that like giants stand. 
 To sentinel enchanted land. 
 High on the south, huge Ben-venue 
 Down to the lake in masses threw 
 Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled, 
 The fragpnents of an earlier world ; 
 A wildering forest feathered o'er 
 His ruined sides and summit hoar, 
 While on the north, through middle air, 
 Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The summer dawn's reflected hue 
 To purple changed Loch-Katrine blue ,
 
 SCOTT — vei. I. 
 
 Mildly and soft the western breeze 
 
 Just kissed the lake, just stirred the trees,, 
 
 And the pleased Jake, like maiden coy. 
 
 Trembled, but dimpled not for joy ; 
 
 The mountain shadows on her breast 
 
 Were neither broken nor at rest ; 
 
 In bright unceitainty tliey lie. 
 
 Like futui'e joys to fancy's eye. 
 
 The water lily to the light 
 
 Her chalice oped of silver bright ; 
 
 The doe awoke, and to the lawn, 
 
 Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawH . 
 
 The gray mist left the mountain side. 
 
 The torrent showed its ghstening pride ; 
 
 Invisible in flecked sky. 
 
 The lark sent down her revelry ; 
 
 The black bird and the speckled thrush 
 
 Good-monow gave from brake and bush ; 
 
 In answer cooed the cushat dove. 
 
 Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 
 
 HARP or THE WORTH. 
 
 Harp of the North ! that mouldering long hast hun^ 
 On the witch-elm tliat shades Saint Fillan's spring. 
 
 And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, 
 Till envious ivy did around thee cling. 
 
 Muffling with verdant ringlet every srtring,— '
 
 SCOTT — VOL. I. a 
 
 O minstrel harp, still must thine accents sleep i* 
 Mid mstling- leaves and fountains murmuring-, 
 
 Still must thy sweeter sounds tlieir silence keep. 
 Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ? 
 
 Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, 
 
 Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd, 
 When lay of hopeless love, or g-lory w^on. 
 
 Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud. 
 At each according^ pause, was heard aloud 
 
 Thine ardent symphony sublime and high. 
 Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bowed 
 
 For still the burthen of thy Mnistrelsy 
 Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's matchless eye. 
 
 O wake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand 
 
 That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; 
 O wake once more ! though scarce my skill command 
 
 Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : 
 Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away. 
 
 And all unworthy of thy nobler strain ; 
 Yes, if one heart throb higher at its sway. 
 
 The wizard note has not been touched in vain. 
 'I'hen silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake again I 
 
 STAG HUNT. 
 
 The Stag at eve had drunk his fill, 
 Where danced the moon on Monan's rill; 
 A 2
 
 SCOTT— vol. I. 
 
 And deep his midnight lair had made 
 
 In lone Glenartney*s hazel shade ; 
 
 But, when the sun his beacon red 
 
 Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head. 
 
 The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay 
 
 Resounded up the rocky way. 
 
 And faint, from farther distance borne, 
 
 Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 
 
 As chief who hears his warder call, 
 
 •*To arms ! the foemen storm the wall,'*— 
 
 The antlered monarch of the waste 
 
 Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 
 
 But, e'er his fleet career he took, 
 
 The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; 
 
 Like crested leader proud and high. 
 
 Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky .- 
 
 A moment gazed adown the dale, 
 
 A moment snuffed the tainted gale, 
 
 A moment hstened to the cry. 
 
 That thickened as the chase drew nigh ; 
 
 Then, as the headmost foes appeared. 
 
 With one brave bound the copse he cleared, 
 
 And, stretching forward free and far. 
 
 Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 
 
 Yelled on the view the opening pack, 
 Rock, glen and cavern paid them back ,• 
 To many a mingled sound at once 
 The awakened mountain gave responBe.
 
 SCOTT vol, I. 
 
 A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong. 
 Clattered a hundred steeds along. 
 Their peal the merry horns rung out, 
 A hundred voices joined the shout : 
 With hark and whoop, and wild halloo, 
 No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. 
 Far from the tumult fled the roe, 
 Close in her covert cowered the doe. 
 The falcon, from her cairn on high, 
 Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 
 Till far beyond her piercing ken 
 The hurricane had swept the glen. 
 Faint, and more faint, its faiUng din 
 Retm-ned from cavern, cliff, and linn. 
 And silence settled, wide and still. 
 On the lone wood and mighty hill. 
 
 Less loud the sounds of sylvan war 
 Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var, 
 And roused the cavern, where, 'tis told, 
 A giant made his den of old : 
 For ere that steep ascent was won. 
 High in his pathway hung the sun, 
 And many a gallant, stayed per force. 
 Was fain to breathe his faltering horse ; 
 And of the trackers of the deer 
 Scarce half the lessening pack was near ; 
 So slirewdly, on the mountain side, 
 Had the bold burst their mettle tried.
 
 SCOTT — VOL. r. 
 
 The noble Stag was pausing" now, 
 Upon the mountain's southern brow, 
 Where broad extended, far beneath, 
 The varied realms of fair Menteith. 
 With anxious eye he wandered o*er 
 Mountain and meadow, moss and moor, 
 And pondered refuge from his toil 
 By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
 But nearer was the copse-wood gray. 
 That waved and wept on Loch-Achray, 
 And mingled with the pine-trees blue 
 On the bold cliffs of Ben-venue. 
 Fresh vigour with the hope returned. 
 With flying foot the heath he spumed. 
 Held westward with unwearied race. 
 And left behind the panting chase. 
 
 'Twere long to tell what steeds gave o'er. 
 As swept the hunt through C ambus-more ; 
 What reins were tightened in despair, 
 When rose Benledi's ridge in air, 
 Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath. 
 Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith, 
 For t\\'ice, that day, from shore to shore, 
 The gallant Stag swam stoutly o'er. 
 Few were the stragglers, following far. 
 That reached the lake of Vennachar : 
 And when the Brigg of Turk was won. 
 The headmost horseman rode alone.
 
 SCOTT VOL. r. 
 
 Alone, but with unbated zeal. 
 
 That horseman plied the scourge and steel ; 
 
 For, jaded now, and spent with toil. 
 
 Embossed with foam, and dark witli soil, 
 
 While eveiy gasp with sobs he drew. 
 
 The labouring stag strained full in view. 
 
 Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, 
 
 Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed. 
 
 Fast on his flying traces came. 
 
 And all but won that desperate game ; 
 
 For, scarce a spear's lengtli from his haunch, 
 
 Vindictive toiled the blood-hounds stanch ; 
 
 Nor nearer might the dogs attain. 
 
 Nor farther might the quarry strain. 
 
 Thus up the margin of the lake. 
 
 Between the precipice and brake. 
 
 O'er stock and rock their race they take- 
 
 The hunter marked that mountain high. 
 The lone lake's western boundary. 
 And deemed the stag must turn to bay, 
 Where that huge rampart barred the way ; 
 Already glorying in the prize, 
 Measured his antlers with his eyes ; 
 For the death-wound, and death-halloo, 
 Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew , 
 But, thundering as he came prepared. 
 With ready arm and weapon bared. 
 The wily quarry shunned the shock, 
 Antl turned him from the opposing- rock ,
 
 10 SCOTT — VOL. I. 
 
 Then, dashing down a darksome glen, 
 
 Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken, 
 
 In the deep Trosach's wildest nook 
 
 His solitary refuge took. 
 
 There, while, close couched, the thicket shed 
 
 Cold dews and wild flowers on his head, 
 
 He heard the baffled dogs in vain 
 
 Rave through the hollow pass am^n, 
 
 Cliiding the rocks that yelled again. 
 
 Close on the hounds the hunter came. 
 To cheer them on the vanished game ; 
 But, stumbling in the rugged dell, 
 The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
 The impatient rider strove in vain 
 To rouse him with the spur and rein. 
 For the good steed, his labours o'er. 
 Stretched his stiff limbs to rise no more ; 
 Then, touched with pity and remorse. 
 He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse. 
 " I little thought, when first thy rein 
 I slacked upon the banks of Seine, 
 That highland eagle e'er should feed 
 On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! 
 Wo worth the chase, wo worth the day. 
 That costs tliy life, my gallant gray !" 
 
 Then through the dell his horn resounds. 
 From vain pursuit to call the hounds. 
 Back limped, with slow and crippled pace.
 
 SCOTT — TOL, I. II 
 
 The sulky leaders of the chase ; 
 Close to their master's side they pressed, 
 With drooping- tail and humble crest ; 
 But still the dingle's hollow throat 
 Prolonged the swelling bugle note. 
 The owlets started from their dream. 
 The eagles answered with their scream, 
 Eound and around the sounds were cast, 
 TiU echo seemed an answering blast ; 
 And on the hunter hied his pace. — 
 
 BRIAHT THE HEEMIT. 
 
 A HEAP of withered boughs was piled, 
 Of juniper and rowan wild. 
 Mingled with shivers from the oak. 
 Rent by the hghtning's recent stroke. 
 Brian, the hermit, by it stood. 
 Barefooted, in his frock and hood ; 
 His grisled beard and matted hair 
 Obscured a visage of despair; 
 His naked ai-ms and legs, seamed o'er. 
 The scars of frantic penance bore, 
 That monk, of savage form and face. 
 The impending danger of his race 
 Had drawn from deepest solitude. 
 Far in Benhan'ow's bosom rude. 
 Not his the mien of Christian priest,
 
 3 2 SCOTT — TOL. 1. 
 
 But Druid's from the grave released, 
 
 Whose hardened heart and eye might brook 
 
 On human sacrifice to look. 
 
 And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore 
 
 Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er ; 
 
 The hallowed creed gave only worse 
 
 And deadlier emphasis of curse. 
 
 No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer, 
 
 His cave the pilgrim shunned with care ; 
 
 The eager huntsman knew his bound, 
 
 And in mid chase called off his hound ; 
 
 Or if, in lonely glen or strath. 
 
 The desert-dweller met his path, 
 
 He prayed, and signed the cross between, 
 
 While teiTor took devotion's mien. 
 
 Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. 
 His mother watched a midnight fold. 
 Built deep within a dreaiy glen. 
 Where scattered lay the bones of men, 
 In some forgotten battle slain, 
 And bleached by drifting wind and rai». 
 It might have tamed a warrior's heart. 
 To view such mockery of his art : 
 The knot-grass fettered there the hand, 
 Which once could burst an iron band ; 
 Beneath the broad and ample bone. 
 That bucklered heart to fear unknown, 
 A feeble and a timorous guest. 
 The field-fare framed her lowly nest :
 
 SCOTT — VOL. I, 
 
 There the slow blind-worm left his slime 
 On tlie fleet limbs that mocked at time ; 
 And there, too, lay the leader's skull. 
 Still wreathed with chaplet flushed and full, 
 Por heath-bell, with her purple bloom, 
 Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 
 All night, in this sad glen, the maid 
 Sate shrouded in her mantle's shade : 
 She said, no shepherd sought her side, 
 No hunter's hand her snood untied. 
 Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 
 The virgin snood did Alice wear ; 
 Gone was her maiden glee and sport. 
 Her maiden girdle all too short. 
 Nor sought she, from that ftital night, 
 Or holy church or blessed rite. 
 But locked her secret in her breast, 
 And died in ti'avail, unconfessed. 
 
 Alone, among his young compeers. 
 Was Brian from his infant years ; 
 A moody and heart-broken boy. 
 Estranged from sympathy and joy. 
 Bearing each taunt with careless tongue 
 On his mysterious hneage flung. 
 Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale, 
 To wood and stream his hap to wail, 
 Till, frantic, he as truth received 
 What of his birth the crowd believed, 
 B
 
 14 SCOTT — vor. 1, 
 
 And soug'litj in mist and meteor fire, 
 To meet and know his Pliantom Sire I 
 In vain, to sooth his wayward fate. 
 The cloister oped her pitying gate ; 
 In vain, the learning of the age 
 Unclasped her sable-lettered page : 
 E'en in its treasures he could find 
 Food for the fever of his mind. 
 Eager he read whatever tells 
 Of magic, cabala, and spells. 
 And every dark pursuit allied 
 To curious and presumptuous pride, 
 Till, with fired brain and nerves o'erstrai 
 And heart with mystic horrors wrung. 
 Desperate he souglit Benharrow's den, 
 And hid him from the haunts of men. 
 
 MALCOLM GR^ME. 
 
 Or stature fair, and slender frame, 
 But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. 
 The belted plaid and tartan hose 
 Did ne'er more giaceful limbs disclose ; 
 His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, 
 Curled closely round his bonnet blue : 
 Trained to the chase, his eagle eye 
 The ptarmigan in snow could spy ! 
 Each pass, by mountain, lake and heath.
 
 SCOTT TOl. I. 
 
 15 
 
 He knew, through Lennox and Menteith ; 
 
 Vain was the bound of dark brown doe, 
 
 When Malcohn bent his sounding- bow. 
 
 And scarce that doe, though winged with fear. 
 
 Out-stripped in speed the mountaineer : 
 
 Riglit up Ben-Lomond could he press, 
 
 And not a sob his toil confess. 
 
 His form accorded with a mind 
 
 Lively and ardent, frank and kind : 
 
 A bhther heart, till Ellen came. 
 
 Did never love nor sorrow tame ; 
 
 It danced as hghtsome in his breast. 
 
 As played the feather on his crest. 
 
 Yet friends, who nearest knew the youtli. 
 
 His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth. 
 
 And bards, who saw his features bold. 
 
 When kindled by the tales of old. 
 
 Said, were that youth to manhood grown, 
 
 Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown 
 
 Be foremost voiced by mountain fame 
 
 But qu^ to tliat of Malcolm Graeme. 
 
 HODERICK VICn ALPINE. 
 
 But hark, what sounds are these 
 My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, 
 No weeping birch, nor aspen';* wake. 
 Nor breath is dimpling in the lake ^
 
 16 SCOTT VOL. I, 
 
 Still is the canna's* hoary beard — 
 Yet, by my minsti'el faith, I heard — 
 And hark again ! some pipe of war 
 Sends the bold pibroch from afar. — 
 
 Far up the lengthened lake were spied 
 Foul* darkening specks upon the tide. 
 That, slow enlarging on the view 
 Four manned and masted barges grew, 
 And bearing downwards from Glengyle, 
 Steered full upon the lonely isle ; 
 The point of Brianchoil they passed. 
 And to the windward as they cast. 
 Against the sun they gave to shine. 
 The bold Rir Roderick's bannered pine. 
 Nearer and nearer as they bear, 
 Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. 
 Now might you see the tartans brave. 
 And plaids and plumage dance and wave ; 
 Now see the bonnets sink and rise. 
 As bis tough oar the rower plies ; 
 See, flashing at each sturdy stroke. 
 The wave ascending into smoke ; 
 See the preud pipers on the bow, 
 And mark the gaudy streamers flow 
 From their loud chantersf down, and sweep, 
 The furrowed bosom of the deep. 
 As, rushing through the lake, amain 
 They pHed the ancient Highland strain. 
 
 * Cotton ^ass. t The drone of the bag-pipe.
 
 SCOTT VOL. 1. 17 
 
 Ever, as on they bore, more loud 
 And louder rung- the pibroch proud. 
 At first the sounds, by distance tame, 
 Mellowed along" the waters came. 
 And, lingering long by cape and bay. 
 Wailed every harsher note away ; 
 Then, bursting bolder on the ear. 
 The clan's shrill gathering they could hear 
 Those thrilling sounds, that call the might 
 Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight : 
 Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 
 The mustering hundreds shake the glen, 
 And hurrying at the signal-dread. 
 The battered earth returns their tread ; 
 Then prelude light of livelier tone. 
 Expressed their merry marching on, 
 Ere peal of closing battle rose. 
 With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows ; 
 And mimic dhi of stroke and ward. 
 As broadsword upon target jan-ed ; 
 And groaning pause, e'er yet again. 
 Condensed, the battle yelled amain ; 
 The rapid charge, the rallying shout. 
 Retreat borne headlong into rout ; 
 And bursts of triumph, to declare 
 Clan-Alpine's conquest — all were there. 
 Nor ended thus the strain ; but slow. 
 Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, 
 B 2
 
 18 SCOTT — VOL. r. 
 
 And changed the conquering clarion swell, 
 For wild lament o'er those that fell. 
 
 The war-pipes ceased : biit lake and hill 
 Were busy with theu' echoes still, 
 And when they slept, a vocal strain 
 Bade their hoarse choiiis wake again. 
 While loud a hundred clans-men raise 
 Their voices in their chieftain's praise. 
 Each boatman, bending to his oar. 
 With measured sweep the burthen bore, 
 In such wild cadence, as the breeze 
 Makes through December's leafless trees : 
 The chorus first could Allan know, 
 " Roderigh Vich Alpine, ho ! iero !" 
 And near, and nearer as they rowed. 
 Distinct the martial ditty flowed. 
 
 Hail to the chief who in triumph advances. 
 
 Honoured and blessed be the ever-green pine ' 
 
 Long may the tree in his banner that glances, 
 
 Flom-ish, the shelter and grace of our line ! 
 
 Heaven send it happy dew. 
 
 Earth lend it sap anew, 
 
 Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, 
 
 While every highland glen 
 
 Sends our shout back agen, 
 
 ** Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !"* 
 
 * Besides his ordinary name and surname, which were chiefly used in 
 his intercourse vnih the Lowlands, every Highland chief had an epithet 
 expressive of his patriarchal dignity as head of the clan, and which was
 
 SCOTT vol. 1. 19 
 
 Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain. 
 
 Blooming- at Beltane, in winter to fade, 
 When the whirlwind has stripped eveiy leaf on 
 the mountain. 
 The more shall Clan Alpine exult in her shade. 
 Moored in the rifted rock. 
 Proof to the tempest's shock. 
 Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 
 Menteith and Bredalbane, then. 
 Echo his praise ag-en, 
 "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 
 
 Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, 
 And Banochar's groans to our slogan replied. 
 
 Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin. 
 And the best of Loch-Lomond he dead on her side. 
 Widow and Saxon maid 
 
 fommon to all his predecessors and successors, as Pharaoh to the kings of 
 E^ypt, or Arsaces to those of Pa'thia. This name was usually a patrony- 
 mic expressive of his descent from the founder of the family. Thus the Duke 
 of Argyle is called Mac Callanmore, or the Son of Colin the Great. Some- 
 times, however, it is derived from armorial distiiictions, or the memoiyof 
 some gi-eat feat: thus Lord Seaforth, as chief of the Mackenzies, or Clan- 
 Kennet, bears the epithet of Caber-fae, or Buck^s Head, as representative of 
 Colin Fitzgerald, founder of the family, who saved the Scottish King when 
 endangered by a stag. But beside this title, which belonged to his office 
 and dignity, the chieftain had usually another peculiar to himself, which 
 distinguished him from the chieftains of the same race. This was some- 
 times derived from complexion, as dhu or roy; sometimes from size, as beg 
 or more ; at other times from some particular exploit, or from some pecu- 
 liarity of habit or appearance. The line of the text signifies, 
 
 Black Roderick, the descendant of Alpine. 
 
 The song itself is intended as an imitation of the sorrans, or boat-songs 
 of the Highlanders, which were usually composed in honour of a favourite 
 chief. They are so adapted as to keep time with the sweep of the oars, 
 and it is easy to distinguish between those intended to be sung to the oars 
 ©f a galley, where the sti-oke is lengthened and doubled as it were^ and 
 those which were timed to the rowers of an ordinai-y boat.
 
 20 SCOTT — TOI. 1. 
 
 Long shall lament our raid, 
 Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with wo ; 
 
 Lennox and Leven-glen 
 
 Shake when they hear agen, 
 "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 
 
 Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands ! 
 
 Sti'etch to your oars, for tlie ever-green pine ! 
 O ! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands. 
 
 Were wreathed in a gai-land around him to twine ! 
 O that some seedling gem, 
 Worthy such noble stem. 
 Honoured and blessed in their shadow might grow ! 
 Loud should Clan-Alpine then 
 Ring from her deepest glen, 
 " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 
 
 With all her joyful female band. 
 Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 
 Loose on the breeze their tresses flew. 
 And high their snowy arms they threw. 
 As echoing back with shrill acclaim. 
 And chorus wild, the chieftain's name ; 
 While, prompt to please, with mother's art. 
 The darhng passion of his heart. 
 The dame called EUen to the strand, 
 To greet her kinsman ere he land : 
 *' Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas thou, 
 And shun to wreath a victor's brow ?" — 
 Reluctantly and slow, the maid
 
 SCOTT \OU I. 
 
 The unwelcome summoning obeyed. 
 
 \nd, when a distant bugle rung. 
 
 In the mid-path aside she sprung ! — 
 
 ** List, Allan-bane ! from main-land cast, 
 
 I hear my father's signal blast. 
 
 Be ours," slie cried, "the skiff to guide, 
 
 And waft him from the mountain side." 
 
 Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright. 
 
 She darted to her shallop light. 
 
 And eagerly while Roderick scanned. 
 
 For her dear form his mother's band, 
 
 The islet far behind her lay, 
 
 And she had landed in the bay. 
 
 Some feelings are to mortals given. 
 
 With less of earth to them than heaven j 
 
 And if there be a human tear 
 
 From passion's dross refined and clear, 
 
 A tear so hmpid and so meek, 
 
 It would not stain an angel's cheek, 
 
 'Tis that which pious fathers shed 
 
 Upon a duteous daughter's head ! 
 
 21 
 
 AMBUSCADE. 
 
 He whistled shriD, 
 And he was answered from the hill ; 
 Wild as the scream of the curlew,
 
 22 SrOTT VOL. J. 
 
 From crag to crag the signal flew. 
 
 Instant, through copse and heath, arose 
 
 Bonnets and spears, and bended bows ; 
 
 On right, on left, above, below, 
 
 Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 
 
 From shingles gray their lances start. 
 
 The bracken-bush sends forth the dart, 
 
 The rushes and the willow-wand 
 
 Are bristling into axe and brand, 
 
 And every tuft of broom gives life 
 
 To plaided warrior armed for strife. 
 
 That whistle garrisoned the glen 
 
 At once with full five hundred men. 
 
 As if the yawning hill to heaven 
 
 A subterranean host had given. 
 
 Watching their leader's beck and will. 
 
 All silent there they stood, and still ; 
 
 Like the loose crags whose threatening mass 
 
 Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass. 
 
 As if an infant's touch could ui'ge 
 
 Their headlong passage down the verge : 
 
 With step and weapon forward flung, 
 
 Upon the mountain-side they hung. 
 
 The mountaineer cast glance of pride 
 
 Along Benledi's living side, 
 
 Then fixed his eye and sable brow 
 
 Full on Fitz-James — " How say'st thou now ' 
 
 These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true : 
 
 And, Saxon — I am Roderick Dhu !"
 
 SCOTT VOL. I, 23 
 
 i'llz -James was brave : — Though to his heart 
 
 The life-blood thrilled with sudden start, 
 
 He manned himself with dauntless air. 
 
 Returned the Ciiief his haug-hty stare, 
 
 His back against a rock he bore, 
 
 And firmly placed his foot before : 
 
 *'Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 
 
 From its firm base as soon as I." — 
 
 Sir Roderick marked — and in his eyes 
 
 Respect was mingled with surprise, 
 
 And the stern joy which warriors feel 
 
 In foeman worthy of their steel. 
 
 Short space he stood — then waved his hand . 
 
 Down sunk the disappearing band ; 
 
 Each warrior vanished where he stood. 
 
 In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 
 
 Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, 
 
 In osiers pale and copses low ; 
 
 It seemed as if their mother Earth 
 
 Had swallowed up her warlike birth. 
 
 The wind's last breath Ivid tossed in air 
 
 Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair ; 
 
 The next, but swept a lone hill side. 
 
 Where heath and fern were waving wide; 
 
 The sun's last glance was glinted back. 
 
 From lance and glaive, from targe and jack-— 
 
 The next, all unrellected, shone 
 
 On bracken green, and cold gray stone.
 
 24 SCOTT — TOI. I. 
 
 Fitz-James looked round — yet scarce believed 
 
 The witness that his sig-ht received ; 
 
 Such apparition well might seem 
 
 Delusion of a dreadful dream. 
 
 Sii' Roderick in suspense he eyed. 
 
 And to his look the Chief rephed, 
 
 ** Fear nought — nay, that I need not say — 
 
 But — doubt not aught from mine array. 
 
 Thou art my guest ; I pledged my word 
 
 As far as Coilantogle ford : 
 
 Nor would I call a clansman's brand 
 
 For aid against one valiant hand. 
 
 Though on our strife lay every vale 
 
 Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. 
 
 So move we on ; I only meant 
 
 To show the reed on which you leant, 
 
 Deeming this path you might pursue 
 
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." 
 
 They moved : — I said Fitz-James was brave 
 
 As ever knight that belted glaive ; 
 
 Yet dare not say, that now his blood 
 
 Kept on its wont and tempered flood. 
 
 As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 
 
 That seeming lonesome pathway tlirough. 
 
 Which yet, by feaiful proof, was rife 
 
 With lances, that to take his life 
 
 Waited but signal from a guide. 
 
 So late dishonoured and defied. 
 
 Ever, by stealth, his eyes sought round
 
 SCOTT — yoi. I. 25 
 
 rhe vanished guardians of the ground. 
 And still from copse and heather deep, 
 Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep, 
 And in the plover's shrilly strain. 
 The signal whistle heard again. 
 Nor breathed he free till far behind 
 The pass was left, for then they wind 
 Along a wide and level green, 
 Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, 
 Nor rush, nor bush of broom was near, 
 To hide a bonnet or a spear. 
 
 THE MAVIAC. 
 
 Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
 Ai-ound a precipice's edge ; 
 When lo ! a wasted female form. 
 Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, 
 In tattered weeds and wild array, 
 Stood on a chff beside the way, 
 And glancing round her restless eye, 
 Upon the wood, the rock, the sky. 
 Seemed nought to mark, yet all to spy. 
 Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broom 
 With gesture wild slie waved a plume 
 C
 
 ■^6 SCOTT— VOL. r. 
 
 of feathers, which the eagles fling 
 To crag and cliff from dusky wing ; 
 Such spoils her desperate step had sought. 
 Where scarce was footing for the goat. 
 The tai'tan plaid she fii-st descried, 
 And shrieked, till all the rocks replied ; 
 As loud she laughed when near they drew, 
 For then the lowland garb she knew ; 
 And then her hands she wildly wrung, 
 And then she wept, and then she sung. — 
 She sung ! — the voice, in better time. 
 Perchance to harp or lute might chime ; 
 And now, though strained and roughened, still 
 Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill. 
 
 They bid me sleep, thej bid me pray. 
 
 They say my brain is wai'ped and wrung — 
 I cannot sleep on highland brae, 
 
 I cannot pray in highland tongue. 
 But were 1 now where Allan ghdes. 
 Or heard m.y native Devan's tides. 
 So sweetly would I rest and pray 
 That Heaven would close my wintery day • 
 'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid, 
 
 They bade me to the church repair ; 
 It was my bridal morn, tliey said. 
 
 And my true love would meet me there- 
 But wo betide the cruel guile. 
 That drowned in blood the morning smile ?
 
 SCOTT — VOL. I. 27 
 
 And wo betide the fi^ry dream ! 
 I only waked to sob and scream. 
 
 ** Who is this maidi* what means her lay ' 
 She hovers o'er the hollow way. 
 And flutters wide her mantle gray, 
 As the lone heron spreads his wing, 
 By twilig-ht o'er a haunted spring." 
 *♦ 'Tis Blanche of Devan.'* 
 
 THE GOBtlN CAVE, 
 
 Now, wot ye why 
 The Chieftain, with such anxious eye, 
 Ere to the muster he repair. 
 This western frontier scanned with care ?- 
 In Ben-venue's most darksome cleft, 
 A fair, though cruel, pledge was left ; 
 For Douglas, to his promise true. 
 That morning irom the isle withdrew, 
 And in a deep sequestered dell 
 Had sought a low and lonely cell. 
 By many a bard, in Celtic tongue, 
 Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung ; 
 aV. softer name the Saxons gave. 
 And called the grot the Coblin-cave
 
 -28 SCOTT — TOI. I. 
 
 It was a wild and strange retreat, 
 As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
 The dell upon the mountain's crest 
 Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast .- 
 Its trench liad stayed full many a rock. 
 Hurled by primeval earthquake shock 
 From Ben-venue's gray summit wild. 
 And here, in random i-uin piled, 
 They frowned incumbent o'er the spot. 
 And formed the rugged sylvan grot. 
 The oak and birch, w'lih mingled shade. 
 At noontide there a twilight made. 
 Unless when shoii: and sudden shone 
 Some straggling beam on cliff or stone. 
 With such a glimpse as prophet's eye 
 Gains on thy depth. Futurity. 
 No murmur waked the solemn still. 
 Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; 
 But when the wind chafed with the lake, 
 A sullen sound would upward break. 
 With dashing hollow voice, that spoke 
 The incessant war of wave and rock. 
 vSuspended cliffs, with hideous sway. 
 Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray. 
 From such a den the wolf had sprung. 
 In such the wild-cat leaves her young : 
 Yet Douglas and his daughter fair. 
 Sought, for a space, theii- safety there. 
 Gray Superstition's whisper dread
 
 fiCOTT — VOL. I. 
 
 Debarred the spot to vulgar tread ; 
 For there, she said, did fays resort. 
 And satyrs* hold their sylvan court, 
 By moonlight tread their mystic maze, 
 And blast the rash beholder's gaze. 
 
 The heath this night must be my bed. 
 The brackenf curtain for my head, 
 My lullaby the warder's tread. 
 
 Far, far from love and thee, Mary ; 
 To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. 
 My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
 My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid i 
 
 It will not waken me, Mary ! 
 I may not, dare not, fancy now 
 The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, 
 I dare not think upon thy vow. 
 
 And all it promised me, Mary. 
 No fond regret must Norman know ; 
 When burst Clan- Alpine on the foe, 
 His heart must be like bended bow. 
 
 His foot like arrow free, Mary. 
 A time will come with feehng fraught ! 
 For, if I fall in battle fought, 
 Thy hapless lover's dying thought 
 
 Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. 
 
 * The Urhk, or Highland satyr. t Brflc Aen— Fern. 
 
 C 2
 
 SCOTT — vol. ir. 
 
 And if returned from conquered foes, 
 How blithely will the evening close, 
 How sweet the linnet sing repose, 
 To my young bride and me, Mary I 
 
 MELBOSE ABBET* 
 
 If thou would'st view fair Melrose* aright, 
 
 Go visit it by the pale moonUght ; 
 
 For the gay beams of lightsome day 
 
 Gild but to flout the ruins gray. 
 
 When the broken arches are black in night. 
 
 And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 
 
 When the cold light's uncertain shower 
 
 Streams on the mined central tower ; 
 
 When buttress and buttress, alternately, 
 
 Seem framed of ebon and ivory: 
 
 W^hen silver edges the imagery. 
 
 And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ; 
 
 When distant Tweed is heard to rave. 
 
 And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave. 
 
 Then go — but go alone the while — 
 
 Then view Saint David's ruined pile ; 
 
 * The ancient and beautiful monastery of Melrose was founded by 
 King David I. Its ruins afford the finest specimen cf Gothic architecture, 
 and Gothic sculpture, which Scotland can boast- The stone of wliich it 
 is built, thougli it has resisted the weather for so many ages, retains per- 
 fect sharpness, so that even the most minute ornaments seem as entire as 
 when newly wrought.
 
 SCOTT vol. IJ. 31 
 
 And home retui'ning, Soothly swear, 
 Was never scene so sad and fair! 
 
 DELOUAIKE S KIGHT JOURNEY. 
 
 The Ladye forgot her purpose hig-h. 
 
 One moment, and no more ; 
 One moment gazed with a mother's eye, 
 
 As she paused at the arched door ; 
 Then, from amid the armed train. 
 She called to her William of Deloraine. 
 
 A stark mosstrooping Scott was he. 
 As e'er couched border lance by knee ; 
 Through Sol way sands, through Tarros moss ; 
 Blindfold he knew the paths to cross ; 
 By wily turns, by desperate bounds. 
 Had baffled Percy's best bloodhounds;* 
 
 * The kin^s and heroes of Scotland, as well as the Boi-der-rlders, were 
 sometimes oblijjed to study how to evade the pursuit of blood-hounds. 
 Barbour inforius us, that Robert Bruce was repeatedly tracked by sleuth- 
 dogs. On one occasion, he escaped by wading a bow-shot down a brook, 
 and ascending into a tree by a l)rancli which ovsrhung the water : thus 
 leaving no trace on land of his footsteps, he baffled the sctnt. 
 
 A sure way of stopping the dog was to spill blood upon the track, 
 which destroyed the discriminating fineness of his scent. A captive was 
 sometimes sacrificed on such occasions. Heni-j, the Minstrel, tells a ro- 
 mantic story of Wallace, foundid on this eircvunstance : — The hei'o's lit- 
 tle b.ind had been joined by an Irishman, named Fawdon, or Fadzean, a 
 dark, savage, and suspiciouscharacler. After a sharp skirmish at Black- 
 Efiie Sidi-, Wallace was forced to retreat with oniy sixteen followers. 
 The English pursued with a border slei'ih-bratch, or blood-hour.d. In 
 tlie rrtr. at, Fawdon, tired, or afFicting to be so, would go no farther: 
 Wallace, having in vain argued with him, in hasty anger struck oft" his 
 head, and continui-d the retreat. When the English came upj their 
 hound stayed upon the dead body :— 
 
 The sleuth stopped at Fawdon, till she stood. 
 Nor farther would frae time she fund the blood.
 
 SCOTT TOL. I/. 
 
 In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none. 
 But he would ride them one by one ^ 
 Ahke to him was time, or tide, 
 December's snow, or July's pride ; 
 Alike to him was tide, or time. 
 Moonless midnight, or matin prime ; 
 Steady of heart, and stout of hand. 
 As ever di'ove prey from Cumberland ; 
 Five times outlawed had he been. 
 By England's king and Scotland's queen. 
 
 *' Sir William of Deloraine, good at need^ 
 Mount thee on the wightest steed ; 
 Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride. 
 Until thou come to fair Tweed side ; 
 And in Melrose's holy pile 
 Seek thou the monk of St. Maiy's aisle. 
 
 Greet the father well from me ; 
 Say, that the fated hour is come, 
 
 And to-night he shall watch with thee. 
 To win the treasure of the tomb : 
 For this will be Saint Michael's night. 
 And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright . 
 And the cross, of bloody red, 
 Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. 
 
 ** What he g ves thee, see thou keep ; 
 Stay not thou for food or sleep. 
 Be it scroll, or be it book, 
 Into it, knight, thou must not look ,•
 
 SCOTT — VOL. ir. 33 
 
 f f thou readest thou art lorn ! 
 Better hadst thou ne'er been born." 
 
 ** O swiftly can speed my dapplegray steed. 
 
 Which drinks of the Teviot clear; 
 
 Ere break of day," the warrior 'gan say, 
 
 "Again will I be here: 
 And safer by none may thy errand be done, 
 
 Than, noble dame, by me ; 
 Letter nor hne know I never a one, 
 Wer't my neck-verse at Haribee."* 
 
 Soon in his saddle sate he fast. 
 
 And soon the steep descent he passed. 
 
 Soon crossed the sounding- barbican,f 
 
 And soon the Teviot's side he won. 
 
 Eastward the wooded path he rode. 
 
 Green hazels o'er his basnet nod : 
 
 He passed the Peell: of Goldiland, 
 
 And crossed old Borthwick's roaring strand ; 
 
 Dimly he viewed the moathill's mound. 
 
 Where Druid shades still flitted round ; 
 
 In Hawick twinkled many a light ; 
 
 Behind him soon they set in night ; 
 
 And soon he spurred his courser keen 
 
 Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. 
 
 * Haribee, the place of executing the Border marauders at Carlisle. 
 The neck-verse in the beginning of the fifty-first psalm, Miserere ?n€i, 
 5cc. anciently read by criminals, claiming the benefit of clergy. 
 
 t Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle. 
 ' Peel, a Border tower.
 
 34 SCOTT — ^VOL. II. 
 
 The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ;— 
 « Stand, ho ! thou courier of the dark." 
 " For Branksome, ho !" the knight rejoined. 
 And left the friendly tower behind. 
 
 He turned him now from Teviot side. 
 And, guided by the tinkling rill. 
 
 Northward the dark ascent did ride. 
 And gained the moor at Horselie hill -- 
 Broad on the left before him lay. 
 For many a mile, the Roman way.* 
 
 A moment now he slacked his speed, 
 A moment breathed his panting steed ; 
 Drew saddlegirth and corselet-band, 
 And loosened in the sheath his brand. 
 On Minto-cragsf the moonbeams glint. 
 Where Barnhills hewed his bed of flint -, 
 Who flung his outlawed limbs to rest» 
 Where falcons hang their giddy nest, 
 Mid chffs, from v/hence his eagle eye. 
 For many a league, his prey could spy ,- 
 CllflPs, doubling, on their echoes borne. 
 The terrors of the robber's horn ; 
 Cliffs, which, for many a later year, 
 
 * An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxburghshire. 
 
 + A romantic assemblage of cliffs, which rise suddenlj' a])i)Vt' the valft 
 of Ttviot, in the iinmt diate vicinity of the family-seat from %% hich Lord 
 Minto takes his title. A small pJatfarm, on a projecting crag, command- 
 ing a most beautiful prospect, is termed Barnhills'' Bed. TJiis Barnhills is 
 said to have b> en a robber, or outlaw. There are remains of a strong 
 tower beneath the rocks, where he is supposed to have dwelt, and from 
 which he derived his name.
 
 SCOTT — VOL. Il» 35 
 
 The wju'bling Doric reed shall hear. 
 When some sad swain shall teach the grove, 
 Ambition is no ctu'e for love. 
 
 Unchallenged, thence past Deloraine 
 To ancient Riddell's fair domain. 
 
 Where Aill, from mountains freed, 
 Down from the lakes did raving come ; 
 Each wave was crested with tawny foam, 
 
 Like the mane of a chesnut steed. 
 In vain ! no torrent, deep or broad. 
 Might bar the bold mosstrooper*s road. 
 
 At the first plunge the horse sunk low. 
 
 And the water broke o'er the saddle bow ; 
 
 Above the foaming tide, I ween. 
 
 Scarce half the charger's neck was seen ; 
 
 For he was barded* from counter to tail. 
 
 And the rider was armed complete in mail ; 
 
 Never heavier man nor horse 
 
 Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. 
 
 The warrior's very plume, I say. 
 
 Was daggled by the dashing spray ; 
 
 Yet, tlirough good heart, and our Ladye's grace. 
 
 At length he gained the landing place. 
 
 Now Bowden moor the marchman won, 
 
 And sternly shook his plumed head. 
 
 As glanced his eye o'er Halidon ;•)■ 
 
 • Bardedy or barbed, applied to a horse accoutred with defensive at" 
 niour. 
 
 + HaHdon-hiU, on which the battle of Melrose was fought.
 
 36 SCOTT VOL I J. 
 
 Tor on his soul the slaughter red 
 Of that unhallowed mom arose, 
 When first the Scott and Car were I'oes j 
 When royal James beheld the fray. 
 Prize to the victor of the day ; 
 When Home and Douglas, in the van. 
 Bore down Buccleugh's retiring clan. 
 Till gallant Cessford's heartblood dear 
 Reeked on dark Elliot's Border spear. 
 
 In bitter mood he spurred fast. 
 
 And soon the hated heath was past ; 
 
 And far beneath, in lustre wan, 
 
 Old Melrose rose, and fair Tweed ran ; 
 
 Like some tall rock, with Uchens gi'ay. 
 
 Seemed, dimly huge, the dai'k Abbaye. 
 
 When Hawick he passed, had curfew rung. 
 
 Now midnight laudsf were in Melrose sung. 
 
 The sound, upon the fitful gale. 
 
 In solemn wise did rise and fail. 
 
 Like that wild harp, whose magic tone 
 
 Is wakened by the winds alone. 
 
 But when Melrose he reached, 'twas silence all 
 
 He meetly stabled his steed in stall. 
 
 And sought the convent's lonely wall. 
 
 With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong. 
 He struck full loud, and struck full long. 
 t Laudsy the midnight service of the Catholic chuicli.
 
 SCOTT — VOL. It. 
 
 The porter humed to tlie gate — 
 *• Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late ?" 
 ** From Branksome I," the warrior cried ; 
 And straight the wicket opened wide : 
 For Branksome's chiefs had in battle stood. 
 
 To fence the rights of fair Melrose ; 
 And lands and livings, many a rood, 
 
 Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose- 
 Bold Deloraine his errand said ; 
 The porter bent his humble head ; 
 With torch in hand, and feet unshod. 
 And noiseless step, the path he trod : 
 The arched cloisters, far and wide. 
 Rang to the warrior's clanking stride ; 
 Till, stooping low his lofty crest. 
 He entered the ceil of the ancient priest, 
 And lifted his ban-ed aventayle,* 
 To hail the monk of Saint Mary's aisle. 
 
 " The Ladye of Branksome gi-eets thee by i?.e 
 
 Says, that the fated hour is come. 
 And that to-night I shall watch with thee. 
 
 To win the treasure of the tomb." 
 From sackcloth couch the monk arose, 
 
 With toil his stiffened limbs he reared • 
 A hundred years had flung their snows 
 
 On his thin locks and floating beard. 
 
 * Aventayle, visor of the helmet. 
 D
 
 %( fjlT— TOL. in 
 
 And strangely on the knight looked he. 
 
 And his blue eyes gleamed wild and wide .: 
 ** And, darest thou, warrior ! seek to see 
 
 What heaven and hell alike would hide ' 
 My breast, in belt of iron pent, 
 With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn ; 
 For threescore years, in penance spent, 
 
 My\knees those flinty stones have worn ^ 
 Yet all too little to atone 
 For know ing what should ne'er be known 
 
 Would'st thou thy every future year 
 
 In ceaseless prayer and penance drie. 
 Yet wait thy latter end with fear — - 
 
 Then, daring warrior, follow me 1" 
 
 " Penance, father, will I none ; 
 
 Prayer know I hardly one : 
 
 For mass or prayer can I rarely tany_. 
 
 Save to patter an Ave Mary, 
 
 When I ride on a Border foray -. 
 
 Other prayer can I none ; 
 
 So speed me my errand, and let me be gone.' 
 
 Again on the knight looked the churchman old. 
 
 And again he sighed heavily. 
 For he had himself been a wanior bold, 
 
 And fought in Spain and Italy. 
 And he thought on the days that were long since by, 
 When his hmbs were strong, and his courage was high : 
 Now, slow and faint, he led the way.
 
 SCOTT vol. II. 39 
 
 Where, cloistered round, the g-arden lay : 
 The pillared arches were over tlieir head. 
 And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead.* 
 
 Spreading herbs, and flow'rets bright, 
 Glistened with the dew of night : 
 Nor herb, nor flow'ret, glistened there. 
 But was carved in the cloister arches as fair. 
 The monk gazed long on the lovely moon, 
 
 Then into the night he looked forth ; 
 And red and bright the streamers light 
 Were dancing in the glowing north. 
 So had he seen, in fair Castile, 
 
 The youth in glittering squadrons start ; 
 Sudden the flying jennet wheel. 
 And hurl the unexpected dart. 
 He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright^ 
 That spirits were riding the northern light. 
 
 By a steel-clenched postern door, 
 
 They entered now the chancel tall : 
 The darkened roof rose high aloof 
 
 On pillars, lofty, and light, and small ; 
 The keystone, that locked each ribbed aisle, 
 Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille : 
 The corbells-j- were carved grotesque and grim ; 
 
 * The cloisters ^vere frequently used as places of sepulture. An instance 
 occurs in Drj burgh Abbey, where tlie cloister has an inscription, bearing, 
 Hie jacet f rater Archibaldus. 
 
 t Corbells, the projections from which the nrche* spring, usually cut ijj 
 a fantastic face or mask.
 
 40 
 
 StOTT — VOL. Ij. 
 
 And the pillars, with clustered shafts so trim, 
 With base and with capital flourished around, 
 Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had bound. 
 
 Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven. 
 Shook to the cold nig-lit-wind of heaven, 
 
 Around the screened altar's pale ; 
 And there the dying- lamps did bum, 
 Before thy low and lonely urn, 
 O gallant chief of Otterburne !* 
 
 And thine, dark knight of Liddesdale ! 
 O fading honours of the dead ! 
 O high ambition lowly laid ! 
 
 The moon on the east oriel shone 
 Through slender shafts of shapely stone. 
 
 By foliaged traceiy combined : 
 Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand 
 'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand, 
 
 In many a freakish knot, had twined ; 
 Then framed a spell when the work was done, 
 
 * The famous and desperate battle of Otterburne was fought 15th Ao- 
 ^st, 1388, betwixt Henry Percy, called Hotspur, and James Earl of 
 Douglas. Both these renowned champions were at the head of a chosen 
 body of troops, and they were rivals in military fame, so that Froissart af- 
 liriiis, ''Of all the batayles and eneounteryngs that I have made mention 
 of here before in all this hystory, great. or smaile, this batayie that I treat 
 of nowe was one of the sorest and best foughten, m ithout cowardes or 
 fajTttte heites; for there was neyther knyghte nor squyer but that dyde his 
 devoyre, and fought hande to hande. This batayie v as iyke the batayie 
 of Becherell the which was valiantly fought and endured." The issue' of 
 the conflict is well known. Percy was made prisoner, and the Scots Mon 
 the day, dearly purchased by the death of their gallant general, the Earl 
 of Doug'as, who was slain in the action. He m as buried at Melrose beneath 
 the high altar. " His obsequye w as done reverently, and on his bodye layde 
 a tombe of stone, and his baner hangyng over hym.^'—Frvissart,
 
 StOTT TOL. II. 41 
 
 \nd chang-ed the willow wreaths to stone. 
 "I'he silver lig"lit, so pale and faint, 
 Showed many a prophet and many a saint 
 
 Whose image on the glass was died 5 
 Full in the midst, his cross of red 
 Triumphant Michael brandished. 
 
 And trampled the apostate's pride. 
 The moonbeam kissed the holy pane, 
 And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. 
 
 They sate them down on a marble stone ; 
 
 (A Scottish monarch slept below ;) 
 Thus spoke the monk in solemn tone ; — 
 
 ** I was not always a man of wo ; 
 For Paynim countries I have trod, 
 And fought beneath the cross of God : 
 Now, strange to my eyes thine amis appear. 
 And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear. 
 
 " In these far climes, it was my lot 
 
 To meet the wonderous Michael Scott ;* 
 
 A wizard of such dreaded fame. 
 That when, in Salamanca's cave. 
 Him listed his magic wand to wa\e, 
 
 The bells would ring in Notre Dame I 
 
 * Sir Michael Scott of Balwcarie flourished during the I3th century, and 
 was one of the ambassadors sent to bring the Maid of Norway to Scotland 
 Hpon the deatli of Alexander III. He was a man of much learning', chief- 
 ly acqiiired in foreign countries. He wrote a commentary upon Aristotle, 
 printed at Venice in 1496 ; and several treatises upon natural philosophy, 
 from which he appears to have been addicted to the abstruse studies of ju- 
 dicial astrology, alchymy, physiogiioniy, and chiromancy. Hence he passed 
 among his contemporaries for a skilful magician. 
 D 2
 
 42 SCOTT VOL. n. 
 
 Some of his skill he taug-hf to me ; 
 
 And, warrior, I could say to thee 
 
 The words that cleft Eildon hills in three. 
 
 And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone ; 
 But to speak them were a deadly sin ; 
 And for having but thoug-ht them my heart within, 
 
 A treble penance must be done. 
 
 " When Michael lay on his dying* bed. 
 
 His conscience was awakened ; 
 
 He bethought him of his sinful deed. 
 
 And he gave me a sign to come with speed ,• 
 
 I was in Spain when the morning rose. 
 
 But I stood by his bed ere evening close. 
 
 The words may not again be said. 
 
 That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid ; 
 
 They would rend this Abbaye's massy nave. 
 
 And pile it in heaps above his grave. 
 
 " I swore to bury his mighty book, 
 
 That never mortal might therein look 5 
 
 And never to tell where it was hid. 
 
 Save at the chief of Branksome's need ; 
 
 And \\hen that need was past and o'er. 
 
 Again the volume to restore. 
 
 I buried him on Saint Michael's night. 
 
 When the bell tolled one, and the moon was bright. 
 
 And I dug his chamber among the dead. 
 
 When the floor of the chancel was stained red.
 
 SCOTT VOL. ir. 4fi 
 
 That his patron's cross might over him wave. 
 And scare the fiends from the wizard's gn-ave, 
 
 " It was a night of wo and di'ead. 
 
 When Michael in the tomb I laid ! 
 
 Strang-e sounds along- the chancel past 5 
 
 The banners waved without a blast," — 
 
 — Still spoke the monk, when the bell tolled one I 
 
 I tell you that a braver man 
 
 Than William of Deloraine, good at need. 
 
 Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed ; 
 
 Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread, 
 
 And his hair did bristle upon his head. 
 
 *' Lo, warrior ! now, the cross of red, 
 
 Points to the grave of the mighty dead ; 
 
 Within it burns a wonderous hght 
 
 To chase the spirits that love the night ; 
 
 That lamp shall burn unquenchably, 
 
 Until the eternal doom shall be." 
 
 Slow moved the monk to the broad flag-stone. 
 
 Which the bloody cross was traced upon ; 
 
 He pointed to a secret nook 5 
 
 An iron bar the warrior took ; 
 
 And the monk made a sign with his withered hand. 
 
 The gi'ave's huge portal to expand. 
 
 With beating heart, to the task he went j 
 His sinewy frame o'er the gi-ave-stone bent ; 
 With bar of iron heaved amain.
 
 44 SCOTT — VOL. II. 
 
 Till the toil drops fell from his brows, like rain; 
 
 It was by dint of passing strength, 
 
 That he moved the massy stone at length. 
 
 I would you had been there, to see 
 
 How the hght broke forth so gloriously, 
 
 Sti-eamed upward to the chancel roof. 
 
 And through the galleries far aloof ! 
 
 No eai-thly flame blazed e'er so bright ; 
 
 It shone hke heaven's own blessed light ; 
 
 And, issuing from the tomb, 
 Showed the monk's cowl and visage pale, 
 Danced on the dark-brown warrior's mail, 
 
 And kissed his waving plume. 
 
 Before theu* eyes the wizard lay. 
 As if he had not been dead a day. 
 His hoary beard in silver rolled. 
 He seemed some seventy winters old : 
 A palmer's amice wrapped him round ; 
 With a wrought Sjjanish baldric bound. 
 
 Like a pilginm from beyond the sea ; 
 His left hand held his book of might ; 
 A silver cross was in his right ; 
 
 The lamp was placed beside his knee ; 
 High and majestic was his look. 
 At which the fellest fiends had shook. 
 And all unruffled was his face — 
 They trusted his soul had gotten grace.
 
 SCOTT VOL, ir. 45 
 
 often had William of Deloraine 
 Rode throug-h the battle's bloody plaii\, 
 And trampled down the warriors slain, 
 
 And neither known remorse nor awe ; 
 Yet now remorse and awe he own£d ; 
 His breath came thick, his head swam round, 
 
 When this strange scene of death he saw. 
 Bewildered and unnerved he stood. 
 And the priest prayed fervently and loud ; ^ 
 
 With eyes averted, prayed he, 
 He might not endure the sight to see. 
 Of the man he had loved so brotherly. 
 
 And when the priest his death-prayer had prayet^. 
 
 Thus unto Deloraine he said ; — 
 
 "Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, 
 
 Or, wamor, we may dearly rue ; 
 
 For those, thou may'st not look upon. 
 
 Are gathering fast round the yawning stone !"— 
 
 Then Deloraine, in terror, took 
 
 From the cold hand the mighty book, 
 
 With iron clasped, and with iron bound ; 
 
 He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned . 
 
 But the glare of the sepulchral light. 
 
 Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. 
 
 When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb. 
 
 The night returned in double gloom ; 
 
 For tlie moon had gone down, and the stai-s were few; 
 
 And, as the knight and priest withdrew,
 
 46 SCOTT — VOL. II. 
 
 With wavering steps and dizzy brain. 
 
 They hardly might the postern gain. 
 
 'Tis said as through the aisles they passed, 
 
 'I'hey heard strange noises on the blast ; 
 
 And through the cloister-galleries small, 
 
 Which at midheight thread the chancel wall. 
 
 Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran, 
 
 And voices unlike the voice of man ; 
 
 As if the fiends kept holiday. 
 
 Because these spells were brought to day. 
 
 I cannot tell how the truth may be ; 
 
 I say the tale as 'twas said to me. 
 
 "Now, hie thee hence," the father said; 
 "And, when we are on death-bed laid, 
 O may our dear Ladye, and sweet Saint John, 
 Forgive our souls for the deed we have done !" 
 The monk returned him to his cell. 
 
 And many a prayer and penance sped ; 
 When tlie convent met at the noontide bell — 
 
 The monk of Saint Mark's aisle was dead ! 
 Before the cross was the body laid. 
 With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed. 
 
 The knight breathed free in the morning wind. 
 
 And strove his hai-dihood to find ; 
 
 He was glad when he passed the tombstones gray. 
 
 Which girdle round the fair Abbaye ; 
 
 For the mystic book, to his bosom prest, 
 
 Felt like a load upon his breast :
 
 SCOTT — TOl. U. 
 
 And his joints, with nerves of iron twined. 
 
 Shook like the aspen leaves in wind. 
 
 Full fain was he when the dawn of day 
 
 Regan to brig-hten Cheviot gray ; 
 
 He joyed to see the cheerful light, 
 
 And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might 
 
 The sun had brightened Cheviot gray ; 
 
 The sun had brightened the Carter's* side ; 
 And soon beneath the rising day 
 Smiled Branksome's towers and Teviot's tide. 
 
 When downv/ard from the shady hill 
 A stately knight came pricking on. 
 'I'hat wan'ior's steed so dapple-gray 
 Was dark with sweat, and splashed with clay 
 
 His armour red with many a stain : 
 He seemed in such a weary plight, 
 \s if he had ridden the livelong night ; 
 Tor it was William of Deloraine. 
 
 THi: BZACOX BLAZE OF WAH 
 
 So passed the day — the evening fell, 
 'Twas near the time of curfew bell ; 
 The air was mild, the wind was calm. 
 The stream was smooth, the dew was balm ; 
 
 * A mountain on the border of England, above Jedbuiffli,
 
 48 SCOTT — YOL. M. 
 
 E'en the rude watchman on the tower, 
 Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour. 
 Far more fair Margaret loved and blessed 
 The hour of silence and of rest. 
 On the high tuiTet sitting lone, 
 She waked at times the lute's soft tone ; 
 Touched a wild note, and all between 
 Thought of the bower of hawthorns green 
 Her golden hair streamed free from band, 
 Her fair cheek rested on her hand. 
 Her blue eyes sought the west afar. 
 For lovers love the western star. 
 
 Is yon the star, o'er Penchiyst Pen, 
 
 That rises slowly to her ken, 
 
 And spreading broad its wavering light, 
 
 Shakes its loose tresses on the night ? 
 
 Is yon red glare the western star ? — 
 
 O, 'tis the beacon blaze of war ! 
 
 Scarce could she draw her tightened breath. 
 
 For well she knew the fire of death ! 
 
 Tlie warder viewed it blazing strong, 
 And blew his war-note loud and long. 
 Till, at the high and haughty sound. 
 Rock, wood, and river, rang around. 
 The blast alarmed the festal hall. 
 And startled forth the warriors all ; 
 Far downward in the castle-yitrd. 
 Full many a torch and cresset glared i
 
 SCOTT VOL. II. 49 
 
 And helms and plumes, confusedly tossed. 
 Were in the blaze half seen, half lost ; 
 And spears in wild disorder shook, 
 Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 
 
 The Seneschal, whose silver hair 
 
 AVas reddened by the torches' g'lare. 
 
 Stood in the midst, with gestui-e proud. 
 
 And issued forth his mandates loud, 
 
 " On Penchryst glows a bale* of fire. 
 
 And three are kindling" on Priesthaughswire.'" 
 
 THE MINSTRKL. 
 
 The way was long", the wind was cold, 
 The minstrel was infirm and old ; 
 His withered cheek, and tresses, gray. 
 Seemed to have known a better day ; 
 The harp, his sole remaining joy. 
 Was carried by an orphan boy. 
 The last of all the bards was he. 
 Who sung of Border chivalr3^ 
 For, weil-a-day ! their date was fled. 
 His tuneful bretliren all were dead ; 
 And he, neglected and oppressed. 
 Wished to be with them and at rest. 
 N'o more, on prancing palfiy borne, 
 
 * Bale, a beacon-faggot.
 
 50 SCOTT VOL. i; 
 
 He carolled, light as lark at mom : 
 
 No longer courted and caressed. 
 
 High placed in hall a welcome guest, 
 
 He poured, to lord and lady gay. 
 
 The unpremeditated lay : 
 
 Old times were changed, old manners gone 
 
 A stranger filled the Stuart's throne ; 
 
 The bigots of the iron time 
 
 Had called his harmless art a crime. 
 
 A wandering Harper, scorned and poor, 
 
 He begged his bread from door to door . 
 
 And tuned, to please a peasant's ear. 
 
 The harp, a king had loved to hear. 
 
 He passed where Newark's stately tower 
 Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower : 
 The minstrel gazed with wishful eye — 
 No humbler resting-place was nigli. 
 With hesitating step, at last. 
 The embattled portal-arch he passed, 
 Whose ponderous grate and massy bar 
 Had oft rolled back the tide of war, 
 But never closed the iron door 
 Against the desolate and poor. 
 The Dutchess* marked his weary pace, 
 His timid mien, and reverend face. 
 And bade her page the menials tell. 
 
 * Anne, Dutchess of Bticcleuch and Monmouth, repi'esentative of the 
 ancient lords of Bucdeucli, and widow of the unfortunate Jami-s. Duke 
 of MoaIOoutl)^ ^vho wy^ bditadf d in 16.95.
 
 SCOTT VOL. II. 
 
 rhat they should tend the old man well : 
 For she had known adversity, 
 Thoug-h bom in such a hig'h degree ; 
 In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, 
 Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb ! 
 When kindness had his wants supplied. 
 And the old man was gratified. 
 Began to rise his minstrel pride : 
 And he began to talk anon. 
 Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone. 
 And of Earl Walter, rest him God ! 
 A braver ne'er to battle rode : 
 And how full many a tale he knew. 
 Of the old warriors of Buccleuch ; 
 And, would the noble Dutchess deign • 
 To hsten to an old man's strain, 
 Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, 
 He thought, even yet, the sooth to speak, 
 That, if she loved the harp to hear, 
 He could make music to her ear. 
 
 The humble boon was soon obtained ; 
 The aged Minstrel audience gained. 
 But, when he reached the room of state. 
 Where she, with all her ladies, sate. 
 Perchance he wished his boon denied : 
 For, when to tune his haip be tried. 
 His trembl^j'g hand had lost the ease. 
 Which marks security to please ;
 
 52 SCOTT VOL. IJ. 
 
 And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, 
 
 Came wilderlng o'er his aged brain — 
 
 He tried to tune his harp in vain. 
 
 The pitying Dutchess praised its chime, 
 
 And gave him heart, and gave him time, 
 
 Till every string's according glee 
 
 Was blended into harmony. 
 
 And then, he said, he would full fain 
 
 He could recall an ancient strain, 
 
 He never thought to sing again. 
 
 It was not framed for village churles. 
 
 But for high dames and mighty earls ; 
 
 He had played it to king Charles the Good, 
 
 When he kept court in Holyrood ; 
 
 And much he wished, yet feared to try 
 
 The long forgotten melody. 
 
 Amid the strings his fingers strayed. 
 
 And an uncertain warbling made. 
 
 And oft he shook his hoai-y head. 
 
 But when he caught the measure wild, 
 
 The old man raised his face and smiled ; 
 
 And lightened up his faded eye, 
 
 With all a poet's ecstasy ! 
 
 In varying cadence, soft or strong, 
 
 He swept the sounding chords along : 
 
 The present scene, the future lot. 
 
 His toils, his wants, were all forgot : 
 
 Cold diffidence, and age's frost, 
 
 In the full tide of song were lost.
 
 ^rOTT VOL. II. 
 
 Trde love's the gift which God has given 
 To man alone beneath the heaven. 
 
 It is not fantasy's hot fire. 
 
 Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly ; 
 
 It liveth not in fierce desire, 
 
 With dead desire it doth not die ; 
 It is the secret sympathy, 
 The silver link, the silken tie. 
 Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, 
 In body and in soul can bind. — 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 Breathes there the man, with soul so dead. 
 Who never to himself hath said. 
 
 This is my own, my native land ! 
 Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned. 
 As home his footsteps he hath turned, 
 
 From wandering on a foreign strand ! 
 If such there breathe, go, mark him well, 
 For him no minstrel raptures swell ; 
 Migh though his titles, proud his name. 
 Boundless his wealth as wish can claim 5 
 Despite those titles, power, and pelf. 
 The wretch, concentered all in self, 
 Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
 E2
 
 .'>4 SCOTT TOL. M, 
 
 And, doubly dying, shall go down 
 
 To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 
 
 Unwept, unlionoured, and unsung. 
 
 O Caledonia ! stern and wild, 
 
 Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 
 
 Land of brown heath and shaggy wood. 
 
 Land of the mountain and the flood, 
 
 Land of my sires ! what mortal hand 
 
 Can e'er untie the filial band, 
 
 That knits me to thy rugged strand ! 
 
 Still, as I view each w ell-known scene. 
 
 Think what is now, and what hath been, 
 
 Seems as, to me, of all bereft, 
 
 Sole friends thy woods and streams were left 
 
 And thus I love them better still. 
 
 Even in extremity of ill. 
 
 By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, 
 
 Though none should guide my feeble way : 
 
 Still feel the breeze down Ettricke break, 
 
 Although it chill my withered cheek ; 
 
 Still lay my head by Teviot's stone, 
 
 Though there, forgotten and alone. 
 
 The Bard may draw his parting groan. 
 
 COMBAT BETWEEN TWO KNIGHTS. 
 
 Their warning blast the bugles blew, 
 
 The pipe's shrill port* aroused each clan, 
 * A marlial piece of music, adapted to the bagpipes.
 
 SCOTT VOL. It 55 
 
 J 11 haste, the deadly strife to view, 
 
 The ti-ooping waniors eag^r i-an ; 
 Thick round the lists their lances stood, 
 Like blasted pines in Ettricke wood ; 
 To Branksome many a look they threw, 
 The combatants* approach to view. 
 And bandied many a word of boast. 
 About the knight each favoured most. 
 
 Meanwhile full anxious was the Dame 
 For now arose disputed claim. 
 Of who should fig-ht for Deloraine, 
 'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestaine : 
 They 'gan to reckon kin and rent, 
 And frowning- brow on brow was bent ; 
 
 But yet not long the strife — for, lo ! 
 Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, 
 Strong, as it seemed, and free from pain. 
 In armour sheathed from top to toe. 
 Appeared, and craved the combat due. 
 The Dame her charm successful knew. 
 And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew. 
 
 When for the lists they sought the plain, 
 The stately Ladye's silken rein 
 
 Did noble Howard hold ; 
 Unarmed by her side he walked, 
 And much, in courteous phrase, they talked 
 
 Of feats of ai-ms of old. 
 riostly his garb — his Flemish ruff
 
 S6 SCOTT VOL. II. 
 
 Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of bufi, 
 
 With satin slashed, and lined ; 
 Tawny his boot, and gold his spur, 
 His cloak was all of Poland fur. 
 His hose with silver twined ; 
 His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt. 
 Hung in a broad and studded belt ; 
 Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still, 
 Call noble Howard, Belted Will. 
 
 Behind Lord Howard and the Dame, 
 Fair Margaret on her palfrey came. 
 
 Whose foot-cloth swept the ground : 
 White was her wimple, and her veil, 
 And her loose locks a chaplet pale 
 
 Of whitest roses bound ; 
 The lordly Angus, by her side, 
 In courtesy to cheer her tried i 
 Without his aid, her hand in vain 
 Had sti'ove to guide her broidered rein. 
 He deemed she shuddered at the sight 
 Of warriors met for mortal fight ; 
 But cause of terror, all unguessed, 
 Was fluttering in her gentle breast, 
 When, in their chairs of crimson placed, 
 The dame and she the barriers graced. 
 
 Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, 
 An Enghsh knight led forth to view ; 
 Scarce rued the boy his present plight,
 
 sbOTX VOL. H. or 
 
 So much he longed to see the fight. 
 Within the Usts, in knightly pride, 
 High Home and haughty Dacre ride ; 
 Their leading staffs of steel they wield, 
 As marshals of the mortal field ; 
 While to eacb knight their care assigned 
 Like vantage of the sun and wind. 
 Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim. 
 In King and Queen, and warden's name. 
 
 That none, while lasts the strife, 
 Should dare, by look, or sign, or word. 
 Aid to a champion to afford. 
 
 On peril of his life ; 
 And not a breath the silence broke. 
 Till thus the alternate Heralds spoke : — 
 
 ENGLISH HERALD. 
 
 Here standeth Richard of Musgrave, 
 
 Good knight and ti'ue, and freely born, 
 Amends from Deloraine to crave. 
 
 For foul despiteous scathe and scorn, 
 He sayeth, that William of Deloraine 
 
 Is traitor false by Border laws ; 
 This with his sword he will maintain, 
 
 So help him God, and liis good cause ! 
 
 SCOTTISH HERALD. 
 
 Here standetii William of Deloraine, 
 (iood knight and true, of noble strain^
 
 58 SCOTT — VOL. 11. 
 
 Who sayeth that foul treason's stain, 
 Shice he bore aiMis, ne'er soiled his coat ; 
 
 And that, so liclp him God above ! 
 
 He will on Musgrave's body prove. 
 He hes most foully in his throat. 
 
 LORD BACKE. ' 
 
 Forward, brave champions, to the fight I 
 Sound trumpets ! 
 
 LORD HOME. 
 
 *• God defend the right !" 
 
 Then, Teviot ! how thine echoes rang. 
 When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang 
 
 Let loose the martial foes. 
 And in mid hst, with shield poised high, 
 And measured step ar.d wary eye. 
 
 The combatants did close. 
 
 Ill would it suit your gentle ear, 
 
 Ye lovely listeners, to hear 
 
 How to the axe the helms did sound. 
 
 And blood poured down from many a wound ; 
 
 For desperate was the strife and long, 
 
 And either warrior fierce and strong. 
 
 But, were each dame a listening knight, 
 
 I well could tell how wamors fight ; 
 
 For I have seen war's lightning flashing, 
 
 Seen the claymore with ba}'onet clashing. 
 
 Seen through red blood the v.ar-horse dashing.
 
 SCOTT VOi. II. 59 
 
 And scorned, amid the reeling- strife, 
 To yield a step for death or life. 
 
 'Tis done, 'tis done ! that fatal blow 
 Has stretched him on the bloody plain i 
 
 He strives to rise — Brave Musgrave, no ! 
 Thence never shalt thou rise ag-ain ! 
 
 He chokes in blood — some friendly hand 
 
 Undo the visor's barred band, 
 
 Unfix the gorg-et's iron clasp, 
 
 And give him room for life to gasp ! 
 
 O, bootless aid ! — Haste, holy Friar, 
 
 Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! 
 
 Of all his guilt let him be shriven, 
 
 And smooth his path from earth to heaven 
 
 in haste the holy Friar sped ; — 
 His naked foot was died with red. 
 
 As through the lists he ran ; 
 Unmindful of the shouts on high. 
 That hailed the conqueror's victory. 
 
 He raised the dying man ; 
 Loose waved his silver beard and hair. 
 As o'er him he kneeled down in prayer -, 
 And still the crucifix on high 
 He holds before his darkening- eye ; 
 And still he bends an anxious ear. 
 His faltering penitence to hear ; 
 
 StiU props him from the bloody sod ; 
 Still, even when soul and body part.
 
 60 SCOTT TOI.. IJ. 
 
 Pours ghostly comfort on his heait. 
 
 And bids him trust in God ! 
 Unheard he prays ; — ^the death-pang's o'er 
 Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. 
 
 As if exhausted in the fight, 
 Or musing o'er the piteous sight. 
 
 The silent -victor stands ; 
 His beaver did he not unclasp. 
 Marked not the shouts, felt not the grasp 
 
 Of gratulating hands. 
 
 THE DAUCE OF DEATH. 
 
 NruHT and morning were at meeting 
 
 Over Waterloo ; 
 Cocks had sung their earUest gi'ecting, 
 
 Faint and low they crew. 
 For no paly beam yet shone 
 On the heights of Mount Saint John : 
 Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway 
 Of timeless darkness over day ; 
 Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower, 
 Mark'd it a predestined hour. 
 Broad and frequent through the night 
 Flashed the sheets of levin-light ; 
 Musquets, glancing lightnings back, 
 Show'd the dreary bivouack 
 
 Where the solflier lay.
 
 SCOTT — VOL. 11. 61 
 
 Chill, and stiff, and drenched with i-ain. 
 Wishing- da\vn of morn again 
 
 Though death should come with day, 
 
 'Tis at such a tide and hour. 
 
 Wizard, witch, and fiend have power, 
 And ghastly forms through mist and shower 
 
 Gleam on the gifted ken ; 
 And then the affrighted prophet's ear 
 Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear, 
 Presaging death and ruin near. 
 
 Among the sons of men ; — 
 Apart from Albyn's war-array, 
 'Twas then gray Allan sleepless lay ; 
 Gray Allan, who, for many a day, 
 
 Had follow'd stout and stem, 
 Where, through battle's rout and reel. 
 Storm of shot and hedge of steel. 
 Led the grandson of Lochiel, 
 
 Valiant Fassiefern. 
 Through steel and shot he leads no more. 
 Low-laid 'mid friends' and foemen's gore — 
 But long his native lake's wild shore, 
 Aud Sunart rough, and high Ardgower, 
 
 And Morvern long shall tell. 
 And proud Bennevis heai- with awe. 
 How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, 
 Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra 
 
 Of conquest as he fell. 
 F
 
 62 SCOTT — TOL. II, 
 
 'Lone on the outskirts of the host, 
 
 The weary sentinel held post, 
 
 And heard, through darkness far aloof, 
 
 The frequent clang of courser's hoof. 
 
 Where held the cloaked patrol theii* course, 
 
 And spurred, 'gainst storm, the swerving horse ; 
 
 But there are sounds in Allan's ear. 
 
 Patrol nor sentinel may hear. 
 
 And sights before his eye aghast 
 
 Invisible to them have passed. 
 
 When down the destined plain 
 'Twixt Britain and the bands of France, 
 W' ild as marsh-borne meteors glance. 
 Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance. 
 
 And doomed the future slain. — 
 Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard. 
 When Scotland's James his march prepai-ed 
 
 For Flodden's fatal plain ; 
 Such, when he drew his ruthless sword. 
 As Chusers of the Slain, adored 
 
 The yet unchristened Dane. 
 An indistinct and phantom band. 
 They wheeled their ring-dance hand in hand, 
 
 With gesture wild and dread ; 
 The Seer, who watched them ride the storm. 
 Saw through their faint and shadowy form 
 
 The lightning's flash more red : 
 And still tlieir gliastly roundelay
 
 SCOTT VOL. 11. 63 
 
 Was of the coming battle-fray. 
 And of the destined dead. 
 
 Wheel the wild dance 
 While lightnings glance, 
 
 And thunders rattle loud. 
 And call the brave 
 To bloody grave, 
 
 To sleep without a shroud. 
 Our airy feet. 
 So hght and fleet, 
 
 They do not bend the rye 
 That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, 
 And swells again in eddying wave, 
 
 As each wild gust blows by ; 
 But still the corn, 
 At dawn of mom. 
 
 Our fatal steps that bore, 
 At eve lies waste 
 A trampled paste 
 
 Of blackening mud and gore. 
 
 Wheel the wild dance 
 While lightnings glance, 
 
 And thunders rattle loud, 
 And call the brave 
 To bloody grave, 
 
 To sleep without a shroud. 
 
 Wheel the wild dance ! 
 Brave sons of France,
 
 64 SCOTT — VOL. II, 
 
 For you our ring makes room ; 
 Make space full wide 
 For martial pride. 
 
 For banner, spear, and plume.. 
 Approach, draw near. 
 Proud cuirassier ! 
 
 Room for the men of steel ! 
 Through crest and plate 
 The broad-sword's weight 
 
 Both head and heart shall feel. 
 
 Wheel the wild dance 
 While lightnings glance. 
 
 And thunders rattle loud, 
 And call the brave 
 To bloody grave. 
 
 To sleep without a shroud. 
 
 Sons of the spear ! 
 You feel us near 
 
 In many a ghastly dream ; 
 With fancy's eye 
 Our forms you spy. 
 
 And hear our fatal scream. 
 With clearer sight 
 Ere falls the night. 
 
 Just when to weal or wo 
 Your disembodied &ouls take flight ^ 
 
 On trembling wmg — each startled sprite ^ 
 
 Our choir of death shall know.
 
 SCOTT VOt. IT. 65 
 
 wheel the wild dance 
 While lightnings glance. 
 
 And thunders rattle loud. 
 And call the brave 
 To bloody grave. 
 
 To sleep without a shroud. 
 
 Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers. 
 Redder rain shall soon be ours — 
 
 See the east grows wan — 
 Yield we place to sterner game. 
 Ere deadlier bolts and drearier flame 
 Shall the welkin's thunders shame ; 
 Elemental rage is tame 
 
 To the \\Tath of man. 
 
 At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe 
 Heard of the vision'd sights he saw. 
 
 The legend heard him say ; 
 But the seer's gifted eye was dim. 
 Deafened his ear and stark his limb, 
 
 Ere closed that bloody day — 
 He sleeps far from his highland heath, — 
 But often of the Dance of Death 
 
 His comrades tell the tale 
 On picquet-post, when ebbs the night. 
 And waning watch-fires glow less bright. 
 
 And dawn is glimmering pale. 
 F2
 
 66 SCOTT — VOL. IT. 
 
 A HTJXTIXG SONG. 
 
 Waken lords and ladies gay. 
 
 On the mountain dawns the day. 
 
 All the jolly chase is here, 
 
 With hawk, and horse, and huntmg spear 
 
 Hounds are in their couples yelling, 
 
 Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 
 
 Merrily, meiTily, mingle they, 
 
 " Waken lords and ladies gay." 
 
 Waken lords and ladies gay, 
 
 The mist has left the mountain gray, 
 
 Springlets in the dawn are steaming, 
 
 Diamonds on the brake are gleaming. 
 
 And foresters have busy been. 
 
 To track the buck in thicket green ; 
 
 Now we come to chant our lay, 
 
 " Waken lords and ladies gay.'* 
 
 Waken lords and ladies gay. 
 To the green wood haste away; 
 We can show you where he lies. 
 Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; 
 We can show the marks he made. 
 When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed; 
 You shall see him brought to bay, 
 '* Waken lords and ladies gay."
 
 SCOTT VOL. Jl. 67 
 
 f .ouder, louder chant the lay, 
 Vraken lords and ladies g-ay ! 
 Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, 
 llun a course as well as we : 
 Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk. 
 Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk : 
 Think of this, and rise witli day, 
 Gentle lords and ladies g-ay. 
 
 THE 3IIXRTREL S RKTIIEAT. 
 
 Hushed is the harp — the Minstrel gone. 
 And did he wander forth alone ? 
 Alone, in indigence and age, 
 To linger out his pilgrimage ■ 
 No : — close beneath proud Newark's towei 
 Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower ; 
 A simple hut ; but there was seen 
 The little garden hedged with green, 
 The cheeiful hearth, and lattice clean. 
 There, sheltered wanderers, by the blaze. 
 Oft heard the tale of other days ; 
 For much he loved to ope his door, 
 And give the aid be begged before. 
 So passed the winter's day ; but still, 
 ^Vhen summer smiled on sweet Bowhiil, 
 And July's eve, with babny breath. 
 Waved the blue-bells on Newark heatlt
 
 68 SCOTT TOL. ii:. 
 
 When throstles sung in Hare-head shav>v 
 AtTci corn was green on Carterhaugh, 
 And flourished, broad, Blackandro's oak. 
 The aged Harper's soul awoke ! 
 Then would he sing achievements high^ 
 And circumstance of chivalry, 
 Till the wrapt traveller would stay. 
 Forgetful of the closing day : 
 And noble youths, the strain to hear,^ 
 Forsook the hunting of the deer ; 
 And Yarrow, as he rolled along. 
 Bore burden to the Minstrel*s song. 
 
 CHICHTOrif CASTLE^ 
 
 That castle rises on the steep* 
 Of the green vale of Tyne ; 
 
 And far beneath, where slow they creep 
 
 From pool to eddy, dark and deep. 
 
 Where alders moist and willows weep. 
 You hear her streams repine. 
 
 The towers in different ages rose ; 
 
 Their various architecture shows 
 The builders' various hands ; 
 
 A mighty mass, that could oppose. 
 
 * A larg'e ruinous castle on the banks of the Tyne, about seven mik;& 
 iiom Edinburgh. These splendid remains of antiquity are now used as a 
 sheepfold.
 
 StOTT VOL. 111. 69 
 
 When deadliest hatred fired its foes, 
 The vengeful Doug'las bands. 
 
 Crichtoun ! though now thy miry court 
 
 But pens the lazy steer and sheep. 
 
 Thy turrets rude, and tottered Keep, 
 Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
 Oft have I traced within thy fort, 
 
 Of mouldering shields the mystic sense, 
 
 Scutcheons of honour, or pretence, 
 Quartered in old armorial sort. 
 
 Remains of rude magnificence : 
 Nor wholly yet hath time defaced 
 
 Thy lordly galleiy fair ; 
 Nor yet the stony cord unbraced. 
 Whose twisted knots, with roses laced. 
 
 Adorn thy ruined stair. 
 Still rises unimpaired below. 
 The court-yard's graceful portico ; 
 Above its cornice, row and row. 
 Of fair hewn facets, richly show 
 
 Their pointed diamond form. 
 Though there but houseless cattle go 
 
 To s'iekl them from the storm. 
 And, slmddenng, still may we explore, 
 
 Where oft whilome were captives ]jent, 
 The darkness of thy Ivlassy More :* 
 
 Or, from thy grass-gi'own battlement, 
 
 * The pit, or prison vault.
 
 70 SCOTT— VOL. 111. 
 
 May trace, in undulating" line. 
 The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 
 
 THE SHEPHEKB, 
 
 I'he shepherd, who, in summer sun. 
 Has something of our envy won. 
 As thou with pencil, I with pen. 
 The features traced of hill and glen ; 
 He who, outstretched, the livelong day. 
 At ease among the heath-flower lay. 
 Viewed the light clouds with vacant look. 
 Or slumbered o'er his tattered book. 
 Or idly busied him to guide 
 His angle o'er the lessened tide ;-r- 
 At midnight now, the snowy plain 
 Finds sterner labour for the swain. 
 
 When red hath set the beamless sun. 
 Through hedvy vapours dank and dun ; 
 When the tired ploughman, dry and warm- 
 Hears, half asleep, the rising storm 
 Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain, 
 Against the casement's tinkling pane , 
 The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox. 
 To shelter in the brake and rocks. 
 Are warnings which the shepherd ask. 
 To dismal, and to dangerous task. 
 Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain.
 
 SCOTT VOL. III. 71 
 
 The blast may sink in mellowing rain, 
 
 Till, dark above, and white below, 
 
 Decided drives the flaky snow. 
 
 And forth the hardy swain must go. 
 
 Long, with dejected look and whine, 
 
 To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; 
 
 Whistling, and cheering them to aid, 
 
 Around his back he wreathes the plaid ; 
 
 His flock he gathers, and he guides 
 
 To open downs, and mountain sides. 
 
 Where, fiercest though the tempest blow, 
 
 Least deeply lies the drift below. 
 
 The blast, that whistles o'er the fells. 
 
 Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 
 
 Oft he looks back, while, streaming far, 
 
 His cottage window seems a star, 
 
 Loses its feeble gleam, and then 
 
 Turns patient to the blast again. 
 
 And, facing to the tempest's sweep. 
 
 Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep : 
 
 If fails his heart, if his limbs fail, 
 
 Benumbing death is in the gale ; 
 
 His paths, his landmarks, all unknown, 
 
 Close to the hut, no more his own. 
 
 Close to the aid he sought in vain. 
 
 The morn m.ay find the stiffened swain ; 
 
 His widow sees, at dawning pale. 
 
 His orphans raise their feeble wail ; 
 
 And, close beside him, in the snow.
 
 72 SCOTT VOL. III. 
 
 Poor Yarrow, partner of their wo. 
 Couches upon his master's breast, 
 And licks his cheek to break his rest= 
 Who envies now the shepherd's lot, 
 His healthy fare, his rural cot. 
 His summer couch by greenwood tree. 
 His rustic kirn's* loud reveliy, 
 His native hill-notes, tuned on high, 
 To Marian of the blitlisome eye ; 
 His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed, 
 And uU Arcadia's golden creed. 
 
 THE MTSTEBIOrS rAtlVTEH. 
 
 The summoned Palmei-f came in place. 
 His sable cowl o'erhung his face ; 
 In his black mantle was he clad. 
 With Peter's keys, in cloth of red, 
 On his broad shoulders wrought : 
 The scallop shell his cap did deck c 
 The crucifix around his neck 
 Was from Loretto brought ; 
 His sandals were with travel tore, 
 
 * The Scottish harvest -home. 
 
 t A palmer, opposed to a pilgrim, was one w ho made it his sole business 
 to visit different holy shrines ; travelling' incessantly, and subsisting: b) 
 charity; whereas the piigriiu retired to his usual home and occupations, 
 when he had paid his devotions at tlu- particular spot, which was the ob- 
 ject of his pilgrimage. The palmers seem to have been the Quicitionarii 
 of the ancient Scottish canons 1242 and 1296.
 
 SCOTT TOL. III. 73 
 
 Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore ; 
 The faded palm branch in his hand. 
 Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land. 
 
 When as the Palmer came in hall, 
 
 Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall. 
 
 Or had a statelier step withal, 
 
 Or looked more high and keen ; 
 For no saluting did he wait, 
 But strode across the hall of state, 
 And fronted Mannion where he sate, 
 
 As he his peer had been. 
 But his gaunt frame was worn with toil, 
 llis cheek was sunk, alas the while ! 
 And when he struggled at a smile. 
 
 His eye looked haggard wild. 
 Poor wretch ! the mother that him bare. 
 If she had been in presence there, 
 In his wan face, and sun-burned hair. 
 
 She had not known her child. 
 Danger, long travel, want, or wo. 
 Soon change the form that best we know — 
 For deadly fear can time outgo, 
 
 And blanch at once the hair ; 
 Hard toil can roughen fomi and face, 
 And want can quench the eye's bright grace ; 
 Nor does old age a wrinkle trace, 
 
 -More deeply than despair. 
 G
 
 74 :?LOTT^ — VOL. 111. 
 
 A CAMP SCKWE. 
 
 Much he marvelled one small land 
 Could marshal forth such various band : 
 
 For men-at-arms were here. 
 Heavily sheathed in mail and plate. 
 Like iron towers for strength and weight, 
 On Flemish steeds of bone and height, 
 
 "With battle-axe and spear. 
 Young knights and squu'es, a lighter traij). 
 Practised their chargers on the plain. 
 By aid of leg, of hand, and rein, 
 
 Each vvarhke feat to show^ ; 
 I'o pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain, 
 And high curvet, that not in vain 
 The sword-sway might descend amain 
 
 On foeman's casque below. 
 He saw the hai-dy burghers there 
 March armed, on foot, with faces bare, 
 
 For visor they wore none ; 
 Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight, 
 But burnished were their corslets bright : 
 Their brigantines, and gorgets light. 
 
 Like very silver shone. 
 Long pikes they had for standing fight. 
 
 Two-handed swords they wore, 
 And many wielded mace of weight, 
 
 And bucklers bright they bore.
 
 SCOTT VOL. llf. 
 
 « )n loot the yeomen too, but dressed 
 Vn his steel jack, a swarthy ves^ 
 
 With iron quilted well ; 
 Each at his back, a slender store^ 
 His forty days' provision bore 
 
 As feudal statutes tell. 
 His arms were halbard, axe, or spear, 
 A cross-bow there, a hagbut here, 
 A dag-ger knife, and brand. — 
 Sober he seemed, and sad of cheer, 
 As loth to leave his cottage dear. 
 
 And march to foreign strand ; 
 Or musing, who would guide his steer. 
 
 To till the fallow land. 
 Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye 
 Did aught of dastard terror lie, — 
 
 More dreadful far his ire 
 Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name. 
 In eager mood to battle came. 
 Their valour like light straw on flame, 
 
 A fierce but fading fire. 
 
 Not so the Borderer :— ^bred to war, 
 He knew the battle's din afar, 
 
 And joyed to hear it swell. 
 His peaceful day was slothful ease ; 
 Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please, 
 
 Like the loud slogan yell. 
 On active steed, with lance and blade. 
 The lig-ht armed pricker plied his tra'de, —
 
 V6 SCOTT VOL. II r. 
 
 Let nobles fig-ht for fume ; 
 Let vassals follow where they lead, 
 Burghers, to g-uard their townships, bleed. 
 
 But war's the Borderers' game. 
 Their gain, their glory, their delight. 
 To sleep the day, maraud the night. 
 O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; 
 Joyful to fight they took their way, 
 Scarce caring who might win the da} , 
 
 Their booty was secure. 
 These, as Lord Marmion's train passed b} , 
 Looked on, at first, with careless eye. 
 Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know. 
 The form and force of English bow. 
 But when they saw the Lord arrayed 
 In splendid arms, and rich brocade. 
 Each Borderer to his kinsman said, 
 ** Hist Ringan ! seest tliou there ! 
 Canst guess which road they'll homeward ride 
 O ! could we but, on Border side. 
 By Eusdale glen, or Liddell's tide, 
 
 Beset a prize so fair ! 
 That fangless Lion, too, their guide. 
 Might chance to lose his glistering hide ; 
 Brown Maudlin of that doublet pied 
 Could make a kirtle rare." 
 
 Next Marmion marked the Celtic racc» 
 Of different language, form, and face.
 
 ?COTT VOL. in. 7T 
 
 A vavioas race of man ; 
 Just tlien the chiefs their tribes arrayed, 
 And wild and garish semblance made. 
 The chequered trews, and belted plaid. 
 And varying- notes the war-pipes brayed 
 
 To every varying- clan ; 
 Wild through their red or sable hair 
 I^ooked out their eyes, with savage stare, 
 
 On Marmion as he past ^ 
 Their legs, above the knee were bare ; 
 Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare. 
 
 And hardened to the blast ; 
 Of taller race the chiefs they own 
 Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
 The hunted red-deer's undressed hide 
 The hairj^ buskins well supplied ; 
 The gi-accful bonnet decked their head ; 
 Back from their shoulders hung the plaid ; 
 
 A broad-sword of unwieldy length ; 
 \ dagger, proved for edge and strength 5 
 
 A studded tar^e they wore. 
 And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, O ! 
 Short was the shaft, and weak the bow. 
 
 To that which England bore. 
 The Isles-men carried at their backs 
 The ancient Danish battle-axe. 
 They raised a wild and wondering cry, 
 As with his guide rode Marmion by. 
 G2
 
 78 SCOTT VOL. III. 
 
 MARMIOS*S RECEPTION AT NOHHAM CASTLE. 
 
 Day set on Norbam's castled steep,* 
 And Tweed's fair river broad and deep, 
 
 And Cheviot's mountains lone : 
 The battled towers, the donjon keep, 
 The loop-hole ^'ates where captives weep, 
 The flanking walls that round it sweep, 
 
 In yellow lustre shone. 
 The warriors on the turrets high, 
 Moving athwart the evening sky. 
 
 Seemed forms of giant height ; 
 Their armour, as it caught the rays. 
 Flashed back again the western blaze. 
 
 In lines of dazzhng light. 
 
 St. George's banner, broad and gay, 
 Now faded, as the fading ray 
 
 Less bright, and less, was flung ; 
 The evening gale had scarce the power 
 To wave it on the donjon tower, 
 
 So heavily it hung. 
 
 * The ruinous castle of Norham, (anciently called Ubbanford,) is situ- 
 ated on the soutliern bank of the Tweed, about six miles above Btrwick, 
 and vvhert that river is still the boundary between Eng-land and Scotland. 
 The extent of its ruins, as well as its historical iiiijiortunce, show it to have 
 been a place of magnificence, as well as strength. Edward I. resided there 
 when lit was created umpire of the dispute concerning; the Scottish suc- 
 cession. It was repeatedly taken and retaken during the wars between 
 England and Scotland ; and indeed scarce any happened, in which it had 
 not a principal share. 
 
 The ruins of the castle are at present considerable, as well as pictu- 
 resque. They consist of a large shattered tower, w ith many vaults, and 
 fragments ofother edifices enclosed within an outward wall of great circui t . 
 
 J
 
 SCOTT VOL. III. 79 
 
 The scouts had parted on their search. 
 
 The castle gates were barred, 
 Above the gloomy portal arch. 
 Timing his footsteps to a march. 
 
 The warder kept his guard. 
 Low humming, as he paced along, 
 Son»e ancient border-gathering song. 
 
 A distant trampling sound he hears : 
 He looks abroad, and soon appears, 
 O'er Horncliff-hill a plump* of spears^ 
 
 Beneath a pennon gay ; 
 A horseman darting from the crowd. 
 Like lightning from a summer cloud. 
 Spurs on his mettled courser proud. 
 
 Before the dark array. 
 Beneath the sable palisade. 
 That closed the castle barricade, 
 
 Ilis bugle horn he blew 5 
 I'he warder hasted from the wall. 
 And warned the Captain in the hall, 
 
 For well the blast he knew ; 
 And joyfully that Knight did call. 
 To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 
 
 * This word properly applies to a flight of waterfowl ; but is applied, by 
 ijialogy, to a body of horse. 
 
 There is a Knig-ht of the North Country, 
 Which leads a lusty plump of spears. 
 
 Battle of Fiodden.
 
 80 SCOTT — vol. III. 
 
 '*Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 
 
 Bring pasties of the doe. 
 And quickly make the entrance free. 
 And bid my heralds ready be. 
 And every minstrel sound his glee. 
 
 And all our trumpets blow ; 
 And, from the platform, spare ye not 
 To fire a noble salvo-shot : 
 
 Lord Marmion waits below." — 
 Then to the Castle's lower ward 
 
 Sped forty yeomen tall, 
 The iron-studded gates unbarred. 
 Raised the portculUs' ponderous guai'd. 
 The lofty palisade unsparred. 
 
 And let the drawbridge fall. 
 
 Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode, 
 Proudly his red-roan charger trod. 
 His helm hung at the saddle bow ; 
 AVeil, by his visage, you might know 
 He was a stal worth knight, and keen. 
 And had in many a battle been 5 
 The scar on his brown cheek revealed 
 A token true of Bosworth field ; 
 His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire, 
 Showed spirit proud, and prompt to ire ; 
 Yet lines of thought upon his cheek 
 Did deep design and counsel speak. 
 His forehead, by his casque worn bare.
 
 SCOTT VOL. III. 
 
 His tliick moustache, and curly hair. 
 Coal-black, and grizzled here and there. 
 
 But more through toil than age ; 
 His square turned joints, and strength of limb. 
 Showed him no cai-pet knight so trim. 
 Hut, in close fight, a champion grim. 
 
 In camps, a leader sage. 
 
 Well was he armed from head to heel. 
 
 In mail, and plate, of Milan steel ; 
 
 But his strong helm, of mighty cost. 
 
 Was all with burnished gold embossed ; 
 
 Amid the plumage of the crest, 
 
 A falcon hovered on her nest. 
 
 With wings outspread, and forward breast ; 
 
 E'en such a falcon, on his shield. 
 
 Soared sable in an azure field : 
 
 The golden legend bore aright, 
 
 " Who checks at me to death is dightf*' 
 
 Blue was the charger's broidered rein ; 
 
 Blue ribbons decked his arcliing mane ; 
 
 The knightly housing's ample fold 
 
 Was velvet blue, and trapped with gold. 
 
 Behind him rode two gallant squires. 
 Of noble name, and knightly sires ; 
 They burned the gilded spurs to claim ; 
 For well could each a war-horse tame. 
 Could draw the bow, the sword could sway. 
 And lightly bear the ring away ; 
 
 ai
 
 82 SCOTT — VOL. in. 
 
 Nor less with courteous precepts stored, 
 Could dance in hall, and carve at board, 
 And frame love ditties passing- rare, 
 And sing- tliem to a lady fair. 
 
 Four men at-arms came at their backs. 
 With halbard, bill, and battle-axe : 
 They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong-. 
 And led his sumpter mules along-, 
 And ambling palfrey, when at need 
 Him listed ease his battle-steed. 
 The last, and trustiest of the four. 
 On hig-h his forky pennon bore ; 
 Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, 
 Fluttered the streamer glossy blue. 
 Where blazoned sable, as before. 
 The towering falcon seemed to soar. 
 Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, 
 In hosen black, and jerkins blue, 
 AVith falcons broidered on each breast. 
 Attended on their lord's behest. 
 Each, chosen for an archer good, 
 Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood ^ 
 Each one a six-foot bow could bend. 
 And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 
 Each held a boar-spear tough and strong, 
 And at their belts theii' quivers rung. 
 Their dusty palfreys, and array, 
 Showed thev had marched a wearv wav.
 
 SCOTT VOL. III. 83 
 
 'Tis meet that I should tell you now, 
 flow fairly armed, and ordered how. 
 
 The soldiers of the g-uard, 
 With m.usquet, pike, and morion, 
 To welcome noble Marmion, 
 
 Stood in the Castle-yard ; 
 Minstrels and trumpeters were there, 
 The gunner held his lintstock yare, 
 
 For welcome-shot prepared — 
 Entered the train, and such a clang. 
 As then through all his tun-ets rang, 
 
 Old Norham never heard. 
 
 Tlie guards theu* morice pikes advanced, 
 
 The trumpets flourished brave. 
 The caiuion from the ramparts glanced. 
 
 And thundering welcome gave ; 
 A blithe salute, in martial sort, 
 
 The minstrels well might sound. 
 For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court. 
 
 He scattered angels round. 
 " Welcome to Norham, Marmion, 
 
 Stout heart, and open hand ? 
 U'ell dost thou brook thy gallant roan, 
 
 Thou flower of English land." 
 
 Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck, 
 With silver scutcheon round their neck, 
 
 Stood on the steps of stone. 
 By which you reach tlie donjon gate,
 
 84 SCOTT — yOL. IIT. 
 
 And there, with herald pomp and state, 
 
 They hailed Lord Marmion : 
 They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, 
 Of Lutterward and Scrivelbaye, 
 
 Of Tamworth tower and town ; 
 And he, their courtesy to requite. 
 Gave them a chain of twelve marks weight. 
 
 All as he lighted down. 
 **Now largesse, largesse,* Lord Marmion, 
 
 Knight of the crest of gold ! 
 A blazoned shield, in battle Avon, 
 
 Ne'er guarded heart so bold." 
 
 They marshalled him to the Castle hall, 
 
 Where the guests stood all aside. 
 And loudly flourished the ti-umpet-call. 
 
 And the heralds loudly cried, 
 — " Room, lordings, room for Lord Marmion. 
 
 With the crest and helm of gold ! 
 Full well we know the trophies won 
 
 In tlie list at Cottiswold : 
 There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 
 
 'Gainst Marmion's force to stand ; 
 To him he lost his ladye-love. 
 
 And to the king his land. 
 Ourselves beheld the listed field, 
 
 A sight both sad and fair. 
 We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield, 
 
 * The cry by vhith the heralds expressed their thaitks fov the »»ount_v 
 of the nobles.
 
 SCOTT VOL. III. bo 
 
 And saw his saddle bare ; 
 We saw the victor win the crest 
 
 He wears with worthy pride ; 
 And on the gibbet-tree, reversed. 
 
 His foeinan's scutcheon tied. 
 Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight ! 
 
 Room, room, ye gentles gay, 
 For him who conquered in the riglit, 
 
 Mamiion of Fontenaye !" — 
 
 Then stepped to meet that noble lord. 
 
 Sir Hugh the Heron bold. 
 Baron of Twissel, and of Ford, 
 
 And Captain of the Hold. 
 He led Lord Marmlon to the dcas. 
 
 Raised o'er the pavement high, 
 And placed him in the upper place— 
 
 They feasted full and high : 
 
 * * * * 
 
 And now the midnight draught of sleep 
 Where vraie and spices richly steep. 
 In massive bowl of silver deep. 
 
 The page presents on knee. 
 Lord Mai-mion drank a fair good rest. 
 The Captain pledged his noble guest. 
 The cup went through among the rest, 
 
 Who drained it merrily : 
 Alone the Palmer passed it b}. 
 Though Selby pressed liim courteousl} 
 H
 
 86 SCOTT TOI. III. 
 
 This was the sign the feast was o'er ; 
 
 It hushed the merry wassel roar, 
 
 The minstrels ceased to sound. 
 Soon in the castle nought was heard, 
 But the slow footstep of tlie guard. 
 
 Pacing his sober round. 
 
 With early dawn Lord Marmion rose : 
 
 And first the chapel doors unclose ; 
 
 Then, after morning rites were done, 
 
 (A hasty mass from Friar John,) 
 
 And knight and squire had broke their fast, 
 
 On rich substantial repast, 
 
 Lord Marmion's bugle blew to horse. 
 
 Then came the stirrup-cup in com-se 5 
 
 Between the Baron and his host, 
 
 No point of comlesy was lost : 
 
 High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid. 
 
 Solemn excuse the Captain made, 
 
 Till, fihng from the gate, had past 
 
 'I'hat noble train, their Lord the last. 
 
 Then loudly rung the trumpet call ; 
 
 Thundered the cannon from the wall. 
 And shook the Scottish shore ; 
 
 Around the castle eddied slow, 
 
 Volumes of smoke as white as snow , 
 And hid its turrets hoar ; 
 Till they rolled forth upon the air. 
 And met the river breezes there, 
 Which g'ave again the prospect fair
 
 SCOTT VOL. ill. tJf 
 
 rUE VOrAGE OF LADY ABBESS AXU UER SCNS. 
 
 The breeze, which swept away the smokcj 
 
 Round Norham Castle rolled ; 
 When all the loud artillery spoke, 
 With lig-htning- flash, and thunder-stioke, 
 
 As Marmion left the Hold. 
 It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze ; 
 For, far upon Northumbrian seas, 
 
 It freshly blew, and strong". 
 Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile. 
 Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle,* 
 
 It bore a bark along. 
 Upon the gale she stooped her side. 
 And bounded o'er the swelling tide. 
 
 As she were dancing home ; 
 The merry seamen laughed, to see 
 Their gallant ship so lustily 
 
 Furrow the green sea-foam. 
 
 • The Abbey of V/hitby, on the coast of Yorkshire, was founded A. D, 
 657, in consequence of a vow of Oswy, King of Northuruberland. It con- 
 tained both monks and nuns of the Benedictine order ; but, contrary to 
 what was usual in such establishments, the abbess was superior to the ab- 
 bot. The monastery was afterAvards ruined by the Danes, and rebuilded 
 by William Percy in the reign of the Conqueror. 1 here were no nuns 
 there in Henry the Eighth's tune, nor long before it. The ruins of Whitby 
 Abbey are very magnificent. 
 
 Lindisfarne, an isle on the coast of Northumberland, was called Holy 
 Island, from the sanctity of its ancient monastery, and from its having 
 been the episcopal seat of the see of Durham during the early ages of Bri- 
 tish Christianity. A succession of holy men held that office ; but their me- 
 rits were swallowed up in the superior fame of St. Cuthbert, who was sixth 
 bishop of Durham, and who bestowed the name of his " patrimony" upon 
 the extensive property of the see. The ruins of the monastery upon 
 Holy Island betoken great antiquity.
 
 SCOTT VOL. III. 
 
 Much joyed they in their honoured freig-lit 
 For, on the deck, in chair of state. 
 The Abbess of St. Hilda pluccd, 
 With five fair nuns, the g-alley gTuccd. 
 
 *T\vas sweet to see these holy maids, 
 Like birds escaped to green-wood shades, 
 
 Their first iiight from the cage. 
 How timid, and how curions too. 
 For all to them was strange and new. 
 And all the common sights they view 
 
 Their wondemient engage. 
 One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail. 
 
 With many a benedicite ; 
 One at the rippling surge grew pale. 
 
 And would for terror pray ; 
 Then shrieked, because the sea-dog, nigh» 
 Ilis round black head, and sparkling' eye. 
 
 Reared o'er the foaming spray ; 
 And one would still adjust her veil, 
 Disordered by the summer gale, 
 Perchance lest some more worldly eye 
 Her dedicated charms might spy ; 
 Perchance, because such action graced 
 Her fair-turned arm and slender waist. 
 Light was each simple bosom there. 
 Save two, who ill might pleasure share, — ■ 
 The Abbess, and the Novice Clare.
 
 SCOTT VOL. III. 69 
 
 The Abbess was of noble blood. 
 But early took the veil and hood. 
 Ere upon life she cast a look. 
 Or knew the world that she forsook. 
 Fair too she was, and kind had been 
 As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 
 For her a timid lover sigh. 
 Nor knew the influence of her eye -; 
 Love, to her ear, was but a name. 
 Combined with vanity and shame ; 
 Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all 
 Bounded within the cloister wall : 
 The deadliest sin her mind could reach, 
 Was of monastic nile the breach j 
 And her ambition's highest aim. 
 To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 
 For this she gave her ample dower, 
 To raise the convent's eastern tower ; 
 For this, with cai-ving rare and quaint, 
 She decked the chapel of the saint ; 
 And gave the relique -shrine of cost. 
 With ivory and gems embost ; 
 The poor her convent's bounty blest, 
 The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 
 
 Black was her garb, her rigid rule 
 Reformed on Benedictine school ; 
 Her cheek was pale, her form was spare 
 Vigils, and penitence austere, 
 H 2
 
 90 SCOTT — VOL. III. 
 
 Had early quenched the light of youth, 
 But gentle was the dame in sooth ; 
 Though vain of her religious swa}'. 
 She loved to see her maids obey, 
 Yet nothing stern was she in cell, 
 And the nuns loved their Abbess welJ. 
 Sad was this voyage to the dame ; 
 Summoned to Lindisfarn, she came, 
 There with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old. 
 And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 
 A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
 For inquisition stern and strict. 
 On two apostates from the faith. 
 And, if Jieed were, to doom to death. 
 
 Nought say I here of Sister Clare, 
 Save this, that she was young and fair, 
 As yet a novice unprofessed. 
 Lovely and gentle, but distressed. 
 She was betrothed to one now dead, 
 Or worse, who had dishonoured fled. 
 Her kinsman bade her give her hand 
 To one, who loved her for her land ; 
 Herself, almost heart-broken now, 
 Was bent to take the vestal vow. 
 And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom. 
 Her blasted hopes and withered bloom. 
 
 She sate upon the galley's prow. 
 
 And seemed to mai-k the waves below ;
 
 SCOTT — VOL. in. 
 
 Nay, seemed so fixed her look and eye, 
 To count them as they glided by. 
 She saw them not — 'twas seeming- all — 
 Far other scenes her thoughts recall, — 
 A sun-scorched desert, waste and bare. 
 Nor wave, nor breezes, miuroured there ^ 
 There saw she, where some careless hand 
 O'er a dead corpse had heaped the sand, 
 To hide it tiU the jackalls come. 
 To tear it from tlie scanty tomb — 
 See what a woful look was given. 
 As she raised up her eyes to heaven ! 
 
 Lovely, and gentle, and distressed — 
 
 These charms might tame the fiercest breast ; 
 
 Harpers have sung, and poets told. 
 
 That he, in fiiry uncontrouled. 
 
 The shaggy monarch of the wood, 
 
 Before a virgin, fair and good. 
 
 Hath pacified his savage mood. 
 
 But passions in the human frame. 
 
 Oft put the lion's rage to shame ; 
 
 And jealousy, by dark intrigue. 
 
 With sordid avarice in league, 
 
 Had practised, with their bowl and knife, 
 
 Against the mourner's harmless life. 
 
 This crime was charged 'gainst those who lay 
 
 Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet gray. 
 
 91
 
 SCOTT — VOL. HI. 
 
 And now the vessel skirts the strand 
 
 Of mountainous Northumberland; 
 
 Towns, towers, and halls successive rise. 
 
 And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
 
 Monk Wearmouth soon behind them lay. 
 
 And Tynemouth's priory and bay ; 
 
 They marked, amid her trees, the hall 
 
 Of Lofty Seaton-Delaval 5 
 
 They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 
 
 Rush to the sea through sounding woods ; 
 
 They past the tower of Widderington, 
 
 Mother of many a valiant son ; 
 
 At Coqaet-isle their beads they tell. 
 
 To tlie good Saint who owned the cell ; 
 
 Then did the Alne attention claim. 
 
 And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name ; 
 
 And next, they crossed themselves, to hear 
 
 The whitening breakers sound so near. 
 
 Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar 
 
 On Dunstanb ©rough's caverned shore : 
 
 Thy tower, proud Bamborough, marked they there, 
 
 King Ida's castle, huge and square, 
 
 From its tall rock look grimly down. 
 
 And on the swelling ocean frown ; 
 
 Then from the coast they bore away, 
 
 And reached the Holy Island's bay. 
 
 » • * * 
 
 As to the port the gaUey flew. 
 Higher and higher rose to view
 
 SCOTT VOL. IIT. 
 
 'I'he Castle, with its battled walls. 
 The ancient Monastery's halls, 
 A solftnn, huge, and dark-red pile, 
 Placed on the margin of the isle. 
 
 In Saxon strength that Abbey frowned. 
 With massive arches broad and round, 
 That rose alternate, row and row, 
 On ponderous columns, short and low. 
 
 Built ere the art was known, 
 By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk. 
 The arcades of an alleyed walk 
 To emulate in stone. 
 On the deep walls, the heathen Dane 
 Had poured his impious rage in vain ; 
 And needful was such strength to these, 
 Exposed to the tempestuous seas. 
 Scourged by the wind's eternal sway. 
 Open to rovers fierce as they. 
 Which could twelve hundred years withstand 
 Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 
 Not but that portions of the pile, 
 Rebuilded in a later style. 
 Showed where the spoiler's hand had been ; 
 Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 
 Had worn the pillar's camng quaint. 
 And mouldered in his niche the saint, 
 And rounded, with consuming power, 
 The pointed angles of each tower ;
 
 94 SCOTT — VOL. rn. 
 
 Yet still entire the Abbey stood. 
 Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. 
 
 Soon as they neared his turrets strong, 
 The maidens raised St. Hilda's song, 
 And with the sea-wave and the wind. 
 Their voices sweetly shrill combined. 
 
 And made harmonious close ; 
 Then, answering- from the sandy shore, 
 Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar. 
 
 According chorus rose ; 
 Down to the haven of the Isle, 
 The monks and nuns in order file. 
 From Cuthbert's cloisters grim : 
 Banner, and cross, and reliques there. 
 To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare ; 
 And, as they caught the sounds on air, 
 They echoed back the hymn. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF FLODDEN. 
 
 At length his eye 
 Unusual movement might descry. 
 
 Amid the shifting lines : 
 rhe Scottish host drawn out appears. 
 For, flashing on the hedge of spears 
 
 The eastern sunbeam shines. 
 Their front now deepening, now extending ;
 
 SCOTT VOL. III. 95 
 
 Their flank inclining", wheeling-, bending-, 
 Now drawing back, and now descending-, 
 The skilful Marmion well could know, 
 They watched the motions of some foe, 
 Who traversed on the plain below. 
 
 E*en so it was ; — from Flodden ridg-e 
 The Scots beheld the Eng-Ush host 
 Leave Barmore-wood, their evening- post. 
 And heedful watched them as they crossed 
 The Till by Twisel Bridg-e. 
 
 High sight it is, and haughty, while 
 They dive into the deep defile ; 
 Beneath the caverned cliti' they fall, 
 Beneath the castle's airy wall. 
 
 By rock, by oak, by hawthorn tree, 
 Troop after troop is disappearing : 
 'J'roop after troop their banners rearing-. 
 
 Upon the eastern bank you see. 
 Still pouring down the rocky den, 
 
 Where flows the sullen Till, 
 And rising from the dim-wood glen, 
 Standards on standards, men on men. 
 
 In slow succession still. 
 And bending o'er the Gothic urch. 
 And pressing on, in ceaseless march, 
 
 To gain the opposing hill. 
 That morn, to many a trumpet-clang, 
 Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; 
 Aad ma^y a chief of birth and rank.
 
 96 SCOTT VOL. III. 
 
 Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
 Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 
 In spring"-tide bloom so lavishly. 
 Had then from many an axe its doom. 
 To give the marching columns room. 
 
 And why stands Scotland idly now, 
 Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow, 
 Since England gains the pass the while, 
 And struggles through the deep defile '' 
 What checks the fiery soul of James ? 
 Why sits that champion of the dames 
 
 Inactive on liis steed. 
 And sees, between him and his land. 
 Between him and Tweed's southern strand, 
 
 His host Lord SuiTey lead ? 
 What vails the vain knight-errant's brand ?< — 
 t), Douglas, for thy leading wand ! 
 
 Fierce Randolph, for thy speed ! 
 O for one hour of Wallace wight, 
 Or well-skilled Bmce, to rule the fight. 
 And cr)^ — *' Saint Andrew and our right !'" 
 Another sight had seen tliat morn, 
 From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn. 
 And Flodden had been Bannock-bourne I — 
 The precious hour has passed in vain. 
 And England's host has gained the j lain ; 
 Wheeling their march, and circling still, 
 Around the base of Flodden hill.
 
 SeOTT VOL. HI. f 
 
 Krc yet die bands met Mannion's eye, 
 Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and hig-h, — 
 
 "Hark ! hark ! my lord, an English dmm ■ 
 And see ascending squadrons come 
 
 Between Tweed's river and the hi]}. 
 Foot, horse, and cannon ; — hap what hap, 
 My basnet to a prentice cap. 
 
 Lord Surrey's o'er the Till ! — 
 Yet more ! yet more ! — how fair arrayed 
 Tliey file from out the hawthorn shade 
 
 And sweep so gallant by ! 
 With all their banners bravely spread, 
 
 And all their armour flashing high. 
 Saint George might waken from the dead, 
 
 To see fair England's banners fly." — 
 "Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount 5 "thon'dst best, 
 And listen to our lord's behest." — 
 With kindling brow Lord Marmion said — 
 " This instant be oui* band arnwed ; 
 'I'he river must be quickly crossed. 
 That we may join Lord SuiTey's host. 
 If fight King James, — as well I ti-ust. 
 That fight he will, and fight he must, — 
 'I he Lady Clare behind our lines 
 Shall tariy, while the battle joins." 
 
 Himself he swift on horseback threv\ . 
 Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu ; 
 Far less would listen to his prayer. 
 I
 
 98 SCOTT — VOL. Ill 
 
 To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
 Down to the Tweed his band he drew. 
 And muttered, as the flood they view, 
 
 " The pheasant in the falcon's claw, 
 He scarce will yield to please a daw : 
 Lord Angus may the Abbot awe. 
 
 So Clare shall bide with me." 
 Then on that dangerous ford, and deep. 
 Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep, 
 
 He ventured desperately ; 
 And not a moment will he bide, 
 Till squire, or groom, before him ride 5 
 Headmost of all he stems the tide. 
 
 And stems it gallantly. 
 Eustace held Clai-e upon her horse. 
 
 Old Hubert led her rein, 
 ^ Stoutly they braved the current's course, 
 And, though far downward driven per force. 
 
 The southern bank they gain ; 
 Behind them, struggling, came to shore, 
 
 As best they might, the train : 
 Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, 
 
 A caution not in vain 5 
 Deep need that day that every string. 
 By wet unharmed, should sharply ring. 
 A moment then Lord Marmion staid. 
 And breathed his steed, his men arrayed. 
 
 Then forward moved his band. 
 Until, Lord Surrey's reai'-guard won,
 
 SCOTT — VOL. irr. 99 
 
 He halted by a cross of stone. 
 That, on a hillock standing" lone. 
 Did all the field command. 
 
 Hence might they see the full array 
 
 Of either host, for deadly fray ; 
 
 Their marshalled line stretched east and west, 
 
 And fronted north and south. 
 And distant salutation past 
 
 From the loud cannon mouth ; 
 Not in the close successive rattle. 
 That breathes the voice of modern battle. 
 
 But slow and far between. — 
 The hillock gained. Lord Marmion staid : 
 ** Here, by this cross," he gently said, 
 
 " You well may view the scene. 
 Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : 
 O ! think of Marmion in thy prayer ! 
 Thou wilt not ? — well, no less my care 
 Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — 
 You, Blount, and Eustace, are her guard. 
 
 With ten picked archers of my train ; 
 With England if tlie day go hard. 
 
 To Berwick speed amain. — 
 But if we conquer, cruel maid ! 
 My spoils shall at your feet be laid. 
 
 When here we meet again." — 
 He waited not for answer there ; 
 And would not mark the maid's despair.
 
 100 SCOTT TOE. HI. 
 
 Nor ]ieeJ the discontented look 
 From either squire ; but spuiTed amain, 
 And, dashing through the battle plain, 
 
 His way to Surrey took. 
 
 *' The good Lord Marmion, by my life ' 
 
 Welcome to danger's hour ! — 
 
 Short greeting- serves in time of strife : — 
 Thus have I ranged my power : 
 
 Myself will rule this central host, 
 Stout Stanley fronts their right, 
 
 My sons command the vaward post. 
 With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight ; 
 Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light. 
 Shall be in rearward of the fight. 
 
 And succour those that need it most. 
 Now, gallant Marmion, well I know. 
 Would gladly to the vanguard go ; 
 Edmund, the admiral, Tunstall there, 
 Witli thee their charge will blithely share 
 There fight thine own retainers too. 
 Beneath De Burg, thy steward tioie." — 
 *' Thanks, noble Surrey !" Marmion said, 
 Nor further greeting there be paid ; 
 But, parting like a thunderbolt, 
 First in the vanguard made a halt. 
 Where such a shout there rose 
 Of" Marmion ! Marmion !" that the cry 
 Up Flodden Mountain shrilling high. 
 Startled the Scottish foes.
 
 SCOTT — VOL. III. 101 
 
 Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 
 With Lady Clare upon the hill ; 
 On which (for far the day was spent) 
 The western sunbeams now were bent. 
 The cry they heard, its meaning" knew, 
 Could plain their distant comrades view : 
 Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 
 ** Unworthy office here to stay. 
 No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
 But, see ! look up — on Flodden bent. 
 The Scottish foe has fired his tent." 
 
 And sudden, as he spoke. 
 From the sharp ridges of the hill. 
 All downward to the banks of Till, 
 
 Was wreathed in sable smoke ; 
 Volumed and vast, and rolling- far, 
 The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, 
 
 As down the hill they broke ; 
 Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone. 
 Announced their march ; their tread alone. 
 At times one warning trumpet blown. 
 
 At times a stifled hum, 
 Told England, from his mountain throne 
 
 King James did rushing come. — 
 Scarce could they hear, or see their foes, 
 Until at weapon point they close, — 
 They close, in clouds of smoke and dust. 
 With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust ; 
 
 And such a yell was there, 
 12
 
 102 SCOTT — VOL. iir. 
 
 of sudden and portentous birth, 
 As if men fought upon the earth, 
 
 And fiends in upper air. 
 Long looked the anxious squires ; their eye 
 Could in the darkness nought descry. 
 
 At length the freshening western blast 
 Aside the shroud of battle cast ; 
 And, first, the ridge of mingled spears 
 Above the brightening cloud appears ; 
 And in the smoke the pennons flew, 
 As in the storm the white sea-mew. 
 Then marked they dashing broad and far, 
 The broken billows of the war, 
 And plumed crests of chieftains brave. 
 Floating like foam upon the wave 5 
 
 But nought distinct they see : 
 Wide raged the battle on the plain ; 
 Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain 5 
 Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ; 
 Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again, 
 
 Wild and disorderly. 
 Among the scene of tumult, high 
 They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly : 
 And stainless TunstalPs banner white. 
 And Edmund Howard's lion bright. 
 Still bear them bravely in the fight, 
 
 Although against them come. 
 Of gallant Gordons many a one. 
 And many a stubborn Highlandman,
 
 SCOTT — VOX. nr. 102 
 
 And many a rngg-ed Border clan, 
 With Huntley, and with Home. 
 
 Far on the left, unseen the while, 
 Stanley broke Lennox and Argj^le 
 Though there the western mountaineer 
 Rushed with bare bosom on the spear. 
 And flung the feeble targe aside, 
 And with both hands the broad-sword plied 
 
 'Twas vain. But Fortune, on the right, 
 
 With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight. 
 Then fell that spotless banner white, — 
 
 The Howard's lion fell ; 
 Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew 
 With wavering flight, while fiercer grew 
 
 Around the battle yell. 
 The Border slogan rent the sky : 
 A Home ! a Gordon ! was tlie cry ; 
 
 Loud were the clanging blows ; 
 Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high. 
 
 The pennon sunk and rose : 
 As bends the bark's mast in the gale. 
 When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, 
 
 It waveretl mid the foes. 
 No longer Blount the view could bear : — 
 *' By Heaven, and all its saints ! I swear, 
 
 I will not see it lost ! 
 Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare 
 May bid your beads, and patter prayer,—
 
 104 SCOTT VOL. IIX. 
 
 I gallop to the host." 
 And to the fray he rode amain. 
 Followed by aU the archer train. 
 The fiery youth, with desperate charge, 
 Made, for a space, an opening large, — 
 
 The rescued banner rose, — 
 But darkly closed the war around. 
 Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground. 
 
 It sunk among the foes. 
 Then Eustace mounted too ; — ^j^et staid. 
 As loath to leave the helpless maid. 
 
 When, fast as shaft can fly. 
 Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread. 
 The loose rein dangling from his head. 
 Housing and saddle bloody red. 
 
 Lord Marmion's steed rushed by ; , 
 And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 
 A look and sign to Clara cast. 
 To mark he would return in haste, 
 Then plunged into the fight. 
 
 Ask me not what the maiden feels. 
 Left in that di'eadful hour alone : 
 
 Perchance her reason stoops, or reels . 
 Perchance a courage, not her own. 
 Braces her mind to desperate tone. 
 
 The scattered van of England wheels ;— 
 She only said, as loud in air 
 The tumult roared, " Is Wilton there ?"
 
 SCOTT VOt. III. 105 
 
 They i^y, or, maddened by despair, 
 
 Fight but to die.—'* Is Wilton there ?" 
 With that, straight up the hill there rode 
 
 Two horsemen drenched with gore. 
 And in their arms, a helpless load, 
 
 A wounded knight they bore. 
 His hand still strained the broken brand -, 
 His arms were smeared with blood, and sand. 
 Dragged from among the horses' feet. 
 With dinted shield, and helmet beat, 
 The falcon crest and plumage gone. 
 Can that be haughty Marmion ! — 
 Young Blount his armour did unlaee. 
 And, gazing on his ghastly face. 
 
 Said — "By Saint George, he's gone! 
 That spear wound has our master sped ; 
 And see the deep cut on his head ! 
 
 Good night to Marmion." 
 •' Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling cease : 
 He opes his eyes," said Eustace ; " peace !" 
 
 When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, 
 
 Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare : 
 *' Where's Hany Blount ^ Fitz -Eustace where r 
 Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 
 Redeem my pennon, — charge again ! 
 Cry — ' Marmion to the rescue !' — Vuln ! 
 Last of my race on battle-plain 
 That shout shall ne'er be heard again !—
 
 Ij^S feCOTT — VOL. lil. 
 
 Yet my last thought is England's : — 63', 
 
 To Dacre bear my signet-ring ; 
 
 Tell him his squadrons up to bring — 
 
 Fitz-Eustace to Lord SuiTey hie : 
 
 Tunstall lies dead upon the field ; 
 
 His life-blood stains the spotless shield . 
 
 Edmund is down ; — my life is reft ; — 
 
 The Admiral alone is left. 
 
 Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
 
 With Chester charge, and Lancashire, 
 
 Full upon Scotland's central host. 
 
 Or victory and England's lost. — 
 
 Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly ! 
 
 Leave Marmion here alone — to die." — 
 
 They parted, and alone he lay ; 
 
 Clare drew her from the sight away. 
 
 Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, 
 
 And half he murmured, — "Is there none, 
 
 Of all my halls have nurst. 
 Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 
 Of blessed water, from the spring. 
 To slake my dying thirst !" — 
 
 O, woman ! in our hours of ease, 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. 
 And variable as the shade 
 By the light quivering aspen made ; 
 AVhen pain and anguish wring the brow, 
 A ministering angel thou ! —
 
 SCOTT VOL. III. 107 
 
 Scarce were the piteous accents said, 
 When with the Baron's casque, the maid 
 
 To the nig-h streamlet ran : 
 Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears ; 
 The plaintive voice alone she hears, 
 
 Sees but the dying man. 
 She stooped her by the runnel's side, 
 
 Bat in abhon-ence backward drew, 
 For, oozing from the mountain's side, 
 Where raged the war, a dark red tide 
 
 "Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
 Where shall she turn ! — behold her mark 
 
 A little fountain-cell, 
 Where water, clear as diamond-spark 
 
 In a stone basin fell. 
 Above, some half-worn letters say, 
 " Drink, weahy. pilgkim. duink. and. piiat 
 For. the. kixu. soul. of. Sibil Grey. 
 
 Who. built, this, cross, and. well." 
 She filled the helm, and back she hied. 
 And with sm-prise and joy espied 
 
 A monk supporting Marmion's head . 
 A pious man, whom duty brought 
 To dubious verge of battle fought. 
 
 To shrive the dying, bless the dead. 
 
 Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave. 
 And as she stooped his brow to lave — 
 " Is it the hand of Clare," he said,
 
 1©^ SCOTT— VOL. 11 f. 
 
 '* Or injured Constance, bathes my head :'-' 
 
 Theji, as remembrance rose, — 
 " Speak not to me of shrift or prayer ! 
 
 I must redress her woes. 
 Short space, few words, are mine to spare . 
 Forgive and listen, gentle Clare !" 
 *' Alas !" she said, " the while, — 
 O think of youi* immortal weal ! 
 In vain for Constance is your zeal ; 
 
 She died at Holy Isle." 
 Lord Marmion started from the ground, 
 As lig-ht as if he felt no wound ; 
 Thoug-h in the action burst the tide, 
 In ton-ents, from his wounded side. 
 *' Then it was trutli !" — he said — " I knew 
 That the dark presage must be true. — 
 I would the Fiend, to whom belongs 
 The vengeance due to all her wrongs, 
 
 Would spare me but a day ! 
 For wasting fire, and dying- groan. 
 And priests slain on the altar stone, 
 Might bribe him for delay. 
 It may not be ! — this dizzy trance — 
 Curse on yon base marauder's lance. 
 And doubly cursed my faiUng brand I 
 A sinful heart makes feeble hand." — 
 Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk* 
 Supported by the trembUng Monk.
 
 SCOTT TOl. III. 109 
 
 Witli fruitless labour, Clafa bound, 
 
 And strove to stanch, the gushing wound : 
 
 The Monk, with unavailing" cares, 
 
 Exhausted all the Church's prayers ;— 
 
 Ever, he said, that, close and near, 
 
 A lady*s voice was in his ear. 
 
 And that the priest he could not hear, 
 
 For that she ever sung, 
 *^ In the lost battle^ borne down by theftying^ 
 Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying .'" 
 
 So the notes rung. 
 "Avoid thee. Fiend ! — with cruel hand, 
 Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! 
 O look, my son, upon yon sign 
 Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 
 
 O think on faith and bliss !— ^ 
 By many a death-bed I have been. 
 And many a sinner's parting seen, 
 
 But never aught like this." — 
 The war, that for a space did fail. 
 Now trebly thundering swelled the g^e, 
 
 And — Stanley was the cry ; — 
 A light on Marmion's vfsage spreadj 
 
 And fired his glazing eye : • , 
 
 With dying hand, above his head 
 He shook the fragment of his blade, 
 
 And shouted " Victory ! — 
 " Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on !"— 
 AVere the last words of Marmion, 
 K
 
 no SCOTT VOL. III. 
 
 By this, though deep the evening fell. 
 Still rose the battle's deadly swell. 
 Per still the Scots, around their king. 
 Unbroken, fought in desperate ring, 
 Where's now their victor vaward wing. 
 
 Where Huntley, and where Home ■ — 
 O for a blast of that dread horn, 
 On Fontarabian echoes borne. 
 
 That to King Charles did coine. 
 When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
 And every paladin and peer. 
 
 On Roncesvalles died ! 
 Such blast miglit warn them, not in vain. 
 To quit the plunder of the slain, 
 And turn the doubtful day again. 
 
 While yet on Flodden side 
 Afar, the Royal Standard flies. 
 And round it toils and bleeds and dies. 
 
 Our Caledonian pride ! 
 In vain the wish — ^for far away. 
 While spoil and havoc mark tlieir way. 
 Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray. — 
 " O Lady," cried the Monk, " away !"— , 
 
 And placed her on her steed ; 
 And led her to the chapel fair. 
 Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
 There all the niglit they spent in prayer, 
 And, at the dawn of morning, there 
 She met her kinsman. Lord Fitz-Clare.
 
 SCOTT VOL. III. Ill 
 
 But as they left the dark'ning- heath, 
 More desperate grew the strife of death. 
 The English shafts in volleys hailed. 
 In headlong charge their horse assailed ; 
 Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep, 
 To break the Scottish circle deep. 
 
 That fought around their king. 
 But )''et, though thick the shafts as snow. 
 Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, 
 Though b'U-men deal the ghastly blow. 
 
 Unbroken was the ring ; 
 The stubborn spearmen still made good 
 Their dark impenetrable wood. 
 Each stepping where his comrade stood, 
 
 The instant that he fell. 
 No thought was there of dastard flight ;-^ 
 Linked in the serried phalanx light. 
 Groom fought like noble, squire like knight, 
 
 As fearlessly and well. 
 Till utter darkness closed her wing 
 O'er their thin host and wounded king. 
 J'hen skilful Surrey's sage commands 
 Led back from strife his shattered bands ; 
 
 And from the charge they drew. 
 As mountain-waves, iroai wasted lands, 
 
 Sweep back to ocean blue. 
 Then did their loss his foeman know ; 
 Their king, their lords, their mightiest low, 
 They melted from the field as snow,
 
 112 SCOTT TOL. Ill, 
 
 When streams are swoln, and soiitii winds blow , 
 
 Dissolves in silent dew. 
 Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash. 
 
 While many a broken band. 
 Disordered, through her currents dash. 
 
 To gain the Scottish land ; 
 To town and tower, to down and dale, 
 To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, 
 And raise the universal wail. 
 Tradition, legend, tune, and song, 
 Shall many an age that wail prolong ; 
 Still from tlie sire the son shall hear 
 Of the stern strife, and carnage drear, 
 
 Of Flodden's fatal field, 
 Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear, 
 
 And broken was her shield ! 
 
 THE HARP. 
 
 I WAS a wild and wayward boy, 
 
 My cliildhood scorned each childish toy 
 
 Retired from all, reserved and coy. 
 
 To musing prone, 
 I wooed my solitar}' joy. 
 
 My harp alone. 
 
 My youth with bold Ambition's mood, 
 Despised the humble stream and wood 
 Where ray poor father's cottage stood.
 
 SCOTT VOL. IV. 113 
 
 To fame unknown 5 
 What should my soaring wings make good ^ 
 My harp alone. 
 
 Love came with all his frantic fir«. 
 And wild romance of vain desire ; 
 The baron's daughter heard my lyre, 
 
 And praised the tone ^ 
 ^V'hat could presumptuous hope imspire ? 
 
 ;My hai'p alone. 
 
 At Manhood's touch the bubble burst. 
 And Manliood's pride the vision cursed, 
 And all that had my folly nursed 
 
 Love's sway to own ; 
 Yet spared the spell that lulled me first. 
 
 My harp alone. 
 
 Wo came wi,th war, and want with wo .- 
 And it was mine to undergo 
 Each outrage of the rebel foe : 
 
 Can aught atone 
 My fields made waste, my cot laid low ( 
 
 My harp alone ! 
 
 Ambition's dreams I*ve seen depart, 
 Have rued of penury the smart, 
 Have felt of love the venomed dart. 
 
 When hope was flown 
 Yet rests one solace to my heait. 
 
 My harp alone ! 
 K3
 
 lU 
 
 Then, over mountain, moor and hil], 
 My faithful harp, I'll bear thee still ; 
 And when this life of want and ill 
 
 Is well nigh gone. 
 Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill 
 
 My harp alone ! 
 
 THE CXPRESS WREATR. 
 
 O LADT, twine no wreath for me, 
 Or twine it of the cypress tree 1 
 Too lively glow the Uhes light 
 The varnished hoUy's all too bright, 
 The May-flower and the eglantine 
 May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 
 But, lady, weave no wreath for me, 
 Or weave it of the cypress tree ! 
 
 Let dimpled Mirth his temples twhie 
 With tendrils of the laughing vine ; 
 The manly oak, the pensive yew, 
 To patriot and to sage be due ; 
 The myrtle bough bids lovers Uve, 
 But that Matilda will not give ; 
 Then, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
 Or twine it of the cypress a ee ! 
 
 Let meny England proudly rear 
 Her blended roses, bought so dear ;
 
 SCOTT VOL, IV- 115 
 
 Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 
 
 With heath and hare-bell dipped in dew ; 
 
 On favoured Erin's crest be seen 
 
 The flower she loves of emerald green — 
 
 But, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
 
 Or twine it of the cypress tree. 
 
 Strike the wild harp while maids prepare 
 The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ; 
 And, while his crown of laurel leaves 
 With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
 Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; 
 But when you hear the passing bell, 
 Then, lady, twine a wreath for me, 
 And twine it of the cypress tree. 
 
 Yes ! twine for me the cypress bough ; 
 But, O Matilda, twine not now ! 
 Stay till a few brief months are past. 
 And I have looked and loved my last ! 
 When villagers my shroud bestrew 
 With pansies, rosemary, and rue. 
 Then, lady, weave a wreath for me. 
 And weave it of the cypress tree. 
 
 THE BANDITS' CAVE. 
 
 " I TAKE thy proffer, Guy, 
 But tell me where thy comrades lie }"
 
 116 SCOTT — ^VOI. IV. 
 
 "Not far from hence," Guy Denzil said 5 
 ** Descend and cross the river's bed. 
 Where rises yonder cliff so gray." 
 ** Do thou,'* said Bertram, "lead the way.-' 
 Then muttered, " It is best make sure ; 
 Ciuy Denzil's faith was never pure." — 
 He followed down the steep descent, 
 Then through the Greta's sti-eams they went, 
 And, when they reached the farther shore. 
 They stood the lonely cliff before. 
 
 With wonder Bertram heard within 
 The flinty rock a murmured din 5 
 But when Guy pulled the wilding- spray. 
 And brambles from its base away. 
 He saw, appearing to the air, 
 A little entrance, low and square. 
 Like opening cell of hermit lone. 
 Dark winding through the hving stone. 
 Here entered Denzil, Bertram here 5 
 And loud and louder on their ear. 
 As from the bowels of the earth. 
 Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. 
 Of old, the cavern strait and rude. 
 In slaty rock the peasant hewed 5 
 And Brignal's woods, and Scargill's wave, 
 E'en now o'er many a sister cave. 
 Where, far within the darksome rift. 
 The wedge and lever ply their thrift. 
 But war had silenced rural trade,
 
 SCOTT — vol. IT. lir 
 
 And the deserted mine was made 
 The banquet-hall, and fortress too 
 Of Denzil and his desperate crew. 
 There Guilt his anxious revel kept : 
 There on his sordid pallet slept 
 Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drained 
 Still in his slumbering- grasp retained 
 Regret was there, his eye still cast 
 With vain repining on the past ; 
 Among the feasters waited near. 
 Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear, 
 And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven, 
 With his own crimes reproaching heaven 
 While Bertram showed amid the crew, 
 The master-fiend that Milton drew. 
 
 To g^eet the leader of the train. 
 
 Behold the group by the pale lamp. 
 
 That struggles with the earthy damp. 
 
 By what strange features Vice hath known- 
 
 To single out and mark her own ! 
 
 Yet some there are, whose brows retain, 
 
 Less deeply stamped, her brand and stain. 
 
 See yon pale stripling ! when a boy, 
 
 A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 
 
 Now 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined, 
 
 An early image fills his mind : 
 
 yhe cottage, once his «re*s, he sees.
 
 118 SCOTT — ^TOL. IT. 
 
 Embowered upon the banks of Tees ; 
 
 He views sweet Winston's woodland scene, 
 
 And shares the dance on Gainsford-green. 
 
 A tear is springing — but the zest 
 
 Of some wild tale, or brutal jest. 
 
 Hath to loud laughter stiiTed the rest. 
 
 On him they call, the aptest mate 
 
 For jovial song and merry feat ; 
 
 Fast flies his dream — with dauntless air, 
 
 As one victorious o'er despair. 
 
 He bids the iiiddy cup go round. 
 
 Till sense and son-ow both are drowned, 
 
 And soon in merry wassail he, 
 
 The life of all their revelry. 
 
 Peals his loud song ! — 
 
 O Brignal banks are wild and fair. 
 
 And Greta woods are green. 
 And you may gather garlands there, 
 
 Would grace a summer queen. 
 And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 
 
 Beneath the tun-et high, 
 A maiden on the castle wall 
 
 Was singing merrily. 
 
 O Brignal banks are fresh and fajr. 
 And Greta woods are green ;
 
 SCOTT — VOL. IV. 
 
 I'd rather rang-e with Edmund there, 
 Than reign our EngUsh queen," — 
 
 " If, Maiden, thou would*st 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 speedy 
 
 As blithe as queen of May." — 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Yet sung she, " Brignal banks are fau'. 
 
 And Greta woods are green : 
 I'd rather range with Edmund there. 
 
 Than reign our English queen. 
 
 *' I read you by your bugle born. 
 
 And by your palfrey good, 
 I read you for a ranger sworn, 
 
 To keep the king's green wood." — 
 ** A ranger, lady, winds his horn, 
 
 And 'tis at peep of light ; 
 His blast is heard at merry morn. 
 
 And mine at dead of night." — 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Yet sung she, " Brignal banks are fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are gay, 
 I would I were with Edmund there, 
 
 To reign his queen of May ! 
 
 n\>
 
 12d SCOTT— TOL. IV. 
 
 ** With burnished brand and musquetoon. 
 
 So gallantly you come, 
 I read you for a bold dragoon. 
 
 That lists the tuck of drum."— 
 " I list no more the tuck of drum, 
 
 No more the trumpet heai-. 
 But when the beetle sounds his hum. 
 
 My comrades take the spear. 
 
 And O ! though Brignal banks be fair 
 
 And Greta woods be gay, 
 Yet mickle must the maiden dai-e, 
 
 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. 
 
 CHOBUS. 
 
 Yet Brignal banks are fresh and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green. 
 And you may gather garlands there, 
 
 Would grace a sumraec queen."'—
 
 SCOTT — vol. IV. 121 
 
 When Edmund ceased his simple song", 
 AVas silence on the sullen throng", 
 Till waked some ruder mate their glee 
 With note of coarser minstrelsv. 
 
 BERTRAM THE BUCCANEER. 
 
 ** Tidings from the host. 
 Of weight, — a messenger comes post." 
 Stifling the tumult of his breast, 
 His answer Oswald thus expressed— 
 "Bring food and wine, and trim the fire 5 
 Admit the stranger, and retire." — 
 
 The stranger came with heavy stride, 
 The morion's plumes his visage hide. 
 And the buff coat, in ample fold, 
 Mantles his form's gigantic mould, 
 Full slender answer deigned he 
 To Oswald's anxious courtesy, 
 But marked by a disdainful smile. 
 He saw and scorned the petty wile, 
 When Oswald changed the torch's place, 
 Anxious that on the soldier's face 
 Its partial lustre might be thrown, 
 To show his looks, yet hide his own. 
 
 * In this character, Sir Walter Scott has sketched one of those Wes' 
 India adventurers, who, during the course of the seventeenth ccnturv, 
 were popularly known by the name of Buccaneer;.
 
 122 9C0TT XOL. 1V> 
 
 His guest, the while, laid slow aside 
 
 The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide. 
 
 And to the torch glanced bread and clear 
 
 The corslet of a cuirassier ; 
 
 Then from his brows the casque he drew, 
 
 And from the dank plume dashed the dew. 
 
 From gloves of mail relieved his hands, 
 
 And spread them to the kindling brands, 
 
 And, tui-ning to the genial board, 
 
 Without a health, or pledge, or word 
 
 Of meet and social reverence said. 
 
 Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed ; 
 
 As free from ceremony's sway. 
 
 As famished wolf that tears his prey. 
 
 With deep impatience, tinged with fear, 
 His host beheld him gorge his cheer, 
 And quaff the full carouse that lent 
 His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
 Now Oswald stood a pace aside. 
 Now paced the room with hasty stride, 
 In feverish agony to learn 
 Tidings of deep and dread concern, 
 Cursing each moment that his guest 
 Protracted o'er his ruffian feast. 
 Yet, viewing with alarm, at lust. 
 The end of that uncouth repast. 
 Almost he seemed their haste to rue, 
 As, at his sign, his train withdrew.
 
 SCOTT VOL. ly. IJ^o 
 
 And left him with the strang-er, free 
 To question of his mystery. 
 Then did his silence long- proclaim 
 A struggle between fear and shame. 
 
 Much in the stranger's mien appears, 
 To justify suspicious fears. 
 On his dark face a scorching clime 
 And toil had done the work of time, 
 Roughened the brow, the temples bared. 
 And sable hairs with silver shared. 
 Vet left — what age alone could tame — 
 The lip of pride, the eye of flame. 
 The full-drawn lip that upward cm-led. 
 The eye, that seemed to scorn the world. 
 Thai Up had ten'or never blanched ; 
 Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quenchfdj 
 The flash severe of swarthy glow. 
 That mocked at pain, and knew not wo ; 
 Inured to danger's direst form, 
 Tornade and earthquake, flood and stonn. 
 Death had he seen by sudden blow. 
 By wasting plague, by tortures slow. 
 By mine or breach, by steel or ball, 
 Knew all his shapes, and scorned them ^11. 
 
 But yet, though Bertram's hardened look, 
 Unmoved, could blood and danger brook. 
 Still worse than apathy had place 
 On his swart brow and callous face ;
 
 124 
 
 StOTT — VOL. IV. 
 
 For evil passions, cherished long, 
 Had ploughed them with impressions strong. 
 All that gives gloss to sin, all gay 
 Light folly, past witli youth away, 
 But rooted stood, in manhood's hour. 
 The weeds of vice without their flower. 
 And yet the soil in which they grew. 
 Had it been tamed when life was new- 
 Had depth and vigour to bring forth 
 The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 
 Not that, e'en then, his heart had known 
 The gentler feelings' kindly tone ; 
 But lavish waste had been refined 
 To bounty in his chastened iiund. 
 And lust of gold, that waste to feed, 
 Been lost in love of glory's meed. 
 And, frantic then no more, his pride 
 Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide. 
 
 E'en now, by conscience unrestrained, 
 Clogged by gross vice, by slaughter stained, 
 Still knew his daring soul to soar, 
 And mastery o'er the mind he bore : 
 For meaner guilt, or heart less hard. 
 Quailed beneath Bertram's bold regard. 
 And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
 He strove, by many a winding train. 
 To lure his sullen guest to show. 
 Unasked, the news he longed to know.
 
 SCOTT — VOL. IT. 125 
 
 While on far other subject hung- 
 His heart, than faltered from his tongue. 
 Yet nought for that his guest did deign 
 To note or spare his secret pain, 
 But still, in stern and stubborn sort. 
 Returned him answer dark and short. 
 Or started from the theme, to range 
 In loose digression wild and strange. 
 And forced the embarrassed host to buy, 
 By query close, direct reply. 
 
 Awhile he glozed upon the cause 
 
 Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws, 
 
 And Church reformed — but felt rebuke 
 
 Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look. 
 
 Then stammered — " Has a field'been fought .' 
 
 Has Bertram news of battle brought ? 
 
 For sure a soldier, famed so far 
 
 In foreign fields for feats of war. 
 
 On eve of fight ne'er left the host, 
 
 Until the field were won or lost.'-* 
 
 ALLEIT-A-DAIE. 
 
 AUen-a-Dale has no faggot for burning, 
 Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
 AUen-a Dale has no fleece for the spinning, 
 ¥et Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
 L 2 
 
 f
 
 126 SCOTT — TOL. IV. 
 
 Come, read me my riddle ! come hearken my tale ! 
 And tell me the craft of bold AUen-a-Dale. 
 
 The baron of Ravensworth prances in pride. 
 And he views his domains upon Arkindale side, 
 The mere for his net, and the land for his g-ame. 
 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 AUen-a-dale ? 
 
 AUen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, 
 
 Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright 
 
 AUen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. 
 
 Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ; 
 
 And the best of our nobles liis bonnet will vail, 
 
 Who at Rere-cross on Stanemore meets Allen-a-Dale 
 
 AUen-a-Dale to his wooing is come -, 
 
 The mother she asked of his house and his home : 
 
 ** Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill, 
 
 My hall," quoth bold Allen, "shows gallanter still ; 
 
 'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pjile. 
 
 And with all its bright spangles !" said Allen-a-Dale. 
 
 The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; 
 They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ! 
 But loud on the morrow theu* wail and their cry 
 He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye. 
 And she fled to the forest to hear a love tale. 
 And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale.
 
 SCOTT VOL. IV. 127 
 
 HElXTEI-LTy.* 
 
 I eiiMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, 
 
 Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide ; 
 All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was yelhng, 
 
 And startUng around me the echoes replied. 
 On the right, Stridenedge round the Redtarn was bending, 
 And Catchedicam its left verge was defending. 
 One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 
 When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. 
 
 Dark-green was that spot mid the brown mountain-heather, 
 
 Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretched in decay. 
 Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather. 
 Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay. 
 Nor yet quite deserted though lonely extended. 
 For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended. 
 The much loved remains of her master defended. 
 And chased the hill fox and the raven away. 
 
 How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber ; 
 
 When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou 
 start 5 
 How many long days and long weeks didst thou number. 
 
 Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ? 
 And, O ! was it meet, that, no requiem read o'er him, 
 
 * In the spring of 1805, a youn^ gentleman of talents, and of a most 
 amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellrellyn. 
 Mis remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, wlien they 
 were found guarded by a faithful terrier bitch, his constant attendant dur- 
 ing frequent solitary rambles through the wilds ©f Quiuberl^nd and W&X' 
 morelantj.
 
 128 stoTT— VOL. ir. 
 
 No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him. 
 And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before hin^ 
 Unhonoured the pilgrim from life should depart ? 
 
 "When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded. 
 The tapestry waves dark round the dim-hg-hted hall ; 
 
 With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 
 And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 
 
 Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches ai'e 
 gleaming ; 
 
 In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming ; 
 
 Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 
 Lamenting a chief of the people should fall. 
 
 But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, 
 
 To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb ; 
 
 When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature. 
 And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
 
 And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, 
 
 Thy obsequies sung by the gay plover flying. 
 
 With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, 
 In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. 
 
 HEBRIBEAJT SCEJfEBT. 
 
 " If true mine eye 
 These are the savage wilds that lie 
 Nortli of Strathnardill and Dunskye : 
 No human foot comes here,
 
 aCOTT V«L. y. 1-9 
 
 And, since these adverse breezes blow. 
 If my g-ood Lieg-e love liunter's bow, 
 What hinders that on land we go, 
 
 And strike a mountain deer ? 
 Allan, my Page, shall with us wend, 
 A bow full deftly can he bend. 
 And, if we meet a herd, may send 
 
 A shaft shall mend oui* cheer." — 
 Then each took bow and bolts in hand, 
 Their row-boat launched and leapt to land, 
 
 And left their skiff" and train. 
 Where a wild stream, with headlong shock^ 
 Came brawling down its bed of rock. 
 
 To mingle with the main. 
 
 A while their route they silent made, 
 
 As men who stalk for mountain-deer. 
 Till the good Bruce to Ronald said, 
 
 *' St. Mary ! what a scene is here ! 
 I've traversed many a mountain-strand, 
 Abroad and in my native land. 
 And it has been my lot to tread 
 Where safety more than pleasure led ; 
 Thus, many a waste I've wandered o'er, 
 Clombe many a crag, crossed many a moor. 
 
 But, by my halidome, 
 A scene so rude, so wild as tliis. 
 Yet so sublime in barrenness. 
 Ne'er did rny wandering footsteps press, 
 
 Where'er 1 happed to roam." —
 
 130 SCOTT — TOL. T 
 
 No marvel thus the monarch spake .- 
 
 For rarely human eye has known 
 A scene so stern as tkat dread lake. 
 
 With its dark ledge of barren stone. 
 Seems that primeval earthquake's sway 
 Hath rent a strang-e and shattered way 
 
 Through the rude bosom of tiie hill, 
 And that each naked precipice. 
 Sable ravine, and dark abyss. 
 
 Tells of the outrage still. 
 The v.dldest glen, but this, can show 
 Some touch of Nature's genial glow ; 
 On high Benmore green mosses grow. 
 And heath-bells bud in deep Glencroe, 
 
 And copse on Cruchan-Ben, 
 But here, above, around, below. 
 
 On mountain or in glen. 
 Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, 
 Nor aught of vegetative power. 
 
 The weaiy eye may ken. 
 For all is rocks at random thrown. 
 Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone. 
 
 As if were here denied 
 The summer's sun, the spring's sweet dew, 
 That clothe with many a varied hue 
 
 The bleakest mountain-side. 
 
 And wilder, forward as they wound. 
 Were the proud cliffs and lake profound
 
 ^COTT — VOL. > -131 
 
 Huge terraces of granite black 
 Afforded rude and cambered track : 
 
 For from the mountain hoar. 
 Hurled headlong in some night of fear. 
 When yelled the wolf and fled the deer. 
 
 Loose crags had toppled o'er 5 
 And some, chance-poised and balanced, lay. 
 So that a stripling arm might sway 
 
 A mass no host could raise. 
 In Nature's rage at random thrown. 
 Yet trembling like the Druid's stone 
 
 On its precarious base. 
 The evening mists, with ceaseless changC;, 
 Now clothed the mountains' lofty range, 
 
 Now left their foreheads bare. 
 And round the skirts their mantle furled. 
 Or on the sable waters curled. 
 Or, on the eddying breezes whirled. 
 
 Dispersed in middle air. 
 And oft, condensed, at once they lower 
 When, brief and tierce, tlie mountain showei 
 
 Pours like a torrent down. 
 And when return the sun's glad beams. 
 Whitened with foam a thousand sti-eams 
 
 Leap from the mountain's crown. 
 
 " This lake," said Bruce, " whose barriers di'ear 
 Are precipices sharp and sheer. 
 Yielding no track for goat or deer,
 
 132 suoTT — yei.. r. 
 
 Save the black shelves we tread, 
 How term you its dark waves } and how 
 Yon northern mountain's pathless brow. 
 
 And yonder peak of dread, 
 That to the evening sun uplifts 
 The griesly gulfs, and slaty rifts, 
 
 Which seam its shivered head ?" 
 " Coriskin call the dark lake's name, 
 Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim, 
 P'rom old Cuchulhn, chief of fame. 
 
 BHUCE S IlEJfCOXTRE WITH KOBBSBS. 
 
 " But soft > 
 Look, underneath yon jutting crag 
 Are hunters and a slaughtered stag. 
 "Who may they be ! But late you said 
 No steps these desert regions tread." — 
 
 ** So said I — and believed in sooth," 
 Ronald replied, " I spoke the truth. 
 Yet now I spy, by yonder stone. 
 Five men — they mark us, and come on : 
 And by their badge on bonnet borne, 
 I guess them of tlie land of Lorn, 
 Foes to my Liege." — " So let it be ; 
 I've faced worse odds than five to three-— 
 But the poor page can little aid ;
 
 3COTT — VOL. V. 13i 
 
 rhen be our battle thus arrayed. 
 
 If our free passage they contest ; 
 
 Cope thou with two, Til match the rest.'' 
 
 " Not so, my Liege — for by my life. 
 
 This sword shall meet the treble strife ; 
 
 My strength, my skill in arms, more small; 
 
 And less the loss should Ronald fall. 
 
 But islesmen soon to soldiers grow, — 
 
 Allan has sword as well as bow, 
 
 And were my Monarch's order given. 
 
 Two shafts should make our number even.^- 
 
 " No ! not to save my life !" he said j 
 
 •' Enough of blood rests on my head. 
 
 Too rashly spilled — we soon shall know, 
 
 Whether they come as friend or foe." — 
 
 Nigh came the strangers, and more nigh ;— r 
 Still less they pleased the Monarch's eye. 
 Men were they all of evil mien, 
 Down-looked, unwilling to be seen ; 
 They moved with half-resolved pace, 
 And bent on earth each gloomy face. 
 The foremost two were fair arrayed. 
 With brogue and bonnet, trews and plaid. 
 And bore the arms of mountaineers. 
 Daggers and broadswords, bows and spears. 
 The three, that lagged small space behind, 
 Seemed serfs of more degraded kind j 
 Goat-skins or deer-hides o*er them cast, 
 M
 
 134 SCOTT — vol. T. 
 
 Made a rude fence against the blast ; 
 Their arms and feet and heads were bare^ 
 Matted their beards, unshorn their hair ; • 
 For arms, the caitiffs bore in hand, 
 A club, an axe, a rusty brand. 
 
 Onward, still mute, they kept the track ; — 
 *' Tell who ye be, or else stand back," 
 Said Bruce ; *'In deserts when they meet, 
 Men pass not as in peaceful street," — 
 Still, at his stern command, tliey stood, 
 And proffered greeting brief and rude. 
 But acted courtesy so ill, 
 As seemed of fear, and not of will. 
 *' Wanderers we are, as you may be ; 
 Men hither driven by wind and sea. 
 Who, if you list to taste our cheer, 
 Will share with you this fallow deer. " — 
 "If from the sea, where lies your bark ?" 
 *' Ten fathom deep in ocean dark ! 
 Wrecked yesternight ; but we are men. 
 Who little sense of peril ken. 
 • The shades come down — the day is shut — 
 Will you go with us to our hut !" — 
 " Our vessel waits us in the bay 5 
 Thanks for your proffer — have good day." — 
 *• Was that your galley, then, which rode 
 Not far from shore when evening glowed !"— 
 "It was." — ** Then spare your needless pain, 
 
 i
 
 SCOTT — VOL. T. 
 
 there will she now be sought in vain. 
 We saw her from the mountain head. 
 When with St. George's blazon red 
 A southern vessel bore in sight. 
 And yours raised sail, and took to flight." 
 
 "Now, by the rood, unwelcome news !" 
 Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bmce ; 
 *'Nor rests there light enough to show 
 If this their tale be true or no. 
 The men seem bred of churlish kind. 
 Yet rugged brows have bosoms kind ; 
 We will go with them — food and fire 
 And sheltering roof our wants require. 
 Sure guard 'gainst treachery will we keep. 
 And watch by turns our comrades' sleep. — 
 Good fellows, thanks ; your guests we'll be, 
 And well will pay the coui'tesy. 
 Come, lead us where your lodging lies, 
 — Nay, soft ! we mix not companies. — 
 Show us the path o'er crag and stone. 
 And we will follow you ; — lead on," — 
 
 They reached the dreary cabin, made 
 Of sails against a rock displayed. 
 
 And there, on entering, found 
 A slender boy, whose form and mien 
 III suited with such savage scene. 
 In cap and cloak of velvet gi'een. 
 
 Low seated on the ground. 
 
 135
 
 136 SCOTT — TOL. V. 
 
 His g-arb was such as minstrels wear 
 Dark was his hue, and dark his hair, 
 His youthful cheek was marred by care, 
 
 His eyes in sorrow drowned. 
 *' Whence this poor boy ?'* — As Ronald spoke. 
 The voice his trance of an^ish broke 5 
 As if awaked from ghastly dream. 
 He raised his head with start and scream, 
 
 And wildly gazed around ; 
 Then to the wall his face he turned. 
 And his dark cheek with blushes burned. 
 
 *' Whose is the boy !" again he said. 
 ** By chance of war our captive made p^ 
 He may be yours, if you should hold 
 That music has more charms than gold 4 
 For, though from earliest childhood mute. 
 The lad can deftly touch the lute, 
 And on the rote and viol play. 
 And well can drive the time away 
 
 For those who love such glee ; 
 For me, the favouring breeze, when loud 
 It pipes upon the galley shroud. 
 Makes bhther melody." 
 ''Hath he, then, sense of spoken sound V^ 
 
 *' Ay, so his mother bade us know, 
 A crone m our late shipwreck drowned, 
 
 And -hence the silly stripling's wo. 
 More of the youth I cannot say.
 
 SCOTT TOL. T. 1S7 
 
 Oar captive but since yesterday ; 
 When wind and weather waxed so grim. 
 We little listed think of him. — 
 But why waste time in idle words ? 
 Sit to your cheer — unbelt your swords." 
 Sudden the captive turned his head. 
 And one quick glance to Ronald sped. 
 It was a keen and warning look, 
 And well the chief the signal took. 
 
 «' Kind host," he said, " our needs require 
 A separate board and separate fire ; 
 For know, that on a pilgrimage 
 Wend I, my comrade, and this page. 
 And, sworn to vigil and to fast. 
 Long as this hallowed task shall last. 
 We never doff the plaid or sword. 
 Or feast us at a stranger's board ; 
 And never share one common sleep. 
 But one must still his vigil keep. 
 Thus for our separate use, good friend, 
 We'll hold this hut's remoter end. — 
 '• A churlish vow," the eldest said, 
 ''And hard, methinks, to be obeyed. 
 How say you, if, to wreak the scorn 
 That pays our kindness harsh return, 
 We should refuse to share our meal ?" — 
 ** — Then say we, that our swords arc steel 
 And our vow binds us not to fast, 
 M2
 
 138 SCOTT — VOL. V. 
 
 Where gold or force may buy repast.'^— 
 Their host*s dark brow grew keen and fell. 
 His teeth are clenched, his features swell ; 
 Yet sunk the felon's moody ire 
 Before Lord Ronald's glance of fire, 
 Nor could his craven courage brook 
 The Monarch's calm and dauntless look. 
 With laugh constrained,— "Let every man 
 Follow the fashion of his clan ! 
 Each to his separate quarters keep. 
 And feed or fast, or wake or sleep." — 
 
 Their fire at separate distance burns, 
 
 By turns they eat, keep guard by turns ; 
 
 For evil seems the old man's eye. 
 
 Dark and designing, fierce yet shy. 
 
 Still he avoided forward look. 
 
 But slow and circumspectly took 
 
 A circling, never-ceasing glance. 
 
 By doubt and cunning marked at once,- 
 
 Which shot a mischief-boding ray. 
 
 From under eyebrows shagged and gray. 
 
 The younger, too, who seemed his son. 
 
 Had that dark look, the timid shun ; 
 
 The half-clad serfs behind them sate. 
 
 And scowled a glare twixt fear and hate — 
 
 Till all, as darkness onward crept, 
 
 Couched down and seemed to sleep, or slept. 
 
 Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongue 
 
 {
 
 SCOTT — TOI. ?. 339 
 
 Must trust his eyes to wail his wrong", 
 
 A longer watch of sorrow made, 
 
 But stretdied his limbs to slumber laid. 
 
 Not in his dangerous host confides 
 
 The King, but waiy watch provides. 
 
 Ronald keeps ward till midnight past. 
 
 Then wakes the King, young Allan last ; 
 
 Thus ranked^ to give the youthful Page 
 
 The rest required by tender age. 
 
 — What is Lord Ronald's wakeful thought. 
 
 To chase the langour toil had brought ? — 
 
 (For deem not that he deigned to throw 
 
 Much care upon such coward foe,) — 
 
 He thinks of lovely Isabel, 
 
 When at her foeman's feet she fell. 
 
 Nor less when, placed in princely selle. 
 
 She glanced on him with favouring eyes. 
 
 At Woodstocke when he won the prize 
 
 Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair, 
 
 In pride of place as 'mid despair, 
 
 Must she alone engross his care. 
 
 His thoughts to his betrothed bride^ 
 
 To Edith, turn — O how decide, 
 
 When here his love and heart are given. 
 
 And there his faith stands plight to Heaven ' 
 
 No drowsy ward 'tis his to keep. 
 
 For seldom lovers long for sleep. 
 
 Till sung his midnight hymn the owl..
 
 140 SCOTT VOL. V< 
 
 Answered the dog fox with his howl. 
 Then waked the King — at his request. 
 Lord Ronald stretched himself to rest. 
 
 What spell was good King Robert's, say. 
 To drive the weary night away ? 
 His was the patriot's burning thought. 
 Of Freedom's battle bravely fought, 
 Of castles stormed, of cities freed, 
 Of deep design and daring deed. 
 Of England's roses reft ?ind torn, 
 -And Scotland's cross in triumph worn, 
 Of rout and rally, war and truce, 
 As heroes think, so thought The Bruce. 
 No marvel, 'mid such musings high. 
 Sleep shunned the monarch's thoughtful eye 
 Now over Coolin's eastern head 
 The grayish light begins to spread. 
 The otter to his cavern drew. 
 And clamoiu-ed shrill the wakening mew ; 
 Then watched the Page — to needful rest 
 The King resigned his anxious breast. 
 
 To Allan's eyes was harder task. 
 The weary watch their safeties ask. 
 He trimmed the fire, and gave to shine 
 With bickering light the splintered pine ; 
 Then gazed awhile, where silent laid 
 Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid. 
 But little fear waked in his mind.
 
 141 
 
 For he was bred of martial kind, 
 And, if to manhood he arrive. 
 May match the boldest knight alive. 
 Then thought he of his mother's tower, 
 His little sister's gi-een-wood bower, 
 How there the Easter-gambols pass, 
 And of Dan Joseph's lengthened mass, 
 But still before his weary eye 
 In rays prolonged the blazes die — 
 Again he roused him — on the lake 
 Looked forth, where now the twilight-flake 
 Of pale cold dawn began to wake. 
 On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furled. 
 The morning breeze the lake had curled. 
 The short dark waves heaved to the land. 
 With ceaseless plash kissed cliff or sand ;— 
 It was a slumb'rous sound — he turned 
 To tales at which his youth had burned, 
 Of pilgrim's path by demon crossed. 
 Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost. 
 Of the wild witch's baneful cot, 
 And mermaid's alabaster grot, 
 Who bathes her limbs in sunless well 
 Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell. 
 Thither in fancy wrapt he flies, 
 And on his sight the vaults arise ; 
 The hut's dark walls he sees no more. 
 His foot is on the marble floor, 
 And o'er his head the dazzling spars
 
 142 SCOTT VOL. T 
 
 Gleam like a tirmament of stars ! 
 — Hark ! hears he not the sea-nymph speak 
 Her anger in that thrilling- shriek ? — 
 No ! all too late, with Allan's dream 
 Ming-led the captive's warning scream ? 
 As from the gi'ound he strives to start, 
 A ruffian dagger finds his heart ! 
 Upward he casts his dizzy eyes, . . • 
 Mui'murs his master's name, . . . and dies : 
 
 Not so awoke the King ! his hand 
 Snatched from the flame a knotted brand. 
 The nearest weapon of his wrath ; 
 With this he crossed the murderer's path. 
 
 And venged young Allan well ! 
 The spattered brain and bubbling blood 
 Hissed on the half-extinguished wood. 
 
 The miscreant gaped and fell ! 
 Nor rose in peace the Island Lord ; 
 One caitiff died upon his sword, 
 And one beneath his grasp lies prone; 
 In mortal grapple overthrown. 
 But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank 
 The life-blood from his panting flank. 
 The Father-ruffian of the band 
 Behind liim rears a coward hand ! 
 
 — O for a moment's aid. 
 Till Bruce, who deals no double blow ^ 
 Dash to the eaith another foe.
 
 SCOTT — VOL. V. 14o 
 
 Above his comrade laid ! — 
 And it is gained — tlie captive sprung 
 On the raised arm, and closely clung, 
 
 And, ere he shook him loose. 
 The mastered felon pressed the ground, 
 And gasped beneath a mortal wound. 
 
 While o'er him stands The Bruce. 
 
 LOCHINVAH LADY HERON S SONG. 
 
 O young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
 TJirough all the wide Border his steed was the best ; 
 And save his good broadsword he weapons had none. 
 He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. 
 So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. 
 There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 
 
 He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone j 
 
 He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ? 
 
 But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
 
 The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
 
 For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 
 
 AVas to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 
 
 So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 
 
 Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all 
 
 Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 
 
 (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word, "^ 
 
 •' O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 
 
 Or to dance at our brid.il, young Lord Lochinvar ■ "
 
 144 SCOTT — VOL. V. 
 
 **I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied 1 — 
 Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — 
 And now am I come, with this lost love of mine^ 
 To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
 There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
 That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 
 
 The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up. 
 He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
 She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh. 
 With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
 He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
 *'Now tread we a measure !'* said young Lochinvar. 
 
 So stately his form, and so lovely her face 
 That never a hall such a galliard did grace 5 
 "While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. 
 And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume 
 And the bride-maidens whispered, ** 'Twere better by fax 
 To have matched oiu- fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 
 
 One touch to her liand, and one word in her ear, 
 
 "When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; 
 
 So hght to the croupe the fair lady he s^vung, 
 
 So light to the saddle before her he spmng ! — 
 
 " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; 
 
 They'll have fleet steeds that follow,*' quoth young Lochin^'^ar. 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgiaves, they rode and they ran : 
 There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
 
 SCOTT MIL. V. 145 
 
 But the lost bride of Nctlicrby ne'er did they see. 
 
 So daring- in love, and so dauntless in war, 
 
 Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ' 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BAWyOCKBURJf . 
 
 It was a night of lovely J une. 
 
 High rode in cloudless blue the moon, 
 
 Demayet smiled beneath her ray ; 
 Old Stirling's towers arose in light. 
 And, twined in links of silver bright, 
 
 Her winding river lay. 
 Ah, gentle planet ! other sight 
 Shall greet thee, next returning night. 
 Of broken arms and banners tore, 
 And marshes dark with human gore. 
 And piles of slaughtered men and horse, 
 And Forth that floats tlie frequent corse, 
 And many a wounded wretch to plain 
 Beneath thy silver light in vain ! 
 But now, from England's host, the cr\ 
 Thou hear'st of wassail revelry, 
 While from the Scottish legions pass 
 I'he murmm-ed prayer, the early mass ! — 
 Here, numbers had presumption given 5 
 There, bands o'ermatched sought aid from Heaven 
 
 On Gillie's hill, whose height commands 
 The battle-field, fair Edith stands, 
 
 N
 
 146 SGOTT — YOI,. T 
 
 With serf and pag-e unfit for war.. 
 To eye the conflict from afar. 
 O ! with what doubtful agony 
 She sees the dawning tint the sky ! — 
 Now on the Ochils gleams the sun, 
 And glistens now Demayet dun ; 
 Is it the lark that carols shrill, ' 
 Is it the bittern's early hum ^ 
 No ! — distant, but increasing still, 
 The trumpet's sound swells up the hill. 
 V»'ith tlie deep murmur of the drum. 
 Responsive from the Scottisli host, 
 Pipe-clang and bugle-sound v/ere tossed. 
 His breast and brow each soldier crossed. 
 
 And started from the ground ; 
 Armed and aiTayed for instant fight. 
 Rose arclier, spearman, scpiire, and knigbl. 
 And in the pomp of battle briglit 
 The dread battalia frowned. 
 
 Now onward, and in open view. 
 The countless ranks of England drew. 
 Dark rolling like the ocean-tide. 
 When the rough west hath chafed his pride. 
 And his deep roar sends challenge wide 
 
 To all that bars his way ! 
 In front the gallant archers trode. 
 The men-at-arms behind them rode, 
 \nd midmost of the phalanx broad 
 The Monarch held Ms swav-
 
 .SCOTT TOL. V. 147 
 
 Beside liim many a war horse fumes, 
 Around him waves a sea of plumes. 
 Where many a kni^^ht in battle known, 
 And some who spuis had first braced on. 
 And deemed that fight should see them won. 
 King Edward's bests obey. 
 
 De Argentine attends iiis side. 
 
 With stout De V^alence, Pembroke's pride, 
 
 Selected champions from the train, 
 
 To wait upon his bridle-rein. 
 
 Upon the Scottish foe he gazed— 
 
 — At once, before his sight amazed. 
 Sunk banner, spear, and shield ; 
 
 Each weapon-point is downward sent?. 
 
 Each warrior to the ground is bent. 
 
 " The rebels, Argentine, repent ! 
 
 For pardon they have kneeled.'* — 
 
 "Ay ! but they bend to other powers, 
 
 And other pardon sue than ours ! 
 
 See where yon b;u'cfoot Abbot stands. 
 
 Arid blesses them w^th lifted hands ! 
 
 Upon the spot where they have kneeled, 
 
 These men will die, or w;n the field." — 
 
 *• Then prove we if they die or win ! 
 
 Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin." — 
 
 Eaii Gilbert waved his truncheon high, 
 
 Ju';t as the Noi*tnern ranks arose. 
 Signal for England's archery
 
 148 scorr — >oL. ». 
 
 To halt ami bend tlieir bows. 
 Then stepped eacli yeoman fortli a pace. 
 Glanced at the intervening- space, 
 
 And raised his left hand liigh ; 
 To the rig-ht ear the cords they bring- — 
 ^—At once ten tliousand bow-strings ring". 
 
 Ten thousand arrows fly ! 
 Nor paused on the devoted Scot 
 The ceaseless fury of their shot ; 
 
 As fiercely and as fast, 
 Forth whisthng' came the gray-goose wing. 
 As the wild hail stones pelt and ring 
 
 Adown December's blast. 
 Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide. 
 Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide ; 
 Wo, wo to Scotland's bannered pride. 
 
 If the fell shower may last ! 
 Upon the right, behind the wood. 
 Each by his steed dismounted, stood 
 
 The Scottish chivalry ; — 
 • — ^With foot in stiiTup, hand on mane, 
 Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain 
 His own keen heart, his eager train, 
 Until the archers gained the plain ; 
 
 Then, " mount, ye gallants free ! " 
 He cried ; and, vaulting from the ground. 
 His saddle every horseman found. 
 On h.gh their glittering crests they toss. 
 As springs the wild-fire from the moss ;
 
 SCOTT VOL. V. 149 
 
 The shield hangs down on every breast, 
 Each ready lance is in the rest. 
 
 And loud shouts Edward Bruce, — 
 ** Forth, Marshal, on tlie peasant foe ! 
 We*ll tame the terrors of their bow. 
 
 And cut the bow-string loose !" — 
 
 Then spurs were dashed in chargers' flanks, 
 They rushed among the archer ranks. 
 No spears were there the shock to let. 
 No stakes to turn the charge were set, 
 And how shall yeoman's armour slight 
 Stand the long lance and mace of might '' 
 Or what may their short swords avail, 
 'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail ? 
 Amid their ranks the chargers sprung. 
 High o'er their heads the weapons swung-, 
 And shriek and groan and vengeful shout 
 Give note of triiimph and of rout ! 
 Awhile, with stubborn hardihood. 
 Their Enghsh hearts the strife made good , 
 Borne down at length on every side. 
 Compelled to flight they scatter wide. — 
 Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee, 
 And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee ! 
 The broken bows of Bannock's shore 
 Shall in the green-wood ring no more ! 
 Round Wakefield's merry may-pole now, 
 The maids may twine the summer bough, 
 N2
 
 IjO SCOTT — VOL. V. 
 
 May northv^-ai-d look with longing- glance, 
 
 For those that wont to lead the dance, 
 
 For the blithe archers look in vain ! 
 
 Broken, dispersed, in flight o*erta'en, 
 
 Pierced through, trode down, by thousands slain. 
 
 They cumber Bannock's bloody plain. 
 
 The King with scorn belield their flight. 
 *' Are these," he said, " onr yeomen wight } 
 Each braggart churl could boast before, 
 Twelve Scottish lives his baldrick bore I 
 Fitter to plunder chase or park. 
 Than make a manly foe their mark, — 
 Forward each gentleman and knight ! 
 Let gentle blood sliow generous might, 
 And chivahy redeem the fight !" — 
 To right-ward of the wild affray. 
 The field showed fair and level way : 
 But, in mid-space. The Bmce's care 
 Had bored the ground with many a pit, 
 With turf and brushwood hidden yet. 
 
 That formed a giiastly snare. 
 Rusliing, ten thousand horsemen came, 
 With spears in rest, and hearts on flame, 
 
 llvat panted for the shock ! 
 With blazing crests and banners spread. 
 And trumpet-clang and clamour dread, 
 The wide plam thundered to their tread. 
 As far as Stirling rock.
 
 SCOTT — VOL. V. 151 
 
 Down ! down ! in headlong overthrow, 
 Horseman and horse, the foremost go. 
 
 Wild floundering on the field 1 
 The first are in destruction's gorge. 
 Their followers wildly o'er them urge ;— 
 
 The knightly helm and shield ! 
 The mail, the acton, and the spear. 
 Strong hand, high heart, are useless here ! 
 Loud from the mass confused the cry 
 Of dying waniors swells on high. 
 And steeds tliat shriek in agony ! 
 They came like mountain-torrent red. 
 That thunders o'er its rocky bed ; 
 They broke like that same torrent's wave. 
 When swallowed by a darksome cave. 
 Billows on billows burst and boil. 
 Maintaining still the stern turmoil. 
 And to their wild and tortured groan 
 Each adds new terrors of his own ! 
 
 Too strong in courage and in might 
 Was England yet, to yield the fight. 
 
 Her noblest all are here ; 
 Names that to fear were never known. 
 Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brotherton, 
 And Oxford's famed De Vere. 
 There Gloster phed the bloody sword. 
 And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford, 
 
 Bottetourt and Sanzaverc,
 
 152 SCOTT — VOL. V. 
 
 Ross, Montague, aud Mauley, came, 
 And Courtenay*s pride, and Percy's fame — 
 Names known too well in Scotland's war. 
 At Falkii-k, Methven, and Dunbar, 
 Blazed broader yet in after years. 
 At Cressy red and fell Poitiers. 
 Pembroke with these, and Argentine, 
 Brought up the' rearward battle-line. 
 With caution o'er the ground they tread. 
 Slippery with blood and piled with dead, 
 Till hand to hand in battle set. 
 The bills with spears and axes met. 
 And, closing dark on every side. 
 Raged the full contest far and wide. 
 Then was the strength of Douglas tried. 
 Then proved was Randolph's generous pride, 
 And well did Stewart's actions grace 
 The sire of Scotland's royal race \ 
 
 Firmly they kept their ground ; 
 As firmly England onward pressed. 
 And down went many a noble crest. 
 And rent was many a valiant breast. 
 
 And Slaughter revelled round. 
 
 Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set, 
 Unceasing blow by blow was met 5 
 The groans of those who fell 
 Were drowned amid the shriller clang. 
 That from the blades and harness rang,
 
 SCOTT — VOL. V. 153 
 
 And in the battle-yell. 
 Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot. 
 Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot j — 
 And O ! amid that waste of life, 
 What various motives fired the strife ! 
 The aspiring" Noble bled for fame, 
 The Patiiot for his country's claim ; 
 This Knight his youthful strength to prove. 
 And that to win his lady's love ; 
 Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood, 
 From habit some, or hardihood. 
 But ruffian stem, and soldier good. 
 
 The noble and the slave, 
 From various cause the same wild road. 
 On the same bloody morning, trode. 
 
 To that dark inn, the Grave ! 
 
 The tug of strife to flag begins. 
 Though neither loses yet nor wins, 
 nigh rides the sun, thick rolls the dust. 
 And feebler speeds the blow and thrust. 
 Douglas leans on his war-sword now. 
 And Randolph wipes his bloody brow. 
 Nor less had toiled each Southern knight. 
 From morn till mid-day in the fight. 
 Strong Egremont for air must gasp, 
 Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp. 
 And Montague must quit his spear. 
 And sinks thy falchion, bold D$ Vere i
 
 1,54 seoiTT — vol. y.. 
 
 The blows of Berkley fall less fast. 
 And g-allant Pembroke's bugle-blast 
 
 Hath lost its lively tone ; 
 Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word, 
 And Percy's shout was fainter heai'd, 
 
 "My merry -men, fight on !" — 
 
 Bmce with the pilot's wary eye. 
 The slackening of the storm could spy. 
 " One effort more, and Scotland's free ! 
 Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee 
 
 Is firm as Ailsa rock ; 
 Rush on w^ith Highland sword and targe,. 
 I, with my Carrick spearmen, charge ; 
 Now, forward to the shock !" — 
 At once the spears were forward thrown. 
 Against the sun the broadswords shone i 
 The pibroch lent its maddening tone, 
 And loud King Robert's voice was known — 
 " Carrick press on — they fail, they fail ! 
 Press on, brave sons of Innisgail, 
 
 The foe is fainting fast ! 
 Each strike for parent, child, and wife. 
 For Scotland, liberty, and life, — 
 Tlie battle cannot last !" — 
 
 The fresh and desperate onset bore 
 The foes three furlongs back and more, 
 Leaving their noblest in their gore, 
 Alone, De Argentine
 
 SCOTT — VOL. y. 155 
 
 \ei bears on high his red ci oss shield. 
 
 Gathers the reliques of the held. 
 
 Renews the ranks where they have reeled, 
 
 And still makes good the line. 
 Brief strife, but fierce, his efiforts raise 
 A bright but momentaiy blaze. 
 Fair Edith heard the Southern shout. 
 Beheld them turning fi-om the rout, 
 Heard the wild call their trumpets sent, 
 In notes 'twixt triumph and lament. 
 That rallying force, combined anew. 
 Appeared, in her distracted view. 
 
 To hem the isles-men round ? 
 *' O God ! the combat they renew, 
 
 And is no rescue found ! 
 And ye that look thus tamely on. 
 And see your native land o'erthrown, 
 O ! are your hearts of flesh or stone ?'* — 
 
 The multitude that watched afar, 
 Rejected from the ranks of war. 
 Had not unmoved heheld the fight. 
 When strove The Bruce for Scotland's right j 
 Each heart had caught the patriot's spark, 
 Old man and stripling, priest and clerk. 
 Bondsman and serf ; e'en female hand 
 Stretched to the hatchet or the brand ; 
 
 But, when mute Amadine they heard, 
 
 Give to their zeal his signal-word,
 
 15.^ SCOTT — TO I. Y. 
 
 A frenzy fired the throng : — 
 *' Portents and miracles impeach 
 Our sloth — the dumb our ducies teach — 
 And he that gives the mute his speech, 
 Can bid the weak be strong. 
 
 To us, as to our lords, are given 
 
 A native earth, a promised heaven ; 
 
 To us, as to our lords, belongs 
 
 The vengeance for our nation's wrongs ; 
 
 The choice, 'twixt death or freedom warms^ 
 
 Our breasts as theirs — To arms, to arms !" 
 
 To arms they flew, — axe, club, or spear, — 
 
 And mimic ensigns high they rear. 
 
 And, hke a bannered host afar, 
 
 Bear down on England's wearied war. 
 
 Already scattered o'er the plain, 
 Reproof, command, and counsel vain. 
 The rearward squadrons fled amain. 
 
 Or made but doubtful stay : — 
 But when they marked the seeming show 
 Of fresh and fierce and marshalled foe. 
 
 The boldest broke aiTay. 
 O give their hapless prince his due ! * 
 
 * Edward II. according to the best authorities, showed, in the fatal fit. Id 
 of Bannockburu, personal gallantry, not unw orthy of his great sire and 
 ereater son. He remained on the field till forced away by the Earl of Pem- 
 broke, when all was lost. He then rode to the castle of StirJing, and de- 
 manded admittance ; but the governor remonstrating upon the imprudence 
 of shutting himself up in that fortress, which must so soon surrender, he 
 assembled around his person live hundred men-at-arms, and, avoiding the 
 Aeld of battle and the victorious army, fled towards Linlithgow, pursued 
 hy DoHglas >mh about sixty horse. They were augniented by Sir Lawrence
 
 SCOTT — VOL. V 
 
 157 
 
 111 vain the royal Edward threw 
 
 His person 'mid the spears, 
 Cried "Fight !" to terror and despair. 
 Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair, 
 
 And cursed their caitiff fears ; 
 Till Pembroke turned his bridle rein. 
 And forced him from the fatal plain. 
 With them rode Argentine, until 
 They gained the summit of the hill> 
 
 But quitted there the train : 
 " In yonder field a gage I left, — 
 I must not live of fame bereft ,• 
 
 I needs must turn again. 
 Speed hence, my Liege, for on your trac^ 
 The fier}' Douglas takes the chase, 
 
 I know his banner well. 
 God send my Sovereign joy and bhss, 
 And many a happier field than this !— 
 
 Once more, my liege, farewell." — 
 
 Again he faced the battle-field, — 
 
 Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield. 
 
 "Now then," he said, and couched his spear, 
 
 Abernethy with twenty more, whom Doujj^las met in the Torwood upom 
 their way to join the English army, and whom he easily persuaded to de- 
 sert the defeated monarch, and to assist in the pursuit. They hung upon 
 Edward's'fiight as far as Dunhar, too few in number to assail him with ef- 
 fect, but euough to harass his retreat so constantly, that whoever fell an 
 instant behind, was instantly slain, or made prisoner. Edward's ignomi- 
 nious flight teriijinated at Dunbar, where the Earl of March, who still pro' 
 fessed aJlegiauce to him, "I'eceived him full gently." From thence, the 
 monarch of so great an empire, and the late commander of so gallant and 
 nnmerous an army, escaped to Bamborough in a fishing vessel.
 
 158 SCOTT — VOL. V. 
 
 ** My course is run, the g-oal is near . 
 One efFort more, one brave career. 
 
 Must close this race of mine.'' 
 Then in his stirrup rising- high, 
 He shouted loud his battle-cry, 
 
 " Saint James for Argentine '"* 
 And, of the bold pursuers, four 
 The gallant knight from saddle bore ; 
 But not unharmed — a lance's point 
 Has found his breast-plate's loosened joint.. 
 
 An axe has razed his crest ; 
 Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord, 
 "Who pressed the chase with gory sword. 
 
 He rode with spear in rest, 
 And through his bloody tartans bored. 
 
 And through liis gallant breast. 
 Nailed to the earth, the mountaineer 
 Yet writhed him up against the spear. 
 
 And swung his broadsword round ! 
 — StiiTup, steel-boot, and cuish gave way. 
 Beneath that blow's tremendous sway. 
 
 The blood gushed from the wound ; 
 And the grim Lord of Colonsay 
 
 Hath turned him on the ground. 
 And laughed in death-pang, that his bladt 
 The mortal thrust so well repaid. 
 
 Now toiled The Bmce, the battle done. 
 To use his conquest boldly won ;
 
 SCOTT— VOL. V- 159 
 
 And g'ave command for liorse and spear 
 To press the Southern's scattered rear, 
 Nor let his broken force combine, 
 — When the war-cry of Arg-entine 
 
 Fell faintly on his ear ! 
 *• Save, save his life," he cried, " O save 
 The kind, the noble, and the brave !" — 
 The squadrons round free passage gave. 
 
 The wounded knight di-ew near. 
 He raised his red-cross shield no more. 
 Helm, cuish, and breast-plate streamed with gore. 
 Yet, as he saw the King advance, 
 He strove e*en then to couch his lance — 
 
 The effort was in vain ! 
 The spur-stroke failed to rouse the horse ; 
 Wounded and weary, in mid course 
 
 He stumbled on the plain. 
 Then foremost was the generous Bruce 
 To raise his head, his helm to loose : — 
 
 " Lord Earl, the day is thine ! 
 My Sovereign's charge, and adverse fate. 
 Have made our meeting all too late : 
 
 Yet this may Argentine, 
 As boon from ancient comrade, crave — 
 A Christian's mase, a soldier's grave." — 
 
 JBruce pressed his dying hand — its grasp 
 Kindly rcphed ; but, in his clasp. 
 It stiffened and grew cold —
 
 160 SCOTT — TOL. V. 
 
 And, **0 farewell !" the victor cried, 
 ** Of chivalry the flower and pride. 
 
 The arm in battle bold, 
 The courteous mien, the noble race, 
 The stainless faith, tlie manly face ! — • 
 Bid Ninian's convent hg-ht their shrine. 
 For late-wake of De Argentine. 
 O'er better knight on death -bier laid. 
 Torch never g-leamed nor mass was said !" — 
 
 Nor for De Argentine alone. 
 
 Through Ninian's church these torches shone. 
 
 And rose the death -prayer's awful tone. 
 
 That yellow lustre ghmmercd pale. 
 
 On broken plate and bloodied mail. 
 
 Rent crest and shattered coronet. 
 
 Of Baron, Earl, and Banneret ; 
 
 And the best names that England knew, 
 
 Claiifted in the death-prayer dismal due. 
 
 Yet mourn not. Land of Fame ! 
 Though ne'er the leopards on thy shield 
 Retreated from so sad a field. 
 
 Since Norman WiUiam came. 
 Oft may thine annals justly boast 
 Of battles stern by Scotland lost ; 
 
 Grudge not her victory. 
 When for iier freeborn rights slie strove ; 
 Rights dear to all who freedom love, 
 
 To none so dear as thee !
 
 seOTT — VOL. T. 161 
 
 PITT AND FOX. 
 
 With more than mortal powers endowed, 
 How hig-h they soared above the crowd ! 
 Theirs was no common party race, 
 Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; 
 Like fabled Gods, their mighty war 
 Shook realms and nations in its jar ; 
 Beneath each banner proud to stand 
 Looked up the nobles of the land. 
 Till through tlie British world were known 
 The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
 Spells of such force no wizard grave 
 E'er framed in dark Thes^alian cave. 
 Though his could drain the ocean dry, 
 And force the planets from the sky. 
 These spells are spent, and, spent with these. 
 The wine of life is on the lees. 
 Genius, and taste, and talent gone, 
 For ever tombed beneath the stone. 
 Where, — taming thought to human pride ! — 
 The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
 Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
 'Twill trickle to his rival's bier ; 
 O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound, 
 And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
 The solemn echo seems to cry, 
 " Here let their discord vidth tliem die .; 
 02
 
 162 SCOTT VOL. V. 
 
 Speak not for those a separate doom, 
 Whom fate made brothers in the tomb, 
 But search the land of hving men. 
 Where wilt thou find their like agen ?" 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Heap on more wood ! — ^the wind is cliill. 
 
 But let it whistle as it will. 
 
 We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 
 
 Each age has deemed the new-born year 
 
 Fit time for festival and cheer : 
 
 E*en heathen yet, the savage Dane 
 
 At lol more deep the mead did di-ain. 
 
 High on the beach his galleys drew. 
 
 And feasted all his pirate crew ; 
 
 Then in his low and pine-built hall, 
 
 Where shields and axes decked the wall. 
 
 They gorged upon the half-dressed steer ; 
 
 Caroused in seas of sable beer ; 
 
 While round, in brutal jest, were thrown 
 
 The half-gnawed rib, and marrow-bone ; 
 
 Or listened all, in grim delight, 
 
 While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. 
 
 Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie. 
 
 And wildly loose their red locks fly ; 
 
 And dancing round the blazing pile. 
 
 They make such barbarous mirth the while,
 
 hCOTT VOL. V. 
 
 163 
 
 As best might to the mind recall 
 The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 
 
 And well our Christian sires of old 
 Xoved when the year its course had rolled, 
 And broug-ht blithe Christmas back again. 
 With all his hospitable train. 
 Domestic and religious rite. 
 Gave honour to the holy night ; 
 On Christmas eve the bells were rung ; 
 On Christmas eve the mass was sung ; 
 That only night, in aU the year. 
 Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
 The damsel donned her kirtle sheen : 
 The hall was dressed in holly green ; 
 Forth to the wood did meiry-men go, 
 To gather in the misletoe, 
 Then opened wide the baron's hall 
 To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
 Power laid his rod of rule aside, 
 And Ceremony doffed his pride. 
 The heir, with roses in his shoes. 
 That night might village paitner choose j 
 The lord, underogating, share 
 The vulgar game of ** post and pair." 
 All hailed, with uncontrouled delight. 
 And general voice, the happy night. 
 That to the cottage as tlie crown. 
 Brought tidings of salvation down. 
 
 The fire, with well-dried logs supplied..
 
 164 SCOTT — VOL. T. 
 
 Went roaring- up the chimney wide ; 
 The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
 , Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace, 
 Bore then upon its massive board 
 No mark to part tlie squire and lord. 
 Then was brought in the lusty brawn, 
 By old blue-coated serving-man ; 
 Then the grim boar's-head frowned on lilgh. 
 Crested with bays and rosemary. 
 AVell can the green-garbed ranger tell, 
 How, when, and where, the monster fell ; 
 What dogs before his death he tore, 
 And all the baiting of the boar ; 
 W' hile round the meriy wussel bowl, 
 Garnished with ribbons, blithe did trowl. 
 There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by 
 Plumb-porridge stood, and Christmas pie ; 
 Nor failed old Scotland to produce. 
 At such high-tide, her savoury goose. 
 Then came the meriy masquers in, 
 And carols roared with blitliesome diu ■ 
 If unmelodious was the song. 
 It was a heaily note, and strong. 
 Who lists may in their mumming set 
 Traces of ancient mystery ; 
 White shirts supplied the masquerade, 
 And smutted cheeks the visors made ; 
 But, O ! what masquers richly dight 
 Can boast of bosoms half so light !
 
 &OOTT VOL. V. 163 
 
 Eiig-land was meriy England, when 
 
 Old Chi'istmas brought his sports again. 
 
 'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale ; 
 
 ^Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; 
 
 A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
 
 The poor man's heart through half the year. 
 
 Still linger in our northern clime 
 Some remnants of the good old time ; 
 And still, within our valleys here. 
 We hold the kindred title dear. 
 E'en when perchance its far-fetched claim 
 To Soutliron ear sounds empty name 5 
 For course of blood, our proverbs deem, 
 Is warmer than the mountain-stream.* 
 And thus, my Christmas still I hold 
 Where my great-gi-andsire came of old ; 
 With flaxen beai'd, and amber hair. 
 And reverend apostolic air — 
 The feast and holy-tide to share, 
 And mix sobriety with wine. 
 And honest mirth with thoughts divine. 
 Small thought was his, in after time 
 E'er to be hitched into a rhyme. 
 The simple sire could only boast. 
 That he was loyal to his cost ; 
 The banished race of Kings revered, 
 And lost his land, — but kept his beard, 
 
 * " Blood is wanner than water,'"— a proverl) mtant to vindicate out- 
 family predilections.
 
 166 SCOTT — VOL. r 
 
 WILFRID WYCIIFFE 
 
 A FOND mother's care and joy 
 Were centered in her sickly boy. 
 No touch of childhood's frohc mood 
 Showed the elastic spring- of blood ; 
 Hour after hour he loved to pore 
 On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore, 
 But turned from martial scenes and light, 
 From FalstafF's feast and Percy's fight. 
 To ponder Jaques' moral strain. 
 And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain ; 
 And weep himself to soft repose 
 O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 
 
 In youth, he sought not pleasures found 
 By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound. 
 But loved the quiet joys that wake 
 By lonely stream and silent lake ; 
 In Deepdale's sohtude to lie. 
 Where all is cliff, and copse, and sky : 
 To cUmb Catcastle's dizzy peak, 
 Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek. 
 Such was his wont ; and. there his dream 
 Soared on some wild fantastic theme. 
 Of faithful love, or ceaseless Spring, 
 Till Contemplation's wearied wing 
 The enthusiast could no more sustain. 
 And sad he sunk to earth again.
 
 SCOTT VOL. V. 16? 
 
 He loved — as many a lay can tell. 
 Preserved in Stanmore's lonely dell ; 
 For his was minstrel's skill, he caug-ht 
 The art unteachable, untaught ; 
 He loved — liis soul did nature frame 
 For love, and fancy nursed the flame ^ 
 Vainly he loved — for seldom swain 
 Of such soft mould is loved again ; 
 Silent he loved — in every gaze 
 Was passion, friendship in his phrase. 
 
 Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
 For mastery in vain with love. 
 Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
 Of present wo and ills to come, 
 ■Wliile still he turned impatient ear 
 From Truth's intinsive voice severe. 
 Gentle, indifferent, and subdued. 
 In all but this, unmoved he viewed 
 Each outward change of ill and good : 
 But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild. 
 Was Fancy's spoiled and wayward child \ 
 In her bright car she bade him ride. 
 With one fair form to grace his side. 
 Or, in some wild and lone retreat. 
 Flung her high spells around his seat. 
 Bathed in her dews his languid head, 
 Uer fairy mantle o'er him spread ;
 
 t68 iooTT — vol. y. 
 
 For him her opiates gave to flow. 
 
 Which he who tastes can ne'er forego, 
 
 And placed him in her circle, free 
 
 From every stern reality, 
 
 Till, to the Visionary, seem 
 
 ller day-dreams truth, and truth a dream.
 
 BEAUTIES OF MOORE
 
 THE 
 
 BEAUTISS 
 
 THOMAS MOORE ESQ 
 
 Who is he, tliat wields the might 
 
 Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink. 
 Before whose sabre's dazzhng* hght 
 
 The eyes of Ykmen*s warriors wink ' 
 Who comes embower'd in the spears 
 Of Kerman's hardy mountaineers ? — 
 Those mountaineers, that truest, last. 
 
 Cling- to their country's ancient rites, 
 As if that God whose eye-lids cast 
 
 Their closing gleams on Irak's heiglits, 
 Among her snowy mountains threw 
 The last light of his worship too !
 
 172 MooaE — VOL. I. 
 
 'Tis Hafed — name of fear, whose sound 
 
 Chills hke the muttering' of a charm ; — > 
 Shout but that awful name around, 
 
 And palsy shakes the manliest arm. 
 ^Tis Hafed, most accurst and dire 
 (So rank'd by Moslem hate and ire) 
 Of all the rebel Sons of Fire ! 
 Of whose malign tremendous power 
 The Arabs, at their mid-watch hour, 
 Such tales of fearful wonder tell, 
 That each affrighted sentinel 
 Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes. 
 Lest Hafed in the midst should rise ! 
 A man, they say, of monstrous birth, 
 A mingled race of flame and earth. 
 Sprung from these old, enchanted kings,^ 
 
 Who in their fairy helms of yore, 
 A feather from the mystic wings 
 
 Of the Simoorgh resistless wore ; 
 And gifted by the Fiends of Fire, 
 Who groan to see their shrines expii-e, 
 Witli charms that, all in vain withstood 
 W^ould drown the Koran's light in blood ! 
 
 Such were the tales that won behef, 
 And such the colouring Fancy gave 
 
 * Tahniuras, and other ancient kings of Persia, whose adventures in 
 Fairy-Land among the Peris and Dives may be found in Richardson's 
 curious Dissertation. The griffin Simoorgh, they say, took some feathers 
 from her breast for Tahmuras, w ith which he adorned his helmet, and 
 transmitted them afterwards to his descendants.
 
 MOORE — VOL. I. I/O 
 
 To a young-, warm and (^untless Chief,— 
 
 One who, no more than mortal brave. 
 Fought for the land his soul ador'd. 
 
 For happy homes, and altars free, — 
 His only talisman, the sword. 
 
 His only spell-word Liberty ! 
 One of that ancient hero line, 
 Along- whose glorious current shine 
 Names tliat have sanctified their blood, 
 As Lebanon's small mountain-flood 
 Is render'd holy by the ranks 
 Of sainted cedai-s on its banks ! * 
 'Twas not for liim to crouch the knee 
 Tamely to Moslem tyranny, — 
 'Twas not for him, whose soul was cast 
 In the bright mould of ages past. 
 Whose melancholy spirit, fed 
 With all the glories of the dead. 
 Though fram'd for Iran's happiest years^ 
 Was born among her chains and tears ! 
 'Twas not for him to swell the crowd 
 Of slavish lieads, that shrinking bow'd 
 Before the Moslem, as he pass'd. 
 Like shmbs beneath the poison blast — 
 No — far he fled — indignant fled 
 
 The pageant of his country's shame ; 
 While every tear her children shed 
 
 * This rivulet, says Dandini, is called the Holy River from the " cedav- 
 ;aints," among which it rises. 
 
 P 2
 
 174 MooEE — vol.. r. 
 
 Fell on his soul like drops of flame ; 
 And as a lover hails the dawn 
 
 Of a first smile, so welcomed he 
 The sparkle of the first sword drawn 
 
 For vengeance and for liberty ! 
 
 THE HABEM. 
 
 Through vast illuminated halls. 
 Silent and brig-ht, M^here nothing but the falls 
 Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound 
 From many a jasper fount is heard around, 
 Young AziM roams bewilder'd, — nor can guess 
 What means this maze of light and loneliness. 
 Here the way leads, o'er tesselated floors 
 Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors, 
 Where, ranged in cassolets and silver urns. 
 Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns ; •> 
 
 And spicy rods, such as illume at night 
 The bowers of Tibet,* send forth odorous light. 
 Like Peri's wands, when pointing out the road 
 For some pure Spirit to its blest abode ! — 
 And here, at once, the glittering saloon 
 Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon ^ 
 Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays 
 In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays 
 
 * " Cloves are a principal ingredient in the composition of the perfum- 
 rd rods, which men of rank keep constantly burniiig in their presence." 
 —Turner's Tibet.
 
 MOORE VOL. I. 175 
 
 High as th' enamell'd cupola, w hich towers 
 All rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers ; 
 And the mosaic floor beneath shines through ♦ 
 The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew. 
 Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye, 
 That on the margin of the Red Sea he. 
 
 Here too he traces the kind visitings 
 
 Of woman's love in those fair, hving things 
 
 Of land and wave, whose fate, — In bondage thrown 
 
 For their weak loveliness — is like her own ! 
 
 On one side gleaming with a sudden grace 
 
 Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase 
 
 In which it undulates, small fishes shine. 
 
 Like golden ingots from a fairy mine ; 
 
 While, on the other, lattic'd lightly in 
 
 With odoriferous woods of Camorin,* 
 
 Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen ; — 
 
 Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between 
 
 The crimson blossoms of the coral ti'eef 
 
 In the warm isles of India's sunny sea : 
 
 Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, t and tlie thrush 
 
 Of Indostan,§ whose holy warbhngs gush. 
 
 At evening, from the tall pagoda's top ; — 
 
 * C'est d'oii vient le bois d'aloes, que les Arabes appellent Oud Comarij 
 et celui du sandal, qui s'y trouve en grande quantile.— D'/fer6do«. 
 
 t " Thousands of variegated loories visit the coral trees."— Borrow, 
 t" lu Mecca, there are quantities of blue pigeons, which none will af- 
 fright or abuse, much less k.ilV'—Fitfi- Account of the Mahometans^ 
 
 § " The Paeoda Thrush is t stcenied among the first choristers of India. 
 It sits perched on the sacred Pagodas, aad from thence delivers its nielo ' 
 dious song.''— PenTwnf'* Hindoetan,
 
 176 .hooue — Toi. i. 
 
 Those golden birds that, in the spice time, drop 
 About the gardens, drank with that sweet food 
 "Whose scent hath hir'd them o'er the summer flood C 
 And those that under Araby's soft sun 
 Build their high nests of budding cinnamon ;f 
 In short, all rare and beauteous things that fly 
 Tlu'ough the pure element, here calmly he 
 Sleeping in hght, like the green birds^: that dwell 
 In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel ! 
 
 So on through scenes past all imagining, — 
 More hke the luxuries of that impious king, § 
 Whom Death's dark Angel, with his hghtning torch, 
 Struck down and blasted even in Pleasure's porch. 
 Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent, 
 Ann'd with Heaven's sword, for man's enfranchisement — 
 Young AziJi wander'd, looking sternly round. 
 His simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound, 
 But ill according with the pomp and grace 
 And silent lull of that voluptuous place ! 
 
 "Is this then," thought the youth, " is this the way 
 To free man's spirit from the deadening sway 
 
 * Birds of Paradise, which, at the nutmeg season, come in flights from 
 the soulbtru isks of India, and " the strength of the nutmeg,'' sa\s Ta- 
 vernier, ** so intoxicates them, that they fall dead drunk to the earth." 
 
 + " Ihat bird which liveth in Arabia, and buildeth its nest with cinjia- 
 m(.n.''~Brou'7i's Vulgar Errors. 
 
 \ " The spirits of the martyrs ^\ ill he lodged in the crops of green 
 bjids/' — Giol/on. voi. ix. p. 421. 
 
 § Shedad, who made the delicious gardens of Irim, in imitation of Pa- 
 radise, and was destroyed by lightning the first time he attempted to en- 
 ter them.
 
 T.IOOHE-rVOI.. I. 17-7 
 
 Of worldly sloth ; — to teach him, while he lives. 
 
 To know no bliss but that which virtue gives, 
 
 And when he dies, to leave his lofty name 
 
 A lig-ht, a land-mark on the cliffs of fame "' 
 
 It was not so, land of the g-cnerous thought 
 
 And daring deed ! tliy godlike sages taught ; 
 
 It was not thus, in bowers of wanton case, 
 
 Thy freedom nurs'd her sacred energies ; 
 
 Oh ! not beneath th' enfeebling, withering glow 
 
 Of such dull luxury did those myrtles grow. 
 
 With which she wreath'd her sword, when she would darc 
 
 Immortal deeds ; but in the bracing air 
 
 Of toil, — of temperance, — of that high, rai'e. 
 
 Ethereal vu'tue, wiiich alone can breathe 
 
 Life, health, and lustre into Freedom's wreath ! 
 
 Who, that surveys this span of earth we press. 
 
 This speck of life in time's great wilderness. 
 
 This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas. 
 
 The past, the future, two eternities ! 
 
 Would sully the bright spot or leave it bare, 
 
 When he might build him a proud temple there, 
 
 A name, that long shall hallow all its space, 
 
 And be each purer soul's high resting-place ! 
 
 But no — it cannot be, that one, whom God 
 
 Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood's rod, — 
 
 A Prophet of the truth, whose mission draws 
 
 Its rights from Heaven, should thus profane his cause 
 
 With the world's vulgar pomps ; — no, no — I 
 
 He thinks me weak — this glare of luxury
 
 178 :viooBE — VOL. r. 
 
 Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet g-aze 
 
 Of my young- soul ; — shine on, 'twill stand the blaze !" 
 
 So thought the youth ; — but, ev'n M-hile he defied 
 The witching scene, he felt its witchery glide 
 Through every sense. The perfume, breathing round, 
 Like a pervading s])irit ; — the still sound 
 Of falling waters, lulling as the song 
 Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng 
 Around the fragrant Nilica, and deep 
 In its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep !* 
 And music too — dear music ! that can touch 
 Beyond all else the soul that loves it much — 
 Now heard far off, so far as but to seem — 
 Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream ; — 
 All was too much for him, too full of bliss. 
 The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this ; 
 Soften'd he sunk upon a couch, and gave 
 His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave 
 Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid ; — 
 He thought of Zelica, his own dear maid, 
 And of the time when, full of blissful sighs, 
 They sat and look'd into each other's eyes. 
 Silent and happy — as if God had given 
 Nought else worth looking at on this side heaven : 
 
 ** O my lov'd mistress ! whose enchantments stiU 
 Are with me, round me, wander where I will — 
 
 * "]My Pandits assure me that the plant before us (the Xilica) is their 
 Sephalica, thus named because the bees are supposed to sleep ou its blos- 
 soms." — Sir iV, Jones,
 
 MOORE — VOL. I. 179 
 
 It is for thee, for thee alone I seek 
 
 The paths of glory — to light up thy cheek 
 
 With warm approval — in that gentle look. 
 
 To read my praise, as in an angel*s book. 
 
 And think all toils rewarded, when from thee 
 
 I gain a smile, worth immortality ! 
 
 How shall I bear the moment, when restor'd 
 
 To that young heart where 1 alone am Lord, 
 
 Though of such bliss unworthy, — since the best 
 
 Alone deserve to be the happiest ! — 
 
 When from those lips, unbreath'd upon for years, 
 
 I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears. 
 
 And find those tears warm as when last they started. 
 
 Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted ! 
 
 Oh my own life ! — why should a single day, 
 
 A moment keep me from those arms away >"* 
 
 While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze 
 Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, 
 Each note of which but adds new, downy links 
 To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. 
 He turns him tow'rd the sound, and, far away 
 Through a long vista, sparkling with the play 
 Of countless lamps, — like the rich track which Da}- 
 Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us ; 
 So long the path, its light so tremulous ; — 
 He sees a group of female fonns advance. 
 Some chain'd together in the mazy dance 
 By fetters, forg'd in the green sunny bowers.
 
 180 MOORE— VOL. 1. 
 
 As they were captives to the King of Flowers ;— 
 And some disporting round, unlink'd and free. 
 Who seem'd to mock their sisters' slavery. 
 And round and round them still, in wheeling flight 
 Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night 5 
 While others walk'd as gracefully along 
 Their feet kept time, the veiy soul of song 
 From psaltry, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrili, 
 Or their own youthful voices, heavenlier still ! 
 And now they come, now pass before his eye, 
 Forms such as Natm-e moulds, when she would vie 
 With Fancy's pencil and give birth to things 
 Lovely beyond its fairest picturings ! 
 Awhile they dance before him, then divide. 
 Breaking, hke rosy clouds at even-tide 
 Around the rich pavilion of the sun, 
 Till silently dispersing, one by one. 
 Through many a path that from the chamber lead.- 
 To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads. 
 Their distant laughter comes upon the wind. 
 And but one trembling nymph remains behind, 
 Beck'ning them back in vain, for they are gone. 
 And she is left in all that light alone ; 
 No veil to curtain o'er her beauteous brow. 
 In Its young bashfulness more beauteous now : 
 But a light, golden chain-work round her hair. 
 Such as the maids of Yezd and Shiraz wear. 
 From which, on either side, gracefully hung 
 A golden amulet, in tli' Ai-ab tongue.
 
 MOORE— VOL, I. 181 
 
 EngTa\ en o'er with some immortal line 
 
 From holy writ, or bai*d scarce less divine ; 
 
 While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood, 
 
 Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood, 
 
 Which once or twice, she touch'd with hurried strain, 
 
 Then took her trembling- fingers off again. 
 
 But when at length a timid glance she stole 
 
 At AziM, the sweet gravity of soul 
 
 She saw through all liis features calm'd her fear, 
 
 And, like a half-tamed antelope, more near. 
 
 Though shrinking still, she came ;— then sat her down 
 
 Upon a musnud's* edge, and, bolder grown, 
 
 In the pathetic mode of IsFAiiAxf 
 
 Touch'd a preluding strain, and thus began : 
 
 There's a bower of roses by BENDEMEEH'st stream, 
 
 And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; 
 In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream. 
 
 To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. 
 That bower and its music I never forget, 
 
 But oft, when alone, in the bloom of the year, 
 I think — is the nightingale singing there yet ? 
 
 Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemxer ? 
 No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave 
 
 But some blossoms were gather'd, while freshly they shone, 
 
 * Musuuds are cushioned seats, usually reserved for persons ef dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 t The Persians, like the ancient Greeks, call their musical modes or 
 Perdas by the names of different countries or cities, as the mode of Isfa- 
 han, the mode of Irak, etc. 
 
 t A riyer which flows near th« ruins wf Chjlriijnar. 
 
 Q
 
 182 MOORE VOL, I. 
 
 And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, tliat ^avt 
 All the frag-iance of summer, when summer was gone 
 
 Thus memory draws from delig-ht, ere it dies. 
 An essence that breathes of it many a year ; 
 
 Thus brig-ht to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, 
 Is that bower on the bank of the cahn Bk^jdemeer ! 
 
 **Poor maiden ! " thoug-ht the youth, *<if thou wert sent. 
 
 With thy soft lute and beauty's blandishment. 
 
 To wake unholy wishes in this heart, 
 
 Or tempt its truth, thou little know'st the art. 
 
 For though thy lip should sweetly counsel wrong, 
 
 Those vestal eyes would disavow its song. 
 
 But thou hast breathed such purity, thy lay 
 
 Returns so fondly to youth's virtuous day. 
 
 And leads thy sou! — if e'er it wander'd thence— 
 
 So gently back to its first innocence, 
 
 That I would sooner stop th' unchained dove, 
 
 When swift returning to its home of love. 
 
 And round its snowy wing new fetters twine. 
 
 Than turn from virtue one pure wish of thine !" 
 
 Scarce had this feeling pass'd, when, sparkling through 
 The gently open'd curtains of light blue 
 That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes 
 Peeping like stars through the blue evening skies: 
 •Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair 
 That sat so still and melancholy there — 
 And now the curtains fly apart, and in 
 From the cool air, 'mid showers of jessamine
 
 iMoonE — VOL. I. 183 
 
 Which those without fling- after them in jilay, 
 
 Two lip^htsome maidens spring-, lig-htsome as they 
 
 Who live in th' air on odours, and around 
 
 The brig-ht saloon, scarce conscious of chc ground. 
 
 Chase one another in a vaiying- dunce 
 
 Of mnth and lang-uor, coyness and advance, 
 
 I'oo eloquently like love's warm pursiiit : — 
 
 While she, wlio sung so g-ently to the lute 
 
 Her dream of home, steals timidly away, 
 
 Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray, — 
 
 But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh 
 
 We sometimes give to forms that pas5 us by 
 
 In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain, 
 
 Creatures of light we never see again ! 
 
 NAMOrNA, THE E^^'CHANTRESS. 
 
 O'er whom his race the golden sun 
 For unremember'd years has ran. 
 Yet never saw her bloomiiig brow 
 Younger or fairer than 'tis now. 
 Nay, rather, as the west-wind's sigh, 
 Freshens the fiosver It passes by, 
 Time's wing but seem'd, in stealing o'er, 
 To leave her lovelier than before. 
 Yet on her saiiles a sadness hung. 
 And when, as oft, she spoke or sung
 
 184 MOORE — rot. I. 
 
 Of other worlds, there came a lig-ht 
 From her dark eyes so strangely bright. 
 That all believ'd nor man nor earth 
 Were conscious of Namouna's birth ! 
 All spells and talismans she knew, 
 
 From the great .Mantra,* which around • 
 
 The Air's sublimer Spirits drew. 
 
 To the gold gemsf of Afbic. — 
 
 it * # * tr 
 
 in short, all flowrets and all plants, 
 
 From the divine Amrita tree,^ 
 That blesses heaven's inhabitants 
 
 With fruits of immortality, 
 Down to the basil tuft, that waves 
 
 Its fragrant blossoms over graves. 
 
 And to the humble rosemary 
 Whose sw^eets so thanklessly are shed 
 To scent the desert. § — 
 
 'Twas, indeed, the perfume shed 
 From flowers and scented flame that fed 
 Her charmed life — for none had e'er 
 Beheld her taste of mortal fare, 
 
 * " He is said to have found the great ^Vanfra, spell or talisman, through 
 which he ruled over the elements and spirits of all denominations."— /H/- 
 ford. 
 
 t " The ^old jewels of Jinnie, which are called by the Arabs El Herrez, 
 from the supposed charm the}- contain.'"~yac/Mo;!.' 
 
 t This name is applied by the Asiatics to the largest and richest sort of 
 the Jurabu or rose apple tree.— 5V;\ tV. Jones. 
 
 § In the great desert are found many stalks of lavender and rosemary. 
 Asiat. Res.
 
 .MOORE VOJ.. ]. 185 
 
 Xor ever in aught earthly dip, 
 
 Uut the morns' dew, her roseate lip. 
 
 PAIIADISE AND THE PEBI. 
 
 One morn a Peri at the g-ate 
 Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; 
 And as she listen'd to the springs 
 
 Of life within, like music flowing, 
 Had caught the light upon her wings 
 
 Through the half-open portal glowing, 
 She wept to think her recreant race 
 Should e'er have lost that glorious place ' 
 
 *' How happy," exclaim'd this child of air, 
 ** Are the holy Spirits who wander there. 
 
 Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall : 
 Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, 
 And the stars themselves have flowers for me. 
 
 One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all ! 
 
 Though sunny the lake of cool Cashmere, 
 With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear,* 
 
 And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall ^ 
 Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hat, 
 And the golden floods, that thitherward stray,f 
 
 * " Numerous small islands emerge from the Lake of Cashmere. One is 
 called Char Chtnaur, from the plane trees upon it,"— Forster. 
 
 t"The Altan Kol, or Golden River of Tibet, which runs into the 
 Lake of Sing-su-hay, has abundance of goid in its sands, which employs 
 the inhabitants ali summer in gathering iV^— Description of Tibet in 
 Pinkerton, 
 
 Q2
 
 186 MOOHE — TOL. I. 
 
 Yet — oh 'tis only the blest can say 
 
 How the waters of Heaven outshine them all 
 
 Go wing thy flight from star to star. 
 From world to luminous world, as far 
 
 As the universe spreads its flaming wall 5 
 Take all the pleasures of all the spheres. 
 And multiply each through endless years. 
 
 One minute of Heaven is worth them all !** 
 
 The glorious Angel, who was keeping 
 The gates of Light, beheld her weeping ; 
 And, as he nearer drew and hsten*d 
 To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten'd 
 Within his eyelids, like the spray 
 
 From Eden's fountain, when it lies 
 On the blue flow'r, which — Bramins say — 
 
 Blooms no where but in Paradise ! 
 "Nymph of a fair, but erring line !" 
 Gently he said — " One hope is thine. 
 
 Tis written in the Book of Fate, 
 The Peri yet may be forgiven 
 Who brings to this Eternal Gate 
 T%e Gift that is most dear to Heaven / 
 Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin : — 
 'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in !" 
 
 Rapidly as comets run 
 
 To th' embraces of the Sun : — 
 
 Fleeter than the starry brands,
 
 MOORE — TOL. I. 18/ 
 
 Flung at night from angel hands* 
 At those dark and daring sprites, 
 Who would climb th* empyreal heights, 
 Down the blue vault the Peri flies. 
 
 And, lighted earthward by a glance 
 That just then broke from morning's eyes, 
 
 Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse. 
 
 But whither shall the Spirit go 
 
 To find this gift for heav'n ? — "I know 
 
 The wealth," she cries, "of every urn, 
 
 In which unnumber'd rubies burn. 
 
 Beneath the pillars of Ckilmibar ;t — 
 
 I know where the Isles of Perfume are 
 
 Many a fathom down in the sea, 
 
 To the south of sun-bright Arabx ;t — 
 
 I know too where the Genii hid 
 
 The jewell'd cup of their King Jamshid,§ 
 
 With Life's elixir sparkling high — 
 
 But gifts like these are not for the sky. 
 
 Where was there ever a gem that shone 
 
 Like the steps of Alla's wonderful Throne ? 
 
 * " The Mahometans suppose that falling stars are the fire-brands 
 V, herewith the good angels drive away the bad, when they approach too 
 near the empyreuni or verge of the Heavens."— f/f/er. 
 
 t The Forty Pillars : so the Persians call the ruins of Persepolis. It is 
 imagined by them that this palace and the edifices at Balbec were built 
 by Genii, for the purpose of hiding in their subterraneous caverns im- 
 mense treasures, which still remain theve.—D''Herbelot, Volney, 
 
 X The Isles of Panchaia. 
 
 § " The cup of Jamshid, discovered, they say, when digging for the 
 foundations of Persepolis."— i?icAarrfjo«.
 
 188 MOORE — yoi. 1. 
 
 And the Drops of Life — oh ! what would tbey be 
 In the boundless Deep of Eternity ?'* 
 
 While thus she mus'd, her pinions fann'd 
 The air of that sweet Indian land, 
 Whose air is balm ; whose ocean spreads 
 O'er coral rocks and amber beds ; 
 Whose mountains, preg-nant by the beam 
 Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem ; 
 Whose ri\'ulets are like rich brides, 
 Lovely, with g-old beneath their tides ; 
 Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice 
 Mig-ht be a Peri's Paradise ! 
 But crimson now her rivers ran 
 
 With human blood — the smell of death 
 Came reeking- from those spicy bowers, 
 And many, the sacrifice of man. 
 
 Mingled his taint with every breath 
 Upwafted from the innocent flowers ! 
 Land of the Sun ! what foot invades 
 Thy Pagods and thy pillar'd shades — 
 Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones. 
 Thy Monarchs and their thousand Thrones ' 
 'Tis He of Gazna !* — fierce in wTath 
 
 He comes, and I^jdia's diadems 
 Lie scatter'd in his ruinous path. — 
 
 His blood-hounds he adorns wdth gems, 
 Torn from the violated necks 
 
 * Mahmood of Gazna, or Ghizni, who conquered India in the begin- 
 aiog of the nth century.— v. lus History in Dow and Sir J. Malcolm.
 
 Of many a young- and lov'd Sultana \* — 
 Maidens within their pure Zenana, 
 Priests in the very fane he slaug-hters. 
 And choaks up with the glittenng wrecks 
 Of golden shrines the sacred waters ! 
 
 Downward the Peri turns her gaze, 
 And, through the war-field's bloody haze 
 Beholds a youthful warrior stand. 
 
 Alone, beside his native river, — 
 The red blade broken in his hand 
 
 And the last arrow in his quiver. 
 " Live," said the Conqueror, ** live to share 
 The trophies and the crowns I bear ! " 
 Silent that youthful warrior stood — 
 Silent he pointed to the flood 
 All crimson with his country's blood. 
 Then sent his last remaining dart. 
 For answer to th' Invader's heart. 
 False flew the shaft, though pointed well -, 
 The Tyrant livM, the Hero fell !— 
 Yet mark*d the Peri where he lay. 
 
 And when the rush of war was past, 
 Swiftly descending on a ray 
 
 Of morning light, she caught the last — ' 
 
 Last glorious drop his heart had shed, 
 Before its free-born spirit fled ! 
 
 * It is reported that the hunting equipage of the Sultan ^fahmood was 
 so magnificent, that he kept four hundred grey-hounds and blood-houndfc, 
 each of which wore a coiiar set with jewels, and a covering edged vritK 
 gold and pcurls.^'—Univeisal Histonjy vol. iij.
 
 190 MOOBE — VOL. I. 
 
 " Be this,*' she cried, as she win^d her flight, 
 My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 
 Though foul are the drops that oft distil 
 
 On the field of warfare, blood like this. 
 
 For Liberty shed, so holy is. 
 It would not stain the purest rill. 
 
 That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss ! 
 Oh ! if there be, on this earthly sphere, 
 # A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 
 "Tis the last libation [iberty draws 
 From the heart that bleeds and breaks m hef cause !*' 
 
 " Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave 
 
 The gift into his radiant hand, 
 " Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 
 
 Who die thus for their native Land. — 
 But see — alas ! — the crystal bar 
 Of Eden moves not — holier far 
 Than ev'n this drop the boon must be, 
 That opens the Gates of Heav'n for thee ! " 
 
 Her first fond hope of Eden bhghted, 
 Now among Afric's Lunar Mountains,* 
 
 Far to the South, the Peri lighted ; 
 
 And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains 
 
 Of that Egyptian tide, — whose birth 
 
 Is hidden from tlie sons of earth, 
 
 Deep in those solitary woods. 
 
 Where oft the Genii of the Floods 
 
 * " The Mowntains of the Moon, or the Montes Lunfe of antiquitj'. at 
 ihe foot of which the Nile is supposed to arise."— £rute
 
 MOORE VOL. I 191 
 
 Dunce round the cradle of their Nile, 
 And hail the new-born Giant's smile !* 
 Thence, over Egypt's palmy groves. 
 
 Her grots, and sepulchres of Kingsf 
 The exil'd Spirit sighing roves ; 
 And now hangs listening to the doves 
 In warm Rosktta's vale^^ — now loves 
 
 To watch the moonlight on the wings 
 Of the white pelicans that break 
 The azure calm of Mcebis' Lake.§ 
 'Twas a fair scene — a Land more bright 
 
 Never did mortal eye behold ! 
 Who could have thought, that saw this night 
 
 These valleys and their fruits of gold 
 Basking in heav'n's serenesL light ; — 
 Those groups of lovely date-trees bending 
 
 Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads. 
 Like youthful maids, when sleep descending 
 
 Warns them to their silken beds ;|1 — 
 'I'hose virgin lilies, all the night 
 
 Bathing their beHiities in the lake. 
 That they may rise more fresh and bright, 
 
 * " The Nile, vhichthe Abyssinian?; know by the names of Abey and 
 Alaway or the Giant." Aaiaf. Researches vol. i. p. 387. 
 
 t V. Perry's View of the Levant, for an account of the sepulchres in Up- 
 per 'Ihebts, and the numberless e^rots covered all over with hieroglyphics 
 in the mountains of Upper Egj pt. 
 
 X " The orchards of Rosetta are filled with turtle-doves."— S'onn/we. 
 § Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lake Maris. 
 II " The superb date-tree, whose head languidly reclines, like that of a 
 Jiandsorae woman overcome with sleep."— jL><7/ar£/ el Hadad.
 
 192 MOORE— VOL. I. 
 
 When their beloved Sun's awake ;— 
 Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem 
 The rehcs of a splendid dream ; 
 
 Amid whose fairy loneliness 
 Noug-ht but the lapwing's cry is heard. 
 Nought seen but (when the shadows, flitting 
 Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam) 
 Some purple-wing'd Sultana* sitting 
 
 Upon a column, motionless 
 
 And glittering, like an idol bird !— 
 
 Who could have thought, that there, ev'n there.. 
 
 Amid those scenes so still and fair, 
 
 The Demon of the Plague hath cast 
 
 From his hot wing a deadlier blast, 
 
 More mortal far than ever came 
 
 From the red Desert's sands of flame ! 
 
 So quick, that every living thing 
 
 Of human shape, touch'd by his wing. 
 
 Like plants, where the Simoom hath past^ 
 
 At once falls black and withering ! 
 
 % 
 The sun went down on many a brow, 
 
 Which, full of bloom and freshness then. 
 Is rankling in the pest-house now 
 
 And ne'er will feel that sun again ! 
 And oh ! to sec th' unburied heaps 
 
 * '• That beautiful bird, with plumage of the finest shining blue, witk 
 purple beak and legs, the natural and living ornament of the temples and 
 palaces of the Greeks and Romans, which, from the stateliness of its port, 
 as well as the brilliancy of i»s colours, ha<i obtajjied the title of -Rnltana."-^ 
 SonninU
 
 UOOHE — VOL. 1, 19T 
 
 On which the lonely moonlight sleeps— 
 The very vultures turn away, 
 And sicken at so foul a prey ! 
 Only the fierce hyaena stalks* 
 Throughout the city's desolate walks 
 At midnight, and his carnage plies — 
 
 Wo to the half-dead wretcn, who meets 
 The glaring of those large blue eyes-}- * 
 
 Amid the darkness of the streets ! 
 
 " Poor race of Men !" said the pitying Spirit^ 
 
 " Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall — 
 Some flowrets of Eden ye still inherit, 
 
 But the trail of the Serpent is over them all "' 
 She wept — the air grew pure and clear 
 
 Around her, as the bright drops ran ; 
 For there's a magic in each tear. 
 
 Such kindly Spirits weep for man ! 
 
 Just then beneath some orange trees, 
 Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze 
 Were wantoning together, free, 
 Like age at play with infancy— 
 Beneath that fresh and springing bower. 
 
 Close by the Lake, she heard the moan 
 Of one who, at this silent hour, 
 
 Had thither stol'n to die alone. 
 
 *,Jacksoii, speaking of the plague thatoccuiTcd in West Barbary, when 
 he was there, says, " The birds of the air fled away from the abodes of 
 tnen. The hyaenas, on the coiitrai-y, visited the cemeteries," &c. 
 
 t Bvuce, 
 
 R
 
 194 MOORE — VOL. I. 
 
 One M-ho in life, where'er he mov'd. 
 
 Drew after him the hearts of many ; 
 Yet now, as though he ne'er were lov'd, 
 Dies here, unseen, unwept by any ! 
 None to watch near him — none to slake 
 
 The fire that in his bosom lies. 
 With ev'n a sprinkle from that lake, 
 
 Which shines so cool before his eyes. 
 No voice, well-known through many a day, 
 
 To speak the last, the parting word. 
 Which, when all other sounds decay, 
 
 Is still like distant music heard. 
 That tender farewell on the shore 
 Of this rude world, when all is o'er, 
 Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark 
 Puts oW into the unknown Dark. 
 
 Deserted youth ! one thought alone 
 
 Shed joy around his soul in death — 
 That she, whom he for years had knov u, 
 And lov'd, and might have call'd his own. 
 
 Was safe from this foul midnight's breath 
 Safe in her father's princely halls, 
 Where the cool airs from fountain falls, 
 I'reshly peifum'd by many a brand 
 Of the sweet wood from India's land. 
 Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd- 
 But see, — who yonder comes by stealth, 
 This melancholy bower to seek.
 
 JIOORE VOL. J. 1^5 
 
 Like a young envoy sent by Health, 
 
 With rosy g-ifts upon her cheek ? • 
 "Tis she, — far off, through moonhght dim. 
 
 He knew his own betrothed bride, 
 She, who would rather die with him. 
 
 Than live to gain the world beside ! — 
 Her arms are round her lover now. 
 
 His hvid cheek to hers she presses. 
 And dips, to bind his burning brow. 
 
 In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses. 
 Ah ! once, how Uttle did he think 
 An hour would come, when he should shrink' 
 With horror from that dear embrace, 
 
 Those gentle arms, that were to him 
 Holy as is the cradling place 
 
 Of Eden*s infant cherubim ! 
 And now he yields — now turns away, 
 Shuddering as if the venom lay 
 All in those proffer'd lips alone — 
 Those lips that, then so fearless grown. 
 Never until that instant came 
 Near his unask'd or without shame. 
 " Oh ! let me only breathe the air, 
 
 The blessed air that's breath'd by thee. 
 And, whether on its wings it bear 
 Healing, or death, *tis sweet to me ! 
 There, drink my tears, while yet they fall, — 
 
 Would that my bosom's blood were balm; 
 And, well tliou know'st, I'd shed it all,
 
 196 iMOOHE — VOL. I. 
 
 To give thy brow one minute's calm. 
 Nay, turn not from me that dear face- 
 Am I not thine — thy own lov'd bride — 
 The one, the chosen one, whose place 
 
 In life or death is by thy side ! 
 Think'st thou that she, whose only lig'ht. 
 
 In this dim world, from thee hath shone, 
 Could bear the long-, the cheerless night. 
 
 That must be hers, when thou art gone f 
 That I can live, and let thee go. 
 Who art my life itself ? — No, no, — 
 When the stem dies, the leaf that grew 
 Out of its heart must perish too ! 
 Then turn to me, my own love, turn. 
 Before like thee I fade and burn ; 
 Cling to these yet cool lips, and shai'e 
 The last pure life that hngers there !'* 
 She fails — she sinks — as dies the lamp 
 In chamel airs or cavern-damp. 
 So quickly do his baleful sighs 
 Quench ail the sweet light of her eyes ! 
 One struggle — and his pain is past — 
 
 Her lover is no longer living ! 
 One kiss the maiden gives, one last. 
 
 Long kiss, which she expires in giving ! 
 
 " Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stole 
 The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul. 
 As true as e*er warm'd a woman's breast — 
 " Sleep on, in visions of odour rest,
 
 .-ifOORE — VOL. I. 197 
 
 In bulmiei' airs than ever yet stirr'd 
 Th* enchanted pile of that lonely bird, 
 Who sings at the last his own death-lay,* 
 And in music and perfume dies away !" 
 
 Thus saying", from her lips she spread 
 Unearthly breathing's through the place. 
 
 And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed 
 Such lustre o'er each paly face, 
 That Uke two lovely saiijjis they seem'd 
 
 Upon the eve of doomsday taken 
 From their dim graves, in odoui* sleeping ; — 
 
 While that benevolent Peri b^am'd 
 Like their good angel, calmly keeping 
 
 Watch o'er them, till their soids would waken ! 
 But morn is blushing in the sky ; 
 
 Again the Piini soars above. 
 Bearing to Heav'n that precious sigh 
 
 Of pure, sell-sacrificing love. 
 High tiu'obb'd her heart, with hope elatea 
 ^ The Elysian palm she soon shaU win, 
 For the bright Spirit at the gate 
 
 Smil'd as she gave that offering in ; 
 And she already hears tlie trees 
 
 Of Eden, with their crystal bells 
 Ringing in that ambrosial breeze 
 
 * " In the East, they suppose the Phceiiix to have fifty orifices in his bill, 
 which are contuuiLcl to his taii ; and Uiat, aftic .iviuij oii' thousand years, 
 he builds hims<rif a funeral pile, sings a melodious air of Uiiicitnt hai-mo- 
 nies through his fifty organ pipes, flaps his wiugs v.ith a velocity which 
 sets fire to the wood, and consumes himself."— /J»c/j«r(?*(»«. 
 
 R2
 
 198 MOOHE TOL. I. 
 
 That from the Throne of Alla swells ; 
 And she can see the starry bowls 
 
 That lie around that lucid lake. 
 Upon whose banks admitted Souls 
 
 Their first sweet draught of glory take !* 
 But ah ! ev'n Peri's hopes are vain — 
 Again the Fates forbade, again 
 Th' immortal barrier clos'd — *' not yet," 
 The Angel said, as, with regret. 
 He shut from her that glimpse of glory. — 
 
 ***** 
 
 Now, upon Stria's land of roses-j- 
 Softly the light of Eve reposes. 
 And, like a gloiy, the broad sun 
 Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; 
 Whose head in wintry grandeur towers. 
 
 And whitens with eternal sleet. 
 While summer, in a vale of flowers. 
 
 Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 
 
 To one, who look'd from upper air 
 O'er all th* enchanted regions there, 
 How beauteous must have been the glow. 
 The life, the sparkhng from below ! 
 
 • "■ On the shores of a quadrangular lake stand a thousand goblets, mad<^ 
 of stars, out of which souls predestined to enjoy felicity drink the crystal 
 wave."— From Chateaubriand's Description of the Mahometan Paradise, in 
 his Beauties of Christianity. 
 
 + Richardson thinks that S)Tia had its name from Suri, a beautiful and 
 delicate species of rose for which that country has been always famoas ;— 
 hence, Suristau, the Land of Roses.
 
 MOORE — VOL. r 199 
 
 Fair gardens, shining- streams, with ranks 
 
 Of golden melons on their banks. 
 
 More golden where the sun-light falls ; — 
 
 Gay lizards glittering on the walls* 
 
 Of ruin*d shrines, busy and bright 
 
 As they were all alive with light ; — 
 
 And yet more splendid, numerous flocks. 
 
 Of pigeons, settling on the rocks. 
 
 With their rich restless wings, that gleam 
 
 Variously in the crimson beam 
 
 Of the warm west, — as if inlaid 
 
 With brilhants from the mine, or made 
 
 Of tearless rainbows, such as span 
 
 Th' unclouded skies of Peristal ? 
 
 And then, the mingling sounds that come. 
 
 Of shepherd's ancient reed,f with hum 
 
 Of the wild bees of Palestine, 
 
 Banquetting through the flowery vales ; — 
 And, JoRDAif, those sweet banks of thine, 
 
 And woods, so full of nightingales ! 
 
 But nought can charm the luckless Peri ; 
 Her soul is sad — her wings are weary — 
 Joyless she sees the sun look down. 
 On that great Temple, once his own, }. 
 
 * " The number of lizards I saw one day in the great court of the Tem- 
 ple of the Sun at Balbec, amounted to many thousands ; the ground, the 
 walls, and stones of the ruined buildings were covtri-'d with them."— 5rwce. 
 
 t The Syrinx or Pan's pipe, is still a pastoral instrument in Syria.— 
 Russel. 
 
 i The Temple of the Sun at Balbec.
 
 200 MOORE VOL. I. 
 
 Whose lonely columns stand sublime, 
 
 Fling-ing- their shadows from on hig-h, 
 Like dials, which the wizard, Time, 
 
 Had rais'd to count his ages by ! 
 
 Yet haply there may lie conceal'd 
 
 Beneath those Chambers of the San -, 
 Some amulet of gems anneal'd 
 In upper fires, some tablet seal'd 
 
 With the great name of Solomon, 
 
 Which, spell'd by her illumin'd eyes, 
 May teach her where, beneath the moon, 
 In earth or ocean Ues the boon. 
 The charm that can restore so soon, 
 
 An erring Spirit to the skies ! 
 
 Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither ; — 
 Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, 
 Nor have the golden bowers of Even * 
 
 In the rich West begun to wither ; — 
 
 When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging. 
 Slowly, she sees a child at play. 
 
 Among the rosy wild-flowers singing, 
 As rosy and as wild as they ; 
 
 Chasing with eager hands and eyes, 
 
 The beautiful blue damsel flies,* 
 
 That flutter'd round the jasmine stems, 
 
 * " You behold there a considerable number of a remarkable species of 
 beautifui insects, the eltgance of whose appearance and their attire pro- 
 cured for them the name of Damsels."— 5o«7u>h.
 
 MOORE — rot. I- 201 
 
 Like wing-ed flowers or flying- gems ; — 
 And, near the boy, who, tir'd with play 
 Now nestling- 'mid the roses lay. 
 She saw a wearied man dismount 
 
 From his hot steed, and on the brink 
 Of a small imaret's rustic fount 
 
 Impatient fling him down to drink. 
 Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd 
 
 To the fair child, who fearless sat. 
 Though never yet hath day -beam burn'd ] 
 
 Upon a brow more tierce than that, — 
 Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire, 
 Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire ! 
 In which the Peri's eye could read 
 Dark tales of many a ruthless deed ; 
 The ruin'd maid — the shrine profan'd— 
 Oaths broken — and the threshold stain'd 
 With blood of guests ! — there written, all. 
 Black as the damning drops that fall 
 Prom the denouncing Angel's pen. 
 Ere Mercy weeps them out again ! 
 
 Yet tranquil now that man of crime 
 (As if the balmy evening time 
 Softened his spirit, ) look'd and lay, 
 Watcliing the rosy infant's play : — 
 Though still, whene'er his eye by chance 
 Fell on tlie boy's, its lurid glance. 
 Met that unclouded, joyous gaze.
 
 ^02 MOORE — VOL. I. 
 
 As torches, that liave burnt all ni^ht 
 Through some impure and godless rite, 
 Encounter morning's glorious rays. 
 
 But hark ! the vesper call to prayer. 
 
 As slow the orb of day -light sets, 
 Is rising sweetly on the air. 
 
 From Syria's thousand minarets ! 
 The boy has started from the bed 
 Of flowers, where he had laid his head. 
 And down upon a fragrant sod 
 
 Kneels with his forehead to the south. 
 Lisping th' eternal name of God 
 From purity's own cherub mouth, 
 And looking, while his hands and eyes 
 Are lifted to the glowing skies. 
 Like a stray babe of Pai'adise, 
 Just lighted on that flowery plain. 
 And seeking for its home again ! 
 Oh 'twas a sight — that Heaven — that Child- 
 A scene, which might have well beguil'd 
 Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh 
 For glories lost and peace gone by ! 
 
 And how felt he, the wretched Man, 
 Reclining there — while memory' ran 
 O'er many a year of guilt and strife. 
 Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, 
 Nor found one sunny resting-place, 
 Nor brought him back one branch of grace
 
 MOORt — VOL. r^ 205 
 
 '* There was a time," he said in mild, 
 Heart-humbled tones — *' thou blessed child ! 
 When young and haply pure as thou, 
 I look'd and pray'd hke thee — but now — " 
 He hung- his head — each nobler aim 
 
 And hope and feeling, which had slept 
 From boyhood's hour, that instant came 
 
 Fresh o'er him and he wept ! he wept ! 
 
 Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 
 
 In whose benign, redeeming flow- 
 Is felt the first, the only sense 
 
 Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 
 
 "There's a drop," said the Peri, "that down from the 
 
 moon 
 Falls through the withering airs of June 
 Upon Egypt's land* of so healing a power. 
 So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in the hour 
 That di'op descends, contagion dies. 
 And health reanimates earth and skies ! — 
 Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin. 
 
 The precious tears of repentance fall ^ 
 Though foul thy fiery plagues within. 
 
 One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all," 
 
 And now — behold him kneeling there 
 By the child's side, in humble prayer, 
 
 * The Nucta, or Miraculous Drop, which falls in Eg^npt precisely on 
 Saint John's day, in June, and is suj^posed to have the effect «»f stopping: 
 the plague.
 
 204 Moont — VOL. r. 
 
 While the same sun-beam shines upon 
 The gtiilty and the guiltless one, 
 And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven 
 The triumph of a Soul forgiven ! 
 
 'Twas when the golden orb had set. 
 While on their knees they linger'd yet. 
 There fell a hght more lovely far 
 Than ever came from sun or star. 
 Upon the tear, that warm and meelc, 
 Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek : 
 To mortal eye this light might seem 
 A northern tlash, a meteor beam — 
 But well the enraptur'd Peri knew 
 'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw 
 From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear 
 Her Harbinger of glory near ! 
 
 " Joy, joy for ever ! my task is done — 
 The Gates are pass'd, and Heaven is won : 
 O ! am I not happy ? I am, I am — 
 
 To thee, sweet Eden ! how dark and sad 
 Are the diamond turrets of Shabukiam,* 
 
 And the fragrant bowers of Ambehabad ! 
 Farewell, ye odours of Earth, that die. 
 Passing away like a lover's sigh ; — 
 
 * The Country of Delight— the name of a Province in tlie kingdom of 
 Jinnistan, or Fairy Land, the capital of which is called the citv ol Jewel*. 
 Amberabad is another of the cities of .Tinnistan.
 
 MOOEE — VOL. I. 205 
 
 Sly toast is now of the Tooba Tree.* 
 "VV^hose scent is the breath of Eternity ! 
 
 Farewell ye vanishing flowers, that shone 
 In my fairy wreath, so bright and brief, — 
 
 Oh ! what are the brightest that e'er have blown. 
 
 To the lote-tree, springing by Alla's Throne,| 
 Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf ! 
 
 Joy, joy for ever ! — my task is done — 
 
 The Gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is won !*' 
 
 A DREAM OF ATSTHIVIIJ, 
 
 I .TiisT had tum'dthe classic page. 
 
 And trac'd that happy period over, 
 When love could warm the proudest sage. 
 
 And wisdom grape the tenderest lover ! 
 Uefore I laid me down to sleep. 
 
 Upon the bank awhile I stood. 
 And saw the vestal planet weep 
 
 Her tears of light on Ariel's flood. 
 
 My heart was full of fancy's dream, 
 And, as I watch'd the playful stream, 
 
 ' The tree Tooba that stands in Paradise, in the palace of ^fahomct. 
 Salc''s Prelim. Disc, looba, says D''Herbelot, signifies beatitude, or eter- 
 nal happiness. 
 
 t Mahomet is described, in the 53d Chapter of the Koran, as having seen 
 the Angel Gabriel, "by the lote-tree, beyond whii-h there is no passing ; 
 near it is the Garden of Eternal Abode." This tree, say the commentators, 
 stands in the seventh Heaven, on the right hand of the throne of God. 
 
 s
 
 'i06 MOORK — VOL. I. 
 
 Entangling in its net of smiles 
 So fair a group of elfin isles, 
 1 felt as if the scenery there 
 
 Were lighted by a Grecian sky- 
 As if I breath'd the blissful air 
 
 That yet was warm with Sappho's sigh ! 
 
 .And now the downy hand of rest 
 Her signet on my eyes imprest. 
 And still the bright and balmy spell. 
 Like star-dew, o'er my fancy fell ! 
 I thought that, all enrapt, I stray'd 
 Through that serene luxurious shade,* 
 Where Epicurus taught the Loves 
 
 To polish virtue's native brightness. 
 Just as the beak of playful doves 
 
 Can give to pearls a smoother whiteness \f 
 
 •Twas one of those delicious nights 
 
 So common in the climes of Greece, 
 When day withdraws but half its lights. 
 
 And all is moonshine, balm and peace ! 
 And thou wert there, my own belov'd ! 
 And dearly by thy side I rov'd 
 
 * Gassendi thinks that the gardens, which Pausanias mentions, in Lis 
 first Book, were tlinse of Epicurus ; and Stuart says, in his Antiquities of 
 Athens, " Near this convent (the convent of Hagios Asomatos) is the place 
 called at present Kepoi, or the Gardens : and Ampelos Kepos, or the 
 Vineyard Garden ; tlit-se were probably the gardens which Pausanias vi- 
 sited." Chap. ii. Vol. I. 
 
 t This method of polishing pearls, by leaving them awhile to be played 
 with by doves, is riientiojied by the fanciful Cardanus, de Keruio Varietal. 
 Lib. vii. cap. 34.
 
 M0OK£ — VOL. 1. C07 
 
 'I'hrough many a temple's reverend gloom, 
 And many a bower's seductive bloom. 
 Where beauty blush'd and wisdom taught. 
 Where lovers sigh'd and sages thought, 
 Where hearts might feel or heads discern. 
 
 And all was form'd to soothe or move, 
 Vo make the dullest love to learn, 
 
 To make the coldest learn to love '. 
 And now the fairy pathway seem'd 
 
 To lead us through enchanted ground. 
 Where all that bard has ever dream'd 
 Of love or luxury bloom'd around ! 
 Oh ! 'twas a bright bewildering scene — 
 Along the alley's deepening green 
 Soft lamps, that hung like burning flowers, 
 And scented and illum'd the bowers, 
 .Seem'd, as to him, who darkling roves 
 Amid the lone Hercynian groves. 
 Appear the countless birds of light. 
 That sparkle in the leaves at night. 
 And from their wings diffuse a ray 
 Along the traveller's weary way !* 
 'Twas light of that mysterious kind, 
 
 Through which the soul is doom'd to roam, 
 When it has left tliis world behind, 
 
 And gone to seek its heavenly home ! 
 And, Nea, thou didst look and move, 
 
 * In Hercjniio Germaniae saitu inusitata ^nera alitum flccepinms,qua' 
 •uiii pluiui.^, igiiiiim modo, coUuctant noctibus. Plin. Lib. x. cap. 47.
 
 208 MOOKB TOL. I. 
 
 Like any blooming soul of bliss, 
 That wanders to its home above 
 
 Throug-ii mild and shadowy llg-ht like this 1 
 
 But now, methought, we stole along 
 
 Througli halls of more voluptuous glory 
 
 Than ever liv'd in Teian song. 
 
 Or wanton'd in Milesian story ! * 
 And nymphs were there, whose very eyes 
 Seem'd almost to exhale in sighs ; 
 Whose eveiy little ringlet thrill'd. 
 As if with soul and passion fill'd ! 
 Some flew with amber cups, around. 
 Shedding the flowery wines of Crete, 
 And as they pass'd with youthful bound, 
 
 The onyx shone beneath their feet !f 
 While others, waving arms of snow, 
 Entwin'd by snakes of burnish'd gold,i 
 And showing limbs, as loth to show, 
 
 Through many a thin Tarentian fold, 
 Glided along the festal ring 
 With vases, all respiring spring. 
 Where roses lay in languor breathing, 
 
 * The Mik'siacs, or Milesian fables, had their origin in'iMiletus, a luxu- 
 rjoiis town of Ionia. Aristides was the most celebrated author of these ii- 
 tentious fictions. — Plutarch, 
 
 t It appears that in very splendid mansions, the ttoor or pavement was 
 frequently of onyx. Thus Martial ; " Calcatusque tuo sub pede lucet 
 onyx." Epig. 59, Lib. xii. 
 
 X Bracelets of this shape were a favourite ornament among- the women 
 • if antiquity.
 
 MOOKE VOL. r. 
 
 209 
 
 And the young bee-grape,* round them wreathing, 
 Hung on their blushes warm and meek. 
 Like curls upon a rosy cheek ! 
 Oh, Nea ! why did morning break 
 
 The spell that so divinely bound me ! 
 Why did I wake ! how could I wake 
 
 With thee my own and heaven around me I 
 
 NOCKMAHAL. 
 
 So felt the magnificent Son of AcBAB,f 
 
 When from power and pomp and the trophies of war 
 
 He flew to that Valley, forgetting them all 
 
 With the Light of the Haram, his young Nourmahai, 
 
 When free and uncrown'd as the Conqueror rov'd 
 
 By the banks of that Lake, with his only belov'd. 
 
 He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully snatch 
 
 From the hedges, a glory his crown could not match. 
 
 And preferr'd in his heart the least ringlet that curPd 
 
 Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the world ! 
 
 There's a beauty, for ever unchangingly bright, 
 Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer day's light. 
 Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender. 
 Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendour. 
 
 * Apiana, mentioned by Pliny, Lib. xiv. and " now called the Muscatfjl 
 (a muscarum telis") says Pancirollus, Book i. Sect. 1, Cbap. 17, 
 
 t Jehanguire was the son of the Great Acbar. 
 
 S2,
 
 310 MOOEE — vol. I. 
 
 This was not the beauty — oh ! nothing like this, 
 That to young Noubmahal gave such magic of bliss ; 
 But that loveliness, ever in motion, which plays 
 Xike the light upon Autumn's soft shadowy days ; 
 Now here, and now there, giving warmth as it flies 
 From the hps to the cheeks, from the cheek to the eyes, 
 Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams. 
 Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heav*n in his dreams ! 
 When pensive it seem'd as if that very grace. 
 That charm of all others, was born with her face ; 
 And when angry, — for ev'n in the tranquillest climes 
 Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometim.es — 
 The short passing anger but seem'd to awaken 
 New beauty hke flowers that are sweetest when shaken, 
 if tenderness touch'd her, the dark of her eye 
 At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye. 
 From the depth of whose shadow, like holy reveaUngs 
 From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings ! 
 Then her mirth — oh ! 'twas sportive as ever took wing 
 From the heart with a burst, like a wild-bird in Spring ;-— 
 Illum'd by a wit that would fascinate sages, 
 Yet playful as Peris just loos'd from their cages.* 
 While her laugh, full of Ufe, without any controul 
 But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul ; 
 And where it most sparkled no glance could discover. 
 In lip, cheek or eyes, for she brighten'd all over, — 
 
 * " In the wars of the Dives with the Peris, whenever the former took 
 the latter prisoners, they sliut them ujj in iron cages, and hun^ them oa 
 the highest trees. Here they were visited by their companions, who 
 brought them the choicest odonrsi"— i?ic/j«r</>'o?i.
 
 MOOnE VOL. I, ?lt 
 
 Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon. 
 
 When it breaks into dimples and laug"hs in the sun. 
 
 Such, such were the peerless enchantments that gave 
 
 NouR3iAHAL the proud Lord of the East, for her slave ; 
 
 And though bright was his Haram, — a living parterre 
 
 Of the flow'rs* of this planet — though treasures were there. 
 
 For which Soliman's self might have giv'n all the store 
 
 That the navy from Ophir e'er vving'd to his shore. 
 
 Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all. 
 
 And the Light of his Haram was young Nourxahal ! 
 
 THE FICKLENESS OF LOVE. 
 
 Alas — how light a cause may move 
 
 Dissensions between hearts that love ! 
 
 Hearts that the world in vain had tried, 
 
 And sorrow but more closely tied ; 
 
 That stood the storm, when waves were rough, 
 
 Yet In a sunny hour fall off, 
 
 Like ships that have gone down at sea, 
 
 When heav'n was all tranquillity ! 
 
 A something, light as air — a look, 
 
 A word unkind, or wrongly taken — 
 Oh ! love, that tempests never shook, 
 
 A breath, a touch like this hath shaken. 
 And ruder words will soon rush in 
 To spread the breach that words begin ; 
 
 lu the Malay lan^ag^e the same word si{>fmfie$ womea and fiower«>
 
 21^ MTOOBE— VOL. I. 
 
 And eyes forget the gentle ray 
 
 They wore in courtship's smiling day ; 
 
 And voices lose the tone that shed 
 
 A tenderness round all they said ; 
 
 Till fast declining one by one, '■ 
 
 The sweetnesses of love are gone. 
 
 And hearts, so lately mingled, seem 
 
 Like broken clouds, — or like the stream^ 
 
 That smihng left the mountain's brow. 
 
 As though its waters ne'er could sever. 
 Yet, ere it reach the plain below. 
 
 Breaks into floods, that part for ever. 
 
 Oh you, that have the charge of love. 
 Keep him in rosy bondage bound. 
 
 As in the Fields of Bliss above 
 
 He sits, with flowrets fetter'd round ;* — 
 Loose not a tie that round him clings. 
 Nor ever let him use his wings ; 
 For ev'n an hour, a minute's flight 
 Will rob the plumes of half their light. 
 Like that celestial bird, — whose nest 
 
 Is found beneath far Eastern skies, — 
 Whose wings, though radiant when at rest^ 
 
 Lose all their glory when he flies !f 
 Some difference, of tliis dangerous kind, — 
 
 * See the representation of the Eastern Cupid pinioned closely round 
 with wreaths of flowers, in Plcarfs C^r^monis Religieuses. 
 
 t " Among the birds of Tonquin is a species of goldfinch, which sings 
 so melodiously that it is called Celestial Bird. Its wings when it is perch- 
 ed, appear variegated with beautiful colours, but when it flies they lose all 
 their splendour."— GrwzVr.
 
 MOORE — VOL. II. 21.3 
 
 Hy which, though light, the links that bind 
 The fondest hearts may soon be riven ; 
 Some shadow in love's summer heaven, 
 Wiiich, though a fleecy speck at first, 
 May yet in awful thunder burst ; — 
 
 AN EPISTLE FHOM THE BAXKS OF THE ST. XAWREXCZ, 
 
 Not many months have now been dream'd away 
 Since yonder sun, (beneath whose evening ray 
 We rest our boat among these Indian Isles, ) 
 Saw me, where mazy Trent serenely smiles 
 Through many an oak, as sacred to the groves. 
 Beneath whose shade the pious Persian roves. 
 And hears the soul of father or of chief. 
 Or loved mistress, sigh in every leaf!* 
 There listening, Lady ! while thy lip hath sung 
 My own unpolish'd lays, how proud I've hung 
 On every mellow'd number ! proud to feel 
 That notes like mine should have the fate to steal. 
 As o'er thy hallowing hp they sigh'd along, 
 Such breath of passion and such soul of song. 
 Oh ! I have wonder'd, like the peasant boy 
 Who sings at eve his sabbath strains of joy, 
 And when he hears the rude luxuriant note 
 
 * Avendo essi jjer costume di avere in veneratione gVi alberi grandi ^t 
 antichi, quasi che siano spesso ricettaccoli di anime beate. Pietro della 
 Vallc, Pai-t Secoud. Lettera 16 da i giardini di Sciraz.
 
 5?14 Moont — vor. ir. 
 
 Back to his ear on softening echoes float. 
 Believes it still some answering spirit's tone, 
 And thinks it all too sweet to be his own ! 
 I dream'd not then that, ere the rolling year 
 Had fill'd its cu'cle, I should wander here 
 In musing awe ; should tread this wondrous world 
 See all its store of inland waters hurl'd 
 In one vast volume down Niagara's steep, 
 Or calm beyond them in transparent sleep. 
 Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed 
 Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed ! — 
 Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and glide 
 Down the white Rapids of his lordly tide 
 Through massy woods, through islets flowering fair, 
 Through shades of bloom, where the first sinful pair. 
 For consolation might have weeping tiod. 
 When banish*d from the garden of their God ! 
 Oh, Lady ! these are miracles, which man 
 Cag'd in the bounds of Europe's pigmy plan. 
 Can scarcely dream of ; which his eye must sec 
 To know how beautiful this world can be ! 
 
 But soft ! — the tinges of the west decline. 
 And night falls dewy o'er these banks of pine. 
 Among the reeds, in which our idle boat 
 Is rock'd to rest, the wind's complaining note 
 Dies, like a half-breath'd whispering of flutes ; 
 Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoot^.
 
 MOORE — VOL. II. :;J1,5 
 
 And I can trace him, Lke a watery star/ 
 
 Down the steep current, till he fades afar 
 
 Amid the foaming- breakers' silvery light, 
 
 Where yon rough rapids sparkle through the night ' 
 
 Here, as along this shadowy bank I stray. 
 
 And the smooth glass-snake, f gliding o'er my way, 
 
 Shows the dim moonlight through his scaly form. 
 
 Fancy, with all the scene's enchantment warm 
 
 Hears in the mui'mur of the nightly breeze, 
 
 *^ome Indian Spirit warble words like these ; 
 
 From the clime of sacred doves, t 
 
 Where the blessed Indian roves, 
 
 Through the air on wing, as white 
 
 As the spirit-stones of light, § 
 
 Which the eve of morning counts* 
 
 On the Appalachian mounts ! 
 
 Hither oft my flight I take 
 
 Over Huron's lucid lake. 
 
 Where the wave, as clear as dew. 
 
 Sleeps beneath the light canoe. 
 
 Which, reflected, floating there. 
 
 Looks as if it hung in air. 
 
 * Anburey in his travels, has noticed this shooting illumination which j)or 
 poises diffuse at night through the St. Lawrence. Vol. i. p. 29. 
 t The glass-snake is brittle and transparent. 
 
 t"The departed spirit goes into the Country of Souls, where, according to 
 some, it is transformed into a dovtr." Charlcvuix, upon the Traditions unci 
 the Reunion of the Savages of Canada. See the curious Fable of the A/r.o- 
 rican Orpheus in Lajitau, Tom. i. p. 402. 
 
 § " The mountains appeared to be sprinkled with white stones, wbitL 
 glistened in the sun, and were called by th« Indians inan«te« aseniah; m: 
 spirit-stones."— MBfA;rnxie'* Journal.
 
 216 nouHE — vol. II. 
 
 1 hen, when I have stmy'd awhile 
 Throug-h the Manatimlin isle,* 
 Breathing- all its holy bloom, 
 Swift upon the purple plume 
 Of my Wakon-birdf I fly 
 Where beneath a burninjy sky. 
 0*er the bed of Erie's lake 
 Slumbci-s many a water snake, 
 Basking in the wxb of leaves, 
 Which the weeping- hly weaves U 
 Then 1 chasu the flow'ret-king- 
 Through his blowny wild of spring i 
 See him now, while diamond hues 
 Soft his neck and w^int^s suft'use. 
 In the leafy chalice sink. 
 Thirsting- for his balmy drink -, 
 Now behold him all on fire, 
 Lovely in his looks of ire, 
 Breaking eveiy infant stem. 
 Scattering every velvet gcjn. 
 Where his little tyrant lip 
 Had not found enough to sip ! 
 
 * Apr^s avoir traverse jihisierus iles put- consid^TabUs, nous tii tntnva- 
 nifii, If quaU-itine jour iiui- lanuuso, noinme*' I'Isle cle Manitoualin. ^oij- 
 ages (lit Huron de Lahonltni, Toin. i. Lttt, ]5. MaiiaUiuliii sipnifus a place 
 of Spirits, and this island in Lakr Huron is held sacred by the Indians. 
 
 t " The Wakon-bird, vhith probably is of tlu' same species with the 
 bird of paradise, receives its name from the ideas the luoians have of its 
 superior excellence ; the WaKon-bird being, in their languag^e, tlie Bird 
 of the Great Spirit." Morse. 
 
 X The islands of Lake Erie are surrounded to a considerable distance 
 by a larpe pond-lily, whose ieaves spread thickly over the surface of the 
 lake, and form a kind of bed for the water-snakes in sununer.
 
 MooaK — yoL. II. ^17 
 
 Then my plaj'ful hand I steep 
 Where the g-old-thread* loves to creep. 
 Cull from thence a tangled wreath. 
 Words of magic round it breathe, 
 And the sunny cliaplet spread 
 O'er the sleeping fly-bird's head,| 
 Till witli dreams of honey blest, 
 Haunted in his downy nest 
 By the garden's fairest spells. 
 Dewy buds and fragrant bells. 
 Fancy all his soul embowers 
 In the fly-bird's heaven of flowecs I 
 Oft when hoar and silvery flakes 
 Melt along the mflHed lakes ; 
 When the grey moose sheds his horns. 
 When the ti'ack, at evening, wai'ns 
 Weary hunters of the way 
 To the wigwam's cheering- ray. 
 Then, aloft through freezing air. 
 With the snow-bird soft and fair 
 As the fleece that Heaven flings 
 O'er his little pearly wings, 
 Light above the rocks I play. 
 Where Niagai-a's stany spray, 
 
 * <■ The gold-thread is of tho vine kind, and gfrows in swamps. Thcr 
 roots spread themselves just undtr tlie surface of the morasses, and are 
 easily drawn out by hanclfuls. They resemble a large entangled skein of 
 silk, and ai-e of a bright yellow."'— ii/orw. 
 
 t L'oiseau mouche, gros commc un hanneton, est de toutes couleurs, vi- 
 ves et changeantes : il tire sa subsistanee des tieurs comme les abeilles ; 
 son nid est faint d'lin colon tres-fin suspendu a line branche d'arbre, 
 Voijofrcs au.v Indes Occkkntalcs, par M, Bossii. Second Part. lett. x^c. 
 
 T
 
 218 MOORI — TOL. II, 
 
 Frozen on the cliff, appears 
 
 Like a giant's starting- tears ! 
 
 There, amid the Island-sedge, 
 
 Just upon the cataract's edge, 
 
 Where the foot of living man 
 
 Never trod since time began. 
 
 Lone I sit, at close of day, 
 
 While, beneath the golden ray. 
 
 Icy columns gleam below, 
 
 Feather'd round with falling snow. 
 
 And an arch of glory springs, 
 
 Brilliant as the chain of rings 
 
 Round the neck of virgins hung 
 
 Virgins, who have wander'd young 
 
 O'er the waters of the west 
 
 To the land where spirits rest ! 
 
 Thus have I charm'd, with visionary lay, 
 
 The lonely moments of the night away ; 
 
 And now, fresh day-light o'er the water beams ! 
 
 Once more, embark'd upon the glittering streams; 
 
 Our boat flies light along tbie leafy shore, 
 
 Shooting the falls without a dip of oar 
 
 Or breath of zephyr, like the mystic bark 
 
 The poet saw, in dreams divinely dark. 
 
 Borne, without sails, along the dusky floods 
 
 * Vidi che sdeg^na gli argomenti umani ; 
 Si che renio iion vuol, iit- altro velo, 
 Che 1' ale sue tra !iti si lontaini. 
 Vcdi come '1 hii dritte verso 'I cielo 
 Trattando "1 aert con 1' eterne pcnne ; 
 Che non si mutau, corae mor al pclo. 
 
 Dante, Purgator Cant. ii.
 
 JIOORE- — VOt. II. ^^9 
 
 "WHiiie on its deck a pilot angel stood. 
 And, with his wings of living light unfurl'd 
 Coasted the dim shores of another world ! 
 
 Yet oh ! believe me, in this blooming maze 
 Of lovely nature, where the fancy strays 
 From charm to charm, where every flowret's hue 
 Hath something strange and eveiy leaf is new ! 
 I never feel a bliss so pure and still 
 So heavenly calm, as when a stream or hill. 
 Or veteran oak, like those remember'd well. 
 Or breeze, or echo, or some wild-flower's smell, 
 (For, who can say what small and fairy ties 
 The memory flings o'er pleasure, as it flies !) 
 Reminds my heart of many a sylvan dream 
 I once indulg'd by Trent's inspiring stream. 
 Of all my sunny morns and moonlight nights 
 * On Donnington's green lawns and breezy heights ! 
 
 Whether I trace the tranquil moments o'er 
 When I have seen thee cull the blooms of lore. 
 With him, the polish'd warrior, by thy side, 
 A sister's idol and a nation's pride ! 
 When thou hast read of heroes, trophied high, 
 In ancient fame, and I have seen thine eye 
 Turn to the living hero, while it read. 
 For pure and brightening comments on the dead 1 
 Or whether memory to my mind recalls 
 The festal grandeur of those lordly halls. 
 When guests have met around the sparkling board^
 
 l^ atoenE — TGI. w. 
 
 And welcome warm'd the cup that luxury pour'd ; 
 When the brig-ht future Star of England's Throne, 
 With magic smile, hath o'er the banquet shone. 
 Winning respect, nor claiming what he won. 
 But tempering gi'eatness, like an evening sun 
 Whose light the eye can tranquilly admire, 
 Glorious but mild, all softness yet all fire !— 
 Whatever hue my recollections take. 
 Even the regret, the very pain they wake 
 Is dear and exquisite ! — but oh ! no more — 
 Lady ! adieu — my heart has linger'd o'er 
 These vanish'd times, till all that round me lies, 
 Stream, banks, and bowers, have fsuied on my eyes ! 
 
 FABEWELL. 
 
 Farewell — ferewell to thee, Aeabt's daughter ! 
 
 (Thus warbled a Pebi beneath the dark sea) 
 No pearl ever lay, under Omas's green water. 
 
 More pure in its shell than thy Spirit in thee. 
 
 Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to the growing. 
 How light was thy heart 'till love's witchery came, 
 
 Like the wind of the south* o'er a summer lute blowmg^. 
 And hush'd all its music and wither'd its frame ! 
 
 But long, upon Ababt's green sunny highlands, 
 Sliall maids and their lovers remember the doom 
 
 * « This wind (the Samoor) so softens the strings of lutes, that they can 
 jwvw be tuned while it \iiits,'"—Stephen^s Persia.
 
 MoenE — reL. ii. .^1 
 
 Of her, who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, 
 With nought but the sea-star* to hght up her tomb. 
 
 And still, when the merry date-season is burning, 
 And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old,f 
 
 The happiest there, from their pastime returning, 
 At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. 
 
 The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses 
 Her dark flowing hair for some festival day. 
 
 Will think of thy fate, till, neglecting her tresses, 
 She mournfully turns from the mirror away. 
 
 Nor shall Irax, belov'd of her Hero ! forget thee, — 
 Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start. 
 
 Close, close by the side of that Hero she'll set thee, 
 Embalm'd in the innermost shrine of her heart. 
 
 Farewell — be it ours to embellish tliy pillow 
 
 With every thing beauteous that grows in the deep ^ 
 
 Each flower of the rock and each gem of the billow 
 Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. 
 
 Around thee shall glisten the loveUest amber 
 That ever the soiTowing sea-bird has wept ;t 
 
 * " One of the greatest curiosities found in the Persian Gulf is a fish 
 which the English call Star-fish. It is circulai-, and at night very luminous, 
 resembling the full moon surrounded by rays.''— /►ijrxa Al/u Taleb, 
 
 t For a description of the merriment of the date-time, of their work, 
 their dances, and their return home from the palm-gioves at the end of 
 autumn with the fruits, v. KempJ'cr, Anicenitat, Exot. 
 
 X Some naturalists have imagined that amber is a concretion of the tears 
 of birds.— Trrfojij;-, Chambers, 
 
 T2
 
 222 MOOBE — VOL. IT. 
 
 With many a shell, in whose hollovv-wreath'd chambei*. 
 We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have slept. 
 
 We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling", 
 And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 
 
 We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian* are sparklingv 
 And gather then- gold to strew over thy bed. 
 
 Farewell — farewell — until Pity's sweet fountain 
 Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, 
 
 They'll weep for the Chieftadn who died on that mountmn. 
 They'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this wave. 
 
 MELODIES. 
 I. 
 
 There breathes the language known and felt. 
 Far as the pure air spreads its living zone 5 
 Wherever Rage can rouse, or Pity melt. 
 That language of the soul is felt and known. 
 From those meridian plains. 
 Where oft, of old, on some high tower. 
 The soft Peruvian poured his midnight strains. 
 And called his distant love with such sweet power, 
 That when she heard the well known lay. 
 No worlds could keep her from his anus away. 
 • To those bleak realms of polar night, 
 
 * *' The bay of Kieselarke, which is otherwise called the GjOlden Bay, 
 the sand whereof shines as &re,"—Str^.
 
 mooue — vol. ir. 223 
 
 Where the youth of Lapland's sky, 
 
 Bids his rapid reindeer fly. 
 And sings, along the darkling waste of snow. 
 As blithe as if the blessed hght 
 Of vernal Phosbus burn'd upon his brow. 
 Oh Music ! thy celestial claim 
 Is still resistless, still the same ; 
 And, faithful as the mighty sea 
 To the pale star that o*er its realms presides, 
 The spell-bound tides 
 Of human passions rise and fall from thee. 
 
 f Greek Mr. J 
 List ! 'tis a Grecian maid that sings, 
 While, from Ilyssus' silvery springs. 
 She draws the cool lymph in her gi-aceful urn. 
 While, by her side, in Music's charm dissolving. 
 Some patriot youth, the glorious past revolving. 
 Breams of bright days that never can return ; 
 When Athens nm-s'd her ohve-bough 
 W^ith hands by tyrant power unchained, 
 \nd braided for the Muse's brow 
 A wreath by tyrant touch unstained ; 
 When heroes trod each classic field. 
 Where coward feet now faintly falter. 
 And every arm was Freedom's shield. 
 And every heart was Freedom's altar. 
 
 C Greek Mr^ interrupted by a trumpet. J 
 Hark ! 'tis the sound that charms 
 The war-steed's wakening ears*—
 
 324 MooBE — TOL. ri. 
 
 Oh — ^many a mother folds her arms 
 
 Round her boy-soldier, when that sound she heai'§^ 
 
 And, tho' her fond heai-t sinks with fears. 
 
 Is proud to feel his young pulse bound 
 
 With valour's fever at the sound. — 
 
 See ! from his native hills afar 
 
 The rude Helvetian flies to war. 
 
 Careless for what, for whom he fights. 
 
 For slave or despot, wrongs or rights, 
 
 A conqueror oft, a hero never ; 
 
 Yet lavish of his life-blood still. 
 
 As if 'twere hke his mountain-rill. 
 
 And gushed for ever ! 
 Oh Music ! here, even here. 
 
 Thy soul-felt charai asserts its wonderous power ; 
 There is an air, which oft among the rocks 
 Of his own loved land at evening hour 
 Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their flocks; 
 Oh ! every note of it would thrill his mind 
 With tenderest thoughts, and bring about his knees 
 The rosy children whom he left behind. 
 And fill each little angel eye 
 Witli speaking tears, that ask him, why 
 He wandered from his hut to scenes like these ■ 
 Vain, vain, is then the trumpet's brazen roar. 
 Sweet notes of home, of love, are all he hears. 
 And the stem eyes that looked for blood before. 
 Now, melting, mournful, lose themselves in tears i 
 fManz des Vackes, interrupted hy a trumpet. J
 
 ^loenE — TOL. n. 225 
 
 liut wake the trumpet's blast again. 
 
 And rouse the ranks of warrior-men ! 
 
 Oh War ! when Truth thy arm employs. 
 
 And Freedom's spirit guides the labouring storm 
 
 Thy vengeance takes a hallowed form, 
 
 And, like heaven's lightning, sacredly destroys. 
 
 Nor, MuMc ! through thy breathing sphere 
 
 Lives there a sound more grateful to the ear 
 
 Of Him: who made all harmony. 
 
 Than the blest sound of fetters breaking. 
 
 And the first hymn, that man awaking 
 
 From slavery's slumber, breathes to Liberty. 
 
 C Spanish Patriot's Song. J 
 Hark ! from Spain, indignant Spain, 
 Bursts the bold enthusiast strain. 
 Like morning's music on the air. 
 And seems, in every note, to swear. 
 By Saragossa's mined streets. 
 By brave Gerona's deathful story. 
 That while one Spaniard's life-blood beats. 
 That blood shall stain a conq[ueror*s glor}' ! 
 
 f Spanish Jlir concluded. J 
 
 But ah ! if vain the patriot Spaniard's zeal. 
 If neitlier valour's force, nor wisdom's lights. 
 Can break nor melt the blood-cemented seal 
 That shuts too close the book of Europe's rights^ 
 What song shall then in sadness tell 
 Of broken pride, of prospects shaded.
 
 226 WOOEE — TOl. II. 
 
 of burled hopes remembered well. 
 Of ardour quenched, and honour faded ^ 
 What muse shall mourn the breathless brave. 
 In sweetest dirge at memory's shrine 5 
 What hai-p shall sig-h o'er Freedom's grave ? 
 
 Oh ! Erin, thine. 
 C Melancholy Irish Air, succeeded by a lively one. J 
 
 Blest notes of mirth ! ye spring from sorrow's lay. 
 
 Like the sweet vester of the bird that sings 
 
 In the bright sunset of an April day. 
 
 While the cold shower yet hangs upon liis wings. 
 
 Long may the Irish heart repeat 
 
 An echo to those hvely strains ; 
 
 And when the stranger's ear shall meet 
 
 That melody on distant plams. 
 
 Oh ! he will feel his soul expand 
 
 With grateful warmth, and, sighing, say — 
 
 Thus speaks the music of the land. 
 
 Where welcome ever lights the stranger's way ; 
 
 Where still the wo of others to beguile. 
 
 Is e'en the gayest heart's most lov'd employ ; 
 
 Where Grief herself Avill generously smile. 
 
 Thro' her own tears, to share another's joy J 
 
 II. 
 
 Fbom Chutdara's* warbling fount I come, 
 
 Call'd by that moonlight garland's spell ; 
 
 From Chindara's fount, my fahy home, 
 
 * " A fabulous fountain, where instruments are said to be COnstaBtly 
 playing."— i?icAard#«n.
 
 MOOEE — VOL. II. 227 
 
 Where in music, morn and night, I dwell ; 
 Where lutes in the air are heard about, 
 
 And voices are singing the whole day long. 
 And every sigh the heart breathes out 
 Is tum'd, as it leaves the lips, to song 
 
 Hither I come 
 
 From my faiiy home, 
 And if there's a magic in Music's strain,. 
 
 I swear by the breath 
 
 Of that moonlight \\Teath, 
 Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 
 
 For mine is the lay that lightly floats, 
 
 And mine are the murmuring, -dying notes. 
 That fall as soft as snow on the sea. 
 And melt in the heart as instantly ! 
 And the passionate strains that, deeply going, 
 
 Refines the bosom it trembles through. 
 As the musk-wind, over the water blowing. 
 
 Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too ! 
 
 Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway 
 The Spirits of past delight obey ; — 
 Let but the tunefiU tahsman sound. 
 And they come, like Genii, hovering round. 
 And mine is tiie gentle song that bears. 
 
 From soul to soid, the wishes of love. 
 As a bird, tliat wafts through genial ah's 
 
 The cinnamon seed from grove to grove.* 
 
 * " The Pampadour pig'eon is thf species winch, by carrying the triiii, 
 of the cinuainoii to diftcieiit places, is a great disseminator of llws valu- 
 able tree."— V. jBrow/t'* Illustr. Tab. 19.
 
 228 MOOSE — vol. II. 
 
 *Tis I that mingle in one sweet measure 
 
 The past, the present, and future of pleasure : 
 When memory links the tone that is g-one 
 
 With the blissful tone that's still in the eai' ; 
 And hope from a heavenly note flies on 
 
 To a note more heavenly still that is near ! 
 
 The warrior's heart, when touch'd by me, 
 
 Can as downy soft and as yielding be 
 As his own white plume, that high and 'mid death 
 Through the field has shown — yet moves with a breath. 
 
 And, oh how the eyes of Beauty glisten. 
 
 When music has reach'd her inward soul, 
 Like the silent stars, that wink and listen 
 While heaven's eternal melodies roll ! 
 
 So hither I come 
 
 From my fairy home, 
 And if there's a magic in Music's strain, 
 
 I swear by the breath 
 
 Of that moonlight wreath. 
 Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. 
 
 III. 
 
 Gome, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer ! 
 Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here i 
 Here still is the smile that no cloud can o'ercast, 
 And the heart and the hand all thy own to the last ! 
 
 Oh ! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same 
 Through joy and through torments, tlwough glory and shame'
 
 mooue — TOi. II. 229 
 
 I knew not, I ask'd not, if guilt's in that heart, 
 I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art ! 
 
 Thou hast call'd me thy angel, in moments of bliss, — 
 Still thy angel I'll be, mid the horrors of this, — 
 Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, 
 And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too ! 
 
 n^ 
 
 The scene was more beautiful far to my eye, 
 
 Than if day in its pride had aiTay'd it. 
 The land breeze blew mild, and the azure arch'd sky 
 
 Look'd pure as tlie Spirit that made it ; 
 The murmur rose soft as I silently gaz'd 
 
 In the shadowy waves' playful motion, 
 From the dim distant hill, 'till the Light-house fire blaz'?! 
 
 Like a star in the midst of tiie ocean. 
 
 No longer the joy of the sailor boy's breast. 
 
 Was heard in his wildly breath'd numbers ; 
 The sea-bird had flown to her wave -girdled nest, 
 
 The fisherman sunk to his slumbers ; 
 One moment I look'd from the hill's gentle slope. 
 
 All hush'd was the billows' commotion, 
 And thought that the Light-house look'd lovely as hope. 
 
 That star of life's tremulous ocean. 
 
 The time is long past, and the scene is afar, 
 
 Yet when my head rests on its pillow, 
 Will memory sometimes rekindle the sta.r 
 U
 
 230 MOOEE — VOL. li. 
 
 That blaz'd on the breast of the billow : 
 In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies; 
 
 And death stills the heart's last emotion,' 
 O then may the seraph of mercy arise, 
 
 Like a star on eternity's ocean. 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh ! think not my spirits are always as light. 
 
 And as free from a pang, as they seem to you now ; 
 Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night. 
 
 Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow. 
 No, life is a waste of wearisome hours. 
 
 Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns ; 
 And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, 
 
 Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns ! 
 But send round the bowl, and be happy a while ; 
 
 May we never meet worse in our Pilgrimage here. 
 Than the tear that enjoyment can gild with a smile. 
 
 And the smile that compassion can turn to a teai-. 
 
 The thread of our hfe would be dark, heaven knows ? 
 
 If it were not with friendship and love intertwin'd ; 
 And I care not how soon I may sink to repose. 
 
 When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my mind 
 But they who have lov'd, the fondest, the purest. 
 
 Who often have wept o'er the dreams they behev'd ; 
 And the heart that has slumber'd in friendship securest. 
 
 Is happy indeed, if 'twas never deceiv'd. 
 But send round the bowl, while a reUc of truth 
 
 Is in man or in woman, this pray'r shall be mincj— «
 
 MOOHX— vol. IJ. 231 
 
 That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth, 
 And the moonlight of friendship console our decline. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh ! the days are gone, when beauty bright 
 
 My heart's chain wove 
 When my dream of life, from mom till night, 
 
 Was love, still love ! 
 
 New hope may bloom. 
 
 And days may come. 
 Of milder, calmer beam ; 
 But there's nothing half so sweet in life, 
 
 As love's young dream ! 
 Oh ! there's nothing half s^ sweet in life. 
 
 As love's young dream ! 
 
 Though the bard to a purer fame may soar, 
 
 When wild youth's past ; 
 Though he win the wise who frown'd before, 
 
 To smile at last ; 
 
 He'll never meet 
 
 A joy so sweet 
 In all his noon'of fame, 
 As when first he sung to woman's ear 
 
 His soul-felt flame. 
 And, at every close, she blushed to hear 
 
 The one lov'd name ! 
 
 Oh ! tliat haUow'd form is ne'er forgot. 
 Which first love trac'd !
 
 232 MOOBE — VOL. II. 
 
 still it lingering haunts the greenest spot 
 
 On memory's waste ! 
 
 'Tvvas odour fled 
 
 As soon as shed, 
 'Twas morning's winged dream ! 
 'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again 
 
 On life's dull stream ! 
 Oh ! 'twas light, that ne'er can shine again. 
 
 On life's dull stream. 
 
 vn. 
 
 A BEAM of tranquillity smil'd in the west. 
 The storms of the morning pursued us no more, 
 
 And the wave, while it welcom'd the moment of rest. 
 Still heav'd, as remembering ills that were o'er ! 
 
 Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour. 
 Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead, 
 
 And the spmt becalm'd, but remember'd their power. 
 As the billow the force of the gale that was fled ! 
 
 I thought of the days, when to pleasure alone 
 My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh ; 
 
 When the saddest emotion my bosom had known 
 Was pity for those who were wiser than I ! 
 
 I felt how the pure, intellectual fire 
 
 In luxury loses its heavenly ray ; 
 How soon, in the lavishing cup of desire. 
 
 The pearl of the soul may be melted away ? 
 
 J
 
 mooue — VOL. II. 233 
 
 And I prayed of that Spirit who lighted the flame. 
 That pleasure no more might its purity dim ; 
 
 And that sulhed but little, or brightly the same, 
 
 I might give back the gem I ha^ borrow'd from hun ! 
 
 The thought was ecstatic ! I felt as if Heaven 
 Had already the wreath of eternity shown ; 
 
 As if, passion all chasten*d and error forgiven. 
 My heart had begun to be purely its o\vn ! 
 
 I look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky 
 
 Which morning ha^ clouded, was clouded no more ; 
 
 ** Oh ! thus," I exclaim'd, " can a heavenly eye 
 Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before V* 
 
 vm. 
 
 This world is all a fleeting show. 
 
 For man's illusion given : 
 The smiles of Joy, the tears of Wo, 
 Deceitful shine, deceitful flow — 
 
 There's nothing true but Heaven ! 
 
 And false the hght on Glory*s plume^ 
 
 As fading hues of even ; 
 And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom. 
 Are blossoms gathered for the tomb — 
 
 There's nothing bright but Heaven ! 
 
 Poor wanderers of a stormy day. 
 
 From wave to wave were driven. 
 And Fancy's flash, and Reason's ray.
 
 2S4 MOORE VOL. II. 
 
 Serve but to light the troubled way— 
 There's nothing calm but Heaven f 
 
 IX. 
 
 There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet, 
 As tiiat vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ; 
 Oh ' the last rays of feeling and life must depart, 
 Ere the bloom of that valley shaD fade from my heart 
 
 Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene 
 Her purest of crystal and brightest of ^een ; 
 *Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill. 
 Oh ! no, — it was something more exquisite stiU. 
 
 *Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near. 
 Who made each scene of enchantment more dear. 
 And who felt how the blest charms of natui-e improve, 
 When we see them reflected from looks that we love. 
 
 Sweet vale of Ovoca ! how calm could I rest 
 
 In thy bosom of shade with tlie friends I love best, 
 
 Where the storms which we feel in this cold world should cease. 
 
 And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace ! 
 
 X. 
 
 In the morning of life, when its cares are unknown. 
 
 And its pleasures in all their lustre begin, 
 When we hve in a bright-beaming world of our own. 
 
 And the light that surrounds us is all from within ; 
 Oh 'tis not, beUeve me, in that happy time 
 
 We can love, as in houis of less transport we may ; 
 

 
 MooHE — VOL. ir. 235 
 
 Of our smiles, of our hopes, 'tis the gay sunny prime. 
 But affection is warmest when these fade away. 
 
 When we see the first charm of our youth pass us by, 
 
 Like a leaf on the stream that will never return j 
 When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high. 
 
 Now tastes of the other^ the dark flowing urn ! 
 Then, then is the moment affection can sway 
 
 With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew ; 
 Love, nurs'd among pleasures, is faithless as they. 
 
 But the Love, bom of Sorrow, hke sorrow is true ! 
 
 In climes full of sunshine, tho' splendid their dies. 
 
 Yet faint is the odour the flow'rs shed about ; 
 'Tis the clouds and the mists of our own weeping skies 
 
 That call their full spirit of fragrancy out. 
 So the wild glow of passion may kindle from miilh. 
 
 But *tis only in grief true affection appeai-s ; — 
 To the magic of smiles it may first owe its birth. 
 
 But the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved, 
 
 Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then ; 
 Or, if from their slumber the veil be remov'd. 
 
 Weep o'er them in silence and close it again. 
 And oh ! if 'tis pain to remember how far 
 
 From the pathway of light he was tempted to roam. 
 Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star 
 
 That arose on his darkness, and guided him home.
 
 $36 MOORE — TOL. II. 
 
 From thee and thy innocent beauty first came 
 
 The revealing, that taught him true love to adore,— 
 To feel the bright presence, and turn him with shame 
 
 From the idols he darkly had knelt to before, 
 0*er the waves of a hfe long- benig-hted and wild. 
 
 Thou cam'st like a soft golden calm o'er the sea ; 
 And, if happiness purely and glowingly smiled 
 
 On his evening horizon, the hght was from thee. 
 
 And tho* sometimes the shade of past folly would rise 
 
 And tho' falsehood again would allure him to stray. 
 He but turn'd to the glory that dwelt in those eyes, 
 
 And the folly, the falsehood soon vanish'd away. 
 As the priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim. 
 
 At the day-beam alone could its lustre repair : 
 So if virtue a moment grew languid in him, 
 
 He but flew to that smile, and rekindled it there ' 
 
 Like the gale that sighs along 
 
 Beds of oriental flowers. 
 In the grateful breath of song 
 
 That once was heard in happier houib ^ 
 Fill'd with balm, the gale sighs on, 
 
 Though the flowers have sunk in death* 
 So when pleasure's dream is gone. 
 
 Its mem'ry lives in music's breath, 
 THE END.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
 
 JUN 11196^ 
 
 ^ni^lO,'48(B1040)470
 
 University of California, Los Angeles 
 
 L 005 781 319 8
 
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