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That, to thy native strengths restored, The Gael above, Fitz-James below: With each advantage shalt thou stand, The Chieftain's gripe his throat comThat aids thee now to guard thy land."


His knee was planted on his breast; XV.

His clotted locks he backward threw, Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, Across his brow his hand he drew, That on the field his targe he threw, From blood and mist to clear his sight, Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright!. Had death so often dash'd aside;

- But hate and fury ill supplied For, train'd abroad his arms to wield, The stream of life's exhausted tide, I'itz-James's blade was sword and shield. And all too late the advantage came, He practised every pass and ward,

To turn the odds of deadly game; To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; For, while the dagger gleam'd on high, While less expert, though stronger far, Reelid soul and sense, reel'd brain and The Gael maintain'd unequal war.

eye, Three times in closing strife they stood, Down came the blow! but in the heath And thrice the Saxon's blade drank The erring blade found bloodless sheath. blood;

The struggling foe may now unclasp No stinted draught, no scanty tide,

The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp; The gushing flood the tartans dyed. Unwounded from the dreadful close, Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. And shower'd his blows like wintry rain; And, as firm rock, or castle-roof, Against the Winter shower is proof,

LAY OF THE IMPRISONED The foe, invulnerable still, Foil'd his wild rage by steady skill:

HUNTSMAN. Till, at advantage ta’en, his brand

[Lady of the Lake, Canto vi.] Forced Roderick's weapon from his

XXIV. hand,

“My hawk is tired of perch and hood, And backward borne upon the lea, My idle greyhound loathes his food, Brought the proud chieftain to his knee. My horse is weary of his stall,

And I am sick of captive thrall.

I wish I were, as I have been, Now, yield thee, or by Him who made Hunting the hart in forest green, The world, thy heart's blood dyes my With bended bow and bloodhound free, blade!

For that's the life is meet for me. Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! I hate to learn the ebb of time, Let recreant yield, who fears to die.” From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, - Like adder darting from his coil, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, Like wolf that dashes through the toil, Inch after inch along the wall. Like mountain-cat who guards her The lark was wont my matins ring, young,

The sable rook my vespers sing, Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung; These towers, although a king's they be, Received, but reck'd not of a wound, Have not a hall of joy for me. Ind lock'd his arms his foeman round. No more at dawning morn I rise, Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own! And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, Vomaiden's hand is round thee thrown! Drive the fleet deer the forest through, That desperate grasp thy frame might And homeward wend with evening dew; feel,

A blithesome welcome blithely meet, Through bars of brass and triple steel! - And lay my trophies at her feet, They tug, they strain! down, down they While fled the eve on wing of glee,go,

That life is lost to love and me!”


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From gloves of mail relieved his hands,

And spread them to the kindling brands, [From Rokeby, Canto i.]

And, turning to the genial board, [Bertram Risingham, the Buccaneer, brings the tidings of Marston Moor, and of his mur

Without a health, or pledge, or word der of Philip Morthan in the battle, to Oswald

Of meet and social reverence said, Wycliffe, his accomplice, then holding Barnard Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed; Castle for the Parliament.]

As free from ceremony's sway, Far town-ward sounds of distant tread, As famish'd wolf that tears his prey. And Oswald, starting from his bed, Hath caught it, though no human ear, With deep impatience, tinged with fear, Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear, His host beheld him gorge his cheer, Could e'er distinguish horse's clank, And quaff the full carouse, that lent Until it reach'd the castle bank.

His brow a fiercer hardiment. Now nigh and plain the sound appears, Now Oswald stood a space aside, The warder's challenge now he hears, Now paced the room with hasty stride, Then clanking chains and levers tell, In feverish agony to learn That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell, Tidings of deep and dread concern, And, in the castle court below,

Cursing each moment that his guest Voices are heard, and torches glow, Protracted o'er his ruffian feast. As marshalling the stranger's way, Yet, viewing with alarm, at last, Straight to the room where Oswald lay; The end of that uncouth repast, The cry was,-“Tidings from the host, Almost he seem'd their haste to rue, Of weight - a messenger comes post.” As, at his sign, his train withdrew, Stilling the tumult of his breast,

And left him with the stranger, free His answer Oswald thus express'd — To question of his mystery. “Bring food and wine, and trim the Then did his silence long proclaim fire;

A struggle between fear and shame. Admit the stranger, and retire."

Much in the stranger's mien appears,

To justify suspicious fears. The stranger came with heavy stride; On his dark face a scorching clime, The morion's plumes his visage hide, And toil, had done the work of time, And the buff-coat, an ample fold, Roughen'd the brow, the temples bared, Mantles his form's gigantic mould. And sable hairs with silver shared, Full slender answer deigned he

Yet left – what age alone could tameTo Oswald's anxious courtesy,

The lip of pride, the eye of flame; But mark’d, by a disdainful smile, The full-drawn lip that upward curlid, He saw and scorn'd the petty wile, The eye that seem'd to scorn the world. When Oswald changed the torch's That lip had terror never blench'd; place,

Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quench'd Anxious that on the soldier's face The flash severe of swarthy glow, Its partial lustre might be thrown, That mock'd at pain, and knew not woe. To show his looks, yet hide his own. Inured to danger's diresť form, His guest, the while, laid low aside Tornade and earthquake, flood and The ponderous cloak of tough bull's

storm, hide,

Death had he seen by sudden blow, And to the torch glanced broad and By wasting plague, by tortures slow, clear

By mine or breach, by steel or ball, The corselet of a cuirassier;

Knew all his shapes,and scorn'dthem all Then from his brows the casque he drew,

Butyet, though Bertram's hardened look, And from the dank plume dash'd the Unmoved, could blood and danger dew,


A Maiden on the castle-wall

Was singing merrily : “O Brignall banks are fresh and fair,

And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there

Than reign our English 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 speed

As blithe as Queen of May.”
Yet sung she “ Brignall banks are fair,

And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there

Than reign our English queen.

Still worse than apathy had place
On his swart brow and callous face;
For evil passions, cherish'd long,
Had plough'd them with impressions

All that gives gloss to sin, all gay
Light folly, past with 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 vigor 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 chasten'al mind,
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.
Even now, by conscience unrestrain'd,
Clogg'dbygross vice, by slaughter stain'd,
Still knew his daring soul to soar,
And mastery o'er the mind he bore;
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard,
Quail'd 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,
Unask'd, the news he long'd to know,
While on far other subjects hung
His heart, than falter'd 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,
Return'd him answer dark and short,
Or started from the theme, to range
In loose digression wild and strange,
And forced the embarrass'd host to buy,
By query close, direct reply.

“I read you by your bugle-horn

And by your palfrey good,
I read you for a ranger sworn

To keep the king's greenwood.” “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.”
Yet sung she “ Brignall banks are fair,

And Greta woods are gay ;
I would I were with Edmund there

To reign his Queen of May!

“ With burnish'd brand and musketoor

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 hear;
But when the beetle sounds his hum

My comrades take the spear.
And O! though Brignall banks be fair

And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden dare

Would reign my Queen of May!


[From Rokeby, Canto iï.] O BRIGNALL 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 turrets high,

** 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.”

Chorus. Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair,

And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there

Would grace a summer-queen.

LAKE CORISKIN. [From The Lord of the Isles, Canto iii.] A WHILE their route they silent made,

As men who stalk for mountain-deer, Till the good Bruce to Ronald said,

“Saint 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, cross'd many a

moor, But, by my halidome, A scene so rude, so wild as this, Yet so sublime in barrenness, Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press,

Where'er I happ'd to roam.”

For all is rocks at random thrown,
Black waves,


crags, and banks of stone, As if were here denied The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew, That clothe with many a varied hue

The bleakest inountain-side. And wilder, forward as they wound, Were the proud cliffs and lake profound. Huge terraces of granite black Afforded rude and cumber'd track;

For from the niountain hoar, Hyrld headlong in some night of fear, When yell’d the wolf, and fled the deer,

Loose crags had toppled o'er; And some, chance-poised and balanced,

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

change, Now clothed the mountains' lofty range,

Now left their foreheads bare, And round the skirts their mantle furl'd, Or on the sable waters curl'd, Or on the eddying breezes whirld,

Dispersed in middle air. And oft, condensed, at once they lower, When, brief and fierce, the mountain

shower Pours like a torrent down, And when return the sun's glad beams, Whiten'd with foam a thousand streams

Leap from the mountain's crown.

No marvel thus the Monarch spake;

For rarely human eye has known A scene so stern as that dread lake,

With its dark ledge of barren stone. Seems that primeval earthquake's sway Hath rent a strange and shatter'd way

Through the rude bosom of the hill, And that each naked precipice, Sable ravine, and dark abyss,

Tells of the outrage still.
The wildest 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 (ruchan-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 weary eye may ken.

“This lake," said Bruce, " whose bar.

riers drear Are precipices sharp and sheer, lielding no track for goat or deer,

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 grisly gulls and slaty rifts,

Which seam its shiver'd head?” “ Coriskin call the dark lake's name, Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim,


From old Cuchullin, chief of fame. And where the heaven join'd with the
But bards, familiar in our isles

Rather with Nature's frowns than smiles, Was distant armor flashing still,
Full oft their careless humors please So wide, so far, the boundless host
By sportive names from scenes like Seem'd in the blue horizon lost.

I would old Torquil were to show
His maidens with their breasts of snow, Down from the hill the maiden pass'd,
Or that my noble Liege were nigh At the wild show of war aghast;
To hear his Nurse sing lullaby!

And traversed first the rearward host, (The Maids — tall cliffs with breakers Reserved for aid where needed most. white,

The men of Carrick and of Ayr, The Nurse — a torrent's roaring might) Lennox and Lanark, too, were there, Or that your eye could see the mood And all the western land; Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude, With these the valiant of the Isles When dons the Hag her whiten'd Beneath their chieftains rank'd their hood -

files, 'Tis thus our islesmen's fancy frames,

In many a plaided band.
For scenes so stern, fantastic names.'

There, in the centre, proudly raised,
The Bruce's royal standard blazed,
And there Lord Ronald's banner bore

A galley driven by sail and oar.

A wild, yet pleasing contrast, made BURN.

Warriors in mail and plate array'd, (Lord of the Isles, Canto vi.}

With the plumed bonnet and the plaid X.

By these Hebrideans worn; THE King had deemd the maiden

But O! unseen for three long years, bright

Dear was the garb of mountaineers Should reach him long before the fight,

To the fair Maid of Lorn! But storms and fate her course delay:

For one she look'd -- but he was far It was on eve of battle-day:

Busied amid the ranks of war — When o'er the Gillie's hill she rode,

Yet with affection's troubled eye The landscape like a furnace glow'd,

She mark'd his banner bolnily fly, And far as e'er the eye was borne,

Gave on the countless foe a glance, The lances waved like autumn-corn.

And thought on battle's desperate In battles four beneath their eye,

chance. The forces of King Robert lie.

And one below the hill was laid,
Reserved for rescue and for aid;

O gay, yet fearful to behold, And three, advanced, form'd vaward- Flashing with steel and rough with gold, line,

And bristled o'er with bills and spears, Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's With plumes and pennons waving fair, shrine.

Was that bright battle-front! for there Detach'd was each, yet each so nigh Rode England's King and peers : As well might mutual aid supply. And who, that saw that monarch ride, Beyond, the Southern host appears, His kingdom battled by his side, A boundless wilderness of spears, Could then his diresul doom foretell! Whose verge or rear the anxious eye Fair was his seat in knightly selle, Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy. And in his sprightly eye was set Thick flashing in the evening beam, Some spark of the Plantagenet. Glaives, lances, bills, and banners Though light and wandering was his gleam;


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