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Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took |
it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down Dream of fighting fields no more;
the cup.
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
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.

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So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard2 did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did
fume,

No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Armour's clang, or war-steed champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here

Mustering clan or squadron tramping.
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come
At the daybreak from the fallow,
And the bittern sound his drum,

Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near,
Guards nor warders challenge here,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnets Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, and plume;

And the bride-maidens whispered "Twere bet-
ter by far

To have matched our fair cousin with young
Lochinvar.'

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One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the
charger stood near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and
scaur;4

Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
While our slumbrous spells assail ye,
Dream not, with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveillé.
Sleep! the deer is in his den;

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying:
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen

How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;

| Think not of the rising sun,
For at dawning to assail ye

They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth Here no bugles sound reveillé. young Lochinvar.

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There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the
Netherby clan;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode
and they ran:

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie
Lee,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they

see.

CORONACH5

FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO III

He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,

Like a summer-dried fountain,

When our need was the sorest.

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The hand of the reaper

So daring in love and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young
Lochinvar?

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Upon her eyrie nods the erne,+

Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and forever!

THE BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE* FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO VI The Chieftain reared his form on high, And fever's fire was in his eye; But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks Chequered his swarthy brow and cheeks. -"Hark, Minstrel! I have heard thee play, With measure bold, on festal day, In yon lone isle,-again where ne'er Shall harper play, or warrior hear!That stirring air that peals on high, O'er Dermid's race1 our victory.— Strike it!-and then, (for well thou canst,) Free from thy minstrel spirit glanced, Fling me the picture of the fight,

When met my clan the Saxon2 might.

I'll listen, till my fancy hears

The clang of swords, the crash of spears!
These grates, these walls, shall vanish then,
For the fair field of fighting men,
And my free spirit burst away,
As if it soared from battle fray."
The trembling Bard with awe obeyed,-
Slow on the harp his hand he laid;
But soon remembrance of the sight

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The deer has sought the brake;
The small birds will not sing aloud,
The springing trout lies still,
So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud,
That swathes, as with a purple shroud,
Benledi's distant hill.

Is it the thunder's solemn sound
That mutters deep and dread,
Or echoes from the groaning ground
The warrior's measured tread?
Is it the lightning's quivering glance
That on the thicket streams,
Or do they flash on spear and lance
The sun's retiring beams?—

I see the dagger-crest of Mar,5
I see the Moray's silver star,
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,
That up the lake comes winding far!
To hero bounes for battle-strife,

Or bard of martial lay,

"Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,
One glance at their array!
"Their light-armed archers far and near
Surveyed the tangled ground,

Their centre ranks, with pike and spear,
A twilight forest frowned,
Their barded horsemen, in the rear,

The stern battalias crowned.
No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang,
Still were the pipe and drum;

Save heavy tread, and armour's clang,
The sullen march was dumb.

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There breathed no wind their crests to shake,

Or wave their flags abroad;

Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake,

That shadowed o'er their road.
Their vaward scouts no tidings bring,
Can rouse no lurking foe,

Nor spy a trace of living thing,

Save when they stirred the roe;
The host moves, like a deep-sea wave,
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,
High-swelling, dark, and slow.
The lake is passed, and now they gain
A narrow and a broken plain,
Before the Trosachs '10 rugged jaws:
And here the horse and spearmen pause,
While, to explore the dangerous glen,
Dive through the pass the archer-men.

"At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
4 eagle

5 A Lowland leader.
6 prepared
7 armed
mor

with plate-ar

battle array

9 vanward

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10 The rough mountains and pass in the Highlands hetween Lochs Katrine and Achray.

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The spearmen's twilight wood?——
'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down!
Bear back both friend and foe!'-
Like reeds before the tempest's frown,
That serried grove of lances brown
At once lay levelled low;
And closely shouldering side to side,
The bristling ranks the onset bide.-
'We'll quell the savage mountaineer,

As their Tinchel11 cows the game!
They come as fleet as forest deer,

We'll drive them back as tame.'

"Bearing before them, in their course,
The relics of the archer force,
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.

Above the tide, each broadsword bright
Was brandishing like beam of light,

Each targe was dark below;
And with the ocean's mighty swing,
When heaving to the tempest's wing,
They hurled them on the foe.

I heard the lance's shivering crash,
As when the whirlwind rends the ash;
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang,
As if an hundred anvils rang!
But Moray wheeled his rearward rank
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank,-

'My banner-man, advance!

I see,' he cried, 'their column shake.
Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake,
Upon them with the lance!'—
The horsemen dashed among the rout,
As deer break through the broom;
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,
They soon make lightsome room.
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne-
Where, where was Roderick then!

One blast upon his bugle-horn
Were worth a thousand men.
And refluent through the pass of fear
The battle's tide was poured;

11 A circle of hunters surrounding game.

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Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear,

Vanished the mountain-sword.
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep,
Receives her roaring linn,12
As the dark caverns of the deep
Suck the wild whirlpool in,

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

"Now westward rolls the battle's din,
That deep and doubling pass within.—
Minstrel, away! the work of fate
Is bearing on: its issue wait,
Where the rude Trosachs' dread defile
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.-
Gray Benvenue I soon repassed,
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.
The sun is set;-the clouds are met,
The lowering scowl of heaven

An inky hue of livid blue

To the deep lake has given;

Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen.

I heeded not the eddying surge,

Mine eye but saw the Trosachs' gorge,
Mine ear but heard the sullen sound,
Which like an earthquake shook the ground,
And spoke the stern and desperate strife
That parts not but with parting life,
460 Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll
The dirge of many a passing soul.
Nearer it comes-the dim-wood glen
The martial flood disgorged agen,
But not in mingled tide;

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The plaided warriors of the North
High on the mountain thunder forth
And overhang its side;
While by the lake below appears
The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.
At weary bay each shattered band,
Eying their foemen, sternly stand;
Their banners stream like tattered sail,
That flings its fragments to the gale,
And broken arms and disarray
Marked the fell havoc of the day.

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

And cried-'Behold yon isle!—
See! none are left to guard its strand,
But women weak, that wring the hand:
'Tis there of yore the robber band
Their booty wont to pile;-
12 waterfall

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My purse, with bonnet-pieces store,13
To him will14 swim a bow-shot o'er,
And loose a shallop from the shore.
Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then,
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den. '-
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung,
On earth his casque and corslet rung,
He plunged him in the wave:—
All saw the deed-the purpose knew,
And to their clamours Benvenue

A mingled echo gave;

The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,
The helpless females scream for fear,
And yells for rage the mountaineer.
'Twas then, as by the outery riven,
Poured down at once the lowering heaven;
A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast,
Her billows reared their snowy crest.
Well for the swimmer swelled they high,
To mar the Highland marksman's eye;
For round him showered, 'mid rain and hail,
The vengeful arrows of the Gael.15-
In vain. He nears the isle-and lo!
His hand is on a shallop's bow.
Just then a flash of lightning came,

It tinged the waves and strand with flame;-
I marked Duneraggan's widowed dame,16
Behind an oak I saw her stand,

:

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

"Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried,
The Gaels' exulting shout replied.
Despite the elemental rage,
Again they hurried to engage;
But, ere they closed in desperate fight,
Bloody with spurring came a knight,
Sprung from his horse, and from a crag,
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.
Clarion and trumpet by his side
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide,
While, in the Monarch's name, afar
A herald's voice forbade the war,
For Bothwell's lord,17 and Roderick bold,
Were both, he said, in captive hold.'-

But here the lay made sudden stand,
The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand!

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His face grows sharp, his hands are clenched,
As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched;
Set are his teeth, his fading eye

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Thus, motionless and moanless, drew

His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu!-
Old Allan-bane looked on aghast,
While grim and still his spirit passed;
But when he saw that life was fled,
He poured his wailing o'er the dead.

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

"Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall be his bride:

And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

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"A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair;

580 Nor mettled hound, nor managed1 hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;

And you, the foremost o' them a',
Shall ride our forest queen.'

But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.

The kirk was decked at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmered fair;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there.

13 gold coins (stamped with the king's head) in They sought her baith by bower and ha';

plenty.

14 who will

15 Highlander

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The ladie was not seen!

She's o'er the Border and awa'

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

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PROUD MAISIE

FROM THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN

Proud Maisie is in the wood,

Walking so early;

Sweet Robin sits on the bush,
Singing so rarely.

"Tell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me?"
"When six braw2 gentlemen
Kirkward shall carry ye."

"Who makes the bridal bed,
Birdie, say truly?''
"The gray-headed sexton

That delves the grave duly.

"The glow-worm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady; The owl from the steeple sing 'Welcome, proud lady.'

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COUNTY GUY

FROM QUENTIN DURWARD

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh,

The sun has left the lea,

The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea.

The lark his lay who thrilled all day

Sits hushed his partner nigh: Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade Her shepherd's suit to hear;

To beauty shy by lattice high,

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Sings high-born Cavalier.

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Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee !

Come fill up my cup, etc.

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With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket11

was crammed

As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged; There was spite in each look, there was fear in

each e'e,

As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, etc.

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To the Lords of Convention 't was Claver 'se He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle

who spoke,

"Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;

So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,

2 brave, fine

* John Graham of Claverhouse. Viscount Dundee. in support of James II. withstood the Scotch Covenanters, defied the Coavention, or Scotch Parliament. which had accepted King William, and marched out of Edinburgh with a few faithful followers in 1689. thus creating the "Jacobite" party. He met the government forces at Killieerankie and de feated them, but was killed in the battle. See Macaulay's account of that battle in the present volume.

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