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Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath

blown,

That host on the morrow lay withered and Strown, scattered,

strown.* For the angel of death spread his wings on the

blast, Foe, enemy.

And breathed in the face of the foe* as he passed; 10
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and

chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever

were still. And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, But through them there rolled not the breath of

his pride ;

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the 15 Surf, the foam of the turf,

And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.* Distorted, twisted out of the regular or natu- And there lay the rider, distorted * and pale, Mail, chain armour,

With the dew on his brow and the rust on his Asshur, Assyria, once mail ; * a great and powerful And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, country;

The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown. Baal, the sun-god, worshipped in Assyria And the widows of Asshur* are loud in their Bel or Belus.

wail ; Gentile, all other na. And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; were generally called And the might of the Gentile,* unsmote by the

sword, * Unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the destroyed without the aid of man.

LORD!

waves.

*

Nineveh.

20

under the name of

*

Gentiles.

YOUNG LOCHINVAR.* -Scott. SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832), the greatest of English romantic poets and novelists, was born at Edinburgh. He was a lawyer by profession. His poems were published for the most part between 1805 and 1814. Scott was a man of the most generous and amiable nature. He was made a baronet by George IV. Chief works : Lay of the Last Minstrel, Marmion, Lady of the Lake, Rokeby, Lord of the Isles, Waverley Novels, Tales of u Grandfather, &c. Border, the land a few Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west; miles on either side of Through all the wide Border * his steed was the England and Scotland

*

* Lochinvar, a lake in Kirkcudbrightshire, in the centre of which stood the ancient fortified castle of Lochinvar, the seat of the Gordons. Hence the chief is also called Lochiavar.

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And save his good broad-sword he weapon had

none; He rode all unarmed,* and he rode all alone. Unarmed, without 5 So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

armour, i.e., helmet,

breastplate, &c. There never was knight * like the young Loch- Knight, a invar.

high birth or fortune

admitted to military He stayed not for brake,* and he stopped not rank., for stone,

Brake, a thicket of He swam the Esk * river where ford * there was brambles.

Esk, a river in Dumnone;

friesshire. But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

Ford, a shallow part 10 The bride had consented—the gallant came late: of a river.

Laggard, a sluggish, For a laggard * in love and a dastard * in war

backward person, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. Dastard, a coward. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,* Netherby Hall, a forAmong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, tified place about ten

miles from Middleby and all : 15 Then he spoke the bride's father, his hand on

his sword, (For the poor craven * bridegroom sald never a Craven, cowardly.

word), “Ho! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal,* young Lord Lochin- Bridal, wedding.

var?“I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;20 Love swells like the Solway,* but ebbs like its Solway, a river in the

tide-
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine
To lead ut one measure,* drink one cup of wine, Measure, a dance.
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,

That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 25 The bride kissed the goblet;* the knight took Goblet, drinking cup.

He quaffed * off the wine, and he threw down Quaffed, drank.
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, 30 “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 ;

Galliard, one whose

nature it is to be gay While her mother did fret, and her father did and active; it also

fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;

south of Scotland.

it up,

the cup;

means a dance.

who were in attend.

Bride-maidens, those And the bride-maidens * whispered, “'Twere 35

better by far ance on the bride.

To have matched our fair cousin with young

Lochinvar.

hind the saddle.

*

of a river.

One touch to her hand, one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall door, and the

charger stood near;
Croupe, a place be. So light to the croupe * the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung !- 40

“She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, Scaur, a steep bank and scaur!

They'll have fleet steeds that follow !” quoth

young Lochinvar.
There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the

Netherby clan;

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode Cannobie Lea, a plain There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea, * 45

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they

see !

So daring in love and so dauntless in war, Gallant, a lover. Have ye e'er heard of gallant * like young

Lochinvar?

and the

ran ;

in Eskdale.

*

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.* — Wolfe. CHARLES WOLFE (1791–1823) was born at Dublin. He was a poet of great promise. Byron considered this poem one of the most perfect in the language. Corse, a dead body Ramparts, the walls Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, around fortified

As his corse to the ramparts * we hurried ; places. Farewell shot, it is

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot customary at a mili- O'er the grave where our hero we buried. tary funeral for the soldiers present to

We buried him darkly at dead of night, fire their guns over

5 the grave.

The sods with our bayonets turning, Bayonet, a kind of

By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, dagger fixed to a musket, called

And the lantern dimly burning.

*

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Sir John Moore was a distinguished military commander. After a skilful and arduous retreat before a superior force of the French, he fell mortally wounded by a cannon ball, under the walls of Corunna, a town on the north-west coast of Spain, January 16, 1809.

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No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Bayonne, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; where, it is said

France, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, bayonets were first With his martial cloak * around him.

cloak, Few and short were the prayers we said,

and soldiers use when And we spoke not a word of sorrow; forced to pass the 15 But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was night in the open air,

or when exposed to dead,

severe weather. And we bitterly thought of the morrow.* Morrow, the English

soldiers were to em

bark on the following We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed

morning. And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe* and the stranger would tread o'er The foe, the French his head,

under Marshal Soult. And we far away on the billow.*

Billow, the sea.
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid * him ;

Upbraid, to reproach.
But little he'll reck,* if they let him sleep on Reck, care.

In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 25 But half of our heavy task was done

When the clock struck the hour for retiring ;
And we heard the distant and random * gun Random, at hazard.
That the foe was sullenly firing.

Gory, bloody.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

Raised not a stone, 30

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ;
We carved not a line and we raised not a stone, * erected, nor inscrip:

But we left him alone with his glory.

*

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tombstone was

to

grave.

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.* -Southey.

5

It was a summer's evening,

Old Kasper's work was done,
And he before his cottage door

Was sitting in the sun :
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.
She saw her brother Peterkin

Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet *

In playing there had found;

Rivulet, a stream, a small river.

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Battle of Blenheim, a victory gained at Blenheim in Bavaria, over the French and Bavarians, by the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene in 1704.

Expectant, waiting hopefully.

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For there's many, for there are many.

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Many a thousand, 36,000 men

were either killed or wounded in this battle.

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He came to ask, what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.
Old Kasper took it from the boy,

Who stood expectant* by ;
And then the old man shook his head,

And heaved a natural sigh ;
“ 'Tis some poor fellow's skull,” said he,
“ Who fell in the great victory.
"I find them in the garden,

For there's many * here about ;
And often, when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out ;
For many a thousand * men,” said he,
“ Were slain in that great victory.”
“Now tell us, what 'twas all about,”

Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up

With wonder-waiting * eyes ;
“Now tell us all about the war,
And what they killed each other for.”
" It was the English,” Kasper cried,

“ Who put the French to rout,*
But what they killed each other for,

I could not well make out.
But everybody said,” quoth he,
“ That 'twas a famous * victory.
“My father lived at Blenheim then,

Yon little stream hard by ;
They burned his cottage to the ground,

And he was forced to fly ;
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.
“With fire and sword the country round

Was wasted * far and wide,
And many a tender * mother then

And new-born baby died.
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.
“They say, it was a shocking sight,

After the field was won,
For many thousand bodies there

Lay rotting in the sun.

Rout, defeat, made them run.

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Famous, great.

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Wasted, destroyed, laid bare. Tender, very kind, affectionate.

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