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Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath
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
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.
under the name of
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.
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
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.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, 30 “Now tread we a measure !” said young
Galliard, one whose
nature it is to be gay While her mother did fret, and her father did and active; it also
south of Scotland.
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
hind the saddle.
of a river.
One touch to her hand, one word in her ear,
charger stood near;
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
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
So daring in love and so dauntless in war, Gallant, a lover. Have ye e'er heard of gallant * like young
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.
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.
a cloak which officers
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.
Upbraid, to reproach.
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 ;
Raised not a stone, 30
From the field of his fame fresh and gory ;
But we left him alone with his glory.
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.* -Southey.
It was a summer's evening,
Old Kasper's work was done,
Was sitting in the sun :
Roll something large and round,
In playing there had found;
Rivulet, a stream, a small river.
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.
For there's many, for there are many.
Many a thousand, 36,000 men
were either killed or wounded in this battle.
He came to ask, what he had found,
Who stood expectant* by ;
And heaved a natural sigh ;
For there's many * here about ;
The ploughshare turns them out ;
Young Peterkin he cries;
With wonder-waiting * eyes ;
“ Who put the French to rout,*
I could not well make out.
Yon little stream hard by ;
And he was forced to fly ;
Was wasted * far and wide,
And new-born baby died.
After the field was won,
Lay rotting in the sun.
Rout, defeat, made them run.
Wasted, destroyed, laid bare. Tender, very kind, affectionate.