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Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow,
Unbroken was the ring;
The stubborn spear-men 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 tight,
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
As fearlessly and well;

Till utter darkness closed her wing
Oer their thin host and wounded King.
Then skilful Surrey s sage commands
Led back from strite his shattered bands;
And from the charge they drew,
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,
Sweep back to ocean blue.

Then did their loss his foemen know;
Their King, their lords, their mightiest low,
They melted from the field as snow,
When streams are swoln and south winds
Dissolves in silent dew.
[blow,
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 the 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!

Day dawns upon the mountain's side:-
There, Scotland, lay thy bravest pride,
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one:
The sad survivors all are gone.-
View not that corpse mistrustfully,
Defaced and mangled though it be;
Nor to yon Border castle high
Look northward with upbraiding eye;
Nor cherish hope in vain,
That, journeying far on foreign strand,
The Royal Pilgrim to his land

May yet return again.

He saw the wreck his rashness wrought;
Reckless of life, he desperate fought,

And fell on Flodden plain;
And well in death his trusty brand,
Firm clenched within his manly hand,

Beseemed the monarch slain. [night!But, oh! how changed since yon blithe Gladly I turn me from the sight.

EVENING IN THE TROSSACHS.
THE western waves of ebbing day
Rolled o'er the glen their level way;
Each purple peak, each flinty spire,
Was bathed in floods of living fire.
But not a setting beam could glow
Within the dark ravines below,
Where twined the path, in shadow hid,
Round many a rocky pyramid,
Shooting abruptly from the dell
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle;
Round many an insulated mass,
The native bulwarks of the pass,
Huge as the tower which builders vain
Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.
The rocky summits, split and rent,
Formed turret, dome, or battlement,
Or seemed fantastically set
With cupola or minaret,

Wild crests as pagod ever decked,
Or mosque of Eastern architect.
Nor were these earth-born castles bare,
Nor lacked they many a banner fair;
For, from their shivered brows displayed,
Far o'er th' unfathomable glade,

All twinkling with the dewdrops sheen,
The brier-rose fell in streamers green,
And creeping shrubs of thousand dyes
Waved in the west wind's summer sighs.
Boon nature scattered free and wild
Each plant or flower, the mountain's child:
Here eglantine embalmed the air,
Hawthorn and hazel mingled there;
The primrose pale, and violet flower,
Found in each cliff a narrow bower;
Foxglove and nightshade, side by side,
Emblems of punishment and pride,
Grouped their dark hues with every stain
The weather-beaten crags retain.
With boughs that quaked at every breath,
Grey birch and aspen wept beneath;
Aloft, the ash and warrior oak
Cast anchor in the rifted rock;
And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung
His shattered trunk, and frequent flung,
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high,
His boughs athwart the narrowed sky.
Highest of all, where white peaks glanced,
Where glistening streamers waved and
danced,

The wanderer's eye could barely view
The summer heaven's delicious blue;
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem
The scenery of a fairy dream.

Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep
A narrow inlet, still and deep,

Affording scarce such breadth of brim
As served the wild duck's brood to swim,
Lost for a space, through thickets veering,
But broader when again appearing,
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face
Could on the dark blue mirror trace;
And farther as the hunter strayed,
Still broader sweeps its channels made.
The shaggy mounds no longer stood
Emerging from entangled wood,
But, wave-encircled, seemed to float
Like castle girdled with its moat;
Yet broader floods extending still
Divide them from their parent hill,
Till each, retiring, claims to be
An islet in an inland sea.

And now, to issue from the glen,
No pathway meets the wanderer's ken,
Unless he climb, with footing nice,
A far projecting precipice.

The broom's tough roots his ladder made,
The hazel saplings lent their aid,
And thus an airy point he won,
Where, gleaming with the setting sun,
One burnished sheet of living gold,
Loch Katrine lay, beneath him rolled,
In all her length far winding lay,
With promontory, creek, and bay,
Till far beyond her piercing ken
The hurricane had swept the glen.
Faint and more faint, its failing din
Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn,
And silence settled, wide and still,
On the lone wood and mighty hill.

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THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

AND 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 dyed 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 grace
To measured mood had trained her pace,-
A foot more light, a step more true,
Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew;
E'en the slight harebell raised its head,
Elastic from her airy 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;
Her satin snood,* her silken plaid,
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;
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 shaggy banks more true
Than every free-born glance confessed
The guileless movements of her breast;
Whether joy danced in her dark eye,
Or woe or pity claimed a sigh,
Or filial love was glowing there,
Or meek devotion poured a prayer,
Or tale of injury called forth
Th' indignant spirit of the North.
One only passion unrevealed,
With maiden pride the maid concealed,
Yet not less purely felt the flame;-
Oh, need I tell that passion's name?

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE.
"THE Minstrel came once more to view
The eastern ridge of Benvenue,
For, ere he parted, he would say
Farewell to lovely Loch Achray:
Where shall he find, in foreign land,
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand?
There is no breeze upon the fern,
Nor ripple on the lake;
Upon her eyry nods the erne,

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 warriors' 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,
I see the Moray's silver star,

*Snood, the fillet worn round the hair of maidens.

H

Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war That up the lake comes winding far! To hero bound 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 barbed horsemen in the rear
The stern battalia 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. [shake,
There breathed no wind their crests to
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 Trossach's 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,
As all the fiends from heaven that fell
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell.

Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,

The archery appear.

For life! for life! their plight they ply-
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broadswords flashing to the sky,
Are maddening in the rear.
Onward they drive, in dreadful race,
Pursuers and pursued;
Before that tide of flight and chase,
How shall it keep its rooted place,

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;

44

And closely shouldering side to side, The bristling ranks the onset bide. 'We'll quell the savage mountaineer,

As their Tinchel* cowes 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;
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear,
Vanished the mountain sword.
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and
steep,

Receives her roaring linn,

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,

* A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a great space, and gradually narrowing, brought immense quantities of deer together, which usually made desperate efforts to break through the Tinchel.

-Minstrel, away! the work of fate
Is bearing on: its issue wait,
Where the rude Trossach's 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 view of vivid 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 Trossach's 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,
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;
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,
Eyeing 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; My purse, with bonnet pieces store, To him will 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 outcry 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.-
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 Duncraggan's widowed dame,
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
An herald's voice forbade the war,
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold,
Were both, he said, in captive hold."

-But here the lay made sudden stand !— The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand!— Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy: At first, the Chieftain, to the chime With lifted hand kept feeble time; That motion ceased,-yet feeling strong Varied his look as changed the song; At length no more his deafened ear The minstrel melody can hear;

His face grows sharp,- his hands are clenched,

As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched;
Set are his teeth, his fading eye
Is sternly fixed on vacancy;

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.

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I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill,
The air was cooling, and so very still,
That the sweet buds which with a modest
pride

Pull droopingly, in slanting curve, aside Their scanty leaved and finely tapering stems,

Had not yet lost those starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn, [they slept And fresh from the clear brook: sweetly On the blue fields of heaven; and then there crept

A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves;

For not the faintest motion could be seen Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green, There was wide wand'ring for the greediest eye,

To peer about upon variety;

Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim; To picture out the quaint and curious bending

Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending; Or by the bowery clefts and leafy shelves, Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves.

I gazed awhile, and felt as light and free As though the fanning wings of Mercury Had played upon my heels: I was lighthearted,

And many pleasures to my vision started; So I straightway began to pluck a posy Of luxuries bright, milky, soft, and rosy.

A bush of May flowers with the bees about them; [them! Ah, sure no tasteful nook would be without And let a lush laburnum oversweep them, And let long grass grow round the roots to keep them [violets, Moist, cool, and green; and shade the That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.

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Open afresh your round of starry folds,
Ye ardent marigolds!

Dry up the moisture from your golden lids,
For great Apollo bids
[sung

That in these days your praises should be On many harps, which he has lately strung; And when again your dewiness he kisses, Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses; So haply when I rove in some far vale, His mighty voice may come upon the gale.

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