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Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war
Or bard of martial lay,
One glance at their array.
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.
“Their light-armed archers far and near
Surveyed the tangled ground,
A twilight forest frowned,
The stern battalia crowned.
Still were the pipe and drum;
The sullen march was dumb. (shake,
Or wave their flags abroad;
That shadowed o'er their road.
Can rouse no lurking foe,
Save when they stirred the roe;
High-swelling, dark, and slow.
The archery appear.
Are maddening in the rear.
Pursuers and pursued;
The spearmen's twilight wood ?
At once lay levelled low;
"Bearing before them in their course
Above the tide, each broadsword bright
Each targe was dark below;
They hurled them on the foe.
But Moray wheeled his rearward rank
- My banner-man advance!
Upon them with the lance!'
As deer break through the broom;
out, They soon make lightsome room. Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne
Where, where was Roderick then?
Were worth a thousand men.
The battle's tide was poured ;
Vanished the mountain sword.
Suck the wild whirlpool in,
"Now westward rolls the battle's din,
* 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
The lowering scowl of heaven
To the deep lake has given;
But not in mingled tide;
And overhang its side;
'Twas then, as by the outcry riven,
"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."
“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 :-
A mingled echo gave;
-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.
"And art thou cold and lowly laid,
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 light
hearted, 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! 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. A filbert hedge with wild-brier overtwined, And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind
[should be Upon their summer thrones; there too The frequent chequer of a youngling tree, That with a score of light green brethren
shoots From the quaint mossiness of aged roots; Round which is hearda spring-head of clear
waters Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters, The spreading bluebells: it may haply
(torn That such fair clusters should be rudely From their fresh beds, and scattered
thoughtlessly By infant hands, left on the path to die.
A PICTURE. “Places of nestling green for Poets made.”
Story of Rimini.
I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill,
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;
Open afresh your round of starry folds,
[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.
Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight, With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate
white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.
THE STREAMLET. LINGER awhile upon some bending planks, That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, And watch intently Nature's gentle doings: They will be found softer than ring-doves' cooings.
(bend! How silent comes the water round that Not the minutest whisper does it send To the o'erhanging sallows: blades of grass Slowly across the chequered shadows pass. Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach
[preach To where the hurrying freshnesses aye A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds; Where swarms of minnows show their little heads,
(streams, Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the To taste the luxury of sunny beams Tempered with coolness. How they ever wrestle
(nestle With their own sweet delight, and ever Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand ! If you but scantily hold out the hand, That very instant not one will remain ; But turn your eye, and they are there again. The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses,
(tresses; And cool themselves among the emerald The while they cool themselves, they freshness give,
[live; And moisture, that the bowery green may So keeping up an interchange of favours, Like good men in the truth of their behaviours.
[drop Sometimes goldfinches one by one will From low-hung branches; little space they
stop, But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek; Then off at once, as in a wanton freak; Or perhaps, to show their black and golden
wings, Pausing upon their yellow flutterings. Were I in such a place, I sure should pray That nought less sweet might call my
thoughts away Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown Fanning away the dandelion's down; Than the light music of her nimble toes Patting against the sorrel as she goes.
PRIMROSES. What next? A tuft of evening primroses, O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes; O'er which it well might take a pleasant
sleep, But that 'tis ever startled by the leap Of buds into ripe flowers; or by the flitting Of divers moths, that aye their rest are
quitting; Or by the moon lifting her silver rim Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim Coming into the blue with all her light. O maker of sweet poets, dear delight Of this fair world, and all its gentle livers; Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers, Mingler with leaves, and dew, and tumbling
streams, Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams, Lover of loneliness and wandering, Of upcast eye, and tender pondering! Thee must I praise above all other glories That smile us on to tell delightful stories. For what has made the sage or poet write But the fair Paradise of Nature's light? In the calm grandeur of a sober line We see the waving of the mountain pine; And when a tale is beautifully staid, We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade; When it is moving on luxurious wings, The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings; Fair dewy roses brush against our faces, And flowering laurels spring from diamond
vases; O'erhead we see thejasmine and sweetbrier, And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire ;
[bubbles While at our feet, the voice of crystal Charms us at once away from all our
troubles ; So that we feel uplifted from the world, Walking upon the white clouds wreathed
NARCISSUS. What first inspired a bard of old to sing Narcissus pining o'er the untainted spring? In some delicious ramble, he had found A little space, with boughs all woven round; And in the midst of all, a clearer pool Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool The blue sky, here and there serenely peeping
(creeping. Through tendril wreaths fantastically And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, A meek and forlorn flower with nought
Blissfully havened both from joy and pain; Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims
pray : Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a
bud again. Stolen to this Paradise, and so entranced, Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listened to her breathing, if it chanced To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,
(crept, And breathed himself; then from the closet Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness; And over the hushed carpet, silent, stept, And 'tween the curtains peeped, where, lo!
how fast she slept. Then by the bedside, where the faded moon Made a dim silver twilight, soft he set A table, and, half-anguished, threw thereon A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet :Oh for some drowsy Morphean amulet ! The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion, The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet, Affray his ears, though but in dying tone: The hall door shuts again, and all the
noise is gone. And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, In blanched linen, smooth, and lavendered, While he from forth the closet brought a heap
(gourd; Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon; Manna and dates, in argosy transferred From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedared Leba
Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,
[breast, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair As down she knelt for Heaven's grace and boon;
[prest, Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven :-Porphyro grew faint:
[mortal taint. She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from
Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; Unclasps her warmèd jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees; Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, [is fled. But dares not look behind, or all the charm
[hand These delicates he heaped with glowing On golden dishes and in baskets bright Of wreathéd silver: sumptuous they stand In the retired quiet of the night, Filling the chilly room with perfume light. “And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul
Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay, Until the poppiedwarmth of sleep oppressed Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; Flown, like a thought, until the morrow
Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream By the dusk curtains: 'twas a midnight
charm Impossible to melt as iced stream: