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.'
(Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.)
THERE was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell;
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !
Did he not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet. But, hark!-that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! Arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening roar!
Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.
Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who would guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise !
And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war: And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering, with white lips-The foe! They come! they
And wild and high the 'Cameron's gathering' rose !
The war note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes :
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years,
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!
And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,—alas !
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms-the day Battle's magnificently stern array!
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent! Lord Byron.
By the hope within us springing, Herald of to-morrow's strife; By that sun whose light is bringing Chains or freedom, death or life-
Oh! remember life can be
No charm for him who lives not free! Like the day-star in the wave Sinks a hero in his grave,
'Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears.
Happy is he o'er whose decline
The smiles of home may soothing shine, And light him down the steep of years-
But oh! how blessed they sink to rest, Who close their eyes on victory's breast!
O'er his watch-fire's fading embers
Now the foeman's cheek turns white, When his heart that field remembers,
Where we tamed his tyrant might!
Never let him bind again
A chain, like that we broke from then. Hark! the horn of combat calls- Ere the golden evening falls,
May we pledge that horn in triumph round!
Many a heart that now beats high, In slumber cold at night shall lie, Nor waken even at victory's sound- But oh! how blessed that hero's sleep,
O'er whom a wondering world shall weep,
LOCHIEL, Lochiel! beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight.
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