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* A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair ; Nor mettled hound, nor managed
Shall ride our forest queen."
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
Fast they come, fast they come;
See how they gather! Wide waves the eagle plume,
Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Knell for the onset!
The kirk was decked at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmered fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the
bride, And dame and knight are there. They sought hier baith by bower and
ba'; The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border and awa'
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean. 1816.
PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU
“Why sit'st thou by that ruined hall,
Thou aged carle so stern and gray ? Dost thou its former pride recall,
Or ponder how it passed away ?" “Know'st thou not me?" the Deep
Voice cried : “So long enjoyed, so oft misusedAlternate, in thy fickle pride,
Desired, neglected, and accused ! “Before my breath, like blazing flax,
Man and his marvels pass away! And changing empires wane and wax,
Are founded, flourish, and decay. “ Redeem mine hours-the space is
briefWhile in my glass the sand-grains
shiver, And measureless thy joy or grief, When Time and thou shalt part forever!"
From The Antiquary, 1816.
PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu,
Pibrock of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan Conuil. Come away, come away,
Hark to the summons ! Come in your war array,
Gentles and commons.
Come from deep glen and
From mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid and
True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade and
Strong hand that bears one.
Leave untended the herd,
The flock without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterred,
The bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer,
Leave nets and barges : Come with your fighting gear,
Broadswords and targes.
AND what though winter will pinch Through locks of gray and a cloak
that 's old, Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier.
For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. For time will rust the brightest blade, And years will break the strongest
bow : Was never wight so starkly made, But time and years would overthrow,
From Old Mortality, 1816.
CLARION SOUND, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.
From Old Mortality, 1816.
Come as the winds come when
Forests are rended; Come as the waves come when
Navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come,
Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom,
Tenant and master.
THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW
“ The glow-worm o'er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady.
• Welcome, proud lady.'
"It was while struggling with such languor, on one lovely evening of this autumn (1817), that he composed the following beautiful verses. They mark the very spot of their birth, --namely, the then naked height overhanging the northern side of the Cauldshields Loch, from which Melrose Abbey to the eastward, and the hills of Ettrick and Yarrow to the west, are now visible over a wide range of rich woodland, -all the work of the poet's hand." Lockhart's Life of Scott, Chapter 39. THE sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill
In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet; The westland wind is hush and still,
The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it
bore, Though evening with her richest dye
Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore.
TRUE-LOVE, an thou be true,
Thou hast ane kittle part to play, For fortune, fashion, fancy, and thou
Maun strive for many a day.
I've kend by mony a friend's tale,
Far better by this heart of mine, What time and change of fancy avail,
A true love-knot to untwine. From The Bride of Lammermoor, 1819.
With listless look along the plain
I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane
Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the
tree“Are they still such as once they were,
Or is the dreary change in me?
WHEN Israel of the Lord beloved
Out from the land of bondage came, Her fathers' God before her moved,
An awful guide in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonished lands
The cloudy pillar glided slow;
Returned the fiery column's glow. There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and tinbrel answered
keen, And Zion's daughters poured their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice be
tween. No portents now our foes amaze,
Forsaken Israel wanders lone : Our fathers would not know Thy ways,
And Thou hast left them to their own.
Alas! the warped and broken board,
How can it bear the painter's dye ? The harp of strained and tuneless chord,
How to the minstrel's skill reply ? To aching eyes each landscape lowers, To feverish pulse each gale blows
chill; And Araby's or Eden's bowers Were barren as this moorland hill.
1817. PROUD MAISIE
PROUD Maisie is in the wood,
Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush,
Singing so rarely.
But present still, though now unseen, When brightly shines the prosperous
day, Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen
To temper the deceitful ray! And 0, when stoops on Judah's path In shade and storm the frequent
night, Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, A burning and a shining light!
“Tell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me? “ When six braw gentlemen
Kirkward shall carry ye.” - Who makes the bridal bed,
Birdie, say truly ?” “The gray-headed sexton
That delves the grave duly.
Our harps we left by Babel's streams,
The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; No censer round our altar beams,
And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn But Thou hast said, The blood of goat.
The flesh of rams I will not prize ;
A contrite heart, a humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice.
From Ivanhoe, 1818.
The lark his lay who thrilled all day
Sits hushed his partner nigh: Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,
But where is County Guy?
The village maid steals through the
Sings high-born Cavalier.
Now reigns o'er earth and sky;
From Quentin Durward, 1823.
MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deii dinna ye march forward
in order ? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for
Many a banner spread,
Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story,
Mount and make ready then,
Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the Queen and our old Scot
tish glory. Come from the hills where your hirsels
are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and
the roe ; Come to the crag where the beacon is
blazing. Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.
Trumpets are sounding,
War-steeds are bounding, Stand to your arms and march in good
England shall many a day
Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets caine over the the Border,
From The Monastery, 1820.
To the Lords of Convention 't was Clav
er'se who spoke, · Ere the King's crown shall fall there
are crowns to be broke ; So let each Cavalier who loves honor
and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dun
dee. Come fill up my cup, come fill up
my can, Come saddle your horses and call up
your men; Come open the West Port and let
me gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of
Bonny Dundee !” Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the
street, The bells are rung backward, the drums
they are beat : But the Provost, douce man, said, “ Just
e'en let him be, The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil
YOUTH! thou wear'st to manhood now ;
From The Abbot, 1820.
The sun has left the lea,
The breeze is on the sea.
As he rode down the sanctified bends of
the Bow, Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her
pow; But the young plants of grace they
looked couthie and slee, Thinking luck to thy bonnet, thou
Bonny Dundee !
Come fill up my cup, etc. With sour-featured Whigs the Grass
market was crammed, As if half the West had set tryst to be
There was spite in each look, there was
fear in each e'e, As they watched for the bonnets of
These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits
and had spears, And lang-hafted gullies to kill cava
liers; But they shrunk to close-heads and the
causeway was free, At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dun.
“Away to the hills, to the caves, to the
rocksEre I own an usurper, I'll couch with the
fox; And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst
of your glee, You have not seen the last of my bonnet
Come fill up my cup, etc. He waved his proud hand and the
trumpets were blown, The kettle-drums clashed and the horse
men rode on, Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Cler
miston's lee Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny
the men, Come open your gates and let me
gae free, For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee !
December, 1825. 1830.
He spurred to the foot of the proud
Castle rock, And with the gay Gordon he gallantly
spoke; “Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak
twa words or three, For the love of the bonnet of Bonny
The Gordon demands of him which way
he goes “Where'er shall direct me the shade of
Montrose! Your Grace in short space shall hear
tidings of me, Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny
“ There are hills beyond Pentland and
lands beyond Forth, If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's
chiefs in the North; There are wild Duniewassals three thou
sand times three, Will cry hoigh ! for the bonnet of Bonny
HERE'S A HEALTH TO KING
Fill it up to the brim;
And to all who love him. Brave gallants, stand up,
And avaunt ye, base carles ! Were there death in the cup,
Here's a health to King Charles. Though he wanders through dangers,
Unaided, unknown, Dependent on strangers,
Estranged from his own; Though 't is under our breath,
Amidst forfeits and perils, Here's to honor and faith,
And a health to King Charles ! Let such honors abound
As the time can afford, The knee on the ground,
And the hand on the sword ; But the time shall come round
When, 'mid Lords, Dukes, and Earls The loud trumpet shall sound, Here's a health to King Charles !
From Woodstock, 1826.
“There's brass on the target of barkened
bull-hide ; There's steel in the scabbard that dangles
beside ; The brass shall be burnished, the steel
shall flash free, At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dun
LIST OF REFERENCES
** POETICAL WORKS, 7 volumes, edited by E. H. Coleridge; LETTERS AND JOURNALS, 6 volumes, edited by R. E. Prothero: London, Murray, 1898–1904 (the standard edition).- LETTERS, 1804-1813, edited by W. E. Henley, 1897 (Vol. I of "Works”; no more published).- POETICAL WORKS, 1 volume, 1896 (Oxford Edition). — * POETIC AND DRAMATIC Works, 1 volume, edited by Paul E. More, 1905 (Cambridge Edition). — * POETICAL WORKS, 1 volume, edited by E. H. Coleridge, Murray, 1905.
BIOGRAPHY * MOORE (Thomas), The Letters and Journals of Lord Byron, with Notices of his Life, 1830 (the standard biography, though unreliable on many points). – Galt (John), Life of Lord Byron, 1830 (based in part on Moore's Life). - MONDOT (Armand), Histoire de la Vie et des Écrits de Lord Byron, Paris, 1860. — LESCURE (Adolphe), Lord Byron, Histoire d'un Homme, Paris, 1866.- ELZE (Karl), Lord Byron, Berlin, 1870; English translation, London, 1872.-CASTELAR (Emilio), Vida de Lord Byron, Madrid, 1873; English translation, London, 1875. — * NICHOL (John), Byron (English Men of Letters Series), 1880 (the best brief biography). - JEAFFRESON (J. C.), The Real Lord Byron, 1883. - NOEL (Roden), Lord Byron (Great Writers Series), 1890. - ACKERMANN (Richard), Lord Byron, sein Leben, seine Werke, Heidelberg, 1901. - KOEPPEL (Emil), Lord Byron, 1903.
PERSONAL REMINISCENCES AND BIOGRAPHICAL MATERIAL MEDWIN (Thomas), Conversations of Lord Byron, 1824. - DALLAS (R. C.), Recollections of Lord Byron, from 1808 to 1814, 1824. -. GAMBA (Pietro), A Narrative of Lord Byron's Last Journey to Greece, 1825. — HUNT (Leigh), Lord Byron and some of his Contemporaries, 1828. – HUNT (Leigh), Autobiography, 1850. - DISRAELI (B.), Venetia (Portrait of Byron). - DE QUINCEY (T.), Reminiscences. - TRELAWNEY (E. J.), Recollections of the Last Days of Shelley and Byron, 1858. —- GUICCIOLI (Countess), Lord Byron jugé par les Témoins de sa Vie, Paris, 1868; Ènglish translation by Jerningham, London, 1869. -- Proctor (B. W.), Autobiography. — MILLER (A. B.), Leigh Hunt's Relations with Byron, Shelley, and Keats, 1909. - EDGCUMBE (R.), Byron, the Last Phase, 1909. — HOBHOUSE (J. C.) (Lord Broughton), Recollections of a Long Life, 1909.