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Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Have heard, - and heard, too, have her Saxon Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spakeagain,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which knell !
Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers Did ye not hear it ? – No ; 't was but the wind, With the fierce native daring which instils Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; The stirring memory of a thousand years, On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ! And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansNo sleep till morn when Youth and Pleasure man's ears!
jeet Tochase the glowing Hours with flying feet,
And Ardennes waves above them her green But, hark ! that heavy sound breaks in once
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, As if the clouds its echo would repeat ;
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! Arm ! arm ! it is – it is — the cannon's opening
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass roar!
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Within a windowed niche of that high hall Of living valor, rolling on the foe, Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold That sound the first amidst the festival,
and low. And caught its tone with Death's propheticear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near,
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 day And roused the vengeance blood alone could
Battle's magnificently stern array ! quell : He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting,
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red
pent, And cheeks all pale which but an hour ago
burial blent ! Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; And there were sudden partings, such as press Their praise is hymned by loftier harps than The life from out young hearts, and choking mine; sighs
Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Which ne'er might be repeated : who would
Partly because they blend me with his line, guess
And partly that I did his sire some wrong, If evermore should meet those mutual eyes,
And partly that bright names will hallow song! Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could
And his was of the bravest, and when showered rise !
The death-bolts deadliest the thinned files
along, And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, Even where the thickest of war's tempest The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
lowered, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
gallant Howard ! And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum There have been tears and breaking hearts for Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;
thee, While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, And mine were nothing, had I such to give ; Or whispering with white lips, — " The foe ! they But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, come! they come !"
Which living waves where thou didst cease to
live, And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" And saw around me the wide field revive rose,
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Come forth her work of gladness to contrive,
With all her reckless birds upon the wing, That, from the shroud of smoke and flame, I turned from all she brought to those she could Pealed wildly the imperial name. not bring.
But on the British heart were lost
The terrors of the charging host;
And on the wounded and the slain
The fever of vain longing, and the name Till from their lines scarce spears' lengths three, So honored but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. Emerging from the smoke they see
Helmet and plume and panoply.
Each musketeer's revolving knell
Their discipline on festal day.
Then down went helm and lance, Stands when its wind-worn battlements are Down were the eagle-banners sent, gone;
Down reeling steeds and riders went,
Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on; The English horsemen's foaming ranks
Forced their resistless way.
The clash of swords, the neigh of steeds ;
As plies the smith his clanging trade, The same, and still the more, the more it breaks ; Against the cuirass rang the blade ; And thus the heart will do which not forsakes, And while amid their close array Living in shattered guise, and still, and cold, | The well-served cannon rent their way, And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches, And while amid their scattered band Yet withers on till all without is old,
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand,
Lancer and guard and cuirassier,
Their leaders fallen, their standards lost.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
THE MARCH TO MOSCOW.
On came the whirlwind, like the last
The war was waked anew.
Their showers of iron threw.
The cohorts' eagles flew.
The Emperor Nap he would set out
For a summer excursion to Moscow ;
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
Heigh-ho, for Moscow !
Princes a few, and kings one or two,
Morbleu ! Parblen !
There was Junot and Augereau,
And then came on the frost and snow,
All on the road from Moscow !
The Emperor Nap found, as he went,
That he was not quite omnipotent;
And worse and worse the weather grew, While the fields were so green and the sky so blue, The fields were so white and the sky so blue, Morbleu ! Parbleu !
Morbleu ! Ventrebleu !
What a terrible journey from Moscow !
All on the road from Moscow !
Quoth Nap, who thought it small delight, They could fight, but they could not parley-vous, To fight all day and to freeze all night; But the fields were green, and the sky was blue, And so, not knowing what else to do, Morbleu ! Parbleu !
When the fields were so white and the sky so blue, And so he got to Moscow.
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
He stole away, I tell you true,
All by himself from Moscow.
RODERICK IN BATTLE.
RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS." The Russians they stuck close to him,
With that he fell upon the old man's neck ; All on the road from Moscow ;
Then vaulted in the saddle, gave the reins, There was Tormazow and Gomalow,
And soon rejoined the host. On, comrades, on ! And all the others that end in ow;
Victory and Vengeance ! he exclaimed, and took Rajefsky and Noverefsky,
The lead on that good charger, he alone And all the others that end in efsky;
Horsed for the onset. They, with one consent, Schamscheff, Souchosaneff, and Schepeleff,
Gave all their voices to the inspiring cry, And all the others that end in eff;
Victory and Vengeance ! and the hills and rocks Wasiltschecoff, Kostomaroff, and Theoglokoff,
Caught the prophetic shout and rolled it round. And all the others that end in oj";
Count Pedro's people heard amid the heat Milaravoditch, and Juladovitch, and Karatch- of battle, and returned the glad acclaim. kowitch,
The astonished Mussulmen, on all sides charged, And all the others that end in itch;
Heard that tremendous cry ; yet manfully Oscharoffsky, and Rostoffsky, Kasatichkoffsky,
They stood, and everywhere, with gallant front, And all the others that end in offsky;
Opposed in fair array the shock of war. And Platoff he played them off,
Desperately they fought, like men expert in arms, And Markoff he marked them off,
And knowing that no safety could be found And Tutchkoff he touched them off,
Save from their own right hands. No former day And Kutusoff he cut them off,
Of all his long career had seen their chief And Woronzoff he worried them off,
Approved so well ; nor had Witiza's sons And Dochtoroff he doctored them off,
Ever before this hour achieved in fight And Rodinoff he flogged them off ;
Such feats of resolute valor. Sisibert And last of all an Admiral came,
Beheld Pelayo in the field afoot, A terrible man, with a terrible name,
And twice essayed beneath his horse's feet A name which you all must know very well,
To thrust him down. Twice did the prince evade Nobody can speak, and nobody can spell.
The shock, and twice upon his shield received
The fratricidal sword. Tempt me no more, They stuck close to Nap with all thei: might, Son of Witiza, cried the indignant chief, They were on the left and on the right,
Lest I forget what mother gave thee birth ! Behind and before, and by day and by night ; Go meet thy death from any hand but mine ! Nap would rather parley-vous than fight ; He said, and turned aside. Fitliest from me! But parley-vous would no more do,
Exclaimed a dreadful voice, as through the throng Morbleu ! Parbleu !
Orelio forced his way: fitliest from me For they remembered Moscow !
Receive the rightful death too long withheld !
'T is Roclerick strikes the blow! And as he | The true Cantabrian weapon making way spake,
Attained his forehead. Wretch !" the avenger Upon the traitor's shoulder fierce he drove
cried, The weapon, well bestowed. He in the seat “It comes from Roderick's hand ! Roderick the Tottered and fell. The avenger hastened on
Goth ! In search of Ebba ; and in the heat of light Who spared, who trusted thee, and was beRejoicing, and forgetful of all else,
trayed ! Set up his cry, as he was wont in youth, Go tell thy father now how thou hast sped Roderick the Goth !- his war-cry known so With all thy treasons !” Saying thus, he seized well.
The miserable, who, blinded now with blood, Pelayo eagerly took up the word,
Reeled in the saddle ; and with sidelong step And shouted out his kinsman's name beloved, - Backing Orelio, drew him to the ground. Roderick the Goth! Roderick and Victory! He shrieking, as beneath the horse's feet Roderick and Vengeance ! Odoar gave it forth ; He fell, forgot his late-learnt creed, and called Urban repeated it, and through his ranks On Mary's name. The dreadful Goth passed on, Count Pedro sent the cry. Not from the field Still plunging through the thickest war, and still Of his great victory, when Witiza fell,
Scattering, where'er he turned, the affrighted With louçler acclamations had that name
THE LORD OF BUTRAGO.
“ Your horse is faint, my King, my lord ! Roderick the Goth! Roderick and Victory!
your gallant horse is sick, Roderick and Vengeance ! O'er the field it His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his spread,
eye the film is thick ; All hearts and tongries uniting in the cry ;
Mount, mount on mine, 0, mount apace, I pray Mountains and rocks and vales re-echoed round;
thee, mount and fly! And he, rejoicing in his strength, rode on, Or in my arms I'll lift your Grace, — their Laying on the Moors with that good sword, and trampling hoofs are nigh!'
smote, And overthrew, and scattered, and destroyed, “My King, my King ! you 're wounded sore, And trampled down ; and still at every blow
the blood runs from your feet ; Exultingly he sent the war-cry forth,
But only lay a hand before, and I 'll lift you to Roderick the Goth! Roderick and Victory!
your seat; Roderick and Vengeance !
Mount, Juan, for they gather fast!- I hear Thus he made his way,
their coming cry, Smiting and slaying, through the astonished Mount, mount, and riile for jeopardy, — I'll save ranks,
you though I die ! Till he beheld, where, on a fiery barb, Ebba, performing well a sollier's part,
Stand, noble steed! this hour of need, — be Dealt to the right and left his deadly blows.
gentle as a lamb; With mutual rage they met. The renegade I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth, — thy Displays a cimeter, the splendid gift
master dear I am, Of Walid from Damascuis sent; its hilt
Mount, Juan, mount; whate'er betide, away the Embossed with gems, its bladle of perfect steel,
bridle fling, Which, like a mirror sparkling to the sun And plunge the rowels in his side. With dazzling splendor, flashed. The Goth ob shall save my King !
jects His shielel, and on its rim received the edge “Nay, never speak ; my sires, Lord King, reDriven from its aim asiile, and of its force
ceived their land from yours, Diminished. Many a frustrate stroke was dealt And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it On either part, and many a foin and thrust
thine secures ; Aimed and rebatedl ; many a deadly blow, If I should fly, and thou, my King, be found Straight or reverse, vlelivered and repelled.
among the lead, Roderick at length with better speeil hath reached How could I stand ’mong gentlemen, such scorn The apostate's turban, and through all its folds
on my gray head ?
And turned him to the coming host in steadfast
ness and glee; He flung himself among them, as they came
down the hill, He died, God wot! but not before his sword had drunk its fill.
JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.
For Trinity feast is over,
And Malbrouck still delays.
HUDIBRAS SWORD AND DAGGER.
His puissant sword unto his side Near his undaunted heart was tied, With basket hilt that would hold broth, And serve for fight and dinner both. In it lie melted lead for bullets To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets, To whom he bore so fell a grutch He ne'er gave quarter to any such. The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty, For want of fighting was grown rusty, And ate into itself, for lack Of someboily to hew and hack. The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt, The rancor of its edge had felt; For of the lower end two handful It had devonred, it was so manful ; And so much scorned to lurk in case, As if it durst not show its face.
Milady in her watch-tower
Dear lord from England stays.
With fainting steps and slow.
Your looks are so full of woe." “The news I bring, fair lady," With sorrowful accent said he, “ Is one you are not ready
So soon, alas ! to hear. “ But since to speak I'm hurried," Adiled this page quite flurried, “Malbrouck is dead and buried !"
- And here he shed a tear.
His corpse away from the field.
Who only bore a shield.
And covered a hero's brains.
This sword a vlagger had, his page,