In bright uncertainty they lie, Her chalice reared of silver bright; The lark sent down her revelry; The blackbird and the speckled thrush SCOTT'S LADY OF THE LAKE, (CANTO III.) CLAN ALPINE. Have, then, thy wish!"-He whistled shrill, From crag to crag the signal flew. And every tuft of broom gives life Then fixed his eye and sable brow Full on Fitz-James 66 How say'st thou now? These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true; And, Saxon, I am Roderick Dhu!" Fitz-James was brave: - Though to his heart Short space he stood then waved his hand : Sank brand, and spear, and bended bow, It seemed as if their mother Earth On bracken green and cold grey stone. SCOTT'S LADY OF THE LAKE, (CANTO V.) WATERLOO. THERE was a sound of revelry by night, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! Did ye not hear it? No; 't was 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- And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Within a window'd niche of that high hall And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear; 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 Blush'd 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 could 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 throng'd the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! They come! they come!" And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose; Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes 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, Battle's magnificently stern array! the day The thunder-clouds close o'er it; which, when rent, The earth is cover'd thick with other clay; Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse friend, foe-in one red burial blent! Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine; |