CXXXII THE SEVEN SISTERS; OR THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE. Seven daughters had Lord Archibald, All children of one mother: You could not say in one short day Sing mournfully, oh ! mournfully, Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, And from the shores of Erin, Across the wave, a Rover brave To Binnorie is steering; Right onward to the Scottish strand The gallant ship is borne; The warriors leap upon the land, And hark! the Leader of the band Sing mournfully, oh! mournfully, Beside a grotto of their own, With boughs above them closing, The Seven are laid, and in the shade Away they fly to left, to right— Away the seven fair Campbells fly, And over hill and hollow, With menace proud, and insult loud, The youthful Rovers follow. Cried they, "Your Father loves to roam: Enough for him to find The empty house when he comes home; Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The solitude of Binnorie! Some close behind, some side by side, A lake was near; the shore was steep; They ran, and with a desperate leap Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The stream that flows out of the lake, Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The solitude of Binnorie! WORDSWORTH. CXXXIII THE CID'S DEATH-BED. It was an hour of grief and fear Within Valencia's walls, When the blue spring-heaven lay still and clear Above her marble halls. There were pale cheeks and troubled eyes, Where the Zambra's notes were wont to rise, It was an hour of fear and grief The Moor king's barks were on the deep, But the Cid was passing to his sleep, In the silent Alcazar. No moan was heard through the towers of state, No weeper's aspect seen, But by the couch Ximena sate, Stillness was round the leader's bed, And feeble grew the conquering hand, He had fought the battles of the land, What said the ruler of the field? -His voice is faint and low, The breeze that creeps o'er his lance and shield Hath louder accents now. "Raise ye no cry, and let no moan Be made when I depart; The Moor must hear no dirge's tone: "Let the cymbal-clash and the trumpet-strain "And gird my form with mail-array, And set me on my steed! So go ye forth on your funeral-way, And God shall give you speed. "Go with the dead in the front of war, "And let me slumber in the soil |