Puslapio vaizdai


He whistled shrill,

And he was answer'd from the hill;
Wild as the scream of the curlew,
From crag to crag the signal flew ;
Instant, through copse and heath, arose
Bonnets and spears, and bended bows;
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprang up at once the lurking foe.
From shingles grey their lances start,
The bracken-bush sends forth the dart :
The rushes and the willow wand
Are bristling into axe and brand;
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior arm'd for strife.
That whistle garrison'd the glen
At once with full five hundred men,
As if the yawning hill to heaven
A subterranean host had given.
Watching their leader's beck and will,
All silent there they stood and still,
Like the loose crags whose threatening mass
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass;
As if an infant's touch could urge

Their headlong passage down the verge ;



With step and weapon forward flung,
Upon the mountain-side they hung.
The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side,—

Then fix'd his eye and sable brow

Full on Fitz-James-" 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
The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start;
He mann'd himself with dauntless air,
Return'd the Chief his haughty stare;
His back against a rock he bore,
And firmly placed his foot before :—
"Come one, come all !—this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I."



THEY breathe no longer : let their ashes rest;
Clamour unjust and calumny

They stoop'd not to confute; but flung their breast
Against the legions of your enemy,

And thus avenged themselves: for you they die.

Woe to you, woe! if those inhuman eyes

Can spare no drops to mourn your country's weal ; Shrinking before your selfish miseries,

Against the common sorrow hard as steel; Tremble, the hand of death upon you lies; You may be forced yourselves to feel.

But, no-what son of France has spared his tears
For her defenders, dying in their fame;

Though kings return, desired through lengthening years,
What old man's cheek is tinged not with her shame ?
What veteran, who their fortune's treason hears,

Feels not the quickening spark of his old youthful flame?

Great heaven! what lessons mark that one day's page! What ghastly figures that might crowd an age!

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