Puslapio vaizdai
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Thousand pavilions, white as snow,
Spread all the Borough-moor below,
Upland, and dale, and down :-
A thousand, did I say? I ween,
Thousands on thousands there were seen,
That chequer'd all the heath between
The streamlet and the town;

In crossing ranks extending far,
Forming a camp irregular;

Oft giving way, where still there stood
Some relics of the old oak wood,

That darkly huge did intervene,

And tamed the glaring white with green:
In these extended lines there lay

A martial kingdom's vast array.

Far from Hebudes, dark with rain,

To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,
And from the southern Redswire edge,
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge;
From west to east, from south to north,
Scotland sent all her warriors forth.
Marmion might hear the mingled hum
Of myriads up the mountain come;
The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,
Where chiefs review'd their vassal rank,
And charger's shrilling neigh;

And see the shifting lines advance

While frequent flash'd, from shield and lance,

The sun's reflected ray.

Thin curling in the morning air,

The wreaths of failing smoke declare

To embers now the brands decay'd,

Where the night-watch their fires had made.
They saw, slow rolling on the plain,
Full many a baggage-cart and wain,
And dire artillery's clumsy car,
By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war;

And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven,
And culverins which France had given.
Ill-omen'd gift! the guns remain

The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain.

Nor mark'd they less, where in the air
A thousand streamers flaunted fair;
Various in shape, device, and hue,
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol 2, there
O'er the pavilions flew.

Highest and midmost, was descried
The royal banner floating wide ;

The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,
Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,
Which still in memory is shown,

Yet bent beneath the standard's weight
Whene'er the western wind unroll'd,
With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,
And gave to view the dazzling field,
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,
The ruddy Lion ramp'd in gold.

Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright,-
He view'd it with a chief's delight,-

Until within him burn'd his heart,
And lightning from his eye did part,

As on the battle-day;

Such glance did falcon never dart,
When stooping on his prey.
"Oh well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said,
Thy King from warfare to dissuade
Were but a vain essay:

1 Seven culverins so called, cast by one Borthwick.

Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the different rank of tho tatitled to display them.

For, by St. George, were that host mine.
Not power infernal, nor divine,

Should once to peace my soul incline,
Till I had dimm'd their armour's shine
In glorious battle fray!'

Answer'd the Bard, of milder mood,-
Fair is the sight,-and yet 'twere good,
That Kings would think withal,

When peace and wealth their land has bless'd, 'Tis better to sit still at rest,

Than rise, perchance to fall.'

Still on the spot Lord Marmion stay'd,
For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd.
When sated with the martial show
That peopled all the plain below,
The wandering eye could o'er it go,
And mark the distant city glow
With gloomy splendour red;

For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow.
That round her sable turrets flow,

The morning beams were shed,

And tinged them with a lustre proud,
Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud.
Such dusky grandeur clothed the height,
Where the huge Castle holds its state,
And all the deep slope down,

Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky,
Piled deep and massy, close and high,
Mine own romantic town!

But northward far, with purer blaze,
On Ochil mountains fell the rays,
And as each heathy top they kiss'd,
It gleam'd a purple amethyst.
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw;
Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law;
And, broad between them rolled,
The gailant Frith the eye might note,

Whose islands on its bosom float,
Like emeralds chased in gold.
Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent;
As if to give his rapture vent,
The spur he to his charger lent,
And raised his bridle hand,

And making demi-volte in air,

Cried, 'Where's the coward that would not dare To fight for such a land!'

The Lindesay smiled his joy to see;

Nor Marmion's frown repress'd his glee.

Thus while they look'd, a flourish proud,
Where mingled trump, and clarion loud,
And fife, and kettle-drum,

And sacbut deep, and psaltery,
And war-pipe with discordant cry,
And cymbal clattering to the sky,

Making wild music bold and high,
Did up the mountain come;
The whilst the bells, with distant chime,
Merrily toll'd the hour of prime,

And thus the Lindesay spoke :

'Thus clamour still the war-notes when
The King to mass his way has ta'en,
Or to St. Katharine's of Sienne,

Or Chapel of Saint Rocque.
To you they speak of martial fame;
But me remind of peaceful game,
When blither was their cheer,
Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air,
In signal none his steed should spare,
But strive which foremost might repair
To the downfall of the deer.

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE

[From The Lady of the Lake, Canto VI.]

The Minstrel relates to the dying Roderick Dhu, Chief of Clan Alpine, the story of the battle between the royal forces and those of the Clan.]

The Minstrel came once more to view

The eastern ridge of Benvenue,
For ere he parted, he would say
Farewell to lovely Loch Achray-
Where shall he find, in foreign land,
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!.
There is no breeze upon the fern,
Nor ripple on the lake,

Upon her eyry nods the erne,

The deer has sought the brake;
The small birds will not sing aloud,
The springing trout lies still,

So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud,
That swathes, as with a purple shroud,
Benledi's distant hill.

Is it the thunder's solemn sound

That mutters deep and dread,
Or echoes from the groaning ground
The warrior's measured tread?
Is it the lightning's quivering glance
That on the thicket streams,

Or do they flash on spear and lance--
The sun's retiring beams?-

I see the dagger-crest of Mar,
I see the Moray's silver star,

Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,

That up the lake comes winding far!
To hero bound for battle-strife,
Or bard of martial lay,

Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,
One glance at their array!

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