As it 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 fixed 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 thrilled with sudden start, He manned himself with dauntless air, Returned 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."- Sir Roderick marked-and in his eyes Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel.
Short space he stood-then waved his hand Down sunk the disappearing band; Each warrior vanished where he stood, In broom or bracken, heath or wood; Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, In osiers pale and copses low; It seemed as if their mother Earth Had swallowed up her warlike birth ;-
The wind's last breath had tossed in air, Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair,- The next but swept a lone hill side Where heath and fern were waving wide; The sun's last glance was glinted, back, From spear and glaive, from targe and jack,― The next, all unreflected, shone
On bracken green, and cold gray stone. Fitz-James looked round-yet scarce believed The witness that his sight received; Such apparition well might seem Delusion of a dreadful dream. Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed And to his look the Chief replied, "Fear nought-nay, that I need not say- But-doubt not aught from mine array. Thou art my guest;-I pledged my word As far as Coilantogle ford:
Nor would I call a clans-man's brand For aid against one valiant hand, Though on our strife lay every vale Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. So move we on;-I only meant To show the reed on which you leant, Deeming this path you might pursue Without a pass from Roderick Dhu."- They moved:-I said Fitz-James was brave, As ever knight that belted glaive; Yet dare not say, that now his blood
Kept on its wont and tempered flood,
As, following Roderick's stride, he drew That seeming lonesome path-way through, Which yet by fearful proof, was rife With lances, that to take his life Waited but signal from a guide, So late dishonoured and defied. Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round The vanished guardians of the ground, And still from copse and heather deep, Fancy saw spear and broad-sword peep, And in the plover's shrilly strain, The signal whistle heard again. Nor breathed he free till far behind The pass was left; for then they wind Along a wide and level green, Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, Nor rush nor bush of broom was near,
To hide a bonnet or a spear.
DEATH FEARED BECAUSE UNKNOWN.
'Tis but because the living death ne'er knew, They fear to prove it as a thing that's new: Let me the experiment before you try, I'll show you first how easy 'tis to die.
COURAGE IN PROSPECT OF DEATH.
O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and 1 quake, Lest thou a feverish life shouldst entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die? The sense of death is most in apprehension; And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Why give you me this shame ? Think you I can a resolution fetch From flowery tenderness? If I must die I will encounter darkness as a bride, And hug it in mine arms.
What though the mast be now blown overboard, The cable broke, the holding anchor lost, And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood; Yet lives our pilot still. Is't meet that he Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad, With tearful eyes add water to the sea,
And give more strength to that which hath too
Whiles, in his moan, the ship slips on the rock, Which industry and courage might have sav'd? Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were this!
My soul hath felt a secret weight, A warning of approaching fate. A priest had said, Return, repent! As well to bid that rock be rent. Firm as that flint I face mine end; My heart may burst, but cannot bend. The dawning of my youth, with awe And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw; For over Redesdale it came,
As bodeful as the beacon flame. Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine, When, challenging the clans of Tyne To bring their best my brand to prove, O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove; But Tynedale nor in tower nor town, Held champion meet to take it down. My noontide India may declare; Like her fierce Sun, I fired the air! Like him, to wood and cave bade fly Her natives, from mine angry eye. Panama's maids shall long look pale When Risingham inspires the tale; Chili's dark matrons long shall tame The froward child with Bertram's name.
« ForrigeFortsæt » |