{"1": {"fulltext": "MitHHiKiitTiiiiuiiiitiniiinitinHiiuiiiuiiiiiiniMiiiniintitiiiiiiiinrrixiiiixiittingirnMaMBMBwaami", "height": "4156", "width": "2568", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS,\\nChap. Copyright JS T o.\\nShelf \u00e2\u0080\u009eii\u00e2\u0080\u009e\u00c2\u00a3o0^r\\nUNITED STATES OF AMERICA\\nI", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "SCOTT S POEMS\\nCabinet U3)itton", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3982", "width": "2597", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "THE COMPLETE POETICAL\\nWORKS OF\\nSIR WALTER SCOTT\\nCabinet CDttion\\nBOSTON AND NEW YORK\\nHOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY\\n($be ftifcersibe press, Camfcri ae\\nMDCCCC\\nt", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0013.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "86215\\n24371\\nJUL 2 19,\\nJUL 25 1900\\nCOPYRIGHT, 1900\\nBY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0014.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "PUBLISHERS NOTE\\n^HEy^VRoifc edited The Poetical Works of Sir Walter\\nScotit, ^Baronet, in 1877, he made a critical examination of the\\nseveral texts, with the result of discovering many errors and\\ninconsistencies in the current editions. His own text may be\\ntaken as the most accurate and trustworthy of any extant\\nand it has been used as the basis of both the Cambridge and\\nCabinet editions of Scott s Poems. But in preparing the\\nCambridge edition the editor thought best to include the\\npoems which Dr. Rolfe had omitted, and also to follow an\\norder of arrangement wiiich was quite strictly chronological.\\nThis Cabinet edition is thus a reproduction of the text of the\\nCambridge edition, and with that may be regarded as the only\\nreally complete edition of Scott s poems contained in a single\\nvolume. By using a clear though small type, and studying\\nthe proportions of the page and the quality of the paper, it has\\nbeen possible to bring the entire contents within the scope of\\na small handy volume.\\nBoston, Spring, 1900.", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0015.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3982", "width": "2415", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0016.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nTWO BALLADS FROM THE\\nGERMAN OF BURGER.\\nWilliam and Helen, imi-\\ntated FROM THE LENORE\\nop Burgee\\nThe Wild Huntsman, imi-\\ntated from Burger s\\n4 Wilde Jager\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYR-\\nICS.\\nThe Violet\\nTo a Lady with Flowers\\nprom a Roman Wall\\nThe Erl-King, from the Ger-\\nman op Goethe\\nWar Song of the Royal\\nEdinburgh Light Dragoons\\nSong from Goetz yon Ber-\\nlichingen\\nSongs prom The House of\\nAspen.\\nI. Joy to the victors,\\nTHE SONS OF OLD As-\\npen\\nII. Sweet shone the sun\\nON THE PAIR LAKE OF\\nTORO\\nIII. Rhein Wein Ldzd\\nWhat makes the\\ntroopers frozen cour\\nAGE MUSTER?\\nGlenpinlas, or Lord Ro-\\nnald s Coronach 13\\nThe Eve of St. John 18\\nThe Gray Brother 21\\nThe Fire-King 23\\nBothwell Castle 27\\nThe Shepherd s Tale 27\\nCheviot 30\\nFrederick and Alice 31\\nCadyow Castle, addressed to\\nthe Right Honorable Lady\\nAnne Hamilton 32\\n10\\n11\\n11\\n12\\n12\\nThe Reiver s Wedding 36\\nChristie s Will 38\\nThomas the Rhymer #0\\nThe Bard s Incantation,\\nwritten under the threat\\nof Invasion in the Autumn\\nof 1804 46\\nHellvellyn 47\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MIN-\\nSTREL.\\nIntroduction 48\\nCanto FmsT 50\\nCanto Second 56\\nCanto Third 64\\nCanto Fourth 71\\nCanto Fifth 82\\nCanto Sixth 91\\nMARMION A TALE OF FLOD-\\nDEX FIELD.\\nIntroduction to Canto First 101\\nCanto First The Castle 107\\nIntroduction to Canto Sec-\\nond 115\\nCanto Second The Convent 119\\nIntroduction to Canto Third 129\\nCanto Thhid The Hostel, or\\nInn 133\\nIntroduction to Canto\\nFourth 143\\nCanto Fourth: The Camp 147\\nIntroduction to Canto Fifth 157\\nCanto Fd?th The Court 160\\nIntroduction to Canto Sixth 176\\nCanto Sixth The Battle 180\\nL Envoy 198\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE.\\nCanto First: The Chase 199\\nCanto Second The Island 212\\nCanto Third The Gather-\\ning 226\\nCanto Fourth: The Prophecy 239", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0017.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "Vlll\\nTABLE OF CONTENTS\\nCanto Fifth: The Combat 252\\nCanto Sixth: The Guabd-\\nRoom 267\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODER-\\nICK.\\nIntroduction 283\\nThe Vision op Don Roderick 286\\nConclusion 298\\nROKEBY.\\nCanto First 302\\nCanto Second 315\\nCanto Third 327\\nCanto Fourth 339\\nCanto Fifth 352\\nCanto Sixth 368\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nOR, THE VALE OF SAINT\\nJOHN.\\nIntroduction 384\\nCanto First 386\\nCanto Second 393\\nIntroduction to Canto Third 405\\nCanto Third 406\\nConclusion 420\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES.\\nCanto FrasT 421\\nCanto Second 432\\nCanto Third 442\\nCanto Fourth 454\\nCanto Fifth 466\\nCanto Sixth 480\\nConclusion 495\\nTHE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 496\\nConclusion 504\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS.\\nIntroduction 506\\nCanto First 507\\nCanto Second 514\\nCanto Third 520\\nCanto Fourth 526\\nCanto Fifth 532\\nCanto Sixth 538\\nConclusion 545\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS.\\nThe Dying Bard 546\\nThe Norman Horse-Shoe 546\\nThe Maid of Toro 547\\nThe Palmer 547\\nThe Maid of Neidpath 548\\nWandering Willie 548\\nHealth to Lord Melville 549\\nHunting Song 551\\nSong k O, say not, my Love 551\\nThe Resolve (in imitation of\\nan old English Poem) 552\\nEpitaph designed for a Mon-\\nument in Litchfield Cathe-\\ndral, at the Burial-Place\\nof the Family of Miss Sew-\\nard 552\\nPrologue to Miss Baillie s\\nPlay of The Family Le-\\ngend 553\\nThe Poacher (written in imi-\\ntation of Crabbe) 553\\nThe Bold Dragoon; or, The\\nPlain of Badajos .557\\nOn the Massacre of Glencoe 557\\nSong for the Anniversary\\nMeeting of the Pitt Club\\nof Scotland 558\\nLines addressed to Ranald\\nMacdonald, Esq., of Staffa 559\\nPharos Loquitur 560\\nLetters in Verse on the Voy-\\nage with the Commissioners\\nof Northern Lights.\\nTo His Grace the Duke\\nof Buccleuch 560\\n-Postscriptum 562\\nSongs and Verses from Wa-\\nVERLEY.\\nI. And did ye not hear of\\nA MIRTH BEFELL 563\\nII. Late when the autumn\\nEVENING FELL 564\\nIII. The Knight s to the\\nmountain 564\\nIV. It s up Glembarchan s\\nBRAES I GAED 564\\nV. Hie away, hie away 565\\nVI. St. Swithin s Chair 565\\nVII. Young men will love\\nthee more fair and more\\nfast 566\\nVIII. Flora MacIvor s\\nSong 566\\nIX. To an Oak Tree .567\\nX. We are bound to drive\\nthe bullocks 568", "height": "4296", "width": "2637", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0018.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nIX\\nXI. k But follow, follow me\\n568\\nSong from Rob Roy To the\\nFor a That an a That\\n568\\nMemory of Edward the\\nFarewell to Mackenzie, High\\nBlack Prince\\n591\\nChief of Kintail\\n569\\nThe Monks of Bangor s March 592\\nImitation of the Preceding\\nEpilogue to the Appeal\\n593\\nSong\\n570\\nMackrimmon s Lament\\n593\\nWar-Song of Lachlan, High\\nDonald Caird s Come Again\\n594\\nChief of Maclean\\n570\\nMadge Wildfire s Songs from\\nSaint Cloud\\n571\\nThe Heart of Midlothian\\n595\\nThe Dance of Death\\n571\\nThe Battle of Sempach.\\n596\\nRomance of Dunois\\n574\\nThe Noble Moringer\\n599\\nThe Troubadour\\n574\\nEpitaph on Mrs. Erskine\\n603\\nFrom the French\\n575\\nSongs from The Bride of Lam-\\nSong on the Lifting of the\\nmermoor.\\nBanner of the House of\\nI Look not thou on beau-\\nBUCCLEUCH AT A GREAT FOOT-\\nty s charming\\n603\\nBALL Match on Carter-\\nII. The monk must arise\\nHAUGH\\n575\\nWHEN THE MATINS RING\\n603\\nSongs from Guy Mannering.\\nIII. When the last lalrd\\nI. Canny moment, lucky\\nof Ravenswood to Ra-\\nFIT\\n576\\nVENSWOOD SHALL RIDE\\n604\\nII. Twist ye, twine ye even\\nSongs from The Legend of\\nso\\n576\\nMontrose.\\nI. Ancient Gaelic Melody\\nIII. Wasted, weary, where-\\n604\\nfore stay\\n576\\nII. The Orphan Maid\\n604\\nIV Dark shall be light\\n577\\nVerses from Ivanhoe.\\nLullaby of an Infant Chdhf\\n577\\n1. The Crusader s Return\\n605\\nThe Return to Ulster\\n577\\nII. The Barefooted Friar\\n606\\nJock of Hazeldean\\n578\\nIII. Norman saw on English\\nPibroch of Donald Dhu.\\n578\\noak\\n606\\nNora s Vow\\n579\\nIV. War Song\\n607\\nMacGregor s Gathering\\n579\\nV. Rebecca s Hymn\\n608\\nVerses sung at the Dinner\\nVI. The Black Knight and\\nGIVEN TO THE GRAND DUKE\\nWamba\\n608\\nNicholas of Russia and his\\nVII. Another Carol by the\\nSuite, 19th December, 1816\\n580\\nSame\\n609\\nVerses from The Antiquary.\\nVIII. Funeral Hymn\\n610\\nI. He came, but valor had\\nVerses from The Monastery.\\nso fired his eye\\n581\\nI. Answer to Introductory\\nn. Why sit st thou by that\\nEpistle\\n609\\nRUINED HALL\\n581\\nII. Border Song\\n610\\nIII. Epitaph\\n581\\nIll Songs of the White Lady\\nIV. The herring loves the\\nof Avenel\\n610\\nMERRY MOON-LIGHT\\n581\\nIV. To the Sub-Prior\\n611\\nThe Search after Happiness\\nV. Halbert s Incantation\\n612\\nor, The Quest of Sultaun\\nVI. To Halbert\\n612\\nSolimaun\\n582\\nVII. To the Same\\n613\\nLines written for Miss Smith\\n589\\nVIII. To the Same\\n615\\nMr. Kemble s Farewell Ad-\\nIX. To Mary Avenel\\n615\\ndress ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE\\nX. To Edward Glendinn-\\nEdinburgh Stage\\n590\\nING\\n616\\nThe Sun upon the Wetrdlaw\\nXI. The White Lady s Fare-\\nHill\\n591\\nwell _\\n616", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0019.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nGoldthred s Song prom Kenil-\\nworth 616\\nVerses from The Pirate.\\nI. The Song op the Tempest 617\\nII. Halcro s Song .618\\nIII. Song op Harold Har-\\nFAGER 619\\nIV. Song op the Mermaids\\nand Mermen 619\\nV. Norna s Verses 620\\nVI. Halcro and Norna 621\\nVII. The Fishermen s Song 623\\nVIII. Cleveland s Songs 623\\nIX. Halcro s Verses 624\\nX. Norna s Incantation 625\\nXI. The Same at the Meet-\\ning with Minna 625\\nXII. Bryce Snailspoot s Ad-\\nvertisement 627\\nOn Ettrick Forest s Moun-\\ntains Dun 627\\nThe Maid op Isla 627\\nFarewell to the Muse 628\\nNigel s Initiation at White-\\nfriars, prom The Fortunes\\nop Nigel 628\\nCarle, now the King s come 629\\nThe Bannatyne Club. 632\\nCounty Guy 633\\nEpilogue to the Drama founded\\non Saint Ronan s Well 633\\nEpilogue 635\\nVerses from Redgauntlet.\\nI. A Catch op Cowley s Al-\\ntered 635\\nII. As Lords their laborers\\nhire delay 636\\nLines addressed to Monsieur\\nAlexandre, the celebrated\\nventriloquist 636\\nTo J. G. Lockhart, Esq., on the\\nComposition of Maida s Epi-\\ntaph 636\\nSongs from The Betrothed.\\nI. Soldier, wake! 637\\nII. Woman s Faith .638\\nIII. I ASKED OP MY HARP 638\\nIV. Widowed wipe and\\nwedded maid 639\\nVerses prom The Talisman.\\nI. Dark Ahriman, whom\\nIrak still 639\\nII. What brave chief shall\\nHEAD THE FORCES 640\\nIII. The Bloody Vest 640\\nVerses from Woodstock.\\nI. By pathless march, by\\nGREENWOOD TREE 642\\nII. Glee for King Charles 643\\nIII. An hour with thee 643\\nIV. Son of a witch 643\\nLines to Sir Cuthbert Sharp 643\\nVerses from Chronicles of the\\nCanon-Gate.\\nI. Old Song from The\\nHighland Widow 644\\nII. The Lay of Poor Louise,\\nfrom The Fair Maid of\\nPerth 644\\nIII. Death Chant 645\\nIV. Song of the Glee-\\nMaiden 645\\nThe Death of Keeldar 645\\nThe Secret Tribunal, from\\nAnne of Geierstein .647\\nThe Foray .647\\nInscription por the Monument\\nop the Rev. George Scott 648\\nSongs from The Doom of De-\\nvorgodl.\\nI. The Sun upon the Lake 648\\nII. We love the shrill\\ntrumpet 648\\nIII. Admire not that I\\ngained 649\\nIV. When the tempest 649\\nV. Bonny Dundee 649\\nVI. When friends are\\nmet 651\\nHither we come 651\\nLines on Fortune 651\\nAPPENDIX.\\nI. Juvenile Lines.\\nFrom Virgdl 653\\nOn a Thunder-Storm 653\\nOn the Setting Sun 653\\nII. Mottoes from the Novels.\\nFrom The Antiquary 653\\nFrom The Black Dwarf 656\\nFrom Old Mortality 656\\nFrom Rob Roy 657\\nFrom The Heart of Mid-\\nlothian 658\\nFrom The Bride of Lam-\\nmermoor 658\\nFrom The Legend of Mon-\\ntrose 659", "height": "4296", "width": "2637", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0020.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nXI\\nFrom Ivanhoe 659\\nFrom The Monastery 660\\nFrom The Abbot 663 j\\nFrom Kenilworth 665\\nFrom The Pirate .667\\nFrom The Fortunes op\\nNigel 668\\nFrom Peveril of the Peak 672\\nFrom Quentin Durward 674\\nFrom Saint Ronan s Well 675\\nFrom The Betrothed 676\\nFrom The Talisman 677\\nFrom Woodstock 678\\nFrom Chronicles of the\\nCanongate 670\\nFrom The Fair Maid of\\nPerth 680\\nFrom Anne of Geierstein 680\\nFrom Count Robert of\\nParis 682\\nFrom Castle Dangerous 684\\nINDEX OF FIRST LINES 687\\nINDEX OF TITLES 695", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0021.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4296", "width": "2637", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0022.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "TWO BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN\\nOF BURGER\\nWILLIAM AND HELEN\\nIMITATED FROM THE LENORE\\nOF BURGER\\nFrom heavy dreams fair Helen\\nrose,\\nAnd eyed the dawning red\\nAlas, my love, thou tarriest long\\nart thou false or dead?\\nWith gallant Frederick s princely\\npower\\nHe sought the bold Crusade,\\nBut not a word from Judah s wars\\nTold Helen how he sped.\\nWith Paynim and with Saracen\\nAt length a truce was made, 10\\nAnd every knight returned to dry\\nThe tears his love had shed.\\nOur gallant host was homeward\\nbound\\nWith many a song of joy\\nGreen waved the laurel in each\\nplume,\\nThe badge of victory.\\nAnd old and young, and sire and\\nson,\\nTo meet them crowd the way,\\nWith shouts and mirth and melody,\\nThe debt of love to pay. 20\\nFull many a maid her true-love\\nmet,\\nAnd sobbed in his embrace,\\nAnd fluttering joy in tears and\\nsmiles\\nArrayed full many a face.\\nNor joy nor smile for Helen sad,\\nShe sought the host in vain\\nFor none could tell her William s\\nfate,\\nIf faithless or if slain.\\nThe martial band is past and gone\\nShe rends her raven hair, 30\\nAnd in distraction s bitter mood\\nShe weeps with wild despair.\\n1 0, rise, my child, her mother said,\\n4 Nor sorrow thus in vain\\nA perjured lover s fleeting heart\\nNo tears recall again.\\n1 mother, what is gone is gone,\\nWhat s lost forever lorn\\nDeath, death alone can comfort\\nme;\\nhad I ne er been born 40\\n0, break, my heart, O, break at\\nonce!\\nDrink my life-blood, Despair\\nNo joy remains on earth for me,\\nFor me in heaven no share.\\n1 0, enter not in judgment, Lord\\nThe pious mother prays\\n1 Impute not guilt to thy frail child\\nShe knows not what she says.\\n1 0, say thy pater-noster, child\\nO, turn to God and grace 50\\nHis will, that turned thy bliss to\\nbale,\\nCan change thy bale to bliss.\\nmother, mother, what is bliss\\nmother, what is bale", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0023.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER\\nMy William s love was heaven on\\nearth,\\nWithout it earth is hell.\\nWhy should I pray to ruthless\\nHeaven,\\nSince my loved William s slain?\\nI only prayed for William s sake,\\nAnd all my prayers were vain. 60\\nO, take the sacrament, my child,\\nAnd check these tears that flow\\nBy resignation s humble prayer,\\nO, hallowed be thy woe\\nNo sacrament can quench this fire,\\nOr slake this scorching pain\\nNo sacrament can bid the dead\\nArise and live again.\\nO, break, my heart, O, break at\\nonce!\\nBe thou my god, Despair 70\\nHeaven s heaviest blow has fallen\\non me,\\nAnd vain each fruitless prayer.\\nO, enter not in judgment, Lord,\\nWith thy frail child of clay\\nShe knows not what her tongue\\nhas spoke\\nImpute it not, I pray\\nForbear, my child, this desperate\\nwoe,\\nAnd turn to God and grace\\nWell can devotion s heavenly glow\\nConvert thy bale to bliss. 80\\n4 O mother, mother, what is bliss\\nO mother, what is bale\\nWithout my William what were\\nheaven,\\nOr with him what were hell\\nWild she arraigns the eternal\\ndoom,\\nUpbraids each sacred power,\\nTill, spent, she sought her silent\\nroom,\\nAll in the lonely tower.\\nShe beat her breast, she wrung her\\nhands,\\nTill sun and day were o er, 90\\nAnd through the glimmering lat-\\ntice shone\\nThe twinkling of the star.\\nThen, crash! the heavy drawbridge\\nfell\\nThat o er the moat was hung\\nAnd, clatter clatter I on its boards\\nThe hoof of courser rung.\\nThe clank of echoing steel was\\nheard\\nAs off the rider bounded\\nAnd slowly on the winding stair\\nA heavy footstep sounded. 100\\nAnd hark! and hark! a knock\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\ntap tap\\nA rustling stifled noise\\nDoor-latch and tinkling staples\\nring;\\nAt length a whispering voice.\\nAwake, awake, arise, my love\\nHow, Helen, dost thou fare\\nWak st thou, or sleep st? laugh st\\nthou, or weep st?\\nHast thought on me, my fair?\\nMy love! my love! so late by\\nnight\\nI waked, I wept for thee 1 10\\nMuch have I borne since dawn of\\nmorn;\\nWhere, William, couldst thou\\nbe?\\n1 We saddle late from Hungary\\nI rode since darkness fell\\nAnd to its bourne we both re-\\nturn\\nBefore the matin-bell.\\n1 0,rest this night within my arms,\\nAnd warm thee in their fold\\nChill howls through hawthorn bush\\nthe wind\\nMy love is deadly cold. 120", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0024.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM AND HELEN\\nLet the wind howl through haw-\\nthorn bush\\nThis night we must away\\nThe steed is wight, the spur is\\nbright\\nI cannot stay till day.\\nBusk, busk, and boune! Thou\\nmount st behind\\nUpon my black barb steed\\nO er stock and stile, a hundred\\nmiles,\\nWe haste to bridal bed.\\nTo-night to-night a hundred\\nmiles\\nO dearest William, stay 130\\nThe bell strikes twelve dark,\\ndismal hour\\nO, wait, my love, till day\\nLook here, look here the moon\\nshines clear\\nFull fast I ween we ride\\nMount and away for ere the day\\nWe reach our bridal bed.\\nThe black barb snorts, the bridle\\nrings\\nHaste, busk, and boune, and seat\\nthee!\\nThe feast is made, the chamber\\nspread,\\nThe bridal guests await thee. 140\\nStrong love prevailed she busks,\\nshe bounes,\\nShe mounts the barb behind,\\nAnd round her darling William s\\nwaist\\nHer lily arms she twined.\\nAnd, hurry hurry off they rode,\\nAs fast as fast might be\\nSpurned from the courser s thun-\\ndering heels\\nThe flashing pebbles flee.\\nAnd on the right and on the left,\\nEre they could snatch a view, 1 50\\nFast, fast each mountain, mead,\\nand plain,\\nAnd cot and castle flew.\\nSit fast dost fear?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The moon\\nshines clear\\nFleet goes my barb keep hold\\nFear st thou? O no! she faintly\\nsaid,\\nBut why so stern and cold\\nWhat yonder rings what yonder\\nsings?\\nWhy shrieks the owlet gray\\nT is death-bells clang, t is fu-\\nneral song,\\nThe body to the clay. 160\\nWith song and clang at morrow s\\ndawn\\nYe may inter the dead\\nTo-night I ride with my young\\nbride\\nTo deck our bridal bed.\\nCome with thy choir, thou coffined\\nguest,\\nTo swell our nuptial song\\nCome, priest, to bless our marriage\\nfeast\\nCome all, come all along\\nCeased clang and song down sunk\\nthe bier\\nThe shrouded corpse arose 170\\nAnd hurry hurry all the train\\nThe thundering steed pursues.\\nAnd forward! forward! on they\\ngo;\\nHigh snorts the straining steed\\nThick pants the rider s laboring\\nbreath,\\nAs headlong on they speed.\\nWilliam, why this savage haste\\nAnd where thy bridal bed\\nT is distant far, low, damp, and\\nchill,\\nAnd narrow, trustless maid. 180", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0025.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER\\n1 No room f or me Enough for\\nboth;\\nSpeed, speed, my barb, thy\\ncourse\\nO er thundering bridge, through\\nboiling surge,\\nHe drove the furious horse.\\nTramp! tramp! along the land\\nthey rode,\\nSplash splash along the sea\\nThe scourge is wight, the spur is\\nbright,\\nThe flashing pebbles flee.\\nFled past on right and left how fast\\nEach forest, grove, and bower\\nOn right and left fled past how\\nfast 191\\nEach city, town, and tower\\nDost fear? dost fear? The moon\\nshines clear,\\nDost fear to ride with me\\nHurrah! hurrah! the dead can\\nride\\n1 William, let them be\\n1 See there, see there What yonder\\nswings\\nAnd creaks mid whistling\\nrain?\\n*Gibbet and steel, the accursed\\nwheel\\nA murderer in his chain. 200\\n1 Hollo thou felon, follow here\\nTo bridal bed we ride\\nAnd thou shalt prance a fetter\\ndance\\nBefore me and my bride.\\nAnd, hurry! hurry! clash, clash,\\nclash\\nThe wasted form descends\\nAnd fleet as wind through hazel\\nbush\\nThe wild career attends.\\nTramp! tramp! along the land\\nthey rode, 209\\nSplash splash along the sea\\nThe scourge is red, the spur drops\\nblood,\\nThe flashing pebbles flee.\\nHow fled what moonshine faintly\\nshowed\\nHow fled what darkness hid\\nHow fled the earth beneath their\\nfeet,\\nThe heaven above their head\\nDost fear dost fear The moon\\nshines clear,\\nAnd well the dead can ride\\nDost faithful Helen fear for\\nthem? 219\\n1 leave in peace the dead\\nBarb Barb methinks I hear the\\ncock;\\nThe sand will soon be run\\nBarb Barb I smell the morning\\nair;\\nThe race is well-nigh done.\\nTramp! tramp! along the land\\nthey rode,\\nSplash splash along the sea\\nThe scourge is red, the spur drops\\nblood,\\nThe flashing pebbles flee.\\n1 Hurrah hurrah well ride the\\ndead;\\nThe bride, the bride is come 230\\nAnd soon we reach the bridal bed,\\nFor, Helen, here s my home.\\nReluctant on its rusty hinge\\nRevolved an iron door,\\nAnd by the pale moon s setting\\nbeam\\nWere seen a church and tower.\\nWith many a shriek and cry whiz\\nround\\nThe birds of midnight scared\\nAnd rustling like autumnal leaves,\\nUnhallowed ghosts were heard.\\nO er many a tomb and tombstone\\npale 241\\nHe spurred the fiery horse,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0026.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "THE WILD HUNTSMAN\\nTill sudden at an open grave\\nHe checked the wondrous course.\\nThe falling gauntlet quits the rein,\\nDown drops the casque of steel,\\nThe cuirass leaves his shrinking\\nside,\\nThe spur his gory heel.\\nThe eyes desert the naked skull,\\nThe mouldering flesh the bone,\\nTill Helen s lily arms entwine 251\\nA ghastly skeleton.\\nThe furious barb snorts fire and\\nfoam,\\nAnd with a fearful bound\\nDissolves at once in empty air,\\nAnd leaves her on the ground.\\nHalf seen by fits, by fits half heard,\\nPale spectres flit along,\\nWheel round the maid in dismal\\ndance,\\nAnd howl the funeral song 260\\nE en when the heart s with an-\\nguish cleft\\nRevere the doom of Heaven,\\nHer soul is from her body reft\\nHer spirit be forgiven\\nTHE WILD HUNTSMAN\\nIMITATED FROM BURGER S\\nWILDE JAGER\\nThe Wildgrave winds his bugle-\\nhorn,\\nTo horse, to horse halloo,halloo\\nHis fiery courser snuffs the morn,\\nAnd thronging serfs their lord\\npursue.\\nThe eager pack from couples freed\\nDash through the bush, the brier,\\nthe brake\\nWhile answering hound and horn\\nand steed\\nThe mountain echoes startling\\nwake.\\nThe beams of God s own hallowed\\nday\\nHad painted yonder spire with\\ngold, 10\\nAnd, calling sinful man to pray,\\nLoud, long, and deep the bell had\\ntolled\\nBut still the Wildgrave onward\\nrides\\nHalloo, halloo and, hark again\\nWhen, spurring from opposing\\nsides,\\nTwo stranger horsemen join the\\ntrain.\\nWho was each stranger, left and\\nright,\\nWell may I guess, but dare not\\ntell;\\nThe right-hand steed was silver\\nwhite, 19\\nThe left the swarthy hue of hell.\\nThe right-hand horseman, young\\nand fair,\\nHis smile was like the morn of\\nMay\\nThe left from eye of tawny glare\\nShot midnight lightning s lurid\\nray.\\nHe waved his huntsman s cap on\\nhigh,\\nCried, Welcome, welcome, noble\\nlord!\\nWhat sport can earth, or sea, or sky,\\nTo match the princely chase,\\nafford\\nCease thy loud bugle s clanging\\nknell,\\nCried the fair youth with silver\\nvoice; 30\\n1 And for devotion s choral swell\\nExchange the rude unhallowed\\nnoise.\\nTo-day the ill-omened chase for-\\nbear,\\nYon bell yet summons to the\\nfane;", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0027.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER\\nTo-day the Warning Spirit hear,\\nTo-morrow thou mayst mourn in\\nvain/\\nAway, and sweep the glades\\nalong\\nThe sable hunter hoarse replies\\nTo muttering monks leave matin-\\nsong,\\nAnd bells and books and mys-\\nteries. 40\\nThe Wildgrave spurred his ardent\\nsteed,\\nAnd, launching forward with a\\nbound,\\nWho, for thy drowsy priestlike\\nrede,\\nWould leave the jovial horn and\\nhound\\n1 Hence, if our manly sport offend\\nWith pious fools go chant and\\npray:\\nWell hast thou spoke, my dark-\\nbrowed friend\\nHalloo, halloo and hark away\\nThe Wildgrave spurred his courser\\nlight,\\nO er moss and moor, o er holt\\nand hill 50\\nAnd on the left and on the right,\\nEach stranger horseman fol-\\nlowed still.\\nUp springs from yonder tangled\\nthorn\\nA stag more white than moun-\\ntain snow\\nAnd louder rung the Wildgrave s\\nhorn,\\nHark forward, forward holla,\\nho!\\nA heedless wretch has crossed the\\nway;\\nHe gasps the thundering hoofs\\nbelow\\nBut live who can, or die who may,\\nStill, Forward, forward! on\\nthey go. 60\\nSee, where yon simple fences meet,\\nA field with autumn s blessings\\ncrowned\\nSee, prostrate at the Wildgrave s\\nfeet,\\nA husbandman with toil em-\\nbrowned\\nmercy, mercy, noble lord\\nSpare the poor s pittance, was\\nhis cry,\\nEarned by the sweat these brows\\nhave poured\\nIn scorching hour of fierce July.\\nEarnest the right-hand stranger\\npleads,\\nThe left still cheering to the\\nprey 70\\nThe impetuous Earl no warning\\nheeds,\\nBut furious holds the onward\\nway.\\n1 Away, thou hound so basely born,\\nOr dread the scourge s echoing\\nblow!\\nThen loudly rung his bugle-horn,\\nHark forward, forward holla,\\nho!\\nSo said, so done A single bound\\nClears the poor laborer s humble\\npale;\\nWild follows man and horse and\\nhound,\\nLike dark December s stormy\\ngale. 80\\nAnd man and horse, and hound\\nand horn,\\nDestructive sweep the field\\nalong\\nWhile, joying o er the wasted\\ncorn,\\nFell Famine marks the madden-\\ning throng.\\nAgain uproused the timorous prey\\nScours moss and moor, and holt\\nand hill", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0028.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "THE WILD HUNTSMAN\\nHard run, he feels his strength\\ndecay,\\nAnd trusts for life his simple\\nskill.\\nToo dangerous solitude appeared\\nHe seeks the shelter of the\\ncrowd 90\\nAmid the flock s domestic herd\\nHis harmless head he hopes to\\nshroud.\\nO er moss and moor, and holt and\\nhill,\\nHis track the steady blood-\\nhounds trace\\nO er moss and moor, unwearied\\nstill,\\nThe furious Earl pursues the\\nchase.\\nFull lowly did the herdsman\\nfall:\\nO spare, thou noble baron, spare\\nThese herds, a widow s little all\\nThese flocks, an orphan s fleecy\\ncare 100\\nEarnest the right-hand stranger\\npleads,\\nThe left still cheering to the\\nprey;\\nThe Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds,\\nBut furious keeps the onward\\nway.\\n1 Unmannered dog To stop my\\nsport\\nVain were thy cant and beggar\\nwhine,\\nThough human spirits of thy sort\\nWere tenants of these carrion\\nkine\\nAgain he winds his bugle-horn,\\n1 Hark forward, forward, holla,\\nho! no\\nAnd through the herd in ruthless\\nscorn\\nHe cheers his furious hounds to\\ngo.\\nIn heaps the throttled victims fall;\\nDown sinks their mangled herds-\\nman near\\nThe murderous cries the stag ap-\\npall-\\nAgain he starts, new-nerved by\\nfear.\\nWith blood besmeared and white\\nwith foam,\\nWhile big the tears of anguish\\npour,\\nHe seeks amid the forest s gloom\\nThe humble hermit s hallowed\\nbower. 120\\nBut man and horse, and horn and\\nhound,\\nFast rattling on his traces go\\nThe sacred chapel rung around\\nWith, Hark away and, holla,\\nho!\\nAll mild, amid the rout profane,\\nThe holy hermit poured his\\nprayer\\n4 Forbear with blood God s house\\nto stain\\nRevere His altar and forbear\\nThe meanest brute has rights to\\nplead,\\nWhich, wronged by cruelty or\\npride, 130\\nDraw vengeance on the ruthless\\nhead:\\nBe warned at length and turn\\naside.\\nStill the fair horseman anxious\\npleads\\nThe black, w r ild whooping, points\\nthe prey\\nAlas the Earl no warning heeds,\\nBut frantic keeps the forward\\nway.\\nHoly or not, or right or wrong,\\nThy altar and its rites I spurn\\nXot sainted martyrs sacred song,\\nNot God himself shall make me\\nturn 140", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0029.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "8 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER\\nHe spurs his horse, he winds his\\n4 Be chased forever through the\\nhorn,\\nwood,\\nHark forward, forward, holla,\\nForever roam the affrighted\\nho!\\nwild; 170\\nBut off, on whirlwind s pinions\\nAnd let thy fate instruct the proud,\\nborne,\\nGod s meanest creature is His\\nThe stag, the hut, the hermit, go.\\nchild.\\nAnd horse and man, and horn and\\nT was hushed One flash of som-\\nhound,\\nbre glare\\nAnd clamor of the chase, was\\nWith yellow tinged the forests\\ngone;\\nbrown\\nFor hoofs and howls and bugle-\\nUprose the Wildgrave s bristling\\nsound,\\nhair,\\nA deadly silence reigned alone.\\nAnd horror chilled each nerve\\nand bone.\\nWild gazed the affrighted Earl\\naround\\nCold poured the sweat in freezing\\nHe strove in vain to wake his\\nrill;\\nhorn, 150\\nA rising wind began to sing,\\nIn vain to call for not a sound\\nAnd louder, louder, louder still,\\nCould from his anxious lips be\\nBrought storm and tempest on\\nborne.\\nits wing. 180\\nHe listens for his trusty hounds,\\nEarth heard the call her entrails\\nNo distant baying reached his\\nrend;\\nears;\\nFrom yawning rifts, with many a\\nHis courser, rooted to the ground,\\nyen,\\nThe quickening spur unmindful\\nMixed with sulphureous flames,\\nbears.\\nascend\\nThe misbegotten dogs of hell.\\nStill dark and darker frown the\\nshades,\\nWhat ghastly huntsman next arose\\nDark as the darkness of the\\nWell may I guess, but dare not\\ngrave\\ntell;\\nAnd not a sound the still invades,\\nHis eye like midnight lightning\\nSave what a di s tant torrent gave.\\nglows,\\nHis steed the swarthy hue of\\nHigh o er the sinner s humbled\\nhell.\\nhead 161\\nAt length the solemn silence\\nThe Wildgrave flies o er bush and\\nbroke\\nthorn\\nAnd from a cloud of swarthy red\\nWith many a shriek of helpless\\nThe awful voice of thunder\\nwoe 190\\nspoke.\\nBehind him hound and horse and\\nhorn,\\nAnd, Hark away, and holla, ho\\nOppressor of creation fair\\nApostate Spirits hardened tool\\nScorner of God! Scourge of the\\nWith wild despair s reverted eye,\\npoor!\\nClose, close behind, he marks the\\nThe measure of thy cup is full.\\nthrong,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0030.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "THE ERL-KING\\nWith bloody fangs and eager\\ncry;\\nIn frantic fear he scours along.\\nStill, still shall last the dreadful\\nchase\\nTill time itself shall have an\\nend;\\nBy day they scour earth s caverned\\nspace,\\nAt midnight s witching hour as-\\ncend. 200\\nThis is the horn and hound and\\nhorse\\nThat 6ft the lated peasant hears\\nAppalled he signs the frequent\\ncross,\\nWhen the wild din invades his\\nears.\\nThe wakeful priest oft drops a tear\\nFor human pride, for human woe,\\nWhen at his midnight mass he\\nhears\\nThe infernal cry of Holla, ho\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nTHE VIOLET\\nThe violet in her greenwood\\nbower,\\nWhere birchen boughs with ha-\\nzels mingle,\\nMay boast itself the fairest flower\\nIn glen or copse or forest dingle.\\nThough fair her gems of azure hue,\\nBeneath the dewdrop s weight\\nreclining,\\nI ve seen an eye of lovelier blue,\\nMore sweet through watery lus-\\ntre shining.\\nThe summer sun that dew shall\\ndry\\nEre yet the day be past its mor-\\nrow,\\nNor longer in my false love s eye\\nRemained the tear of parting\\nsorrow.\\nTO A LADY\\nWITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN\\nWALL\\nTake these flowers which, purple\\nwaving,\\nOn the ruined rampart grew,\\nWhere, the sons of freedom brav-\\ning,\\nRome s imperial standards flew.\\nWarriors from the breach of dan-\\nger\\nPluck no longer laurels there\\nThey but yield the passing stranger\\nWild-flower wreaths for Beauty s\\nhair.\\nTHE ERL-KING\\nFROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE\\nO, who rides by night thro the\\nwoodland so wild\\nIt is the fond father embracing\\nhis child\\nAnd close the boy nestles within\\nhis loved arm,\\nTo hold himself fast and to keep\\nhimself warm.\\n1 father, see yonder see yonder\\nhe says\\nMy boy, upon what dost thou\\nfearfully gaze\\n0, tis the Erl-King with his\\ncrown and his shroud.\\nNo, my son, it is but a dark\\nwreath of the cloud,", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0031.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "10\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\n(The Erl-King speaks)\\n*0, come and go with me, thou\\nloveliest child\\nBy many a gay sport shall thy\\ntime be beguiled\\nMy mother keeps for thee full\\nmany a fair toy,\\nAnd many a fine flower shall she\\npluck for my boy.\\nO father, my father, and did you\\nnot hear\\nThe Erl-King whisper so low in\\nmy ear\\n4 Be still, my heart s darling my\\nchild, be at ease\\nIt was but the wild blast as it\\nsung thro the trees.\\nErl-King\\nO, wilt thou go with me, thou\\nloveliest boy\\nMy daughter shall tend thee with\\ncare and with joy;\\nShe shall bear thee so lightly thro\\nwet and thro wild,\\nAnd press thee and kiss thee and\\nsing to my child.\\nO, father, my father, and saw you\\nnot plain,\\nThe Erl-King s pale daughter glide\\npast through the rain?\\nO yes, my loved treasure, I knew\\nit full soon\\nIt was the gray willow that danced\\nto the moon.\\nErl-King\\nO, come and go with me, no longer\\ndelay,\\nOr else, silly child, I will drag thee\\naway.\\nO father O father now, now\\nkeep your hold,\\nThe Erl-King has seized me his\\ngrasp is so cold\\nSore trembled the father; he\\nspurred thro the wild,\\nClasping close to his bosom his\\nshuddering child\\nHe reaches his dwelling in doubt\\nand in dread,\\nBut, clasped to his bosom, the in-\\nfant was dead\\nWAK SONG OF THE ROYAL\\nEDINBURGH LIGHT DRA-\\nGOONS\\nTo horse to horse the standard\\nflies,\\nThe bugles sound the call\\nThe Gallic navy stems the seas,\\nThe voice of battle s on the breeze,\\nArouse ye, one and all\\nFrom high Dunedin s towers we\\ncome,\\nA band of brothers true\\nOur casques the leopard s spoils\\nsurround,\\nWith Scotland s hardy thistle\\ncrown d\\nWe boast the red and blue.\\nThough tamely crouch to Gallia s\\nfrown\\nDull Holland s tardy train\\nTheir ravished toys though Ro-\\nmans mourn\\nThough gallant Switzers vainly\\nspurn,\\nAnd, foaming, gnaw the chain\\nOh had they marked the avenging\\ncall\\nTheir brethren s murder gave,\\nDisunion ne er their ranks had\\nmown,\\nNor patriot valor, desperate grown\\nSought freedom in the grave\\nShall we, too, bend the stubborn\\nhead,\\nIn Freedom s temple born,\\nDress our pale cheek in timid\\nsmile,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0032.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "SONGS\\nII\\nTo hail a master in our isle,\\nSa sa\\nOr brook a victor s scorn?\\nHa! ha!\\nSa sa\\nNo! though destruction o er the\\nHe seized the cage, the latch did\\nland\\ndraw,\\nCome pouring as a flood,\\nHa ha\\nThe sun, that sees our falling\\nAnd in he thrust his knavish\\nday,\\npaw.\\nShall mark our sabres deadly\\nSa sa\\nsway,\\nHa ha\\nAnd set that night in blood.\\nSa! sa!\\nThe bird dashed out, and gained\\nFor gold let Gallia s legions fight,\\nthe thorn,\\nOr plunder s bloody gain\\nHa ha\\nUnbribed, unbought, our swords\\nAnd laughed the silly fool to scorn\\nwe draw,\\nSa! sa!\\nTo guard our king, to fence our\\nHa ha\\nlaw,\\nSa sa\\nNor shall their edge be vain.\\nIf ever breath of British gale\\nSONGS\\nShall fan the tri-color,\\nOr footstep of invader rude,\\nFROM THE HOUSE OF ASPEN\\nWith rapine foul, and red with\\nblood,\\nI\\nPollute our happy shore,\\nJoy to the victors, the sons of old\\nThen farewell home and farewell\\nAspen\\nfriends\\nJoy to the race of the battle and\\nAdieu each tender tie\\nscar!\\nResolved, we mingle in the tide,\\nGlory s proud garland triumph-\\nWhere charging squadrons furi-\\nantly grasping,\\nous ride,\\nGenerous in peace, and victorious\\nTo conquer or to die.\\nin war.\\nHonor acquiring,\\nTo horse! to horse! the sabres\\nValor inspiring,\\ngleam\\nBursting, resistless, through foe-\\nHigh sounds our bugle call\\nmen they go\\nCombined by honor s sacred tie,\\nWar-axes wielding,\\nOur word is Laws and Liberty\\nBroken ranks yielding,\\nMarch forward, one and all\\nTill from the battle proud Rod-\\neric retiring,\\nSONG\\nYields in wild rout the fair palm to\\nhis foe.\\nFROM GOETZ VON BERLICHIN-\\nGEN\\nJoy to each warrior, true follower\\nof Aspen\\nIt was a little naughty page,\\nJoy to the heroes that gained the\\nHa! ha!\\nbold day\\nWould catch a bird was closed in\\nHealth to our wounded, in agony\\ncage.\\ngasping", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0033.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "12\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nPeace to our brethren that fell\\nin the fray\\nBoldly this morning,\\nRoderic s power scorning,\\nWell for their chieftain their\\nblades did they wield\\nJoy blest them dying,\\nAs Maltingen flying,\\nLow laid his banners, our con-\\nquest adorning,\\nTheir death-clouded eye-balls de-\\nscried on the field\\nNow to our home, the proud man-\\nsion of Aspen,\\nBend we, gay victors, triumphant\\naway.\\nThere each fond damsel, her gal-\\nlant youth clasping,\\nShall wipe from his forehead the\\nstains of the fray.\\nListening the prancing\\nOf horses advancing\\nE en now on the turrets our\\nmaidens appear.\\nLove our hearts warming,\\nSongs the night charming,\\nRound goes the grape in the gob-\\nlet gay dancing\\nLove, wine, and song, our blithe\\nevening shall cheer\\nii\\nSweet shone the sun on the fair\\nlake of Toro,\\nWeak were the whispers that\\nwaved the dark wood,\\nAs a fair maiden, bewildered in\\nsorrow,\\nSighed to the breezes and wept\\nto the flood.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSaints, from the mansion of bliss\\nlowly bending,\\nVirgin, that hear st the poor\\nsuppliant s cry,\\nGrant my petition, in anguish as-\\ncending,\\nMy Frederick restore, or let\\nEleanor die,\\nDistant and faint were the sounds\\nof the battle\\nWith the breezes they rise, with\\nthe breezes they fail,\\nTill the shout, and the groan, and\\nthe conflict s dread rattle,\\nAnd the chase s wild clamor\\ncame loading the gale.\\nBreathless she gazed through the\\nwoodland so dreary,\\nSlowly approaching, a warrior\\nwas seen;\\nLife s ebbing tide marked his foot-\\nsteps so weary,\\nCleft was his helmet, and woe\\nwas his mien.\\nSave thee, fair maid, for our\\narmies are flying\\nSave thee, fair maid, for thy\\nguardian is low\\nCold on yon heath thy bold Fred-\\nerick is lying,\\nFast through the woodland ap-\\nproaches the foe.\\nin\\n[rhein-wein lied]\\nWhat makes the troopers frozen\\ncourage muster?\\nThe grapes of juice divine.\\nUpon the Rhine, upon the Rhine\\nthey cluster\\nOh, blessed be the Rhine\\nLet fringe and furs, and many a\\nrabbit skin, sirs,\\nBedeck your Saracen\\nHe 11 freeze without what warms\\nour heart within, sirs,\\nWhen the night-frost crusts\\nthe fen.\\nBut on the Rhine, but on the Rhine\\nthey cluster,\\nThe grapes of juice divine,\\nThat make our troopers frozen\\ncourage muster\\nOh, blessed be the Rhine", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0034.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "GLENFINLAS\\nT 3\\nGLENFINLAS\\nOR, LORD RONALD S CORONACH\\nFor them the viewless forms of air obey,\\nTheir bidding heed, and at their beck\\nrepair\\nThey know what spirit brews the storm-\\nful day,\\nAnd heartless oft, like moody madness\\nstare,\\nTo see the phantom-train their secret\\nwork prepare.\\nCollins.\\nO hone a rie hone a rie\\nThe pride of Albin s line is o er,\\nAnd fallen Glenartney s stateliest\\ntree;\\nWe ne er shall see Lord Ronald\\nmore\\n0, sprung from great Macgillia-\\nnore,\\nThe chief that never feared a\\nfoe,\\nHow matchless was thy broad\\nclaymore,\\nHow deadly thine unerring bow\\nWell can the Saxon widows tell\\nHow on the Teith s resounding\\nshore 10\\nThe boldest Lowland warriors\\nfell,\\nAs down from Lenny s pass you\\nbore.\\nBut o er his hills in festal day-\\nHow blazed Lord Ronald s\\nbeltane-tree,\\nWhile youths and maids the light\\nstrathspey\\nSo nimbly danced with Highland\\nglee!\\nCheered by the strength of Ronald s\\nshell,\\nE en age forgot his tresses hoar\\nBut now the loud lament we swell,\\nO, ne er to see Lord Ronald\\nmore 20\\nFrom distant isles a chieftain came\\nThe joys of Ronald s halls to\\nfind,\\nAnd chase with him the dark-brown\\ngame\\nThat bounds o er Albin s hills of\\nwind.\\nTwas Moy; whom in Columba s\\nisle\\nThe seer s prophetic spirit found,\\nAs, with a minstrel s fire the while,\\nHe waked his harp s harmonious\\nsound.\\nFull many a spell to him was\\nknown\\nWhich wandering spirits shrink\\nto hear 30\\nAnd many a lay of potent tone\\nWas never meant for mortal ear.\\nFor there, t is said, in mystic mood\\nHigh converse with the dead\\nthey hold,\\nAnd oft espy the fated shroud\\nThat shall the future corpse en-\\nfold.\\n0, so it fell that on a day,\\nTo rouse the red deer from their\\nden,\\nThe chiefs have ta en their distant\\nway,\\nAnd scoured the deep Glenfinlas\\nglen. 40\\nNo vassals wait their sports to aid,\\nTo watch their safety, deck their\\nboard\\nTheir simple dress the Highland\\nplaid,\\nTheir trusty guard the Highland\\nsword.\\nThree summer days through brake\\nand dell\\nTheir whistling shafts success-\\nful flew\\nAnd still when dewy evening fell\\nThe quarry to their hut they\\ndrew.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0035.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "14\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nIn gray Glenfinlas deepest nook\\nThe solitary cabin stood, 50\\nFast by Moneira s sullen brook,\\nWhich murmurs through that\\nlonely wood.\\nSoft fell the night, the sky was\\ncalm,\\nWhen three successive days had\\nflown:\\nAnd summer mist in dewy balm\\nSteeped heathy bank and mossy\\nstone.\\nThe moon, half -hid in silvery\\nflakes,\\nAfar her dubious radiance shed,\\nQuivering on Katrine s distant\\nlakes, 59\\nAnd resting on Benledi s head.\\nNow in their hut in social guise\\nTheir sylvan fare the chiefs en-\\njoy;\\nAnd pleasure laughs in Ronald s\\neyes,\\nAs many a pledge he quaffs to\\nMoy.\\n1 What lack we here to crown our\\nbliss,\\nWhile thus the pulse of joy beats\\nhigh?\\nWhat but fair woman s yielding\\nkiss,\\nHer panting breath and melting\\neye?\\n1 To chase the deer of yonder\\nshades,\\nThis morning left their father s\\npile 70\\nThe fairest of our mountain maids,\\nThe daughters of the proud\\nGlengyle.\\nLong have I sought sweet Mary s\\nheart,\\nAnd dropped the tear and heaved\\nthe sigh\\nBut vain the lover s wily art\\nBeneath a sister s watchful eye.\\n1 But thou mayst teach that guard-\\nian fair,\\nWhile far with Mary I am flown,\\nOf other hearts to cease her care,\\nAnd find it hard to guard her\\nown. 80\\nTouch but thy harp, thou soon\\nshalt see\\nThe lovely Flora of Glengyle,\\nUnmindful of her charge and me,\\nHang on thy notes twixt tear\\nand smile.\\nOr, if she choose a melting tale,\\nAll underneath the greenwood\\nbough,\\nWill good Saint Oran s rule prevail,\\nStern huntsman of the rigid\\nbrow?\\nSince Enrick s fight, since Morna s\\ndeath,\\nNo more on me shall rapture\\nrise, 90\\nResponsive to the panting breath,\\nOr yielding kiss or melting eyes.\\n1 E en then, when o er the heath of\\nwoe\\nWhere sunk my hopes of love\\nand fame,\\nI bade my harp s wild wailings\\nflow,\\nOn me the Seer s sad spirit came.\\nThe last dread curse of angry\\nheaven,\\nWith ghastly sights and sounds\\nof woe\\nTo dash each glimpse of joy was\\ngiven\u00e2\u0080\u0094 99\\nThe gift the future ill to know.\\nThe bark thou saw st, yon sum-\\nmer morn,\\nSo gayly part from Oban s bay,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0036.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "GLENFINLAS\\n*5\\nMy eye beheld her dashed and\\nOr false or sooth thy words of\\ntorn\\nwoe,\\nFar on the rocky Colonsay.\\nClangillian s Chieftain ne er shall\\nfear 130\\n4 Thy Fergus too thy sister s\\nHis blood shall bound at rapture s\\nson,\\nglow,\\nThou saw st with pride the gal-\\nThough doomed to stain the\\nlant s power,\\nSaxon spear.\\nAs marching gainst the Lord of\\nDowne\\nE en now, to meet me in yon dell,\\nHe left the skirts of huge Ben-\\nMy Mary s buskins brush the\\nmore.\\ndew.\\nHe spoke, nor bade the chief fare-\\nThou only saw st their tartans\\nwell,\\nwave\\nBut called his dogs and gay\\nAs down Benvoirlich s side they\\nwithdrew.\\nwound, no\\nHeard st but the pibroch answer-\\nWithin an hour returned each\\ning brave\\nhound,\\nTo many a target clanking round.\\nIn rushed the rousers of the\\ndeer;\\nI heard the groans, I marked the\\nThey howled in melancholy sound,\\ntears,\\nThen closely couched beside the\\nI saw the wound his bosom\\nSeer. 140\\nbore,\\nWhen on the serried Saxon spears\\nNo Ronald yet, though midnight\\nHe poured his clan s resistless\\ncame,\\nroar.\\nAnd sad were Moy s prophetic\\ndreams,\\nAnd thou, who bidst me think of\\nAs, bending o er the dying flame,\\nbliss,\\nHe fed the watch-fire s quiver-\\nAnd bidst my heart awake to\\ning gleams.\\nglee,\\nAnd court like thee the wanton\\nSudden the hounds erect their ears,\\nkiss-\\nAnd sudden cease their moaning\\nThat heart, Ronald, bleeds for\\nhowl,\\nthee! 120\\nClose pressed to Moy, they mark\\ntheir fears\\n*I see the death-damps chill thy\\nBy shivering limbs and stifled\\nbrow;\\ngrowl. 148\\nI hear thy Warning Spirit cry\\nThe corpse-lights dance they re\\nUntouched the harp began to ring\\ngone, and now\\nAs softly, slowly, oped the door\\nNo more is given to gifted eye\\nAnd shook responsive every string\\nAs light a footstep pressed the\\n1 Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams,\\nfloor.\\nSad prophet of the evil hour\\nSay, should we scorn joy s tran-\\nAnd by the watch-fire s glimmering\\nsient beams\\nlight\\nBecause to-morrow s storm may\\nClose by the minstrel s side was\\nlour\\nseen", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0037.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "i6\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nAn huntress maid, in beauty bright,\\n0, aid me then to seek the pair,\\nAll dropping wet her robes of\\nWhom, loitering in the woods, I\\ngreen.\\nlost;\\nAlone I dare not venture there,\\nAll dropping wet her garments\\nWhere walks, they say, the\\nseem;\\nshrieking ghost.\\nChilled was her cheek, her\\nbosom bare,\\nYes,manya shrieking ghost walks\\nAs, bending o er the dying gleam,\\nthere\\nShe wrung the moisture from her\\nThen first, my own sad vow to\\nhair. 160\\nkeep,\\nHere will I pour my midnight\\nWith maiden blush she softly said,\\nprayer,\\n4 gentle huntsman, hast thou\\nWhich still must rise when mor-\\nseen,\\ntals sleep.\\nIn deep Glenfinlas moonlight\\nglade,\\n4 0, first, for pity s gentle sake,\\nA lovely maid in vest of green\\nGuide a lone wanderer on her\\nway 190\\nWith her a chief in Highland\\nFor I must cross the haunted\\npride\\nbrake,\\nHis shoulders bear the hunter s\\nAnd reach my father s towers\\nbow,\\nere day.\\nThe mountain dirk adorns his\\nside,\\nFirst, three times tell each Ave-\\nFar on the wind his tartans\\nbead,\\nflow?\\nAnd thrice a Pater-noster say\\nThen kiss with me the holy rede\\nAnd who art thou? and who are\\nSo shall we safely wend our\\nthey? 169\\nway.\\nAll ghastly gazing, Moy replied\\nAnd why, beneath the moon s\\n1 0, shame to knighthood, strange\\npale ray,\\nand foul\\nDare ye thus roam Glenfinlas\\nGo, doff the bonnet from thy\\nside\\nbrow,\\nAnd shroud thee in the monkish\\nWhere wild Loch Katrine pours\\ncowl, 199\\nher tide,\\nWhich best befits thy sullen vow.\\nBlue, dark, and deep, round\\nmany an isle,\\n1 Not so, by high Dunlathmon s fire,\\nOur father s towers o erhang her\\nThy heart was froze to love and\\nside,\\njoy,\\nThe castle of the bold Glen-\\nWhen gayly rung thy raptured lyre\\ngyle.\\nTo wanton Morna s melting eye.\\n4 To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer\\nWild stared the minstrel s eyes of\\nOur woodland course this morn\\nflame\\nwe bore,\\nAnd high his sable locks arose.\\nAnd haply met while wandering\\nAnd quick his color went and came\\nhere 179\\nAs fear and rage alternate\\nThe son of great Macgillianore.\\nrose.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0038.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "GLENFINLAS\\n4 And thou! when by the blazing\\nHigh o er the minstrel s head they\\noak 209\\nsail\\nI lay, to her and love resigned,\\nAnd die amid the northern skies.\\nSay, rode ye on the eddying smoke,\\nOr sailed ye on the midnight\\nThe voice of thunder shook the\\nwind?\\nwood,\\nAs ceased the more than mortal\\n1 Not thine a race of mortal blood,\\nyell;\\nNor old Glengyle s pretended\\nAnd spattering foul a shower of\\nline;\\nblood 239\\nThy dame, the Lady of the Flood\\nUpon the hissing firebrands fell.\\nThy sire, the Monarch of the\\nMine.\\nNext dropped from high a mangled\\narm;\\nThe fingers strained an half-\\nHe muttered thrice Saint Oran s\\nrhyme,\\ndrawn blade\\nAnd thrice Saint Fillan s power-\\nAnd last, the life-blood streaming\\nful prayer\\nwarm,\\nThen turned him to the eastern\\nTorn from the trunk, a gasping\\nclime,\\nhead.\\nAnd sternly shook his coal-black\\nhair. 220\\nOft o er that head in battling\\nfield\\nAnd, bending o er his harp, he\\nStreamed the proud crest of high\\nflung\\nBenmore\\nHis wildest witch-notes on the\\nThat arm the broad claymore could\\nwind:\\nwield\\nAnd loud and high and strange\\nWhich dyed the Teith with Saxon\\nthey rung,\\ngore.\\nAs many a magic change they\\nfind.\\nWoe to Moneira s sullen rills 249\\nWoe to Glenfinlas dreary glen\\nTall waxed the Spirit s altering\\nThere never son of Albin s hills\\nform,\\nShall draw the hunter s shaft\\nTill to the roof her stature grew\\nagen!\\nThen, mingling with the rising\\nstorm,\\nE en the tired pilgrim s burning\\nWith one wild yell away she flew.\\nfeet\\nAt noon shall shun that shelter-\\nRain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds\\ning den,\\ntear\\nLest, journeying in their rage, he\\nThe slender hut in fragments\\nmeet\\nflew; 230\\nThe wayward Ladies of the Glen.\\nBut not a lock of Moy s loose hair\\nWas waved by wind or wet by\\nAnd we behind the chieftain s\\ndew.\\nshield\\nNo more shall we in safety dwell\\nWild mingling with the how r ling\\nNone leads the people to the\\ngale,\\nfield\\nLoud bursts of ghastly laughter\\nAnd we the loud lament must\\nrise\\nswell. 260", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0039.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "i8\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nO hone a rie O hone a rie\\nThe pride of Albin s line is o er\\nAnd fallen Glenartney s stateliest\\ntree\\nWe ne er shall see Lord Ronald\\nmore\\nTHE EVE OF SAINT JOHN\\nThe Baron of Smaylho me rose\\nwith day,\\nHe spurred his courser on,\\nWithout stop or stay, down the\\nrocky way,\\nThat leads to Brotherstone.\\nHe went not with the hold Buc-\\ncleuch\\nHis banner broad to rear\\nHe went not gainst the English\\nyew\\nTo lift the Scottish spear.\\nYet his plate-jack was braced and\\nhis helmet was laced,\\nAnd his vaunt-brace of proof he\\nwore 10\\nAt his saddle-gerthe was a good\\nsteel sperthe,\\nFull ten pound weight and more.\\nThe baron returned in three days\\nspace,\\nAnd his looks were sad and sour\\nAnd weary was his courser s pace\\nAs he reached his rocky tower.\\nHe came not from where Ancram\\nMoor\\nRan red with English blood\\nWhere the Douglas true and the\\nbold Buccleuch 19\\nGainst keen Lord Evers stood.\\nYet was his helmet hacked and\\nhewed,\\nHis acton pierced and tore,\\nHis axe and his dagger with blood\\nimbrued,\\nBut it was not English gore.\\nHe lighted at the Chapellage,\\nHe held him close and still\\nAnd he whistled thrice for his little\\nfoot-page,\\nHis name was English Will.\\nCome thou hither, my little foot-\\npage,\\nCome hither to my knee 30\\nThough thou art young and tender\\nof age,\\nI think thou art true to me.\\nCome, tell me all that thou hast\\nseen,\\nAnd look thou tell me true\\nSince I from Smaylho me tower\\nhave been,\\nWhat did thy lady do\\nMy lady, each night, sought the\\nlonely light\\nThat burns on the wild W T atch-\\nfold;\\nFor from height to height the bea-\\ncons bright\\nOf the English f oemen told. 40\\nThe bittern clamored from the\\nmoss,\\nThe wind blew loud and shrill\\nYet the craggy pathway she did\\ncross\\nTo the eiry Beacon Hill.\\nI watched her steps, and silent\\ncame\\nWhere she sat her on a stone\\nNo watchman stood by the dreary\\nflame,\\nIt burned all alone.\\nThe second night I kept her in\\nsight\\nTill to the fire she came, 50\\nAnd, by Mary s might an armed\\nknight\\nStood by the lonely flame.\\n4 And many a word that warlike\\nlord\\nDid speak to my lady there", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0040.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN\\n19\\nBut tbe rain fell fast and loud blew\\nthe blast,\\nAnd 1 heard not what they were.\\n4 The third night there the sky was\\nfair,\\nAnd the mountain-blast was still,\\nAs again I watched the secret pair\\nOn the lonesome Beacon Hill. 60\\nAnd I heard her name the mid-\\nnight hour,\\nAnd name this holy eve\\nAnd say, Come this night to thy\\nlady s bower\\nAsk no bold baron s leave.\\n1 He lifts his spear with the bold\\nBuccleuch\\nHis lady is all alone\\nThe door she 11 undo to her knight\\nso true\\nOn the eve of good Saint John.\\n4 I cannot come I must not come\\nI dare not come to thee 70\\nOn the eve of Saint John I must\\nwander alone\\nIn thy bower I may not be.\\nNow, out on thee, fainthearted\\nknight\\nThou shouldst not say me nay\\nFor the eve is sweet, and when\\nlovers meet\\nIs worth the whole summer s\\nday.\\nAnd I 11 chain the blood-hound,\\nand the warder shall not\\nsound,\\nAnd rushes shall be strewed on\\nthe stair\\nSo, by the black rood-stone and by\\nholy Saint John,\\nI conjure thee, my love, to be\\nthere 80\\nThough the blood -hound be\\nmute and the rush beneath\\nmy foot,\\nAnd the warder his bugle should\\nnot blow,\\nYet there sleepeth a priest in the\\nchamber to the east,\\nAnd my footstep he would\\nknow.\\n1 O, fear not the priest who sleep-\\neth to the east,\\nFor to Dryburgh the way he has\\nta en\\nAnd there to say mass, till three\\ndays do pass,\\nFor the soul of a knight that is\\nslayne.\\nHe turned him around and grimly\\nhe frowned\\nThen he laughed right scorn-\\nfully 90\\nHe who says the mass-rite for\\nthe soul of that knight\\nMay as well say mass for me\\n1 At the lone midnight hour when\\nbad spirits have power\\nIn thy chamber will I be.\\nWith that he w r as gone and my\\nlady left alone,\\nAnd no more did I see.\\nThen changed, I trow, was that\\nbold baron s brow\\nFrom the dark to the blood-red\\nhigh;\\nNow, tell me the mien of the\\nknight thou hast seen,\\nFor, by Mary, he shall die 100\\nHis arms shone full bright in the\\nbeacon s red light\\nHis plume it was scarlet and\\nblue\\nOn his shield was a hound in a\\nsilver leash bound,\\nAnd his crest was a branch of\\nthe yew.\\n1 Thou liest, thou liest, thou little\\nfoot-page,\\nLoud dost thou lie to me\\nFor that knight is cold and low\\nlaid in the mould,\\nAll under the Eildon-tree.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0041.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "20\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nYet hear but my word, my noble\\nlord\\nFor I heard her name his\\nname; no\\nAnd that lady bright, she called\\nthe knight\\nSir Richard of Coldinghame.\\nThe bold baron s brow then\\nchanged, I trow,\\nFrom high blood-red to pale\\n4 The grave is deep and dark\\nand the corpse is stiff and\\nstark\\nSo I may not trust thy tale.\\nWhere fair Tweed flows round\\nholy Melrose,\\nAnd Eildon slopes to the plain,\\nFull three nights ago by some se-\\ncret foe\\nThat gay gallant was slain. 120\\nThe varying light deceived thy\\nsight,\\nAnd the wild winds drowned the\\nname;\\nFor the Dryburgh bells ring and\\nthe white monks do sing\\nFor Sir Richard of Colding-\\nhame\\nHe passed the court-gate and he\\noped the tower-gate,\\nAnd he mounted the narrow\\nstair\\nTo the bartizan-seat where, with\\nmaids that on her wait,\\nHe found his lady fair.\\nThat lady sat in mournful mood\\nLooked over hill and vale 130\\nOver Tweed s fair flood and Mer-\\ntoun s wood,\\nAnd all down Teviotdale.\\nNow hail, now hail, thou lady\\nbright\\n4 Now hail, thou baron true\\nWhat news, what news, from An-\\ncram fight\\nWhat news from the bold Buc-\\ncleuch?\\nThe Ancram moor is red with\\ngore,\\nFor many a Southern fell\\nAnd Buccleuch has charged us\\nevermore\\nTo watch our beacons well. 140\\nThe lady blushed red, but nothing\\nshe said\\nNor added the baron a word\\nThen she stepped down the stair\\nto her chamber fair,\\nAnd so did her moody lord.\\nIn sleep the lady mourned, and the\\nbaron tossed and turned,\\nAnd oft to himself he said,\\nThe worms around him creep, and\\nhis bloody grave is deep\\nIt cannot give up the dead\\nIt was near the ringing of matin-\\nbell,\\nThe night was well-nigh done, 150\\nWhen a heavy sleep on that baron\\nfell,\\nOn the eve of good Saint John.\\nThe lady looked through the\\nchamber fair\\nBy the light of a dying flame\\nAnd she was aware of a knight\\nstood there\\nSir Richard of Coldinghame\\nAlas away, away she cried,\\nFor the holy Virgin s sake\\nLady, I know who sleeps by thy\\nside;\\nBut, lady, he will not awake. 160\\nBy Eildon tree for long nights\\nthree\\nIn bloody grave have I lain", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0042.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "THE GRAY BROTHER\\n21\\nThe mass and the death-prayer\\nare said for me,\\nBut, lady, they are said in vain.\\nBy the baron s brand, near\\nTweed s fair strand,\\nMost foully slain I fell\\nAnd my restless sprite on the bea-\\ncon s height\\nFor a space is doomed to dwell.\\n1 At our trysting place, for a cer-\\ntain space,\\nI must wander to and fro 170\\nBut I had not had power to come\\nto thy bower\\nHadst thou not conjured me so.\\nLove mastered fear her brow\\nshe crossed\\n4 How, Richard, hast thou sped\\nAnd art thou saved or art thou\\nlost?\\nThe vision shook his head\\n4 Who spilleth life shall forfeit life\\nSo bid thy lord believe\\nThat lawless love is guilt above,\\nThis awful sign receive.\\n[80\\nHe laid his left palm on an oaken\\nbeam,\\nHis right upon her hand\\nThe lady shrunk and fainting sunk,\\nFor it scorched like a fiery brand.\\nThe sable score of fingers four\\nRemains on that board im-\\npressed\\nAnd f orevermore that lady wore\\nA covering on her wrist.\\nThere is a nun in Dryburgh bower\\nNe er looks upon the sun 190\\nThere is a monk in Melrose tower\\nHe speaketh word to none.\\nThat nun who ne er beholds the\\nday,\\nThat monk who speaks to\\nnone\\nThat nun was Smaylho me s lady\\ngay,\\nThat monk the bold baron.\\nTHE GRAY BROTHER\\nThe Pope he was saying the high,\\nhigh mass\\nAll on Saint Peter s day,\\nWith the power to him given by\\nthe saints in heaven\\nTo wash men s sins away.\\nThe Pope he was saying the\\nblessed mass,\\nAnd the people kneeled around,\\nAnd from each man s soul his sins\\ndid pass,\\nAs he kissed the holy ground.\\nAnd all among the crowded throng\\nWas still, both limb and\\ntongue, 10\\nWhile through vaulted roof and\\naisles aloof\\nThe holy accents rung.\\nAt the holiest word he quivered\\nfor fear,\\nAnd faltered in the sound\\nAnd when he would the chalice\\nrear\\nHe dropped it to the ground.\\n4 The breath of one of evil deed\\nPollutes our sacred day\\nHe has no portion in our creed,\\nNo part in what I say. 20\\n4 A being whom no blessed word\\nTo ghostly peace can bring,\\nA wretch at whose approach ab-\\nhorred\\nRecoils each holy thing.\\n4 Up, up, unhappy haste, arise\\nMy adjuration fear\\nI charge thee not to stop my\\nvoice,\\nNor longer tarry here", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0043.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "22\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nAmid them all a pilgrim kneeled\\nIn gown of sackcloth gray 30\\nFar journeying from his native\\nfield,\\nHe first saw Rome that day.\\nFor forty days and nights so drear\\nI ween he had not spoke,\\nAnd, save with bread and water\\nclear,\\nHis fast he ne er had broke.\\nAmid the penitential flock,\\nSeemed none more bent to pray\\nBut when the Holy Father spoke\\nHe rose and went his way. 40\\nAgain unto his native land\\nHis weary course he drew,\\nTo Lothian s fair and fertile\\nstrand,\\nAnd Pentland s mountains blue.\\nHis unblest feet his native seat\\nMid Eske s fair woods regain\\nThrough woods more fair no\\nstream more sweet\\nRolls to the eastern main.\\nAnd lords to meet the pilgrim\\ncame,\\nAnd vassals bent the knee 50\\nFor all mid Scotland s chiefs of\\nfame\\nWas none more famed than he.\\nAnd boldly for his country still\\nIn battle he had stood,\\nAy, even when on the banks of Till\\nHer noblest poured their blood.\\nSweet are the paths, O passing\\nsweet\\nBy Eske s fair streams that run,\\nO er airy steep through copsewood\\ndeep,\\nImpervious to the sun. 60\\nThere the rapt poet s step may\\nrove,\\nAnd yield the muse the day\\nThere Beauty, led by timid Love,\\nMay shun the telltale ray\\nFrom that fair dome where suit is\\npaid\\nBy blast of bugle free,\\nTo Auchendinny s hazel glade\\nAnd haunted Woodhouselee.\\nWho knows not Melville s beechy\\ngrove\\nAnd Roslin s rocky glen, 70\\nDalkeith, which all the virtues\\nlove,\\nAnd classic Hawthornden\\nYet never a path from day to day\\nThe pilgrim s footsteps range,\\nSave but the solitary way\\nTo Burndale s ruined grange.\\nA woful place was that, I ween,\\nAs sorrow could desire\\nFor nodding to the fall was each\\ncrumbling wall,\\nAnd the roof was scathed with\\nfire. 80\\nIt fell upon a summer s eve,\\nWhile on Carnethy s headi\\nThe last faint gleams of the sun s\\nlow beams\\nHad streaked the gray with red,\\nAnd the convent bell did vespers\\ntell\\nNewbattle s oaks among,\\nAnd mingled with the solemn knell\\nOur Ladye s evening song;\\nThe heavy knell, the choir s faint\\nswell,\\nCame slowly down the wind, 90\\nAnd on the pilgrim s ear they fell,\\nAs his wonted path he did find.\\nDeep sunk in thought, I ween, he\\nwas,\\nNor ever raised his eye,\\nUntil he came to that dreary place\\nWhich did all in ruins lie.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0044.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "THE FIRE-KING\\n23\\nHe gazed on the walls, so scathed\\nwith fire,\\nWith many a bitter groan\\nAnd there was aware of a Gray\\nFriar\\nResting him on a stone. 100\\n1 Now, Christ thee save said the\\nGray Brother\\nSome pilgrim thou seemest to\\nbe.\\nBut in sore amaze did Lord Al-\\nbert gaze,\\nNor answer again made he.\\n0, come ye from east or come ye\\nfrom west,\\nOr bring reliques from over the\\nsea;\\nOr come ye from the shrine of\\nSaint James the divine,\\nOr Saint John of Beverley\\nI come not from the shrine of\\nSaint James the divine,\\nNor bring reliques from over\\nthe sea: no\\nI bring but a curse from our father,\\nthe Pope,\\nWhich forever will cling to me.\\n1 Now, wof ul pilgrim, say not so\\nBut kneel thee down to me,\\nAnd shrive thee so clean of thy\\ndeadly sin\\nThat absolved thou mayst be.\\nAnd who art thou, thou Gray\\nBrother,\\nThat I should shrive to thee,\\nWhen He to whom are given the\\nkeys of earth and heaven\\nHas no power to pardon me? 120\\n1 0, 1 am sent from a distant clime.\\nFive thousand miles away,\\nAnd all to absolve a foul, foul\\ncrime,\\nDone here twixt night and day.\\nThe pilgrim kneeled him on the\\nsand,\\nAnd thus began his saye\\nWhen on his neck an ice-cold\\nhand\\nDid that Gray Brother laye.\\nTHE FIRE-KING\\nThe blessings of the evil Genii, which\\nare curses, were upon him. Eastern\\nTale.\\nBold knights and fair dames, to\\nmy harp give an ear,\\nOf love and of war and of wonder\\nto hear\\nAnd you haply may sigh in the\\nmidst of your glee\\nAt the tale of Count Albert and\\nfair Rosalie.\\n0, see you that castle, so strong\\nand so high?\\nAnd see you that lady, the tear in\\nher eye\\nAnd see you that palmer from Pal-\\nestine s land,\\nThe shell on his hat and the staff\\nin his hand?\\nNow, palmer, gray palmer, O, tell\\nunto me,\\nWhat news bring you home from\\nthe Holy Countrie 10\\nAnd how goes the warfare by Gal-\\nilee s strand?\\nAnd how fare our nobles, the\\nflower of the land\\n0, well goes the warfare by Gali-\\nlee s wave.\\nFor Gilead and Nablous and Ra-\\nman we have\\nAnd well fare our nobles by Mount\\nLebanon,\\nFor the heathen have lost and the\\nChristians have won.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0045.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "24\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nA fair chain of gold mid her ring-\\nlets there hung\\nO er the palmer s gray locks the\\nfair chain has she flung\\n1 palmer, gray palmer, this chain\\nbe thy fee\\nFor the news thou hast brought\\nfrom the Holy Countrie. 20\\nAnd, palmer, good palmer, by Gal-\\nilee s wave,\\nO, saw ye Count Albert, the gentle\\nand brave\\nWhen the Crescent went back and\\nthe Red-cross rushed on,\\n0, saw ye him foremost on Mount\\nLebanon\\nlady, fair lady, the tree green it\\ngrows\\nlady, fair lady, the stream pure\\nit flows\\nYour castle stands strong and\\nyour hopes soar on high\\nBut, lady, fair lady, all blossoms\\nto die.\\nThe green boughs they wither,\\nthe thunderbolt falls,\\nIt leaves of your castle but levin-\\nscorched walls 30\\nThe pure stream runs muddy the\\ngay hope is gone\\nCount Albert is prisoner on Mount\\nLebanon.\\n0, she s ta en a horse should be\\nfleet at her speed\\nAnd she s ta en a sword should be\\nsharp at her need\\nAnd she has ta en shipping for\\nPalestine s land,\\nTo ransom Count Albert from\\nSoldanrie s hand.\\nSmall thought had Count Albert\\non fair Rosalie,\\nSmall thought on his faith or his\\nknighthood had he\\nA heathenish damsel his light\\nheart had won,\\nThe Soldan s fair daughter of\\nMount Lebanon. 4 o\\nChristian, brave Christian, my\\nlove wouldst thou be,\\nThree things must thou do ere I\\nhearken to thee\\nOur laws and our worship on thee\\nshalt thou take\\nAnd this thou shalt first do for\\nZulema s sake.\\nAnd next, in the cavern where\\nburns evermore\\nThe mystical flame which the Curd-\\nmans adore,\\nAlone and in silence three nights\\nshalt thou wake\\nAnd this thou shalt next do for\\nZulema s sake.\\nAnd last, thou shalt aid us with\\ncounsel and hand,\\nTo drive the Frank robber from\\nPalestine s land 50\\nFor my lord and my love then\\nCount Albert I 11 take,\\nWhen all this is accomplished for\\nZulema s sake.\\nHe has thrown by his helmet and\\ncross-handled sword,\\nRenouncing his knighthood, deny.\\ning his Lord\\nHe has ta en the green caftan, and\\nturban put on,\\nFor the love of the maiden of fair\\nLebanon.\\nAnd in the dread cavern, deep deep\\nunder ground,\\nWhich fifty steel gates and steel\\nportals surround,\\nHe has watched until daybreak,\\nbut sight saw he none,\\nSave the flame burning bright 011\\nits altar of stone. 60", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0046.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "THE FIRE-KIXG\\n25\\nAmazed was the Princess, the\\nSoldan amazed,\\nSore murmured the priests as on\\nAlbert they gazed\\nThey searched all his garments,\\nand under his weeds\\nThey found and took from him his\\nrosary beads.\\nAgain in the cavern, deep deep\\nunder ground,\\nHe watched the lone night, while\\nthe winds whistled round\\nFar off was their murmur, it came\\nnot more nigh,\\nThe flame burned unmoved and\\nnaught else did he spy.\\nLoud murmured the priests and\\namazed was the king,\\nWhile many dark spells of their\\nwitchcraft they sing 70\\nThey searched Albert s body, and,\\nlo on his breast\\nWas the sign of the Cross by his\\nfather impressed.\\nThe priests they erase it with care\\nand with pain,\\nAnd the recreant returned to the\\ncavern again\\nBut as he descended a whisper\\nthere fell\\nIt was his good angel, who bade\\nhim farewell\\nHigh bristled his hair, his heart\\nfluttered and beat,\\nAnd he turned him five steps, half\\nresolved to retreat\\nBut his heart it was hardened, his\\npurpose was gone,\\nWhen he thought of the maiden of\\nfair Lebanon. 80\\nScarce passed he the archway, the\\nthreshold scarce trode,\\nWhen the winds from the four\\npoints of heaven were abroad,\\nThey made each steel portal to\\nrattle and ring,\\nAnd borne on the blast came the\\ndread Fire-King.\\nFull sore rocked the cavern when-\\ne er he drew nigh,\\nThe fire on the altar blazed bicker-\\ning and high\\nIn volcanic explosions the moun-\\ntains proclaim\\nThe dreadful approach of the\\nMonarch of Flame.\\nUnmeasured in height, undistin-\\nguished in form,\\nHis breath it was lightning, his\\nvoice it was storm 90\\nI ween the stout heart of Count\\nAlbert was tame,\\nWhen he saw in his terrors the\\nMonarch of Flame.\\nIn his hand a broad falchion blue-\\nglimmered through smoke,\\nAnd Mount Lebanon shook as the\\nmonarch he spoke\\n1 With this brand shalt thou con-\\nquer, thus long and no more,\\nTill thou bend to the Cross and the\\nVirgin adore.\\nThe cloud-shrouded arm gives the\\nweapon and see\\nThe recreant receives the charmed\\ngift on his knee\\nThe thunders growl distant and\\nfaint gleam the fires,\\nAs, borne on the whirlwind, the\\nphantom retires. 100\\nCount Albert has armed him the\\nPaynim among,\\nThough his heart it was false, yet\\nhis arm it was strong\\nAnd the Red-cross waxed faint and\\nthe Crescent came on,\\nFrom the day he commanded on\\nMount Lebanon.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0047.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "26\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nFrom Lebanon s forests to Galilee s\\nwave,\\nThe sands of Samaar drank the\\nblood of the brave\\nTill the Knights of the Temple and\\nKnights of Saint John,\\nWith Salem s King Baldwin,\\nagainst him came on.\\nThe war-cymbals clattered, the\\ntrumpets replied,\\nThe lances were couched, and they\\nclosed on each side 1 10\\nAnd horseman and horses Count\\nAlbert o erthrew,\\nTill he pierced the thick tumult\\nKing Baldwin unto.\\nAgainst the charmed blade which\\nCount Albert did wield,\\nThe fence had been vain of the\\nking s Ked-cross shield\\nBut a page thrust him forward the\\nmonarch before,\\nAnd cleft the proud turban the\\nrenegade wore.\\nSo fell was the dint that Count\\nAlbert stooped low\\nBefore the crossed shield to his\\nsteel saddlebow\\nAnd scarce had he bent to the\\nKed-cross his head,\\n1 Bonne Grace, Notre Dame he\\nunwittingly said. 120\\nSore sighed the charmed sword,\\nfor its virtue was o er,\\nIt sprung from his grasp and was\\nnever seen more\\nBut true men have said that the\\nlightning s red wing\\nDid waft back the brand to the\\ndread Fire-King.\\nHe clenched his set teeth and his\\ngauntleted hand\\nHe stretched with one buffet that\\npage on the strand\\nAs back from the stripliug the\\nbroken casque rolled,\\nYou might see the blue eyes and\\nthe ringlets of gold.\\nShort time had Count Albert in\\nhorror to stare\\nOn those death-swimming eyeballs\\nand blood-clotted hair 130\\nFor down came the Templars, like\\nCedron in flood,\\nAnd dyed their long lances in\\nSaracen blood.\\nThe Saracens, Curdmans, and\\nIshmaelites yield\\nTo the scallop, the saltier, and\\ncrossleted shield\\nAnd the eagles were gorged with\\nthe infidel dead\\nFrom Bethsaida s fountains to\\nNaphthali s head.\\nThe battle is over on Bethsaida s\\nplain.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n0,who is yon Paynim lies stretched\\nmid the slain?\\nAnd who is yon page lying cold at\\nhis knee?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n0, who but Count Albert and fair\\nRosalie? 140\\nThe lady was buried in Salem s\\nblest bound,\\nThe count he was left to the vul-\\nture and hound\\nHer soul to high mercy Our Lady\\ndid bring\\nHis went on the blast to the dread\\nFire-King.\\nYet many a minstrel in harping\\ncan tell\\nHow the Red-cross it conquered,\\nthe Crescent it fell\\nAnd lords and gay ladies have\\nsighed mid their glee\\nAt the tale of Count Albert and\\nfair Rosalie.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0048.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "THE SHEPHERD S TALE\\n27\\nBOTHWELL CASTLE\\nWhen fruitful Clydesdale s apple-\\nbowers\\nAre mellowing in the noon\\nWhen sighs round Pembroke s\\nruined towers\\nThe sultry breath of June\\nWhen Clyde, despite his sheltering\\nwood,\\nMust leave his channel dry,\\nAnd vainly o er the limpid flood\\nThe angler guides his fly;\\nIf chance by Bothwell s lovely\\nbraes\\nA wanderer thou hast been,\\nOr hid thee from the summer s\\nblaze\\nIn Blantyre s bowers of green,\\nFull where the copsewood opens\\nwild\\nThy pilgrim step hath staid,\\nWhere Bothwell s towers in ruin\\npiled\\nO erlook the verdant glade\\nAnd many a tale of love and fear\\nHath mingled with the scene\\nOf Bothwell s banks that bloomed\\nso dear\\nAnd Bothwell s bonny Jean.\\nO, if with rugged minstrel lays\\nUnsated be thy ear,\\nAnd thou of deeds of other days\\nAnother tale wilt hear,\\nThen all beneath the spreading\\nbeech,\\nFlung careless on the lea,\\nThe Gothic muse the tale shall\\nteach\\nOf Bothwell s sisters three.\\nWight Wallace stood on Deck-\\nmont head,\\nHe blew his bugle round,\\nTill the wild bull in Cadyow wood\\nHas started at the sound.\\nSaint George s cross, o er Bothwell\\nhung,\\nWas waving far and wide,\\nAnd from the lofty turret flung\\nIts crimson blaze on Clyde\\nAnd rising at the bugle blast\\nThat marked the Scottish foe,\\nOld England s yeomen mustered\\nfast,\\nAnd bent the Norman bow.\\nTall in the midst Sir Aylmer rose,\\nProud Pembroke s Earl was\\nhe-\\nWhile\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTHE SHEPHERD S TALE\\nAnd ne er but once, my son, he\\nsays,\\nWas yon sad cavern trod,\\nIn persecution s iron days\\nWhen the land was left by God.\\nFrom Bewlie bog with slaughter\\nred\\nA wanderer hither drew,\\nAnd oft he stopt and turned his\\nhead,\\nAs by fits the night wind blew\\nFor trampling round by Cheviot\\nedge\\nWere heard the troopers keen, 10\\nAnd frequent from the Whitelaw\\nridge\\nThe death-shot flashed between.\\nThe moonbeams through the\\nmisty shower\\nOn yon dark cavern fell\\nThrough the cloudy night the\\nsnow gleamed white,\\nWhich sunbeam ne er could\\nquell.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0049.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "28\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nYon cavern dark is rough and\\nrude,\\nAnd cold its jaws of snow\\nBut more rough and rude are the\\nmen of blood\\nThat hunt my life below 20\\n1 Yon spell-bound den, as the aged\\ntell,\\nWas hewn by demon s hands\\nBut I had lourd melle with the\\nfiends of hell\\nThan with Clavers and his band.\\nHe heard the deep-mouthed blood-\\nhound bark,\\nHe heard the horses neigh,\\nHe plunged him in the cavern dark,\\nAnd downward sped his way.\\nNow faintly down the winding path\\nCame the cry of the faulting\\nhound, 30\\nAnd the muttered oath of balked\\nwrath\\nWas lost in hollow sound.\\nHe threw him on the flinted floor,\\nAnd held his breath for fear\\nHe rose and bitter cursed his foes,\\nAs the sounds died on his ear.\\nO, bare thine arm, thou battling\\nLord,\\nFor Scotland s wandering band\\nDash from the oppressor s grasp\\nthe sword,\\nAnd sweep him from the land 40\\n\\\\Forget not thou thy people s\\ngroans\\nFrom dark Dunnotter s tow T er,\\nMixed with the sea-fowl s shrilly\\nmoans\\nAnd ocean s bursting roar\\n4 0, in fell Clavers hour of pride,\\nEven in his mightiest day,\\nAs bold he strides through con-\\nquest s tide,\\nO, stretch him on the clay\\n1 His widow and his little ones,\\nO, may their tower of trust 50\\nRemove its strong foundation\\nstones,\\nAnd crush them in the dust\\nSweet prayers to me, a voice re-\\nplied,\\n1 Thrice welcome, guest of mine\\nAnd glimmering on the cavern side\\nA light was seen to shine.\\nAn aged man in amice brown\\nStood by the wanderer s side,\\nBy powerful charm a dead man s\\narm\\nThe torch s light supplied. 60\\nFrom each stiff finger stretched\\nupright\\nArose a ghastly flame,\\nThat w T aved not in the blast of\\nnight\\nWhich through the cavern came.\\n0, deadly blue was that taper s\\nhue\\nThat flamed the cavern o er,\\nBut more deadly blue was the\\nghastly hue\\nOf his eyes who the taper bore.\\nHe laid on his head a hand like\\nlead,\\nAs heavy, pale, and cold\u00e2\u0080\u0094 70\\n1 Yengeance be thine, thou guest\\nof mine,\\nIf thy heart be firm and bold.\\nBut if faint thy heart, and caitiff\\nfear\\nThy recreant sinews know,\\nThe mountain erne thy heart shall\\ntear,\\nThy nerves the hooded crow.\\nThe wanderer raised him undis-\\nmayed\\n4 My soul, by dangers steeled,\\nIs stubborn as my Border blade,\\nWhich never knew to yield. 80", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0050.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "THE SHEPHERD S TALE\\n29\\n4 And if thy power can speed the\\nAnd after short while by female\\nhour\\nguile\\nOf vengeance on my foes,\\nSir Michael Scott was slain.\\nTheirs be the fate from bridge and\\ngate\\nBut me and my brethren in this\\nTo feed the hooded crows.\\ncell\\nHis mighty charms retain,\\nThe Brownie looked him in the\\nAnd he that can quell the power-\\nface,\\nful spell\\nAnd his color fled with speed\\nShall o er broad Scotland reign.\\n1 1 fear me, quoth he, uneath it\\nwill be\\nHe led him through an iron door\\nTo match thy word and deed.\\nAnd up a winding stair,\\nAnd in wild amaze did the wan-\\nIn ancient days when English\\nderer gaze\\nbands\\nOn the sight which opened\\nSore ravaged Scotland fair, 90\\nthere. 120\\nThe sword and shield of Scottish\\nland\\nThrough the gloomy night flashed\\nWas valiant Halbert Kerr.\\nruddy light,\\nA thousand torches glow\\nA warlock loved the warrior\\nThe cave rose high, like the\\nwell,\\nvaulted sky,\\nSir Michael Scott by name,\\nO er stalls in double row.\\nAnd he sought for his sake a spell\\nto make,\\nIn every stall of that endless hall\\nShould the Southern foemen\\nStood a steed in barding bright;\\ntame.\\nAt the foot of each steed, all armed\\nsave the head,\\n4 Look thou, he said, from Cess-\\nLay stretched a stalwart knight.\\nford head\\nAs the July sun sinks low,\\nIn each mailed hand was a naked\\nAnd when glimmering white on\\nbrand\\nCheviot s height\\nAs they lay on the black bull s\\nThou shalt spy a wreath of\\nhide, 130\\nsnow, 100\\nEach visage stern did upwards turn\\nThe spell is complete which shall\\nWith eyeballs fixed and wide.\\nbring to thy feet\\nThe haughty Saxon foe.\\nA launcegay strong, full twelve\\nells long,\\n1 For many a year wrought the\\nBy every warrior hung\\nwizard here\\nAt each pommel there for battle\\nIn Cheviot s bosom low,\\nyare\\nTill the spell was complete and in\\nA Jedwood axe was slung.\\nJuly s heat\\nAppeared December s snow\\nThe casque hung near each cava-\\nBut Cessford s Halbert never came\\nlier\\nThe wondrous cause to know.\\nThe plumes waved mournfully\\nAt every tread which the wanderer\\n1 For years before in Bowden aisle\\nmade\\nThe warrior s bones had lain, 1 10\\nThrough the hall of gramarye. 140", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0051.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "EARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nThe ruddy beam of the torches\\ngleam,\\nThat glared the warriors on,\\nReflected light from armor bright,\\nIn noontide splendor shone.\\nAnd onward seen in lustre sheen,\\nStill lengthening on the sight,\\nThrough the boundless hall stood\\nsteeds in stall,\\nAnd by each lay a sable knight.\\nStill as the dead lay each horse-\\nman dread,\\nAnd moved nor limb nor\\ntongue; 150\\nEach steed stood stiff as an earth-\\nfast cliff,\\nNor hoof nor bridle rung.\\nNo sounds through all the spacious\\nhall\\nThe deadly still divide,\\nSave where echoes aloof from the\\nvaulted roof\\nTo the wanderer s step replied.\\nAt length before his wondering\\neyes,\\nOn an iron column borne,\\nOf antique shape and giant size\\nAppeared a sword and horn. 160\\n1 Now choose thee here, quoth his\\nleader,\\nThy venturous fortune try\\nThy woe and weal, thy boot and\\nbale,\\nIn yon brand and bugle lie.\\nTo the fatal brand he mounted his\\nhand,\\nBut his soul did quiver and\\nquail\\nThe life-blood did start to his\\nshuddering heart,\\nAnd left him wan and pale.\\nThe brand he forsook, and the\\nhorn he took\\nTo say a gentle sound; 170\\nBut so wild a blast from the bugle\\nbrast\\nThat the Cheviot rocked around.\\nFrom Forth to Tees, from seas to\\nseas,\\nThe awful bugle rung\\nOn Carlisle wall and Berwick\\nwithal\\nTo arms the warders sprung.\\nWith clank and clang the cavern\\nrang,\\nThe steeds did stamp and neigh\\nAnd loud was the yell as each\\nwarrior fell\\nSterte up with hoop and cry. 180\\nWoe, woe, they cried, thou cai-\\ntiff coward,\\nThat ever thou wert born\\nWhy drew ye not the knightly\\nsword\\nBefore ye blew the horn\\nThe morning on the mountain\\nshone\\nAnd on the bloody ground,\\nHurled from the cave with shiv-\\nered bone,\\nThe mangled wretch was found.\\nAnd still beneath the cavern dread\\nAmong the glidders gray, 190\\nA shapeless stone with lichens\\nspread\\nMarks where the wanderer lay.\\nGo sit old Cheviot s crest below,\\nAnd pensive mark the lingering\\nsnow\\nIn all his scaurs abide,\\nAnd slow dissolving from the hill\\nIn many a sightless, soundless\\nrill,\\nFeed sparkling Bowmont s tide.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0052.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "FREDERICK AND ALICE\\n3*\\nFair shines the stream by bank\\nand lea,\\nAs wimpling to the eastern sea\\nShe seeks TilFs sullen bed,\\nIndenting deep the fatal plain\\nWhere Scotland s noblest, brave\\nin vain,\\nAround their monarch bled.\\nAnd westward hills on hills you\\nsee,\\nEven as old Ocean s mightiest sea\\nHeaves high her waves of foam,\\nDark and snow-ridged from Cuts-\\nfeld s wold\\nTo the proud foot of Cheviot\\nrolled,\\nEarth s mountain billows come.\\nFREDERICK AND ALICE\\nFrederick leaves the land of\\nFrance,\\nHomeward hastes his steps to\\nmeasure,\\nCareless casts the parting glance\\nOn the scene of former pleasure.\\nJoying in his prancing steed,\\nKeen to prove his untried blade,\\nHope s gay dreams the soldier lead\\nOver mountain, moor, and glade.\\nHelpless, ruined, left forlorn,\\nLovely Alice wept alone, 10\\nMourned o er love s fond contract\\ntorn,\\nHope and peace and honor\\nflown.\\nMark her breast s convulsive\\nthrobs\\nSee, the tear of anguish flows\\nMingling soon with bursting sobs,\\nLoud the laugh of frenzy rose.\\nWild she cursed and wild she\\nprayed\\nSeven long days and nights are\\no er;\\nDeath in pity brought his aid, 19\\nAs the village bell struck four.\\nFar from her and far from France,\\nFaithless Frederick onward\\nrides\\nMarking blithe the morning s\\nglance\\nMantling o er the mountains\\nsides.\\nHeard ye not the boding sound,\\nAs the tongue of yonder tower\\nSlowly to the hills around\\nTold the fourth, the fated hour\\nStarts the steed and snuffs the\\nair,\\nYet no cause of dread appears\\nBristles high the rider s hair, 3 r\\nStruck with strange mysterious\\nfears.\\nDesperate, as his terrors rise,\\nIn the steed the spur he hides\\nFrom himself in vain he flies\\nAnxious, restless, on he rides.\\nSeven long days and seven long\\nnights,\\nWild he wandered, woe the\\nwhile\\nCeaseless care and causeless fright\\nUrge his footsteps many a mile.\\nDark the seventh sad night de-\\nscends; 41\\nRivers swell and rain -streams\\npour,\\nWhile the deafening thunder lends\\nAll the terrors of its roar.\\nWeary, wet, and spent with toil,\\nWhere his head shall Frederick\\nhide?\\nWhere but in yon ruined aisle,\\nBy the lightning s flash descried.\\nTo the portal, dank and low,\\nFast his steed the wanderer\\nbound j 50", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0053.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "32\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nDown a ruined staircase slow\\nNext his darkling way he wound.\\nLong drear vaults before him\\nlie!\\nGlimmering lights are seen to\\nglide\\nBlessed Mary, hear my cry\\nDeign a sinner s steps to guide\\nOften lost their quivering beam,\\nStill the lights move slow be-\\nfore,\\nTill they rest their ghastly gleam\\nRight against an iron door. 60\\nThundering voices from within,\\nMixed with peals of laughter,\\nrose;\\nAs they fell, a solemn strain\\nLent its wild and wondrous\\nclose\\nMidst the din he seemed to hear\\nVoice of friends by death re-\\nmoved;\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWell he knew that solemn air,\\nT was the lay that Alice\\nloved.\\nHark for now a solemn knell\\nFour times on the still night\\nbroke 70\\nFour times at its deadened swell\\nEchoes from the ruins spoke.\\nAs the lengthened clangors die,\\nSlowly opes the iron door\\nStraight a banquet met his eye,\\nBut a funeral s form it wore\\nCoffins for the seats extend\\nAll with black the board was\\nspread\\nGirt by parent, brother, friend,\\nLong since numbered with the\\ndead 80\\nAlice, in her grave-clothes bound,\\nGhastly smiling, points a seat\\nAll arose with thundering sound\\nAll the expected stranger greet.\\nHigh their meagre arms they\\nwave,\\nWild their notes of welcome\\nswell;\\nWelcome, traitor, to the grave\\nPerjured, bid the light fare-\\nwell\\nCADYOW CASTLE\\nADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT\\nHONORABLE LADY ANNE HAM-\\nILTON\\nWhen princely Hamilton s abode\\nEnnobled Cadyow s Gothic tow-\\ners,\\nThe song went round, the goblet\\nflowed,\\nAnd revel sped the laughing\\nhours.\\nThen, thrilling to the harp s gay\\nsound,\\nSo sweetly rung each vaulted\\nwall,\\nAnd echoed light the dancer s\\nbound,\\nAs mirth and music cheered the\\nhall.\\nBut Cadyow s towers in ruins laid,\\nAnd vaults by ivy mantled o er,\\nThrill to the music of the shade, 1 1\\nOr echo Evan s hoarser roar.\\nYet still of Cadyow s faded fame\\nYou bid me tell a minstrel tale,\\nAnd tune my harp of Border frame\\nOn the wild banks of Evandale.\\nFor thou, from scenes of courtly\\npride,\\nFrom pleasure s lighter scenes,\\ncanst turn,\\nTo draw oblivion s pall aside 19\\nAnd mark the long-forgotten urn.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0054.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "CADYOW CASTLE\\n33\\nThen, noble maid at thy command\\nAgain the crimibled halls shall\\nrise;\\nLo as on Evan s banks we stand,\\nThe past returns the present\\nflies.\\nWhere with the rock s wood-cov-\\nered side\\nWere blended late the ruins\\ngreen,\\nRise turrets in fantastic pride\\nAnd feudal banners flaunt be-\\ntween\\nWhere the rude torrent s brawling\\ncourse\\nWas shagged with thorn and\\ntangling sloe, 30\\nThe ashler buttress braves its\\nforce\\nAnd ramparts frown in battled\\nrow.\\nT is night the shade of keep and\\nspire\\nObscurely dance on Evan s\\nstream\\nAnd on the wave the warder s fire\\nIs checkering the moonlight\\nbeam.\\nFades slow their light; the east is\\ngray;\\nThe weary warder leaves his\\ntower\\nSteeds snort, uncoupled stag-\\nhounds bay,\\nAnd merry hunters quit the\\nbower. 40\\nThe drawbridge falls they hurry\\nout\\nClatters each plank and swinging\\nchain,\\nAs, dashing o er, the jovial rout\\nUrge the shy steed and slack the\\nrein.\\nFirst of his troop, the chief rode on\\nHis shouting merry-men throng\\nbehind\\nThe steed of princely Hamilton\\nWas fleeter than the mountain\\nwind.\\nFrom the thick copse the roebucks\\nbound,\\nThe startled red-deer scuds the\\nplain, 50\\nFor the hoarse bugle s warrior-\\nsound\\nHas roused their mountain\\nhaunts again.\\nThrough the huge oaks of Evan-\\ndale,\\nWhose limbs a thousand years\\nhave worn,\\nWhat sullen roar comes down the\\ngale\\nAnd drowns the hunter s pealing\\nhorn\\nMightiest of all the beasts of chase\\nThat roam in woody Caledon,\\nCrashing the forest in his race,\\nThe Mountain Bull comes thun-\\ndering on. 60\\nFierce on the hunter s quivered\\nband\\nHe rolls his eyes of swarthy\\nglow,\\nSpurns with black hoof and horn\\nthe sand,\\nAnd tosses high his mane of\\nsnow.\\nAimed well the chieftain s lance\\nhas flown\\nStruggling in blood the savage\\nlies;\\nHis roar is sunk in hollow groan\\nSound, merry huntsmen! sound\\nthe pryse I\\nTis noon against the knotted\\noak 69\\nThe hunters rest the idle spear\\nCurls through the trees the slender\\nsmoke,\\nWhere yeomen dight the wood-\\nland cheer.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0055.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "34\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nProudly the chieftain marked his\\nclan,\\nOn greenwood lap all careless\\nthrown,\\nYet missed his eye the boldest man\\nThat bore the name of Hamilton.\\n1 Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his\\nplace,\\nStill wont our weal and woe to\\nshare\\nWhy comes he not our sport to\\ngrace\\nWhy shares he not our hunter s\\nfare? 80\\nStern Claud replied with darkening\\nface\\nGray Paisley s haughty lord was\\nhe\\nAt merry feast or buxom chase\\nNo more the warrior wilt thou see.\\nFew suns have set since Wood-\\nhouselee\\nSaw Bothwellhaugh s bright gob-\\nlets foam,\\nWhen to his hearths in social glee\\nThe war-worn soldier turned him\\nhome.\\nThere, wan from her maternal\\nthroes,\\nHis Margaret, beautiful and\\nmild, 90\\nSate in her bower, a pallid rose,\\nAnd peaceful nursed her new-\\nborn child.\\nchange accursed past are those\\ndays;\\nFalse Murray s ruthless spoilers\\ncame,\\nAnd, for the hearth s domestic\\nblaze,\\nAscends destruction s volumed\\nflame.\\n4 What sheeted phantom wanders\\nwild\\nWhere mountain Eske through\\nwoodland flows,\\nHer arms enfold a shadowy child\\nO is it she, the pallid rose? 100\\nThe wildered traveller sees her\\nglide,\\nAnd hears her feeble voice with\\nawe\\nRevenge, she cries, on Murray s\\npride\\nAnd woe for injured Bothwell-\\nhaugh\\nHe ceased and cries of rage and\\ngrief\\nBurst mingling from the kindred\\nband,\\nAnd half arose the kindling chief,\\nAnd half unsheathed his Arran\\nbrand.\\nBut who o er bush, o er stream and\\nrock,\\nRides headlong with resistless\\nspeed, no\\nWhose bloody poniard s frantic\\nstroke\\nDrives to the leap his jaded\\nsteed\\nWhose cheek is pale, whose eye-\\nballs glare,\\nAs one some visioned sight that\\nsaw,\\nWhose hands are bloody, loose his\\nhair\\nTishe! tis he! t is Bothwell-\\nhaugh.\\nFrom gory selle and reeling steed\\nSprung the fierce horseman with\\na bound,\\nAnd, reeking from the recent deed,\\nHe dashed his carbine on the\\nground. 120\\nSternly he spoke\u00e2\u0080\u0094 4, T is sweet to\\nhear\\nIn good greenwood the bugle\\nblown,\\nBut sweeter to Revenge s ear\\nTo drink a tyrant s dying groan.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0056.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "CADYOW CASTLE\\n35\\n1 Your slaughtered quarry proudly\\ntrode\\nAt dawning morn o er dale and\\ndown,\\nBut prouder base-born Murray\\nrode\\nThrough old Linlithgow s crowd-\\ned town.\\nFrom the wild Border s humbled\\nside,\\nIn haughty triumph marched\\nhe, 130\\nWhile Knox relaxed his bigot pride\\nAnd smiled the traitorous pomp\\nto see.\\nBut can stern Power, with all his\\nvaunt,\\nOr Pomp, with all her courtly\\nglare,\\nThe settled heart of Vengeance\\ndaunt,\\nOr change the purpose of De-\\nspair\\nWith hackbut bent, my secret\\nstand,\\nDark as the purposed deed, I\\nchose,\\nAnd marked where mingling in his\\nband\\nTrooped Scottish pipes and\\nEnglish bows. 140\\n1 Dark Morton, girt with many a\\nspear,\\nMurder s foul minion, led the\\nvan;\\nAnd clashed their broadswords in\\nthe rear\\nThe wild Macfarlanes plaided\\nclan.\\nGlencairn and stout Parkhead\\nwere nigh,\\nObsequious at their Regent s\\nrein,\\nAnd haggard Lindesay s iron eye,\\nThat saw fair Mary weep in\\nvain.\\nMid pennoned spears, a steely\\ngrove,\\nProud Murray s plumage floated\\nhigh; 150\\nScarce could his trampling charger\\nmove,\\nSo close the minions crowded\\nnigh.\\nFrom the raised vizor s shade his\\neye,\\nDark-rolling, glanced the ranks\\nalong,\\nAnd his steel truncheon, waved on\\nhigh,\\nSeemed marshalling the iron\\nthrong.\\nBut yet his saddened brow con-\\nfessed\\nA passing shade of doubt and\\nawe;\\nSome fiend was whispering in his\\nbreast,\\nBeware of injured Bothwell-\\nhaugh 160\\nThe death-shot parts the charger\\nsprings\\nWild rises tumult s startling\\nroar\\nAnd Murray s plumy helmet\\nrings\\nRings on the ground to rise no\\nmore.\\nWhat joy the raptured youth can\\nfeel,\\nTo hear her love the loved one\\ntell\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nOr he who broaches on his steel\\nThe wolf by whom his infant\\nfell!\\nBut dearer to my injured eye\\nTo see in dust proud Murray\\nroll 170\\nAnd mine was ten times trebled\\njoy\\nTo hear him groan his felon\\nsoul.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0057.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "36\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\n1 My Margaret s spectre glided\\nnear,\\nWith pride her bleeding victim\\nsaw,\\nAnd shrieked in his death-deaf-\\nened ear,\\nRemember injured Bothwell-\\nhaugh\\n1 Then speed thee, noble Chatle-\\nrault\\nSpread to the wind thy bannered\\ntree!\\nEach warrior bend his Clydesdale\\nbow!\\nMurray is fallen and Scotland\\nfree 180\\nVaults every warrior to his steed;\\nLoud bugles join their wild ac-\\nclaim\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMurray is fallen and Scotland\\nfreed\\nCouch, Arran, couch thy spear\\nof flame\\nBut see the minstrel vision fails\\nThe glimmering spears are seen\\nno more\\nThe shouts of war die on the gales,\\nOr sink in Evan s lonely roar.\\nFor the loud bugle pealing high,\\nThe blackbird whistles down the\\nvale, 190\\nAnd sunk in ivied ruins lie\\nThe bannered towers of Evan-\\ndale.\\nFor chiefs intent on bloody deed,\\nAnd Vengeance shouting o er\\nthe slain,\\nLo! high-born Beauty rules the\\nsteed,\\nOr graceful guides the silken\\nrein.\\nAnd long may Peace and Pleasure\\nown\\nThe maids who list the minstrel s\\ntale:\\nNor e er a ruder guest be known\\nOn the fair banks of Evandale\\nTHE REIVER S WEDDING\\nO, will ye hear a mirthful bourd?\\nOr will ye hear of courtesie\\nOr will ye hear how a gallant lord\\nWas wedded to a gay ladye\\nCa out the kye, quo the village\\nherd,\\nAs he stood on the knowe,\\n1 Ca this ane s nine and that ane s\\nten,\\nAnd bauld Lord William s cow.\\n4 Ah by my sooth, quoth William\\nthen,\\n1 And stands it that way now,\\nWhen knave and churl have nine\\nand ten,\\nThat the lord has but his cow\\nI swear by the light of the Mi-\\nchaelmas moon,\\nAnd the might of Mary high,\\nAnd by the edge of my braidsword\\nbrown,\\nThey shall soon say Harden s\\nkye.\\nHe took a bugle frae his side,\\nWith names carved o er and\\no er\\nFull many a chief of meikle pride\\nThat Border bugle bore\\nHe blew a note baith sharp and\\nhie\\nTill rock and water rang\\naround\\nThreescore of moss-troopers and\\nthree\\nHave mounted at that bugle\\nsound.\\nThe Michaelmas moon had entered\\nthen,\\nAnd ere she wan the full", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0058.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "THE REIVER S WEDDING\\n37\\nYe might see by her light in Har-\\nden glen\\nA bow o kye and a bassened\\nbull.\\nAnd loud and loud in Harden\\ntower\\nThe quaigh gaed round wi\\nmeikle glee\\nFor the English beef was brought\\nin bower\\nAnd the English ale flowed mer-\\nrilie.\\nAnd mony a guest from Teviot-\\nside\\nAnd Yarrow s Braes was there\\nWas never a lord in Scotland\\nwide\\nThat made more dainty fare,\\nThey ate, they laughed, they sang\\nand quaffed,\\nTill naught on board was seen,\\nWhen knight and squire were\\nboune to dine,\\nBut a spur of silver sheen.\\nLord William has ta en his berry-\\nbrown steed\\nA sore shent man was he\\nWait ye, my guests, a little\\nspeed\\nWeel feasted ye shall be.\\nHe rode him down by Falsehope\\nburn\\nHis cousin dear to see,\\nWith him to take priding turn\\nWat-draw-the-Sword was he.\\nAnd when he came to Falsehope\\nglen,\\nBeneath the trysting-tree,\\nOn the smooth green was carved\\nplain,\\n1 To Lochwood bound are we.\\n1 0, if they be gane to dark Loch-\\nwood\\nTo drive the Warden s gear,\\nBetwixt our names, I ween, there s\\nfeud;\\nI 11 go and have my share\\nFor little reck I for Johnstone s\\nfeud,\\nThe Warden though he be.\\nSo Lord William is away to dark\\nLochwood\\nWith riders barely three.\\nThe Warden s daughters in Loch-\\nwood sate,\\nWere all both fair and gay,\\nAll save the Lady Margaret,\\nAnd she was wan and wae.\\nThe sister Jean had a full fair\\nskin,\\nAnd Grace was bauld and braw\\nBut the leal-fast heart her breast\\nwithin\\nIt weel was worth them a\\nHer father s pranked her sisters\\ntwa\\nWith meikle joy and pride\\nBut Margaret maun seek Dun-\\ndrennan s wa\\nShe ne er can be a bride.\\nOn spear and casque by gallants\\ngent\\nHer sisters scarfs were borne,\\nBut never at tilt or tournament\\nWere Margaret s colors worn.\\nHer sisters rode to Thirlstane\\nbower,\\nBut she was left at name\\nTo wander round the gloomy\\ntower,\\nAnd sigh young Harden s name.\\n1 Of all the knights, the knight most\\nfair,\\nFrom Yarrow to the Tyne,\\nSoft sighed the maid, is Harden s\\nheir,\\nBut ne er can he be mine", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0059.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "38\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\n1 Of all the maids, the foulest maid\\nFrom Teviot to the Dee,\\nAh sighing sad, that lady said,\\nCan ne er young Harden s be.\\nShe looked up the briery glen,\\nAnd up the mossy brae,\\nAnd she saw a score of her fa-\\nther s men\\nYclad in the Johnstone gray.\\n0, fast and fast they downwards\\nsped\\nThe moss and briers among,\\nAnd in the midst the troopers led\\nA shackled knight along.\\nCHRISTIE S WILL\\nTraquair has ridden up Chapel-\\nhope,\\nAnd sae has he down by the\\nGray Mare s Tail;\\nHe never stinted the light gallop,\\nUntil he speerecl for Christie s\\nWill.\\nNow Christie s Will peeped frae\\nthe tower,\\nAnd out at the shot-hole keeked\\nhe;\\n4 And ever unlucky, quo he, is\\nthe hour,\\nThat the Warden comes to speer\\nfor me\\n1 Good Christie s Will, now, have\\nnae fear\\nNae harm, good Will, shall hap\\nto thee\\nI saved thy life at the Jeddart\\nair,\\nAt the Jeddart air frae the jus-\\ntice tree.\\nBethink how ye sware, by the\\nsalt and the bread,\\nBy the lightning, the wind, and\\nthe rain,\\nThat if ever of Christie s Will I\\nhad need,\\nHe would pay me my service\\nagain.\\nGramercy, my lord, quo Chris-\\ntie s Will,\\n1 Gramercy, my lord, for your\\ngrace to me\\nWhen I turn my cheek, and claw\\nmy neck,\\nI think of Traquair and the Jed-\\ndart tree.\\nAnd he has opened the fair tower\\nyate,\\nTo Traquair and a his companie;\\nThe spule o the deer on the board\\nhe has set,\\nThe fattest that ran on the Hut-\\nton Lee.\\nNow, wherefore sit ye sad, my\\nlord\\nAnd wherefore sit ye mourn-\\nf ullie\\nAnd why eat ye not of the venison\\nI shot,\\nAt the dead of night on Hutton\\nLee?\\nweel may I stint of feast and\\nsport,\\nAnd in my mind be vexed sair\\nA vote of the cankered Session\\nCourt,\\nOf land and living will make me\\nbare.\\nBut if auld Difrie to heaven were\\nflown,\\nOr if auld Durie to hell were\\ngane,\\nOr if he could be but ten days\\nstoun\\nMy bonny braid lands would still\\nbe my aim\\nO, mony a time, my lord, he said,\\nI ve stown the horse frae the\\nsleeping loon", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0060.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "CHRISTIE S WILL\\n39\\nBut for you I ll steal a beast as\\nbraid,\\nFor I ll steal Lord Durie frae\\nEdinburgh toun.\\nO, raony a time, my lord, he said,\\nI ve stown a kiss frae a sleep-\\ning wench\\nBut for you I 11 do as kittle a deed,\\nFor I ll steal an auld lurdane\\naff the bench.\\nAnd Christie s Will is to Edin-\\nburgh gane\\nAt the Borough Muir then en-\\ntered he\\nAnd as he passed the gallow-\\nstane,\\nHe crossed his brow and he bent\\nhis knee.-\\nHe lighted at Lord Durie s door,\\nAnd there he knocked most\\nmanf ullie\\nAnd up and spake Lord Durie sae\\nstour,\\nWhat tidings, thou stalward\\ngroom, tome?\\n1 The fairest lady in Teviotdale\\nHas sent, maist reverent sir, for\\nthee\\nShe pleas at the Session for her\\nland, a haill,\\nAnd fain she wad plead her\\ncause to thee.\\n1 But how can I to that lady ride,\\nWith saving of my dignitie\\n1 O a curch and mantle ye may\\nwear,\\nAnd in my cloak ye sail muffled\\nbe.\\nWi curch on head, and cloak\\nower face,\\nHe mounted the judge on a pal-\\nfrey f yne\\nHe rode away, a right round pace,\\nAnd Christie s Will held the bri-\\ndle reyn.\\nThe Lothian Edge they were not\\no er,\\nWhen they heard bugles bauldly\\nring,\\nAnd, hunting over MiddletonMoor,\\nThey met, I ween, our noble\\nKing.\\nWhen Willie looked upon our\\nKing,\\nI wot a frighted man was he\\nBut ever auld Durie was startled\\nmair,\\nFor tyning of his dignitie.\\nThe King he crossed himself, iwis,\\nWhen as the pair came riding\\nbye\\nAn uglier crone, and a sturdier\\nloon,\\nI think, were never seen with\\neye\\nWillie has hied to the tower of\\nGraeme,\\nHe took auld Durie on his\\nback,\\nHe shot him down to the dungeon\\ndeep,\\nWhich garred his auld banes gie\\nmony a crack.\\nFor nineteen days, and nineteen\\nnights,\\nOf sun, or moon, or midnight\\nstern,\\nAuld Durie never saw a blink,\\nThe lodging was sae dark and\\ndern.\\nHe thought the warlocks o the\\nrosy cross,\\nHad f anged him in their nets sae\\nfast;\\nOr that the gipsies glamoured gang\\nHad laired his learning at the\\nlast.\\nHey Batty, lad far yaud far\\nyaud", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0061.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "40\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nThese were the morning sounds\\nheard he\\nAnd ever Alack auld Durie\\ncried,\\nThe deil is hounding his tykes\\non me\\nAnd whiles a voice on Baudrons\\ncried,\\nWith sound uncouth, and sharp,\\nand hie\\nI have tar barrelled mony a\\nwitch,\\nBut now, I think, they 11 clear\\nscores wi me\\nThe King has caused a hill be\\nwrote,\\nAnd he has set it on the Tron,\\nHe that will bring Lord Durie\\nback,\\nShall have five hundred merks\\nand one.\\nTraquair has written a privie\\nletter,\\nAnd he has sealed it wi his\\nseal,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n1 Ye may let the auld brock out o\\nthe poke\\nThe land s my ain, and a s gane\\nweel.\\nWill has [mounted his bonny\\nblack,\\nAnd to the tower of Graeme did\\ntrudge,\\nAnd once again, on his sturdy\\nback,\\nHas he hente up the weary\\njudge.\\nHe brought him to the council\\nstairs,\\nAnd there full loudly shouted\\nhe,\\n1 Gie me my guerdon, my sove-\\nreign liege,\\nAnd take ye back your auld\\nDurie\\nTHOMAS THE RHYMER\\nAncient.\\nTrue Thomas lay on Huntlie\\nbank;\\nA ferlie he spied wi his ee\\nAnd there he saw a ladye bright,\\nCome riding down by the Eildon\\nTree.\\nHer skirt was o the grass-green\\nsilk,\\nHer mantle o the velvet f yne\\nAt ilka tett of her horse s mane,\\nHung fifty siller bells and nine.\\nTrue Thomas, he pulled aff his cap,\\nAnd louted low down to his\\nknee,\\nAll hail, thou mighty Queen of\\nHeaven\\nFor thy peer on earth I never\\ndid see.\\nno, no, Thomas, she said,\\nThat name does not belang to\\nme;\\nI am but the Queen of fair Elfland,\\nThat am hither come to visit\\nthee.\\nHarp and carp, Thomas, she\\nsaid;\\nHarp and carp along wi me\\nAnd if ye dare to kiss my lips,\\nSure of your bodie I will be.\\nBetide me weal, betide me woe,\\nThat weird shall never daunton\\nme.\\nSyne he has kissed her rosy lips,\\nAll underneath the Eildon Tree.\\nNow, ye maun go wi me, she\\nsaid;\\nTrue Thomas, ye maun go wi\\nme;\\nAnd ye maun serve me seven\\nyears,\\nThro weal or woe as may chance\\nto be.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0062.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "THOMAS THE RHYMER\\n41\\nShe mounted on her milk-white\\nsteed;\\nShe s ta en true Thomas up he-\\nhind:\\nAnd aye, whene er her bridle rung,\\nThe steed flew swifter than the\\nwind.\\nthey rade on, and farther on\\nThe steed gaed swifter than the\\nwind\\nUntil they reached a desert wide,\\nAnd living land was left be-\\nhind.\\n1 Light down, light down, now,\\ntrue Thomas,\\nAnd lean your head upon my\\nknee;\\nAbide and rest a little space,\\nAnd I will shew you ferlies\\nthree.\\n1 see ye not yon narrow road,\\nSo thick beset with thorns and\\nbriers\\nThat is the path of righteousness,\\nThough after it but few en-\\nquires.\\n1 And see ye not that braid braid\\nroad,\\nThat lies across that lily leven\\nThat is the path of wickedness,\\nThough some call it the road to\\nheaven.\\n1 And see not ye that bonny road,\\nThat winds about the fernie\\nbrae\\nThat is the road to fair Elfland,\\nWhere thou and I this night\\nmaun gae.\\n4 But, Thomas, ye maun hold your\\ntongue,\\nWhatever ye may hear or see\\nFor, if you speak word in Elflyn\\nland,\\nYe 11 ne er get back to your ain\\ncountrie.\\nthey rade on, and farther on,\\nAnd they waded through rivers\\naboon the knee,\\nAnd they saw neither sun nor\\nmoon,\\nBut they heard the roaring of the\\nsea.\\nIt was mirk mirk night, and there\\nwas nae stern light,\\nAnd they waded through red\\nblude to the knee\\nFor a the blude that s shed on\\nearth\\nKins through the springs 0 that\\ncountrie.\\nSyne they came on to a garden\\ngreen,\\nAnd she pu d an apple frae a\\ntree\\nTake this for thy wages, true\\nThomas\\nIt will give thee the tongue that\\ncan never lie.\\nMy tongue is mine ain, true\\nThomas said\\nA gudely gift ye wad gie to\\nme!\\n1 neither dought to buy nor sell,\\nAt fair or tryst where I may\\nbe.\\n4 1 dought neither speak to prince\\nor peer,\\nNor ask of grace from fair\\nladye.\\nNow hold thy peace the lady\\nsaid,\\nFor as I say, so must it be.\\nHe has gotten a coat of the even\\ncloth,\\nAnd a pair of shoes of velvet\\ngreen\\nAnd till seven years were gane\\nand past,\\nTrue Thomas on earth was never\\nseen.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0063.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "42\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nPART SECOND\\nAltered from ancient prophecies.\\nWhen seven years were come and\\ngane,\\nThe sun blinked fair on pool and\\nstream\\nAnd Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,\\nLike one awakened from a\\ndream.\\nHe heard the trampling of a steed,\\nHe saw the flash of armor flee,\\nAnd he beheld a gallant knight\\nCome riding down by the Eildon-\\ntree.\\nHe was a stalwart knight, and\\nstrong\\nOf giant make he peared to\\nbe:\\nHe stirred his horse, as he were\\nwode,\\nWi gilded spurs, of faushion\\nfree.\\nSays Well met, well met, true\\nThomas\\nSome uncouth ferlies show to\\nme.\\nSays Christ thee save, Corspat-\\nrick brave\\nThrice welcume, good Dunbar,\\ntome!\\n1 Light down, light down, Corspat-\\nrick brave\\nAnd I will show thee curses\\nthree,\\nShall gar fair Scotland greet and\\ngrane,\\nAnd change the green to the\\nblack livery.\\n1 A storm shall roar this very hour,\\nFrom Ross s Hills to Solway\\nsea.\\n1 Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar\\nFor the sun shines sweet on\\nfauld and lea.\\nHe put his hand on the Earlie s\\nhead;\\nHe showed him a rock beside the\\nsea,\\nWhere a king lay stiff beneath his\\nsteed,\\nAnd steel dight nobles wiped\\ntheir ee.\\n1 The neist curse lights on Branx-\\nton hills\\nBy Flodden s high and heathery\\nside,\\nShall wave a banner red as blude,\\nAnd chieftains throng wi meikle\\npride.\\n4 A Scottish King shall come full\\nkeen,\\nThe ruddy lion beareth he\\nA feathered arrow sharp, I ween,\\nShall make him wink and warre\\nto see.\\nWhen he is bloody, and all to\\nbledde,\\nThus to his men he still shall\\nsay\\nFor God s sake, turn ye back\\nagain,\\nAnd give yon southern folk a\\nfray!\\nWhy should I lose the right is\\nmine?\\nMy doom is not to die this day.\\nYet turn ye to the eastern hand,\\nAnd woe and wonder ye sail\\nsee;\\nHow forty thousand spearmen\\nstand,\\nWhere yon rank river meets the\\nsea.\\nThere shall the lion lose the gylte,\\nAnd the libbards bear it clean\\naway;\\nAt Pinkyn Clench there shall be\\nspilt\\nMuch gentil bluid that day.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0064.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "THOMAS THE RHYMER\\n43\\n4 Enough, enough of curse and\\nban;\\nSome blessings show thou now\\nto me,\\nOr, by the faith o my bodie, Cors-\\nPatrick said,\\n4 Ye shall rue the day ye e er saw\\nme!\\n4 The first of blessings I shall thee\\nshow,\\nIs by a burn, that s called of\\nbread\\nWhere Saxon men shall tine the\\nbow,\\nAnd find their arrows lack the\\nhead.\\n4 Beside that brigg, out ower that\\nburn,\\nWhere the water bickereth\\nbright and sheen\\nShall many a falling courser\\nspurn,\\nAnd knights shall die in battle\\nkeen.\\nBeside a headless cross of stone,\\nThe libbards there shall lose the\\ngree;\\nThe raven shall come, the erne\\nshall go,\\nAnd drink the Saxon bluid sae\\nfree.\\nThe cross of stone they shall not\\nknow,\\nSo thick the corses there shall\\nbe.\\n1 But tell me now, said brave Dun-\\nbar\\n4 True Thomas, tell now unto\\nme,\\nWhat man shall rule the isle Bri-\\ntain,\\nEven from the north to the south-\\nern sea\\nA French Queen shall bear the\\nson,\\nShall rule all Britain to the sea\\nHe of the Bruce s blood shall\\ncome,\\nAs near as in the ninth degree.\\nThe waters worship shall his\\nrace\\nLikewise the waves of the far-\\nthest sea\\nFor they shall ride over ocean\\nwide,\\nWith hempen bridles, and horse\\nof tree.\\nPART THIKD\\nModern.\\nWhen seven years more were\\ncome and gone,\\nWas war through Scotland\\nspread,\\nAnd Euberslaw showed high Dun-\\nyon\\nHis beacon blazing red.\\nThen all by bonny Coldingknow,\\nPitched palliouns took their\\nroom,\\nAnd crested helms, and spears\\na-rowe,\\nGlanced gaily through the\\nbroom,\\nThe Leader, rolling to the Tweed,\\nResounds the ensenzie\\nThey roused the deer from Cad-\\ndenhead,\\nTo distant Torwoodlee.\\nThe feast was spread in Ercil-\\ndoune.\\nIn Learmont s high and ancient\\nhall\\nAnd there were knights of great\\nrenown,\\nAnd ladies, laced in pall.\\nNor lacked they, while they sat at\\ndine,\\nThe music nor the tale,", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0065.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "44\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\nNor goblets of the blood-red wine,\\nTill lovely Isolde s lily hand\\nNor mantling qnaighs of ale.\\nHad probed the rankling wound.\\nTrue Thomas rose, with harp in\\nWith gentle hand and soothing\\nhand,\\ntongue\\nWhen as the feast was done\\nShe bore the leech s part\\n(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land,\\nAnd, while she o er his sick-bed\\nThe elfin harp he won.)\\nhung,\\nHe paid her with his heart.\\nHushed were the throng, both limb\\nand tongue,\\nfatal was the gift, I ween\\nAnd harpers for envy pale\\nFor, doomed in evil tide,\\nAnd armed lords leaned on their\\nThe maid must be rude Cornwall s\\nswords,\\nqueen,\\nAnd hearkened to the tale.\\nHis cowardly uncle s bride.\\nIn numbers high, the witching\\nTheir loves, their woes, the gifted\\ntale\\nbard,\\nThe prophet poured along\\nIn fairy tissue wove\\nNo after bard might e er avail\\nWhere lords, and knights, and la-\\nThose numbers to prolong.\\ndies bright,\\nIn gay confusion strove.\\nYet fragments of the lofty strain\\nFloat down the tide of years,\\nThe Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,\\nAs, buoyant on the stormy main,\\nHigh reared its glittering head\\nA parted wreck appears.\\nAnd Avalon s enchanted vale\\nIn all its wonders spread.\\nHe sung King Arthur s Table\\nBound\\nBrangwain was there, and Segra-\\nThe Warrior of the Lake\\nmore,\\nHow courteous Gawaine met the\\nAnd fiend-born Merlin s grama-\\nwound,\\nrye;\\nAnd bled for ladies sake.\\nOf that famed wizard s mighty lore,\\nwho could sing but he\\nBut chief, in gentle Tristrem s\\npraise,\\nThrough many amaze the winning\\nThe notes melodious swell\\nsong\\nWas none excelled in Arthur s\\nIn changeful passion led,\\ndays,\\nTill bent at length the listening\\nThe knight of Lionelle.\\nthrong\\nO er Tristrem s dying bed.\\nFor Marke, his cowardly uncle s\\nright,\\nHis ancient wounds their scars ex-\\nA venomed wound he bore\\npand,\\nWhen fierce Morholde he slew in\\nWith agony his heart is wrung\\nfight,\\nwhere is Isolde s lilye hand,\\nUpon the Irish shore.\\nAnd where her soothing tongue\\nNo art the poison might with-\\nShe comes she comes like flash\\nstand\\nof flame\\nNo medicine could be found,\\nCan lovers footsteps fly t", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0066.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "THOMAS THE RHYMER\\n45\\nShe comes she corues \u00e2\u0080\u0094she only\\ncame\\nTo see her Tristrem die.\\nShe saw him die her latest sigh\\nJoined in a kiss his parting\\nbreath\\nThe gentlest pair, that Britain\\nbare,\\nUnited are in death.\\nThere paused the harp: its lin-\\ngering sound\\nDied slowly on the ear\\nThe silent guests still bent around,\\nFor still they seemed to hear.\\nThen woe broke forth in murmurs\\nweak,\\nNor ladies heaved alone the\\nsigh;\\nBut, half ashamed, the rugged\\ncheek\\nDid many a gauntlet dry.\\nOn Leader s stream, and Lear-\\nmont s tower,\\nThe mists of evening close\\nIn camp, in castle, or in bower,\\nEach warrior sought repose.\\nLord Douglas, in his lofty tent,\\nDreamed o er the wof ul tale\\nWhen footsteps light, across the\\nbent,\\nThe warrior s ear assail.\\nHe starts, he wakes What\\nRichard, ho\\nArise, my page, arise\\nWhat venturous wight, at dead of\\nnight,\\nDare step where Douglas lies\\nThen forth they rushed by Lead-\\ner s tide,\\nA selcouth sight they see\\nA hart and hind pace side by\\nside,\\nAs white as snow on Fairna-\\nlie.\\nBeneath the moon, with gesture\\nproud,\\nThey stately move and slow\\nNor scare they at the gathering\\ncrowd,\\nWho marvel as they go.\\nTo Learmont s tower a message\\nsped,\\nAs fast as page might run\\nAnd Thomas started from his bed,\\nAnd soon his clothes did on.\\nFirst he woxe pale, and then woxe\\nred;\\nNever a word he spake but\\nthree\\nMy sand is run; my thread is\\nspun\\nThis sign regardeth me.\\nThe elfin harp his neck around,\\nIn minstrel guise he hung\\nAnd on the wind, in doleful sound,\\nIts dying accents rung.\\nThen forth he went; yet turned\\nhim oft\\nTo view his ancient hall\\nOn the grey tower, in lustre soft,\\nThe autumn moonbeams fall\\nAnd Leader s waves, like silver\\nsheen,\\nDanced shimmering in the ray\\nIn deepening mass, at distance\\nseen,\\nBroad Soltra s mountains lay.\\nFarewell, my father s ancient\\ntower\\nA long farewell, said he\\n4 The scene of pleasure, pomp, or\\npower,\\nThou never more shalt be.\\nTo Learmont s name no foot of\\nearth\\nShall here again belong,\\nAnd, on thy hospitable hearth,\\nThe hare shall leave her young.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0067.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "4 6\\nEARLY BALLADS AND LYRICS\\n4 Adieu adieu again he cried,\\nAll as he turned him roun\\n4 Farewell to Leader s silver tide\\nFarewell to Ercildoune\\nThe hart and hind approached the\\nplace,\\nAs lingering yet he stood\\nAnd there, before Lord Douglas\\nface,\\nWith them he crossed the flood.\\nLord Douglas leaped on his berry-\\nbrown steed,\\nAnd spurred him the Leader\\no er\\nBut, though he rode with lightning\\nspeed,\\nHe never saw them more.\\nSome said to hill, and some to\\nglen,\\nTheir wondrous course had\\nbeen\\nBut ne er in haunts of living men\\nAgain was Thomas seen.\\nTHE BARD S INCANTATION\\nWRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT\\nOF INVASION IN THE AUTUMN\\nOF 1804.\\nThe forest of Glenmore is drear,\\nIt is all of black pine and the\\ndark oak-tree\\nAnd the midnight wind to the\\nmountain deer\\nIs whistling the forest lullaby\\nThe moon looks through the drift-\\ning storm,\\nBut the troubled lake reflects not\\nher form,\\nFor the waves roll whitening to\\nthe land,\\nAnd dash against the shelvy strand.\\nThere is a voice among the trees\\nThat mingles with the groaning\\noak\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThat mingles with the stormy\\nbreeze,\\nAnd the lake- waves dashing\\nagainst the rock\\nThere is a voice within the wood,\\nThe voice of the bard in fitful\\nmood\\nHis song was louder than the\\nblast,\\nAs the bard of Glenmore through\\nthe forest past.\\nWake ye from your sleep of\\ndeath,\\nMinstrels and bards of other\\ndays!\\nFor the midnight wind is on the\\nheath,\\nAnd the midnight meteors\\ndimly blaze\\nThe Spectre with his Bloody\\nHand\\nIs wandering through the wild\\nwoodland\\nThe owl and the raven are mute\\nfor dread,\\nAnd the time is meet tc awake\\nthe dead\\n4 Souls of the mighty, wake and\\nsay\\nTo what high strain your\\nharps were strung,\\nWhen Lochlin ploughed her bil-\\nlowy way\\nAnd on your shores her Norse-\\nmen flung\\nHer Norsemen trained to spoil\\nand blood,\\nSkilled to prepare the raven s\\nfood,\\nAll by your harpings doomed to\\ndie\\nOn bloody Largs and Loncarty.\\n4 Mute are ye all No murmurs\\nstrange\\nUpon the midnight breeze sail\\nby,\\nNor through the pines with\\nwhistling change", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0068.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "HELLVELLYN\\n47\\nMimic the harp s wild har-\\nmony!\\nMute are ye now? Ye ne er\\nwere mute\\nWhen Murder with his bloody\\nfoot,\\nAnd Rapine with his iron hand,\\nWere hovering near yon moun-\\ntain strand.\\n4 O, yet awake the strain to tell,\\nBy every deed in song enrolled,\\nBy every chief who fought or fell,\\nFor Albion s weal in battle\\nbold:\\nFrom Coilgach, first who rolled\\nhis car\\nThrough the deep ranks of Ro-\\nman war,\\nTo him of veteran memory dear\\nWho victor died on Aboukir.\\nBy all their swords, by all their\\nscars,\\nBy all their names, a mighty\\nspell\\nBy all their wounds, by all their\\nwars,\\nArise, the mighty strain to tell\\nFor fiercer than fierce Hengist s\\nstrain,\\nMore impious than the heathen\\nDane,\\nMore grasping than all-grasping\\nRome,\\nGaul s ravening legions hither\\ncome\\nThe wind is hushed and still the\\nlake\\nStrange murmurs fill my tinkling\\nears,\\nBristles my hair, my sinews quake,\\nAt the dread voice of other\\nyears\\nWhen targets clashed and bu-\\ngles rung,\\nAnd blades round warriors\\nheads were flung,\\nThe foremost of the band were\\nwe\\nAnd hymned the joys of Liberty\\nHELLVELLYN\\nI climbed the dark brow of the\\nmighty Hellvellyn,\\nLakes and mountains beneath\\nme gleamed misty and wide\\nAll was still save by fits, when the\\neagle was yelling,\\nAnd starting around me the\\nechoes replied.\\nOn the right, Striden-edge round\\nthe Red-tarn was bending,\\nAnd Catchedicam its left verge\\nwas defending,\\nOne huge nameless rock in the\\nfront was ascending,\\nWhen I marked the sad spot\\nwhere the wanderer had died.\\nDark green was that spot mid the\\nbrown mountain heather,\\nWhere the Pilgrim of Nature lay\\nstretched in decay,\\nLike the corpse of an outcast\\nabandoned to weather\\nTill the mountain-winds wasted\\nthe tenantless clay.\\nNor yet quite deserted, though\\nlonely extended,\\nFor, faithful in death, his mute\\nfavorite attended,\\nThe much-loved remains of her\\nmaster defended,\\nAnd chased the hill-fox and the\\nraven away.\\nHow long didst thou think that his\\nsilence was slumber\\nWhen the wind waved his gar-\\nment, how oft didst thou\\nstart?\\nHow many long days and long\\nweeks didst thou number,\\nEre he faded before thee, the\\nfriend of thy heart?\\nAnd O, was it meet that no\\nrequiem read o er him,\\nNo mother to weep and no friend\\nto deplore him,\\nAnd thou, little guardian, alone\\nstretched before him\\nUnhonored the Pilgrim from life\\nshould depart?", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0069.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "4 8\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nWhen a prince to the fate of the\\npeasant has yielded,\\nThe tapestry waves dark round\\nthe dim-lighted hall\\nWith scutcheons of silver the coffin\\nis shielded,\\nAnd pages stand mute by the\\ncanopied pall\\nThrough the courts at deep mid-\\nnight the torches are gleam-\\ning;\\nIn the proudly arched chapel the\\nbanners are beaming\\nFar adown the long aisle sacred\\nmusic is streaming,\\nLamenting a chief of the people\\nshould fall.\\nBut meeter for thee, gentle lover\\nof nature,\\nTo lay down thy head like the\\nmeek mountain lamb,\\nWhen wildered he drops from some\\ncliff huge in stature,\\nAnd draws his last sob by the\\nside of his dam.\\nAnd more stately thy couch by\\nthis desert lake lying,\\nThy obsequies sung by the gray\\nplover flying,\\nWith one faithful friend but to\\nwitness thy dying\\nIn the arms of Hellvellyn and\\nCatchedicam.\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nINTRODUCTION\\nThe way was long, the wind was\\ncold,\\nThe Minstrel was infirm and old\\nHis withered cheek and tresses\\ngray\\nSeemed to have known a better\\nday;\\nThe harp, his sole remaining joy,\\nWas carried by an orphan boy.\\nThe last of all the bards was he,\\nWho sung of Border chivalry\\nFor, well-a-day! their date was\\nfled,\\nHis tuneful brethren all were\\ndead; 10\\nAnd he, neglected and oppressed,\\nWished to be with them and at\\nrest.\\nNo more on prancing palfrey\\nborne\\nHe carolled, light as lark at morn\\nNo longer courted and caressed,\\nHigh placed in hall, a welcome\\nguest,\\nHe poured, to lord and lady gay,\\nThe unpremeditated lay\\nOld times were changed, old man-\\nners gone\\nA stranger filled the Stuarts\\nthrone 20\\nThe bigots of the iron time\\nHad called his harmless art a\\ncrime.\\nA wandering harper, scorned and\\npoor,\\nHe begged his bread from door to\\ndoor,\\nAnd tuned, to please a peasant s\\near,\\nThe harp a king had loved to hear.\\nHe passed where Newark s stately\\ntower\\nLooks out from Yarrow s birchen\\nbower\\nThe Minstrel gazed with wishful\\neye\\nNo humbler resting-place was\\nnigh. 30\\nWith hesitating step at last\\nThe embattled portal arch he\\npassed,\\nWhose ponderous grate and massy\\nbar", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0070.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\n49\\nHad oft rolled back the tide of\\nwar,\\nBut never closed the iron door\\nAgainst the desolate and poor.\\nThe Duchess marked his weary\\npace,\\nHis timid mien, and reverend face,\\nAnd bade her page the menials\\ntell\\nThat they should tend the old man\\nwell 40\\nFor she had known adversity,\\nThough born in such a high de-\\ngree;\\nIn pride of power, in beauty s\\nbloom,\\nHad wept o er Monmouth s bloody\\ntomb!\\nWhen kindness had his wants sup-\\nplied,\\nAnd the old man was gratified,\\nBegan to rise his minstrel pride\\nAnd he began to talk anon\\nOf good Earl Francis, dead and\\ngone,\\nAnd of Earl Walter, rest him\\nGod! 50\\nA braver ne er to battle rode\\nAnd how full many a tale he\\nknew\\nOf the old warriors of Buccleuch\\nAnd, would the noble Duchess\\ndeign\\nTo listen to an old man s strain,\\nThough stiff his hand, his voice\\nthough weak,\\nHe thought even yet, the sooth to\\nspeak,\\nThat, if she loved the harp to hear,\\nHe could make music to her ear.\\nThe humble boon was soon ob-\\ntained 60\\nThe aged Minstrel audience\\ngained.\\nBut when he reached the room of\\nstate\\nWhere she with all her ladies sate,\\nPerchance he wished his boon de-\\nnied:\\nFor, when to tune his harp he\\ntried,\\nHis trembling hand had lost the\\nease\\nWhich marks security to please\\nAnd scenes, long past, of joy and\\npain\\nCame wildering o er his aged\\nbrain 69\\nHe tried to tune his harp in vain.\\nThe pitying Duchess praised its\\nchime,\\nAnd gave him heart, and gave him\\ntime,\\nTill every string s according glee\\nWas blended into harmony.\\nAnd then, he said, he would full\\nfain\\nHe could recall an ancient strain\\nHe never thought to sing again.\\nIt was not framed for village\\nchurls,\\nBut for high dames and mighty\\nearls\\nHe had played it to King Charles\\nthe Good 80\\nWhen he kept court in Holyrood\\nAnd much he wished, yet feared,\\nto try\\nThe long-forgotten melody.\\nAmid the strings his fingers\\nstrayed,\\nAnd an uncertain warbling made,\\nAnd oft he shook his hoary head.\\nBut when he caught the measure\\nwild,\\nThe old man raised his face and\\nsmiled\\nAnd lightened up his faded eye\\nWith all a poet s ecstasy 90\\nIn varying cadence, soft or strong,\\nHe swept the sounding chords\\nalong\\nThe present scene, the future\\nlot,\\nHis toils, his wants, were all for-\\ngot;\\nCold diffidence and age s frost\\nIn the full tide of song were lost\\nEach blank, in faithless memory\\nvoid,", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0071.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "5\u00c2\u00b0\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nThe poet s glowing thought sup-\\nplied\\nAnd, while his harp responsive\\nrung,\\nT was thus the Latest Min-\\nstrel sung.\\nCANTO FIRST\\nThe feast was over in Branksome\\ntower,\\nAnd the Ladye had gone to her\\nsecret bower,\\nHer bower that was guarded by\\nword and by spell,\\nDeadly to hear, and deadly to\\ntell\\nJesu Maria, shield us well\\nNo living wight, save the Ladye\\nalone,\\nHad dared to cross the threshold\\nstone.\\nii\\nThe tables were drawn, it was\\nidlesse all\\nKnight and page and household\\nsquire\\nLoitered through the lofty hall, 10\\nOr crowded round the ample\\nfire:\\nThe stag-hounds, weary with the\\nchase,\\nLay stretched upon the rushy\\nfloor,\\nAnd urged in dreams the forest\\nrace,\\nFrom Teviot-stone to Eskdale-\\nmoor.\\nin\\nNine-and-twenty knights of fame\\nHung their shields in Brank-\\nsome Hall\\nNine-and-twenty squires of name\\nBrought them their steeds to\\nbower from stall 19\\nNine-and-twenty yeomen tall\\nWaited duteous on them all\\nThey were all knights of mettle\\ntrue,\\nKinsmen to the bold Buccleuch.\\nIV\\nTen of them were sheathed in\\nsteel,\\nWith belted sword and spur on\\nheel;\\nThey quitted not their harness\\nbright,\\nNeither by day nor yet by night\\nThey lay down to rest,\\nWith corselet laced.\\nPillowed on buckler cold and\\nhard 30\\nThey carved at the meal\\nWith gloves of steel,\\nAnd they drank the red wine\\nthrough the helmet barred.\\nTen squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad\\nmen,\\nWaited the beck of the warders\\nten;\\nThirty steeds, both fleet and wight,\\nStood saddled in stable day and\\nnight,\\nBarded with frontlet of steel, I\\ntrow,\\nAnd with Jedwood-axe at saddle-\\nbow;\\nA hundred more fed free in\\nstall 40\\nSuch was the custom of Brank-\\nsome Hall.\\nVI\\nWhy do these steeds stand ready\\ndight?\\nWhy watch these warriors armed\\nby night?\\nThey watch to hear the blood-\\nhound baying\\nThey watch to hear the war-horn\\nbraying\\nTo see Saint George s red cross\\nstreaming,\\nTo see the midnight beacon gleam-\\ning;", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0072.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\nThey watch against Southern force\\nand guile,\\nLest Scroop or Howard or Per-\\ncy s powers\\nThreaten Branksome s lordly\\ntowers, 50\\nFrom Warkworth or Naworth or\\nmerry Carlisle.\\nVII\\nSuch is the custom of Branksome\\nHall.\\nMany a valiant knight is here\\nBut he, the chieftain of them all,\\nHis sword hangs rusting on the\\nwall\\nBeside his broken spear.\\nBards long shall tell\\nHow Lord Walter fell\\nWhen startled burghers fled afar\\nThe furies of the Border war, 60\\nWhen the streets of high Dunedin\\nSaw lances gleam and falchions\\nredden,\\nAnd heard the slogan s deadly\\nyell,-\\nThen the Chief of Branksome fell.\\nVIII\\nCan piety the discord heal,\\nOr stanch the death-feud s en-\\nmity?\\nCan Christian lore, can patriot\\nzeal,\\nCan love of blessed charity\\nNo vainly to each holy shrine 69\\nIn mutual pilgrimage they drew,\\nImplored in vain the grace divine\\nFor chiefs their own red falchions\\nslew.\\nWhile Cessford owns the rule of\\nCarr,\\nWhile Ettrick boasts the line of\\nScott,\\nThe slaughtered chiefs, the mortal\\njar,\\nThe havoc of the feudal war,\\nShall never, never be forgot\\nIX\\nIn sorrow o er Lord Walter s bier\\nThe warlike foresters had bent,\\nAnd many a flower and many a\\ntear 80\\nOld Teviot s maids and matrons\\nlent:\\nBut o er her warrior s bloody bier\\nThe Ladye dropped nor flower nor\\ntear\\nVengeance, deep-brooding o er the\\nslain,\\nHad locked the source of softer\\nwoe,\\nAnd burning pride and high disdain\\nForbade the rising tear to flow\\nUntil, amid his sorrowing clan,\\nHer son lisped from the nurse s\\nknee,\\n1 And if I live to be a man, 90\\nMy father s death revenged shall\\nbe!\\nThen fast the mother s tears did\\nseek\\nTo dew the infant s kindling cheek.\\nAll loose her negligent attire,\\nAll loose her golden hair,\\nHung Margaret o er her slaugh-\\ntered sire\\nAnd wept in wild despair.\\nBut not alone the bitter tear\\nHad filial grief supplied, 99\\nFor hopeless love and anxious fear\\nHad lent their mingled tide\\nNor in her mother s altered eye\\nDared she to look for sympathy.\\nHer lover gainst her father s clan\\nWith Carr in arms had stood,\\nWhen Mathouse-burn to Melrose\\nran\\nAll purple with their blood\\nAnd well she knew her mother\\ndread,\\nBefore Lord Cranstoun she should\\nwed, 109\\nWould see her on her dying bed.\\nXI\\nOf noble race the Ladye came\\nHer father was a clerk of fame\\nOf Bethune s line of Picardie\\nHe learned the art that none may\\nname", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0073.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "52\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nIn Padua, far beyond the sea.\\nMen said he changed his mortal\\nframe\\nBy feat of magic mystery\\nFor when in studious mood he\\npaced\\nSaint Andrew s cloistered hall,\\nHis form no darkening shadow\\ntraced 120\\nUpon the sunny wall\\nXII\\nAnd of his skill, as bards avow,\\nHe taught that Ladye fair,\\nTill to her bidding she could bow\\nThe viewless forms of air.\\nAnd now she sits in secret bower,\\nIn old Lord David s western\\ntower,\\nAnd listens to a heavy sound\\nThat moans the mossy turrets\\nround.\\nIs it the roar of Teviot s tide, 130\\nThat chafes against the scaur s\\nred side\\nIs it the wind, that swings the\\noaks?\\nIs it the echo from the rocks\\nWhat may it be, the heavy sound,\\nThat moans old Branksome s tur-\\nrets round\\nXIII\\nAt the sullen, moaning sound\\nThe ban-dogs bay and howl,\\nAnd from the turrets round\\nLoud whoops the startled owl.\\nIn the hall, both squire and knight\\nSwore that a storm was near, 14 1\\nAnd looked forth to view the\\nnight\\nBut the night was still and clear\\nXIV\\nFrom the sound of Teviot s tide,\\nChafing with the mountain s side,\\nFrom the groan of the wind-swung\\noak,\\nFrom the sullen echo of the rock,\\nFrom the voice of the coming\\nstorm,\\nThe Ladye knew it well\\nIt was the Spirit of the Flood that\\nspoke, 150\\nAnd he called on the Spirit of\\nthe Fell.\\nxv\\nRIVER SPIRIT\\nSleep st thou, brother\\nMOUNTAIN SPIRIT\\nBrother, nay\\nOn my hills the moonbeams play.\\nFrom Craik-cross to Skelfhill-pen,\\nBy every rill, in every glen,\\nMerry elves their morris pacing,\\nTo aerial minstrelsy,\\nEmerald rings on brown heath\\ntracing,\\nTrip it deft and merrily. 159\\nUp, and mark their nimble feet\\nUp, and list their music sweet\\nXVI\\nRIVER SPIRIT\\nTears of an imprisoned maiden\\nMix with my polluted stream\\nMargaret of Branksome, sorrow-\\nladen,\\nMourns beneath the moon s pale\\nbeam.\\nTell me, thou who view st the stars,\\nWhen shall cease these feudal\\njars?\\nWhat shall be the maiden s fate\\nWho shall be the maiden s mate\\nXVII\\nMOUNTAIN SPIRIT\\nArthur s slow wain his course\\ndoth roll 170\\nIn utter darkness round the pole\\nThe Northern Bear lowers black\\nand grim,\\nOrion s studded belt is dim\\nTwinkling faint, and distant far,\\nShimmers through mist each\\nplanet star", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0074.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\nS3\\n111 may I read their high decree\\nBut no kind influence deign they\\nshower\\nOn Teviot s tide and Branksome s\\ntower\\nTill pride be quelled and love be\\nfree.\\nXVIII\\nThe unearthly voices ceased, 180\\nAnd the heavy sound was still\\nIt died on the river s breast,\\nIt died on the side of the hill.\\nBut round Lord David s tower\\nThe sound still floated near;\\nFor it rung in the Ladye s bower,\\nAnd it rung in the Ladye s ear.\\nShe raised her stately head,\\nAnd her heart throbbed high\\nwith pride\\n1 Your mountains shall bend 190\\nAnd your streams ascend,\\nEre Margaret be our foeman s\\nbride\\nXIX\\nThe Ladye sought the lofty hall,\\nWhere many a bold retainer lay,\\nAnd with jocund din among them\\nall\\nHer son pursued his infant play.\\nA fancied moss-trooper, the boy\\nThe truncheon of a spear be-\\nstrode,\\nAnd round the hall right merrily\\nIn mimic foray rode. 200\\nEven bearded knights, in arms\\ngrown old,\\nShare in his frolic gambols bore,\\nAlbeit their hearts of rugged mould\\nWere stubborn as the steel they\\nwore.\\nFor the gray warriors prophesied\\nHow the brave boy in future\\nwar\\nShould tame the Unicorn s pride,\\nExalt the Crescents and the Star.\\nxx\\nThe Ladye forgot her purpose high\\nOne moment and no more, 210\\nOne moment gazed with a mother s\\neye\\nAs she paused at the arched\\ndoor;\\nThen from amid the armed train\\nShe called to her William of\\nDeloraine.\\nXXI\\nA stark moss-trooping Scott was he\\nAs e er couched Border lance by\\nknee\\nThrough Solway Sands, through\\nTarras Moss,\\nBlindfold he knew the paths to\\ncross\\nBy wily turns, by desperate bounds,\\nHad baffled Percy s best blood-\\nhounds 220\\nIn Eske or Liddel fords were none\\nBut he would ride them, one by\\none;\\nAlike to him was time or tide,\\nDecember s snow or July s pride;\\nAlike to him was tide or time,\\nMoonless midnight or matin prime\\nSteady of heart and stout of hand\\nAs ever drove prey from Cumber-\\nland;\\nFive times outlawed had he been\\nBy England s king and Scotland s\\nqueen. 230\\nXXII\\n1 Sir William of Deloraine, good at\\nneed,\\nMount thee on the wightest steed\\nSpare not to spur nor stint to ride\\nUntil thou come to fair Tweedside\\nAnd in Melrose s holy pile\\nSeek thou the Monk of Saint Mary s\\naisle.\\nGreet the father well from me\\nSay that the fated hour is come,\\nAnd to-night he shall watch with\\nthee, 239\\nTo win the treasure of the tomb\\nFor this will be Saint Michael s\\nnight,\\nAnd though stars be dim the moon\\nis bright,", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0075.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "$4\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nAnd the cross of bloody red\\nWill point to the grave of the\\nmighty dead.\\nXXIII\\nWhat he gives thee, see thou\\nkeep;\\nStay not thou for food or sleep\\nBe it scroll or be it book,\\nInto it, knight, thou must not look\\nIf thou readest, thou art lorn 249\\nBetter hadst thou ne er been born!\\nXXIV\\nO swiftly can speed my dapple-\\ngray steed,\\nWhich drinks of the Teviot clear;\\nEre break of day, the warrior gan\\nsay,\\nAgain will I be here\\nAnd safer by none may thy errand\\nbe done\\nThan, noble dame, by me\\nLetter nor line know I never one,\\nWere t my neck-verse at Hairi-\\nbee.\\nxxv\\nSoon in his saddle sate he fast,\\nAnd soon the steep descent he\\npassed, 260\\nSoon crossed the sounding barbi-\\ncan,\\nAnd soon the Teviot side he won.\\nEastward the wooded path he rode,\\nGreen hazels o er his basnet nod\\nHe passed the Peel of Goldiland,\\nAnd crossed old Borthwick s roar-\\ning strand\\nDimly he viewed the Moat-hill s\\nmound,\\nWhere Druid shades still flitted\\nround\\nIn Hawick twinkled many a light\\nBehind him soon they set in night\\nAnd soon he spurred his courser\\nkeen 271\\nBeneath the tower of Hazeldean.\\nxxvi\\nThe clattering hoofs the watchmen\\nmark:\\nStand, ho! thou courier of the\\ndark.\\nFor Branksome, ho the knight\\nrejoined,\\nAnd left the friendly tower behind.\\nHe turned him now from Teviot-\\nside,\\nAnd, guided by the tinkling rill,\\nNorthward the dark ascent did\\nride,\\nAnd gained the moor at Horse-\\nliehill 280\\nBroad on the left before him lay\\nFor many a mile the Roman way.\\nxxvii\\nA moment now he slacked his\\nspeed,\\nA moment breathed his panting\\nsteed,\\nDrew saddle-girth and corslet-\\nband,\\nAnd loosened in the sheath his\\nbrand.\\nOn Minto-crags the moonbeams\\nglint,\\nWhere Barnhill hewed his bed of\\nflint,\\nWho flung his outlawed limbs to\\nrest\\nWhere falcons hang their giddy\\nnest 290\\nMid cliffs from whence his eagle\\neye\\nFor many a league his prey could\\nspy;\\nCliffs doubling, on their echoes\\nborne,\\nThe terrors of the robber s horn\\nCliffs which for many a later year\\nThe warbling Doric reed shall hear,\\nWhen some sad swain shall teach\\nthe grove\\nAmbition is no cure for love.\\nxxviii\\nUnchallenged, thence passed Delo-\\nraine 299\\nTo ancient Riddel s fair domain,\\nWhere Aill, from mountains\\nfreed,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0076.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n55\\nDown from the lakes did raving\\ncome;\\nEach wave was crested with tawny\\nfoam,\\nLike the mane of a chestnut\\nsteed.\\nIn vain no torrent, deep or broad,\\nMight bar the bold moss-trooper s\\nroad.\\nXXIX\\nAt the first plunge the horse sunk\\nlow,\\nAnd the water broke o er the sad-\\ndle-bow\\nAbove the foaming tide, I ween,\\nScarce half the charger s neck was\\nseen; 310\\nFor he was barded from counter\\nto tail,\\nAnd the rider was armed complete\\nin mail\\nNever heavier man and horse\\nStemmed a midnight torrent s\\nforce.\\nThe warrior s very plume, I say,\\nWas daggled by the dashing\\nspray\\nYet, through good heart and Our\\nLadye s grace,\\nAt length he gained the landing-\\nplace.\\nXXX\\nNow Bowden Moor the march-man\\nwon,\\nAnd sternly shook his plumed\\nhead, 320\\nAs glanced his eye o er Halidon\\nFor on his soul the slaughter\\nred\\nOf that unhallowed morn arose,\\nWhen first the Scott and Carr\\nwere foes\\nWhen royal James beheld the\\nfray,\\nPrize to the victor of the day\\nWhen Home and Douglas in the\\nvan\\nBore down Buccleuch s retiring\\nclan,\\nTill gallant Cessford s heart-blood\\ndear\\nKeeked on dark Elliot s Border\\nspear. 330\\nXXXI\\nIn bitter mood he spurred fast,\\nAnd soon the hated heath was\\npast;\\nAnd far beneath, in lustre wan,\\nOld Melros rose and fair Tweed\\nran:\\nLike some tall rock with lichens\\ngray,\\nSeemed, dimly huge, the dark Ab-\\nbaye.\\nWhen Hawick he passed had cur-\\nfew rung,\\nNow midnight lauds were in Mel-\\nrose sung.\\nThe sound upon the fitful gale\\nIn solemn wise did rise and fail, 340\\nLike that wild harp whose magic\\ntone\\nIs wakened by the winds alone.\\nBut when Melrose he reached\\nt was silence all\\nHe meetly stabled his steed in\\nstall,\\nAnd sought the convent s lonely\\nwall.\\nHere paused the harp and with\\nits swell\\nThe Master s fire and courage\\nfell\\nDejectedly and low he bowed,\\nAnd, gazing timid on the crowd,\\nHe seemed to seek in every eye 350\\nIf they approved his minstrelsy\\nAnd, diffident of present praise,\\nSomewhat he spoke of former\\ndays,\\nAnd how old age and wandering\\nlong\\nHad done his hand and harp some\\nwrong.\\nThe Duchess, and her daughters\\nfair,\\nAnd every gentle lady there,", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0077.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "56\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nEach after each, in due degree,\\nGave praises to his melody\\nHis hand was true, his voice was\\nclear, 360\\nAnd much they longed the rest to\\nhear.\\nEncouraged thus, the aged man\\nAfter meet rest again began.\\nCANTO SECOND\\nIf thou wouldst view fair Melrose\\naright,\\nGo visit it by the pale moonlight\\nFor the gay beams of lightsome\\nday\\nGild but to flout the ruins gray.\\nWhen the broken arches are black\\nin night,\\nAnd each shafted oriel glimmers\\nwhite\\nWhen the cold light s uncertain\\nshower\\nStreams on the ruined central\\ntower\\nWhen buttress and buttress, alter-\\nnately,\\nSeem framed of ebon and ivory 10\\nWhen silver edges the imagery,\\nAnd the scrolls that teach thee to\\nlive and die\\nWhen distant Tweed is heard to\\nrave,\\nAnd the owlet to hoot o er the\\ndead man s grave,\\nThen go but go alone the while\\nThen view Saint David s ruined\\npile;\\nAnd, home returning, soothly\\nswear\\nWas never scene so sad and fair\\n11\\nShort halt did Deloraine make\\nthere\\nLittle recked he of the scene so\\nfair 20\\nWith dagger s hilt on the wicket\\nstrong\\nHe struck full loud, and struck\\nfull long.\\nThe porter hurried to the gate\\n1 Who knocks so loud, and knocks\\nso late\\n1 From Branksome I, the warrior\\ncried\\nAnd straight the wicket opened\\nwide:\\nFor Branksome s chiefs had in\\nbattle stood\\nTo fence the rights of fair Mel-\\nrose;\\nAnd lands and livings, many a\\nrood,\\nHad gifted the shrine for their\\nsouls repose. 30\\nin\\nBold Deloraine his errand said\\nThe porter bent his humble head\\nWith torch in hand, and feet un-\\nshod,\\nAnd noiseless step, the path he\\ntrod:\\nThe arched cloister, far and wide,\\nRang to the warrior s clanking\\nstride,\\nTill, stooping low his lofty crest,\\nHe entered the cell of the ancient\\npriest,\\nAnd lifted his barred aventayle\\nTo hail the Monk of Saint Mary s\\naisle. 40\\nIV\\nThe Ladye of Branksome greets\\nthee by me,\\nSays that the fated hour is\\ncome,\\nAnd that to-night I shall watch\\nwith thee,\\nTo win the treasure of the tomb.\\nFrom sackcloth couch the monk\\narose,\\nWith toil his stiffened limbs he\\nreared\\nA hundred years had flung their\\nsnows\\nOn his thin locks and floating\\nbeard.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0078.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n57\\nAnd strangely on the knight looked\\nhe,\\nAnd his blue eyes gleamed wild\\nand wide 50\\n1 And darest thou, warrior, seek to\\nsee\\nWhat heaven and hell alike\\nwould hide\\nMy breast in belt of iron pent,\\nWith shirt of hair and scourge of\\nthorn,\\nFor threescore years, in penance\\nspent,\\nMy knees those flinty stones\\nhave worn\\nYet all too little to atone\\nFor knowing what should ne er be\\nknown.\\nWouldst thou thy every future year\\nIn ceaseless prayer and penance\\ndrie, 60\\nYet wait thy latter end with fear\\nThen, daring warrior, follow\\nme!\\nVI\\n1 Penance, father, will I none\\nPrayer know I hardly one\\nFor mass or prayer can I rarely\\ntarry,\\nSave to patter an Ave Mary,\\nWhen I ride on a Border foray.\\nOther prayer can I none\\nSo speed me my errand, and let me\\nbe gone.\\nVII\\nAgain on the knight looked the\\nchurchman old, 70\\nAnd again he sighed heavily\\nFor he had himself been a warrior\\nbold,\\nAnd fought in Spain and Italy.\\nAnd he thought on the days that\\nwere long since by,\\nWhen his limbs were strong and\\nhis courage was high\\nNow, slow and faint, he led the\\nway\\nWhere,cloistered round,the garden\\nlay;\\nThe pillared arches were over their\\nhead,\\nAnd beneath their feet were the\\nbones of the dead.\\nVIII\\nSpreading herbs and flowerets\\nbright 80\\nGlistened with the dew of night\\nNor herb nor floweret glistened\\nthere\\nBut was carved in the cloister.\\narches as fair.\\nThe monk gazed long on the lovely\\nmoon,\\nThen into the night he looked\\nforth\\nAnd red and bright the streamers\\nlight\\nWere dancing in the glowing\\nnorth.\\nSo had he seen, in fair Castile,\\nThe youth in glittering squad-\\nrons start,\\nSudden the flying jennet wheel, 90\\nAnd hurl the unexpected dart.\\nHe knew, by the streamers that\\nshot so bright,\\nThat spirits were riding the north-\\nern light.\\nIX\\nBy a steel-clenched postern door\\nThey entered now the chancel\\ntall;\\nThe darkened roof rose high\\naloof\\nOn pillars lofty and light and\\nsmall\\nThe keystone that locked each\\nribbed aisle\\nWas a fleur-de-lys or a quatre-\\nfeuille\\nThe corbels were carved grotesque\\nand grim 100\\nAnd the pillars, with clustered\\nshafts so trim,\\nWith base and with capital flour-\\nished around,\\nSeemed bundles of lances which\\ngarlands had bound.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0079.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "5\u00c2\u00bb\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nX\\nAnd fought beneath the Cross of\\nFull many a scutcheon and banner\\nGod:\\nriven\\nNow, strange to my eyes thine\\nShook to the cold night-wind of\\narms appear,\\nheaven,\\nAnd their iron clang sounds\\nAround the screened altar s\\nstrange to my ear.\\npale;\\nAnd there the dying lamps did burn\\nXIII\\nBefore thy low and lonely urn,\\n1 In these far climes it Iwas my\\ngallant Chief of Otterbume\\nlot\\nAnd thine, dark Knight of Lid-\\nTo meet the wondrous Michael\\ndesdale no\\nScott\\nfading honors of the dead\\nA wizard of such dreaded fame\\nhigh ambition lowly laid\\nThat when, in Salamanca s cave,\\nHim listed his magic wand to\\nXI\\nwave, 141\\nThe moon on the east oriel shone\\nThe bells would ring in Notre\\nThrough slender shafts of shapely\\nDame!\\nstone,\\nSome of his skill he taught to\\nBy foliage d tracery combined\\nme;\\nThou wouldst have thought some\\nAnd, warrior, I could say to thee\\nfairy s hand\\nThe words that cleft Eildon Hills\\nTwixt poplars straight the osier\\nin three,\\nwand\\nAnd bridled the Tweed with a\\nIn many a freakish knot had\\ncurb of stone\\ntwined,\\nBut to speak them were a deadly\\nThen framed a spell when the work\\nsin,\\nwas done,\\nAnd for having but thought them\\nAnd changed the willow wreaths\\nmy heart within\\nto stone. 120\\nA treble penance must be done.\\nThe silver light, so pale and faint,\\nShowed many a prophet and many\\nXIV\\na saint,\\nWhen Michael lay on his dying\\nWhose image on the glass was\\nbed, 150\\ndyed;\\nHis conscience was awakened\\nFull in the midst, his cross of red\\nHe bethought him of his sinful\\nTriumphant Michael brandished,\\ndeed,\\nAnd trampled the Apostate s pride.\\nAnd he gave me a sign to come\\nThe moonbeam kissed the holy\\nwith speed\\npane,\\nI was in Spain when the morning\\nAnd threw on the pavement a\\nrose,\\nbloody stain.\\nBut I stood by his bed ere evening\\nclose.\\nXII\\nThe words may not again be\\nThey sate them down on a marble\\nsaid\\nstone 129\\nThat he spoke to me, on death-bed\\nA Scottish monarch slept below\\nlaid;\\nThus spoke the monk in solemn\\nThey would rend this Abbaye s\\ntone\\nmassy nave,\\nI was not always a man of woe\\nAnd pile it in heaps above his\\nFor Paynim countries I have trod,\\ngrave. 159", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0080.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n59\\nxv\\nI swore to bury his Mighty Book,\\nThat never mortal might therein\\nlook;\\nAnd never to tell where it was hid,\\nSave at his Chief of Branksome s\\nneed;\\nAnd when that need was past and\\no er,\\nAgain the volume to restore.\\nI buried him on Saint Michael s\\nnight,\\nWhen the bell tolled one and the\\nmoon was bright,\\nAnd I dug his chamber among the\\ndead,\\nWhen the floor of the chancel was\\nstained red,\\nThat his patron s cross might over\\nhim wave, 170\\nAnd scare the fiends from the\\nwizard s grave.\\nXVI\\n1 It was a night of woe and dread\\nWhen Michael in the tomb I laid\\nStrange sounds along the chancel\\npassed,\\nThe banners waved* without a\\nblast\\nStill spoke the monk, when the\\nbell tolled one\\nI tell you, that a braver man\\nThan William of Deloraine, good\\nat need,\\nAgainst a foe ne er spurred a steed\\nYet somewhat was he chilled with\\ndread, 180\\nAnd his hair did bristle upon his\\nhead.\\nXVII\\nLo, warrior now, the cross of red\\nPoints to the grave of the mighty\\ndead:\\nWithin it burns a wondrous light,\\nTo chase the spirits that love the\\nnight\\nThat lamp shall burn unquench-\\nably,\\nUntil the eternal doom shall be.\\nSlow moved the monk to the broad\\nflagstone\\nWhich the bloody cross was traced\\nupon:\\nHe pointed to a secret nook; 190\\nAn iron bar the warrior took;\\nAnd the monk made a sign with\\nhis withered hand,\\nThe grave s huge portal to expand.\\nXVIII\\nWith beating heart to the task he\\nwent,\\nHis sinewy frame o er the grave-\\nstone bent,\\nWith bar of iron heaved amain\\nTill the toil-drops fell from his\\nbrows like rain.\\nIt was by dint of passing strength\\nThat he moved the massy stone at\\nlength. 199\\nI would you had been there to see\\nHow the light broke forth so glori-\\nously,\\nStreamed upward to the chancel\\nroof,\\nAnd through the galleries far\\naloof\\nXo earthly flame blazed e er so\\nbright\\nIt shone like heaven s own blessed\\nlight,\\nAnd, issuing from the tomb,\\nShow r ed the monk s cowl and vis-\\nage pale,\\nDanced on the dark-browed war-\\nrior s mail, 208\\nAnd kissed his waving plume.\\nXIX\\nBefore their eyes the wizard lay,\\nAs if he had not been dead a day.\\nHis hoary beard in silver rolled,\\nHe seemed some seventy winters\\nold;\\nA palmer s amice wrapped him\\nround,\\nWith a wrought Spanish baldric\\nbound,\\nLike a pilgrim from beyond the\\nsea:", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0081.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "6o\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nHis left hand held his Book of\\nHe thought, as he took it, the\\nMight,\\ndead man frowned\\nA silver cross was in his. right\\nBut the glare of the sepulchral\\nThe lamp was placed beside his\\nlight\\nknee. 219\\nPerchance had dazzled the war-\\nHigh and majestic was his look,\\nrior s sight.\\nAt which the fellest fiends had\\nshook,\\nXXII\\nAnd all unruffled was his face\\nWhen the huge stone sunk o er\\nThey trusted his soul had gotten\\nthe tomb,\\ngrace.\\nThe night returned in double\\ngloom,\\nXX\\nFor the moon had gone down\\nOften had William of Deloraine\\nand the stars were few 250\\nRode through the battle s bloody\\nAnd as the knight and priest\\nplain,\\nwithdrew,\\nAnd trampled down the warriors\\nWith wavering steps and dizzy\\nslain,\\nbrain,\\nAnd neither known remorse nor\\nThey hardly might the postern\\nawe,\\ngain.\\nYet now remorse and awe he\\nT is said, as through the aisles\\nowned\\nthey passed,\\nHis breath came thick, his head\\nThey heard strange noises on\\nswam round,\\nthe blast\\nWhen this strange scene of death\\nAnd through the cloister gal-\\nhe saw. 230\\nleries small,\\nBewildered and unnerved he stood,\\nWhich at mid-height thread the\\nAnd the priest prayed fervently\\nchancel wall,\\nand loud\\nLoud sobs, and laughter louder,\\nWith eyes averted prayed he\\nran,\\nHe might not endure the sight to\\nAnd voices unlike the voice of\\nsee\\nman,\\nOf the man he had loved so bro-\\nAs if the fiends kept holiday 260\\ntherly.\\nBecause these spells were\\nbrought to day.\\nXXI\\nI cannot tell how the truth may\\nAnd when the priest his death-\\nbe;\\nprayer had prayed,\\nI say the tale as t was said to me.\\nThus unto Deloraine he said\\n4 Now, speed thee what thou hast\\nXXIII\\nto do,\\nNow, hie thee hence, the father\\nOr, warrior, we may dearly rue\\nsaid,\\nFor those thou mayst not look\\nAnd when we are on death-bed\\nupon 240\\nlaid,\\nAre gathering fast round the yawn-\\nmay our dear Ladye and sweet\\ning stone\\nSaint John\\nThen Deloraine in terror took\\nForgive our souls for the deed we\\nFrom the cold hand the Mighty\\nhave done\\nBook,\\nThe monk returned him to his cell,\\nWith iron clasped and with iron\\nAnd many a prayer and penance\\nbound\\nsped", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0082.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n61\\nWhen the convent met at the noon-\\ntide bell, 270\\nThe Monk of Saint Mary s aisle\\nwas dead\\nBefore the cross was the body\\nlaid,\\nWith hands clasped fast, as if still\\nhe prayed.\\nXXIV\\nThe knight breathed free in the\\nmorning wind,\\nAnd strove his hardihood to find\\nHe was glad when he passed the\\ntombstones gray\\nWhich girdle round the fair Ab-\\nbaye\\nFor the mystic book, to his bosom\\npressed,\\nFelt like a load upon his breast,\\nAnd his joints, with nerves of iron\\ntwined, 280\\nShook like the aspen^eaves in\\nwind.\\nFull fain was he when the dawn of\\nday\\nBegan to brighten Cheviot gray;\\nHe joyed to see the cheerful light,\\nAnd he said Ave Mary as well as\\nhe might.\\nXXV\\nThe sun had brightened Cheviot\\ngray,\\nThe sun had brightened Carter s\\nside;\\nAnd soon beneath the rising day\\nSmiled Branksome towers and\\nTeviot s tide.\\nThe wild birds told their warbling\\ntale, 290\\nAnd wakened every flower that\\nblows\\nAnd peeped forth the violet pale,\\nAnd spread her breast the moun-\\ntain rose.\\nAnd lovelier than the rose so\\nred,\\nYet paler than the violet pale,\\nShe early left her sleepless bed,\\nThe fairest maid of Teviotdale.\\nxxvi\\nWhy does fair Margaret so early\\nawake,\\nAnd don her kirtle so hastilie\\nAnd the silken knots, which in\\nhurry she would make, 300\\nWhy tremble her slender fingers\\nto tie\\nWhy does she stop and look often\\naround,\\nAs she glides down the secret\\nstan\\nAnd why does she pat the shaggy\\nbloodhound,\\nAs he rouses him up from his\\nlair\\nAnd, though she passes the pos-\\ntern alone,\\nWhy is not the watchman s bugle\\nblown\\nXXVII\\nThe ladye steps in doubt and\\ndread.\\nLest her watchful mother hear her\\ntread\\nThe ladye caresses the rough\\nbloodhound 310\\nLest his voice should waken the\\ncastle round\\nThe watchman s bugle is not\\nblown,\\nFor he was her foster-father s son\\nAnd she glides through the green-\\nwood at dawn of light\\nTo meet Baron Henry, her own\\ntrue knight.\\nXXVIII\\nThe knight and ladye fair are met,\\nAnd under the hawthorn s boughs\\nare set.\\nA fairer pair were never seen\\nTo meet beneath the hawthorn\\ngreen.\\nHe was stately and young and\\ntall, 320\\nDreaded in battle and loved in\\nhall;\\nAnd she, when love, scarce told,\\nscarce hid,", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0083.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "62\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nLent to her cheek a livelier red,\\nWhen the half sigh her swelling\\nbreast\\nAgainst the silken ribbon pressed,\\nWhen her blue eyes their secret\\ntold,\\nThough shaded by her locks of\\ngold\\nWhere would you find the peerless\\nfair\\nWith Margaret of Branksome\\nmight compare\\nXXIX\\nAnd now, fair dames, methinks I\\nsee 330\\nYou listen to my minstrelsy\\nYour waving locks ye backward\\nthrow,\\nAnd sidelong bend your necks of\\nsnow.\\nYe ween to hear a melting tale\\nOf two true lovers in a dale\\nAnd how the knight, with tender\\nfire,\\nTo paint his faithful passion\\nstrove,\\nSwore he might at her feet expire,\\nBut never, never cease to love\\nAnd how she blushed, and how\\nshe sighed, 340\\nAnd, half consenting, half de-\\nnied,\\nAnd said that she would die a\\nmaid\\nYet, might the bloody feud be\\nstayed,\\nHenry of Cranstoun, and only\\nhe,\\nMargaret of Branksome s choice\\nshould be.\\nXXX\\nAlas fair dames, your hopes are\\nvain!\\nMy harp has lost the enchanting\\nstrain\\nIts lightness would my age re-\\nprove\\nMy hairs are gray, my limbs are\\nold,\\nMy heart is dead, my veins are\\ncold: 350\\nI may not, must not, sing of love.\\nXXXI\\nBeneath an oak mossed o er by eld\\nThe Baron s dwarf his courser\\nheld,\\nAnd held his crested helm and\\nspear\\nThat dwarf was scarce an earthly\\nman,\\nIf the tales were true that of him\\nran\\nThrough all the Border far and\\nnear.\\nTwas said, when the Baron\\na-hunting rode\\nThrough Eeedsdale s glens, but\\nrarely trod,\\nHe heard a voice cry, Lost lost\\nlost 360\\nAnd, like tennis-ball by racket\\ntossed,\\nA leap of thirty feet and three\\nMade from the gorse this elfin\\nshape,\\nDistorted like some dwarfish ape,\\nAnd lighted at LordCranstoun s\\nknee.\\nLord Cranstoun was some whit\\ndismayed\\nT is said that five good miles he\\nrade,\\nTo rid him of his company\\nBut where he rode one mile, the\\ndwarf ran four,\\nAnd the dwarf was first at the\\ncastle door. 370\\nXXXII\\nUse lessens marvel, it is said\\nThis elfish dwarf with the Baron\\nstaid\\nLittle he ate, and less he spoke,\\nNor mingled with the menial flock\\nAnd oft apart his arms he tossed,\\nAnd often muttered, Lost lost\\nlost\\nHe was waspish, arch, and lither-\\nlie,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0084.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n63\\nBut well Lord Cranstoun served\\nhe:\\nAnd he of his service was full fain\\nFor once he had been ta en or\\nslain, 380\\nAn it had not been for his minis-\\ntry.\\nAll between Home and Hermitage\\nTalked of Lord Cranstoun s Gob-\\nlin Page.\\nXXXIII\\nFor the Baron went on pilgrimage,\\nAnd took with him this elfish\\npage,\\nTo Mary s Chapel of the Lowes\\nFor there, beside Our Ladye s\\nlake,\\nAn offering he had sworn to make,\\nAnd he would pay his vows.\\nBut the Ladye of Branksome gath-\\nered a band 390\\nOf the best that would ride at her\\ncommand\\nThe trysting-place was Newark\\nLee.\\nWat of Harden came thither\\namain,\\nAnd thither came John of Thirle-\\nstane,\\nAnd thither came William of De-\\nloraine\\nThey were three hundred spears\\nand three.\\nThrough Douglas-burn, up Yarrow\\nstream,\\nTheir horses prance, their lances\\ngleam.\\nThey came to Saint Mary s lake\\nere day,\\nBut the chapel was void and the\\nBaron away, 400\\nThey burned the chapel for very\\nrage.\\nAnd cursed Lord Cranstoun s Gob-\\nlin Page.\\nXXXIV\\nAnd now, in Branksome s good\\ngreenwood,\\nAs under the aged oak he stood,\\nThe Baron s courser pricks his\\nears,\\nAs if a distant noise he hears.\\nThe dwarf waves his long lean\\narm on high,\\nAnd signs to the lovers to part and\\nfly;\\nNo time was then to vow or sigh.\\nFair Margaret through the hazel-\\ngrove 410\\nFlew like the startled cushat-dove\\nThe dwarf the stirrup held and\\nrein;\\nVaulted the knight on his steed\\namain,\\nAnd, pondering deep that morn-\\ning s scene,\\nRode eastward through the haw-\\nthorns green.\\nWhile thus he poured the length-\\nened tale,\\nThe Minstrel s voice began to fail.\\nFull slyly smiled the observant\\nPage,\\nAnd gave the withered hand of age\\nA goblet, crowned with mighty\\nwine, 420\\nThe blood of Velez scorched vine.\\nHe raised the silver cup on high,\\nAnd, while the big drop filled his\\neye,\\nPrayed God to bless the Duchess\\nlong,\\nAnd all who cheered a son of song.\\nThe attending maidens smiled to\\nsee\\nHow long, how deep, how zeal-\\nously,\\nThe precious juice the Minstrel\\nquaffed\\nAnd he, emboldened by the\\ndraught,\\nLooked gayly back to them and\\nlaughed. 430\\nThe cordial nectar of the bowl\\nSwelled his old veins and cheered\\nhis soul\\nA lighter, livelier prelude ran,\\nEre thus his tale again began.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0085.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "6 4\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nCANTO THIRD\\nAnd said I that my limbs were old,\\nAnd said I that my blood was\\ncold,\\nAnd that my kindly fire was fled,\\nAnd my poor withered heart was\\ndead,\\nAnd that I might not sing of\\nlove?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nHow could I to the dearest theme\\nThat ever warmed a minstrel s\\ndream,\\nSo foul, so false a recreant\\nprove\\nHow could I name love s very\\nname,\\nNor wake my heart to notes of\\nflame 10\\nii\\nIn peace, Love tunes the shep-\\nherd s reed\\nIn war, he mounts the warrior s\\nsteed\\nIn halls, in gay attire is seen\\nIn hamlets, dances on the green.\\nLove rules the court, the camp,\\nthe grove,\\nAnd men below, and saints above\\nFor love is heaven, and heaven is\\nlove.\\nin\\nSo thought Lord Cranstoun, as I\\nween,\\nWhile, pondering deep the tender\\nscene,\\nHe rode through Branksome s\\nhawthorn green. 20\\nBut the page shouted wild and\\nshrill,\\nAnd scarce his helmet could he\\ndon,\\nWhen downward from the shady\\nhill\\nA stately knight came pricking\\non.\\nThat warrior s steed, so dapple-\\ngray,\\nWas dark with sweat and splashed\\nwith clay,\\nHis armor red with many a\\nstain\\nHe seemed in such a weary plight,\\nAs if he had ridden the livelong\\nnight 29\\nFor it was William of Deloraine.\\nIV\\nBut no whit weary did he seem,\\nWhen, dancing in the sunny beam,\\nHe marked the crane on the Bar-\\non s crest\\nFor his ready spear was in his\\nrest.\\nFew were the words, and stern\\nand high,\\nThat marked the foemen s feud-\\nal hate\\nFor question fierce and proud re-\\nply\\nGave signal soon of dire debate.\\nTheir very coursers seemed to\\nknow\\nThat each was other s mortal\\nfoe, 40\\nAnd snorted fire when wheeled\\naround\\nTo give each knight his vantage-\\nground.\\nIn rapid round the Baron bent\\nHe sighed a sigh and prayed a\\nprayer\\nThe prayer was to his patron\\nsaint,\\nThe sigh was to his ladye fair.\\nStout Deloraine nor sighed nor\\nprayed,\\nNor saint nor ladye called to\\naid;\\nBut he stooped his head, and\\ncouched his spear,\\nAnd spurred his steed to full ca-\\nreer. 50\\nThe meeting of these champions\\nproud\\nSeemed like the bursting thunder-\\ncloud.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0086.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n65\\nVI\\nStern was the dint the Borderer\\nlent!\\nThe stately Baron backwards\\nbent,\\nBent backwards to his horse s tail,\\nAnd his plumes went scattering\\non the gale\\nThe tough ash spear, so stout and\\ntrue,\\nInto a thousand flinders flew.\\nBut Cranstoun s lance, of more\\navail,\\nPierced through, like silk, the\\nBorderer s mail 60\\nThrough shield and jack and acton\\npassed,\\nDeep in his bosom broke at last.\\nStill sate the warrior saddle-fast,\\nTill, stumbling in the mortal shock,\\nDown went the steed, the girthing\\nbroke,\\nHurled on a heap lay man and\\nhorse.\\nThe Baron onward passed his\\ncourse,\\nNor knew so giddy rolled his\\nbrain\\nHis foe lay stretched upon the\\nplain.\\nVII\\nBut when he reined his courser\\nround, 70\\nAnd saw his f oeman on the ground\\nLie senseless as the bloody clay,\\nHe bade his page to stanch the\\nwound,\\nAnd there beside the warrior\\nstay,\\nAnd tend him in his doubtful state,\\nAnd lead him to Branksome castle-\\ngate\\nHis noble mind was inly moved\\nFor the kinsman of the maid he\\nloved.\\n1 This shalt thou do without delay\\nNo longer here myself may stay\\nUnless the swifter I speed away,\\nShort shrift will be at my dying\\nday. 82\\nVIII\\nAway in speed Lord Cranstoun\\nrode;\\nThe Goblin Page behind abode\\nHis lord s command he ne er with-\\nstood,\\nThough small his pleasure to do\\ngood.\\nAs the corselet off he took,\\nThe dwarf espied the Mighty\\nBook!\\nMuch he marvelled a knight of\\npride\\nLike a book=bosomed priest should\\nride 9\u00c2\u00b0\\nHe thought not to search or stanch\\nthe wound\\nUntil the secret he had found.\\nIX\\nThe iron band, the iron clasp,\\nResisted long the elfin grasp\\nFor when the first he had undone,\\nIt closed as he the next begun.\\nThose iron clasps, that iron band,\\nWould not yield to unchristened\\nhand\\nTill he smeared the cover o er 99\\nWith the Borderer s curdled gore\\nA moment then the volume spread,\\nAnd one short spell therein he\\nread.\\nIt had much of glamour might,\\nCould make a ladye seem a knight,\\nThe cobwebs on a dungeon wall\\nSeem tapestry in lordly hall,\\nA nutshell seem a gilded barge,\\nA sheeling seem a palace large,\\nAnd youth seem age, and age\\nseem youth\\nAll was delusion, nought was\\ntruth*. no\\nx\\nHe had not read another spell,\\nWhen on his cheek a buffet fell,\\nSo fierce, it stretched him on the\\nplain\\nBeside the wounded Deloraine.\\nFrom the ground he rose dismayed,\\nAnd shook his huge and matted\\nhead;", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0087.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "66\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nOne word he muttered and no more,\\n4 Man of age, thou smitest sore\\nNo more the elfin page durst try\\nInto the wondrous book to pry\\nThe clasps, though smeared with\\nChristian gore, 121\\nShut faster than they were be-\\nfore.\\nHe hid it underneath his cloak.\\nNow, if you ask who gave the\\nstroke,\\nI cannot tell, so mot I thrive\\nIt was not given by man alive.\\nxi\\nUnwillingly himself he addressed\\nTo do his master s high behest\\nHe lifted up the living corse, 129\\nAnd laid it on the weary horse\\nHe led him into Branksome Hall\\nBefore the beards of the warders\\nall,\\nAnd each did after swear and say\\nThere only passed a wain of hay.\\nHe took him to Lord David s\\ntower,\\nEven to the Ladye s secret bow-\\ner;\\nAnd, but that stronger spells were\\nspread,\\nAnd the door might not be opened,\\nHe had laid him on her very bed.\\nWhate er he did of gramarye 140\\nWas always done maliciously;\\nHe flung the warrior on the ground,\\nAnd the blood welled freshly from\\nthe wound.\\nXII\\nAs he repassed the outer court,\\nHe spied the fair young child at\\nsport\\nHe thought to train him to the\\nwood;\\nFor, at a word, be it understood,\\nHe was always for ill, and never\\nfor good.\\nSeemed to the boy some comrade\\ngay\\nLed him forth to the woods to\\nplay; 150\\nOn the drawbridge the warders\\nstout\\nSaw a terrier and lurcher passing\\nout.\\nXIII\\nHe led the boy o er bank and fell,\\nUntil they came to a woodland\\nbrook\\nThe running stream dissolved the\\nspell,\\nAnd his own elfish shape he took.\\nCould he have had his pleasure\\nvilde,\\nHe had crippled the joints of the\\nnoble child,\\nOr, with his fingers long and lean,\\nHad strangled him in fiendish\\nspleen 160\\nBut his awful mother he had in\\ndread,\\nAnd also his power was limited\\nSo he but scowled on the startled\\nchild,\\nAnd darted through the forest\\nwild;\\nThe woodland brook he bounding\\ncrossed,\\nAnd laughed, and shouted, Lost\\nlost lost\\nXIV\\nFull sore amazed at the wondrous\\nchange,\\nAnd frightened, as a child might\\nbe,\\nAt the wild yell and visage strange,\\nAnd the dark words of gram-\\narye, 170\\nThe child, amidst the forest bower,\\nStood rooted like a lily flower\\nAnd when at length, with trem-\\nbling pace,\\nHe sought to find where Brank-\\nsome lay,\\nHe feared to see that grisly face\\nGlare from some thicket on his\\nway.\\nThus, starting oft, he journeyed\\non,\\nAnd deeper in the wood is gone,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0088.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n67\\nFor aye the more he sought his\\nway,\\nThe farther still he went astray,\\nUntil he heard the mountains\\nround 181\\nRing to the baying of a hound.\\nxv\\nAnd hark! and hark! the deep-\\nmouthed bark\\nComes nigher still and nigher\\nBursts on the path a dark blood-\\nhound,\\nHis tawny muzzle tracked the\\nground,\\nAnd his red eye shot fire.\\nSoon as the wildered child saw\\nhe,\\nHe flew at him right furiouslie,\\nI ween you would have seen with\\njoy 190\\nThe bearing of the gallant boy,\\nWhen, worthy of his noble sire,\\nHis wet cheek glowed twixt fear\\nand ire!\\nHe faced the bloodhound man-\\nfully,\\nAnd held his little bat on high\\nSo fierce he struck, the dog, afraid,\\nAt cautious distance hoarsely\\nbayed,\\nBut still in act to spring\\nWhen dashed an archer through\\nthe glade,\\nAnd when he saw the hound was\\nstayed, 200\\nHe drew his tough bowstring\\nBut a rough voice cried, Shoot\\nnot, hoy\\nHo! shoot not, Edward, tis a\\nboy!\\nXVI\\nThe speaker issued from the\\nwood,\\nAnd checked his fellow s surly\\nmood,\\nAnd quelled the bandog s ire\\nHe was an English yeoman good\\nAnd born in Lancashire.\\nWell could he hit a fallow-deer\\nFive hundred feet him fro 210\\nWith hand more true and eye more\\nclear\\nNo archer bended bow.\\nHis coal-black hair, shorn round\\nand close,\\nSet off his sun-burned face\\nOld England s sign, Saint George s\\ncross.\\nHis barret-cap did grace j\\nHis bugle-horn hung by his side.\\nAll in a wolf-skin baldric tied;\\nAnd his short falchion, sharp and\\nclear,\\nHad pierced the throat of many a\\ndeer. 220\\nxvi r\\nHis kirtle, made of forest green.\\nReached scantly to his knee\\nAnd, at his belt, of arrows keen\\nA furbished sheaf bore he;\\nHis buckler scarce in breadth a\\nspan,\\nXo longer fence had he\\nHe never counted him a man,\\nWould strike below the knee\\nHis slackened bow was in his\\nhand,\\nAnd the leash that was his blood-\\nhound s band. 230\\nXVIII\\nHe would not do the fair child-\\nharm,\\nBut held him with his powerful\\narm,\\nThat he might neither fight nor\\nflee;\\nFor when the red cross spied\\nhe,\\nThe boy strove long and violent-\\nly.\\nNow, by Saint George, the archer\\ncries,\\n1 Edward, methinks we have a\\nprize\\nThis boy s fair face and courage\\nfree\\nShow he is come of high degree.", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0089.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "68\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nxrx\\n1 Yes I am come of high de-\\ngree, 240\\nFor I am the heir of bold Buc-\\ncleuch\\nAnd, if thou dost not set me free,\\nFalse Southron, thou shalt\\ndearly rue\\nFor Walter of Harden shall come\\nwith speed,\\nAnd William of Deloraine, good at\\nneed,\\nAnd every Scott from Esk to\\nTweed\\nAnd, if thou dost not let me go,\\nDespite thy arrows and thy bow,\\nI 11 have thee hanged to feed the\\ncrow\\nXX\\nGramercy for thy good-will, fair\\nboy 250\\nMy mind was never set so high\\nBut if thou art chief of such a\\nclan,\\nAnd art the son of such a man,\\nAnd ever comest to thy command,\\nOur wardens had need to keep\\ngood order\\nMy bow of yew to a hazel wand,\\nThou It make them work upon\\nthe Border\\nMeantime, be pleased to come with\\nme,\\nFor good Lord Dacre shalt thou\\nsee;\\nI think our work is well begun, 260\\nWhen we have taken thy father s\\nson.\\nXXI\\nAlthough the child was led away,\\nIn Branksome still he seemed to\\nstay,\\nFor so the Dwarf his part did play\\nAnd, in the shape of that young\\nboy,\\nHe wrought the castle much an-\\nnoy.\\nThe comrades of the young Buc-\\ncleuch\\nHe pinched and beat and over-\\nthrew\\nNay, some of them he well-nigh\\nslew.\\nHe tore Dame Maudlin s silken\\ntire, 270\\nAnd, as Sym Hall stood by the fire,\\nHe lighted the match of his bancle-\\nlier,\\nAnd wofully scorched the hack-\\nbuteer.\\nIt may be hardly thought or said,\\nThe mischief that the urchin made,\\nTill many of the castle guessed\\nThat the young baron was pos-\\nsessed\\nXXII\\nWell I ween tue charm he held\\nThe noble Ladye had soon dis-\\npelled,\\nBut she was deeply busied then 280\\nTo tend the wounded Deloraine.\\nMuch she wondered to find him lie\\nOn the stone threshold stretched\\nalong\\nShe thought some spirit of the sky\\nHad done the bold moss-trooper\\nwrong,\\nBecause, despite her precept\\ndread,\\nPerchance he in the book had\\nread\\nBut the broken lance in his bo-\\nsom stood,\\nAnd it was earthly steel and wood.\\nXXIII\\nShe drew the splinter from the\\nwound, 290\\nAnd with a charm she stanched\\nthe blood.\\nShe bade the gash be cleansed and\\nbound\\nXo longer by his couch she\\nstood\\nBut she has ta en the broken lance\\nAnd washed it from the clotted\\ngore,\\nAnd salved the splinter o er and\\no er.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0090.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n6g\\nWilliam of Deloraine, in trance,\\nWhene er she turned it round and\\nround,\\nTwisted as if she galled his wound.\\nThen to her maidens she did\\nsay, 300\\nThat he should be whole man and\\nsound\\nWithin the course of a night and\\nday.\\nFull long she toiled, for she did rue\\nMishap to friend so stout and true.\\nXXIV\\nSo passed the day the evening\\nfell,\\nT was near the time of curfew\\nbell;\\nThe air was mild, the wind was\\ncalm,\\nThe stream was smooth, the dew\\nwas balm\\nE en the rude watchman on the\\ntower\\nEnjoyed and blessed the lovely\\nhour. 310\\nFar more fair Margaret loved and\\nblessed\\nThe hour of silence and of rest.\\nOn the high turret sitting lone,\\nShe waked at times the lute s soft\\ntone,\\nTouched a wild note, and all be-\\ntween\\nThought of the bower of haw-\\nthorns green.\\nHer golden hair streamed free\\nfrom band,\\nHer fair cheek rested on her hand,\\nHer blue eyes sought the west\\nafar,\\nFor lovers love the western\\nstar. 320\\nXXV\\nIs yon the star, o er Penchryst Pen,\\nThat rises slowly to her ken,\\nAnd, spreading broad its waver-\\ning light,\\nShakes its loose tresses on the\\nnight\\nIs yon red glare the western star?\\nO, t is the beacon-blaze of war\\nScarce could she draw her tight-\\nened breath,\\ni For well she knew the fire of\\ndeath\\nXXVI\\nThe warder viewed it blazing\\nstrong,\\nAnd blew his war-note loud and\\nlong, 330\\nTill at the high and haughty sound,\\nRock, wood, and river rung around.\\nThe blast alarmed the festal hall,\\nAnd startled forth the warriors all\\nFar downward in the castle-yard\\nFull many a torch and cresset\\nglared\\nAnd helms and plumes, confusedly\\ntossed,\\nWere in the blaze half seen, half\\nlost;\\nAnd spears in wild disorder shook,\\nLike reeds beside a frozen\\nbrook. 340\\nXXVII\\nThe seneschal, wiiose silver hair\\nWas reddened by the torches\\nglare,\\nStood in the midst, with gesture\\nproud,\\nAnd issued forth his mandates\\nloud:\\nOn Penchryst glows a bale of fire,\\nAnd three are kindling on Priest-\\nhaughswire\\nRide out, ride out,\\nThe foe to scout\\nMount, mount for Branksome,\\nevery man\\nThou, Todrig, w T arn the Johnstone\\nclan, 350\\nThat ever are true and stout.\\nYe need not send to Liddesdale,\\nFor w r hen they see the blazing bale\\nElliots and Armstrongs never\\nfail.\\nHide, Alton, ride, for death and\\nlife,", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0091.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "?o\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nAnd warn the warden of the\\nstrife\\nYoung Gilbert, let our beacon\\nblaze,\\nOur kin and clan and friends to\\nraise\\nXXVIII\\nFair Margaret from the turret\\nhead\\nHeard far below the coursers\\ntread, 360\\nWhile loud the harness rung,\\nAs to their seats with clamor\\ndread\\nThe ready horsemen sprung\\nAnd trampling hoofs, and iron\\ncoats,\\nAnd leaders voices, mingled notes,\\nAnd out and out\\nIn hasty rout,\\nThe horsemen galloped forth\\nDispersing to the south to scout,\\nAnd east, and west, and north, 370\\nTo view their coming enemies,\\nAnd warn their vassals and allies.\\nXXIX\\nThe ready page with hurried hand\\nAwaked the need-fire s slumbering\\nbrand,\\nAnd ruddy blushed the heaven\\nFor a sheet of flame from the tur-\\nret high\\nWaved like a blood-flag on the sky,\\nAll flaring and uneven.\\nAnd soon a score of fires, I ween,\\nFrom height and hill and cliff were\\nseen, 380\\nEach with warlike tidings fraught\\nEach from each the signal caught\\nEach after each they glanced to\\nsight,\\nAs stars arise upon the night.\\nThey gleamed on many a dusky\\ntarn,\\nHaunted by the lonely earn\\nOn many a cairn s gray pyramid,\\nWhere urns of mighty chiefs lie\\nhid;\\nTill high Dunedin the blazes saw\\nFrom Soltra and Dumpender Law,\\nAnd Lothian heard the Regent s\\norder 391\\nThat all should bowne them for\\nthe Border.\\nXXX\\nThe livelong night in Branksome\\nrang\\nThe ceaseless sound of steel\\nThe castle -bell with backward\\nclang\\nSent forth the larum peal.\\nWas frequent heard the heavy jar,\\nWhere massy stone and iron bar\\nWere piled on echoing keep and\\ntower,\\nTo whelm the foe with deadly\\nshower 400\\nWas frequent heard the changing\\nguard,\\nAnd watchword from the sleepless\\nward;\\nWhile, wearied by the endless din,\\nBloodhound and ban -dog yelled\\nwithin.\\nXXXI\\nThe noble dame, amid the broil,\\nShared the gray seneschal s high\\ntoil,\\nAnd spoke of danger with a smile,\\nCheered the young knights, and\\ncouncil sage\\nHeld with the chiefs of riper age.\\nNo tidings of the foe were brought,\\nNor of his numbers knew they\\naught, 411\\nNor what in time of truce he\\nsought.\\nSome said that there were thou-\\nsands ten\\nAnd others weened that it was\\nnought\\nBut Leven Clans or Tynedale\\nmen,\\nWho came to gather in black-\\nmail\\nAnd Liddesdale, with small avail,\\nMight drive them lightly back\\nagen.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0092.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\nSo passed the anxious night away,\\nAnd welcome was the peep of day.\\nCeased the high sound the\\nlistening throng 421\\nApplaud the Master of the Song\\nAnd marvel much, in helpless age,\\nSo hard should he his pilgrimage.\\nHad he no friend no daughter\\ndear,\\nHis wandering toil to share and\\ncheer\\nNo son to be his father s stay,\\nAnd guide him on the rugged way\\nAy, once he had\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but he was\\ndead\\nUpon the harp he stooped his\\nhead, 430\\nAnd busied himself the strings\\nwithal,\\nTo hide the tear that fain would\\nfall.\\nIn solemn measure, soft and slow,\\nArose a father s notes of woe.\\nCANTO FOUETH\\nSweet Teviot on thy silver tide\\nThe glaring bale-fires blaze no\\nmore\\nNo longer steel-clad warriors ride\\nAlong thy wild and willowed\\nshore\\nWhere er thou wind st by dale or\\nhill,\\nAll, all is peaceful, all is still,\\nAs if thy waves, since time was\\nborn,\\nSince first they rolled upon the\\nTweed,\\nHad only heard the shepherd s\\nreed, 9\\nNor startled at the bugle-horn.\\n11\\nUnlike the tide of human time,\\nWhich, though it change in\\nceaseless flow,\\nRetains each grief, retains each\\ncrime,\\nIts earliest course was doomed\\nto know,\\nAnd, darker as it downward bears,\\nIs stained with past and present\\ntears.\\nLow as that tide has ebbed with\\nme,\\nIt still reflects to memory s eye\\nThe hour my brave, my only boy\\nFell by the side of great Dun-\\ndee. 20\\nWhy, when the volleying musket\\nplayed\\nAgainst the bloody Highland\\nblade,\\nWhy was not I beside him laid?\\nEnough he died the death of\\nfame;\\nEnough he died with conquer-\\ning Graeme.\\nin\\nNow over Border dale and fell\\nFull wide and far was terror\\nspread\\nFor pathless marsh and mountain\\ncell\\nThe peasant left his lowly shed.\\nThe frightened flocks and herds\\nwere pent 30\\nBeneath the peel s rude battle-\\nment\\nAnd maids and matrons dropped\\nthe tear,\\nWhile ready warriors seized the\\nspear.\\nFrom Branksome s towers the\\nwatchman s eye\\nDun wreaths of distant smoke can\\nspy,\\nWhich, curling in the rising sun.\\nShowed Southern ravage was be-\\ngun.\\nIV\\nNow loud the heedful gate-ward\\ncried\\nPrepare ye all for blows and\\nblood", "height": "4135", "width": "2591", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0093.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "72\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nWatt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-\\nSeemed newly dyed with gore\\nside, 40\\nHis shafts and bow, of wondrous\\nComes wading through the flood.\\nstrength, 7 o\\nFull oft the Tynedale snatchers\\nHis hardy partner bore.\\nknock\\nAt his lone gate and prove the\\nVI\\nlock;\\nThus to the Ladye did Tinlinn\\nIt was but last Saint Barnabright\\nshow\\nThey sieged him a whole summer\\nThe tidings of the English foe\\nnight,\\n4 Belted Will Howard is marching\\nBut fled at morning; well they\\nhere,\\nknew,\\nAnd hot Lord Dacre, with many a\\nIn vain he never twanged the\\nspear,\\nyew.\\nAnd all the German hackbut-men\\nRight sharp has been the evening\\nWho have long lain at Askerten.\\nshower\\nThey crossed the Liddel at curfew\\nThat drove him from his Liddel\\nhour,\\ntower\\nAnd burned my little lonely\\nAnd, by my faith, the gate-ward\\ntower\\nsaid, 50\\nThe fiend receive their souls\\n1 1 think t will prove a Warden-\\ntherefor 80\\nRaid.\\nIt had not been burnt this year\\nand more.\\nV\\nBarnyard and dwelling, blazing\\nWhile thus he spoke, the bold yeo-\\nbright,\\nman\\nServed to guide me on my flight,\\nEntered the echoing barbican.\\nBut I was chased the livelong\\nHe led a small and shaggy nag,\\nnight.\\nThat through a bog, from hag to\\nBlack John of Akeshaw and Fer-\\nhag,\\ngus Graeme\\nCould bound like any Billhope\\nFast upon my traces came,\\nstag.\\nUntil I turned at Priesthaugh\\nIt bore his wife and children\\nScrogg,\\ntwain\\nAnd shot their horses in the bog,\\nA half-clothed serf was all their\\nSlew Fergus with my lance out-\\ntrain\\nright\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nHis wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-\\nI had him long at high despite 90\\nbrowed,\\nHe drove my cows last Fastern s\\nOf silver brooch and bracelet\\nnight.\\nproud, 60\\nLaughed to her friends among the\\nVII\\ncrowd.\\nNow weary scouts from Liddes-\\nHe was of stature passing tall,\\ndale,\\nBut sparely formed and lean\\nFast hurrying in, confirmed the\\nwithal\\ntale;\\nA battered morion on his brow\\nAs far as they could judge by ken,\\nA leathern jack, as fence enow,\\nThree hours would bring to\\nOn his broad shoulders loosely\\nTeviot s strand\\nhung;\\nThree thousand armed English-\\nA Border axe behind was slung\\nmen.\\nHis spear, six Scottish ells in\\nMeanwhile, full many a warlike\\nlength,\\nband,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0094.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n73\\nFrom Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick\\nshade,\\nCame in, their chief s defence to\\naid.\\nThere was saddling and mounting\\nin haste, ioo\\nThere was pricking o er moor\\nand lea\\nHe that was last at the trysting-\\nplace\\nWas but lightly held of his gay\\nladye.\\nVIII\\nFrom fair Saint Mary s silver wave,\\nFrom dreary Gamescleuch s\\ndusky height,\\nHis ready lances Thirlestane\\nbrave\\nArrayed beneath a banner\\nbright.\\nThe treasured, fleur de luce he\\nclaims\\nTo wreathe his shield, since royal\\nJames,\\nEncamped by Fala s mossy\\nwave, no\\nThe proud distinction grateful\\ngave\\nFor faith mid feudal jars\\nWhat time, save Thirlestane alone,\\nOf Scotland s stubborn barons\\nnone\\nWould march to southern wars\\nAnd hence, in fair remembrance\\nworn,\\nYon sheaf of spears his crest has\\nborne\\nHence his high motto shines re-\\nvealed,\\nReady, aye ready, for the field.\\nIX\\nAn aged knight, to danger\\nsteeled, 120\\nWith many a moss-trooper, came\\non;\\nAnd, azure in a golden field,\\nThe stars and crescent graced his\\nshield,\\nWithout the bend of Murdieston.\\nWide lay his lands round Oak-\\nwood Tower,\\nAnd wide round haunted Castle-\\nOwer\\nHigh over Borthwick s mountain\\nflood\\nHis wood embosomed mansion\\nstood\\nIn the dark glen, so deep below,\\nThe herds of plundered England\\nlOW, 130\\nHis bold retainers daily food,\\nAnd bought with danger, blows,\\nand blood.\\nMarauding chief his sole delight\\nThe moonlight raid, the morning\\nfight;\\nNot even the Flower of Yarrow s\\ncharms\\nIn youth might tame his rage for\\narms;\\nAnd still in age he spurned at\\nrest,\\nAnd still his brows the helmet\\npressed,\\nAlbeit the blanched locks below\\nWere white as Dinlay s spotless\\nsnow. 140\\nFive stately warriors drew the\\nsword\\nBefore their father s band\\nA braver knight than Harden s\\nlord\\nNe er belted on a brand.\\nScotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band,\\nCame trooping down the Tod-\\nshawhill\\nBy the sword they won their land,\\nAnd by the sword they hold it\\nstill.\\nHearken, Ladye, to the tale\\nHow thy sires won fair Esk-\\ndale. 150\\nEarl Morton was lord of that val-\\nley fair,\\nThe Beattisons were his vassals\\nthere.\\nThe earl was gentle and mild of\\nmood.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0095.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "74\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nThe vassals were warlike and\\nfierce and rude\\nHigh of heart and haughty of\\nword,\\nLittle they recked of a tame liege-\\nlord.\\nThe earl into fair Eskdale came,\\nHomage and seigniory to claim\\nOf Gilbert the Galliard a heriot he\\nsought,\\nSaying, Give thy best steed, as a\\nvassal ought. 160\\nDear to me is my bonny white\\nsteed,\\nOft has he helped me at pinch of\\nneed;\\nLord and earl though thou be, I\\ntrow,\\nI can rein Bucksfoot better than\\nthou.\\nWord on word gave fuel to fire,\\nTill so high blazed the Beattison s\\nire,\\nBut that the earl the flight had\\nta en.\\nThe vassals there their lord had\\nslain.\\nSore he plied both whip and\\nspur,\\nAs he urged his steed through\\nEskdale muir 170\\nAnd it fell down a weary weight,\\nJust on the threshold of Brank-\\nsome gate.\\nXI\\nThe earl was a wrathful man to\\nsee,\\nFull fain avenged would he be.\\nIn haste to Branksome s lord he\\nspoke,\\nSaying, Take these traitors to\\nthy yoke\\nFor a cast of hawks, and a purse\\nof gold,\\nAll Eskdale I 11 sell thee, to have\\nand hold\\nBeshrew thy heart, of the Beatti-\\nsons clan\\nIf thou leave st on Eske a landed\\nman 180\\nBut spare Woodkerrick s lands\\nalone,\\nFor he lent me his horse to escape\\nupon.\\nA glad man then was Branksome\\nbold,\\nDown he flung him the purse of\\ngold;\\nTo Eskdale soon he spurred\\namain,\\nAnd with him five hundred riders\\nhas ta en.\\nHe left his merrymen in the midst\\nof the hill,\\nAnd bade them hold them close\\nand still\\nAnd alone he wended to the plain,\\nTo meet with the Galliard and all\\nhis train. 190\\nTo Gilbert the Galliard thus he\\nsaid:\\nKnow thou me for thy liege-lord\\nand head\\nDeal not with me as with Morton\\ntame,\\nFor Scotts play best at the rough-\\nest game.\\nGive me in peace my heriot due,\\nThy bonny white steed, or thou\\nshalt rue.\\nIf my horn I three times wind,\\nEskdale shall long have the sound\\nin mind.\\nXII\\nLoudly the Beattison laughed in\\nscorn\\nLittle care we for thy winded\\nhorn. 200\\nNe er shall it be the Galliard s\\nlot\\nTo yield his steed to a haughty\\nScott.\\nWend thou to Branksome back on\\nfoot,\\nWith rusty spur and miry boot.\\nHe blew his bugle so loud and\\nhoarse\\nThat the dun deer started at far\\nCraikcross\\nHe blew again so loud and clear,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0096.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n75\\nThrough the gray mountain-mist\\nthere did lances appear\\nAnd the third blast rang with such\\na din\\nThat the echoes answered from\\nPentounlinn, 210\\nAnd all his riders came lightly\\nin.\\nThen had you seen a gallant shock,\\nWhen saddles were emptied and\\nlances broke\\nFor each scornful word the Gal-\\nliard had said\\nA Beattison on the field was laid.\\nHis own good sword the chieftain\\ndrew,\\nAnd he bore the Galliard through\\nand through\\nWhere the Beattisons blood mixed\\nwith the rill,\\nThe Galliard s Haugh men call it\\nstill.\\nThe Scotts have scattered the\\nBeattison clan, 220\\nIn Eskdale they left but one\\nlanded man.\\nThe valley of Eske, from the\\nmouth to the source,\\nWas lost and won for that bonny\\nwhite horse.\\nXIII\\nWhitslade the Hawk, and Head- i\\nshaw came,\\nAnd warriors more than I may\\nname\\nFrom Yarrow-cleugh to Hind-\\nhaugh-swair,\\nFrom Woodhouselie to Chester-\\nglen,\\nTrooped man and horse, and bow\\nand spear\\nTheir gathering word was Bel-\\nlenden.\\nAnd better hearts o er Border\\nsod 230\\nTo siege or rescue never rode.\\nThe Ladye marked the aids come\\nin,\\nAnd high her heart of pride\\narose\\nShe bade her youthful son attend,\\nThat he might know his father s\\nfriend,\\nAnd learn to face his foes\\nThe boy is ripe to look on war\\nI saw him draw a cross-bow stiff,\\nAnd his true arrow struck afar\\nThe raven s nest upon the\\ncliff 240\\nThe red cross on a Southern\\nbreast\\nIs broader than the raven s nest\\nThou, Whitslade, shalt teach him\\nhis weapon to wield,\\nAnd o er him hold his father s\\nshield.\\nXIV\\nWell may you think the wily page\\nCared not to face the Ladye sage.\\nHe counterfeited childish fear,\\nAnd shrieked, and shed full many\\na tear,\\nAnd moaned, and plained in man-\\nner wild.\\nThe attendants to the Ladye\\ntold, 250\\nSome fairy, sure, had changed the\\nchild,\\nThat wont to be so free and bold.\\nThen wrathful was the noble\\ndame\\nShe blushed blood-red for very\\nshame\\nHence ere the clan his faintness\\nview\\nHence with the weakling to Buc-\\ncleuch\\nWatt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his\\nguide\\nTo Kangleburn s lonely side.\\nSure, some fell fiend has cursed\\nour line,\\nThat coward should e er be son of\\nmine 260\\nxv\\nA heavy task Watt Tinlinn had,\\nTo guide the counterfeited lad.\\nSoon as the palfrey felt the weight\\nOf that ill-omened elfish freight,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0097.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "7 6\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nHe bolted, sprung, and reared\\namain,\\nNor heeded bit nor curb nor rein.\\nIt cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil\\nTo drive him but a Scottish mile\\nBut as a shallow brook they\\ncrossed,\\nThe elf, amid the running\\nstream, 270\\nHis figure changed, like form in\\ndream,\\nAnd fled, and shouted, Lost\\nlost! lost!\\nFull fast the urchin ran and\\nlaughed,\\nBut faster still a cloth-yard shaft\\nWhistled from startled Tinlinn s\\nyew,\\nAnd pierced his shoulder through\\nand through.\\nAlthough the imp might not be\\nslain,\\nAnd though the wound soon healed\\nagain,\\nYet, as he ran, he yelled for pain\\nAnd Watt of Tinlinn, much\\naghast, 280\\nRode back to Branksome fiery\\nfast.\\nXVI\\nSoon on the hill s steep verge he\\nstood,\\nThat looks o er Branksome s\\ntowers and wood\\nAnd martial murmurs from below\\nProclaimed the approaching\\nSouthern foe.\\nThrough the dark wood, in min-\\ngled tone,\\nWere Border pipes and bugles\\nblown;\\nThe coursers neighing he could\\nken,\\nA measured tread of marching\\nmen;\\nWhile broke at times the solemn\\nhum, 290\\nThe Almayn s sullen kettle-drum;\\nAnd banners tall, of crimson sheen,\\nAbove the copse appear\\nAnd, glistening through the haw-\\nthorns green,\\nShine helm and shield and spear.\\nXVII\\nLight forayers first, to view the\\nground,\\nSpurred their fleet coursers loosely\\nround\\nBehind, in close array, and fast,\\nThe Kendal archers, all in green,\\nObedient to the bugle blast, 300\\nAdvancing from the wood were\\nseen.\\nTo back and guard the archer\\nband,\\nLord Dacre s billmen were at\\nhand\\nA hardy race, on Irtbing bred,\\nWith kirtles white and crosses\\nred,\\nArrayed beneath the banner tall\\nThat streamed o er Acre s con-\\nquered wall\\nAnd minstrels, as they marched\\nin order,\\nPlayed, Noble Lord Dacre, he\\ndwells on the Border.\\nXVIII\\nBehind the English bill and bow 3 10\\nThe mercenaries, firm and slow,\\nMoved on to fight in dark array.\\nBy Conrad led of Wolfenstein,\\nWho brought the band from dis-\\ntant Rhine,\\nAnd sold their blood for foreign\\npay.\\nThe camp their home, their law the\\nsword,\\nThey knew no country, owned no\\nlord:\\nThey were not armed like Eng-\\nland s sons,\\nBut bore the levin-darting guns\\nBuff coats, all frounced and broi-\\ndered o er, 320\\nAnd morsing- horns and scarfs\\nthey wore\\nEach better knee was bared, to aid\\nThe warriors in the escalade;", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0098.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n77\\nAll as they marched, in rugged\\ntongue\\nSongs of Teutonic feuds they sung.\\nXIX\\nBut louder still the clamor grew,\\nAnd louder still the minstrels blew,\\nWhen, from beneath the green-\\nwood tree,\\nRode forth Lord Howard s chiv-\\nalry\\nHis men-at-arms, with glaive and\\nspear, 330\\nBrought up the battle s glittering\\nrear.\\nThere many a youthful knight,\\nfull keen\\nTo gain his spurs, in arms was\\nseen,\\nWith favor in his crest or glove,\\nMemorial of his ladye-love.\\nSo rode they forth in fair array,\\nTill full their lengthened lines dis-\\nplay;\\nThen called a halt, and made a\\nstand,\\nAnd cried, Saint George for\\nmerry England\\nxx\\nNow every English eye intent 340\\nOn Branksome s armed towers\\nwas bent\\nSo near they were that they might\\nknow\\nThe straining harsh of each cross-\\nbow;\\nOn battlement and bartizan\\nGleamed axe and spear and parti-\\nsan\\nFalcon and culver on each tower\\nStood prompt their deadly hail to\\nshower\\nAnd flashing armor frequent broke\\nFrom eddying whirls of sable\\nsmoke,\\nWhere upon tower and turret\\nhead 350\\nThe seething pitch and molten lead\\nReeked like a witch s caldron\\nred.\\nWhile yet they gaze, the bridges\\nfall,\\nThe wicket opes, and from the\\nwall\\nRides forth the hoary seneschal.\\nXXI\\nArmed he rode, all save the head,\\nHis white beard o er his breast-\\nplate spread\\nUnbroke by age, erect his seat,\\nHe ruled his eager courser s\\ngait,\\nForced him with chastened fire\\nto prance, 360\\nAnd, high curvetting, slow ad-\\nvance\\nIn sign of truce, his better hand\\nDisplayed a peeled willow wand\\nHis squire, attending in the rear,\\nBore high a gauntlet on a spear.\\nWhen they espied him riding\\nout,\\nLord Howard and Lord Dacre\\nstout\\nSped to the front of their array,\\nTo hear what this old knight\\nshould say.\\nXXII\\nYe English warden lords, of\\nyou 370\\nDemands the Ladye of Buccleuch,\\nW T hy, gainst the truce of Border\\ntide,\\nIn hostile guise ye dare to ride,\\nWith Kendal bow and Gilsland\\nbrand,\\nAnd all yon mercenary band,\\nUpon the bounds of fair Scotland\\nMy Ladye reads you swith re-\\nturn\\nAnd, if but one poor straw you\\nburn,\\nOr do our towers so much molest\\nAs scare one swallow from her\\nnest, 380\\nSaint Mary! but we ll light a\\nbrand\\nShall warm your hearths in Gum\\nberland.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0099.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "78\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nXXIII\\nA wrathful man was Dacre s lord,\\nBut calmer Howard took tbe\\nword\\n1 May t please thy dame, Sir Sen-\\neschal,\\nTo seek the castle s outward wall,\\nOur pursuivant-at-arms shall show\\nBoth why we came and when we\\ngo.\\nThe message sped, the noble dame\\nTo the wall s outward circle\\ncame 390\\nEach chief around leaned on his\\nspear,\\nTo see the pursuivant appear.\\nAll in Lord Howard s livery\\ndressed,\\nThe lion argent decked his breast\\nHe led a boy of blooming hue\\nO sight to meet a mother s view\\nIt was the heir of great Buccleuch.\\nObeisance meet the herald made,\\nAnd thus his master s will he\\nsaid\\nXXIV\\nIt irks, high dame, my noble\\nlords, 400\\nGainst ladye fair to draw their\\nswords\\nBut yet they may not tamely see,\\nAll through the Western War-\\ndenry,\\nYour law contemning kinsmen\\nride,\\nAnd burn and spoil the Border-\\nside;\\nAnd ill beseems your rank and\\nbirth\\nTo make your towers a flemens-\\nfirth.\\nWe claim from thee William of\\nDeloraine,\\nThat he may suffer march-treason\\npain.\\nIt was but last Saint Cuthbert s\\neven 410\\nHe pricked to Stapleton on Leven,\\nHarried the lands of Richard Mus-\\ngrave,\\nAnd slew his brother by dint of\\nglaive.\\nThen, since a lone and widowed\\ndame\\nThese restless riders may not\\ntame,\\nEither receive within thy towers\\nTwo hundred of my master s\\npowers,\\nOr straight they sound their war-\\nrison,\\nAnd storm and spoil thy garrison\\nAnd this fair boy, to London\\nled, 420\\nShall good King Edward s page\\nbe bred.\\nXXV\\nHe ceased and loud the boy did\\ncry,\\nAnd stretched his little arms on\\nhigh,\\nImplored for aid each well-known\\nface,\\nAnd strove to seek the dame s em-\\nbrace.\\nA moment changed that Ladye s\\ncheer,\\nGushed to her eye the unbidden\\ntear\\nShe gazed upon the leaders round,\\nAnd dark and sad each warrior\\nfrowned\\nThen deep within her sobbing\\nbreast 430\\nShe locked the struggling sigh to\\nrest,\\nUnaltered and collected stood,\\nAnd thus replied in dauntless\\nmood:\\nXXVI\\nSay to your lords of high emprise\\nWho war on women and on\\nboys,\\nThat either William of Deloraine\\nWill cleanse him by oath of march-\\ntreason stain,\\nOr else he will the combat take\\nGainst Musgrave for his honor s\\nsake,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0100.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n79\\nNo knight in Cumberland so\\ngood 44\u00c2\u00b0\\nBut William may count with him\\nkin and blood.\\nKnighthood he took of Douglas\\nsword,\\nWhen English blood swelled An-\\ncram ford\\nAnd but Lord Dacre s steed was\\nwight,\\nAnd bare him ably in the flight,\\nHimself had seen him dubbed a\\nknight.\\nFor the young heir of Branksome s\\nline,\\nGod be his aid, and God be mine\\nThrough me no friend shall meet\\nhis doom;\\nHere, while I live, no foe finds\\nroom. 450\\nThen, if thy lords their purpose\\nurge,\\nTake our defiance loud and high\\nOur slogan is their lyke-wake\\ndirge,\\nOur moat the grave where they\\nshall lie.\\nXXVII\\nProud she looked round, applause\\nto claim\\nThen lightened Thirlestane s eye\\nof flame\\nHis bugle Wat of Harden blew\\nPensils and pennons wide were\\nflung,\\nTo heaven the Border slogan rung,\\n1 Saint Mary for the young Buc-\\ncleuch 460\\nThe English war-cry answered\\nwide,\\nAnd forward bent each Southern\\nspear;\\nEach Kendal archer made a stride,\\nAnd drew the bowstring to his\\near\\nEach minstrel s war-note loud was\\nblown\\nBut, ere a gray-goose shaft had\\nflown,\\nA horseman galloped from the\\nrear.\\nXXVIII\\n1 Ah noble lords he breathless\\nsaid,\\nWhat treason has your march\\nbetrayed\\nWhat make you here from aid so\\nfar, 470\\nBefore you walls, around you war?\\nYour foemen triumph in the\\nthought\\nThat in the toils the lion s caught.\\nAlready on dark Ruberslaw\\nThe Douglas holds his w T eapon-\\nschaw\\nThe lances, waving in his train,\\nClothe the dun heath like autumn\\ngrain\\nAnd on the Liddel s northern\\nstrand,\\nTo bar retreat to Cumberland,\\nLord Maxwell ranks his merrymen\\ngood 480\\nBeneath the eagle and the rood\\nAnd Jedwood, Eske, and Teviot-\\ndale,\\nHave to proud Angus come\\nAnd all the Merse and Lauderdale\\nHave risen with haughty Home.\\nAn exile from Northumberland,\\nIn Liddesdale I ve wandered\\nlong,\\nBut still my heart was with merry\\nEngland,\\nAnd cannot brook my country s\\nwrong\\nAnd hard I ve spurred all night,\\nto show 490\\nThe mustering of the coming foe.\\nXXIX\\nAnd let them come fierce Dacre\\ncried\\n1 For soon yon crest, my father s\\npride,\\nThat swept the shores of Judah s\\nsea,\\nAnd waved in gales of Galilee,\\nFrom Branksome s highest towers\\ndisplayed,\\nShall mock the rescue s lingering\\naid!\\nLevel each harquebuss on row", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0101.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "8o\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nDraw, merry archers, draw the\\nbow 499\\nUp, billmen, to the walls, and cry,\\nDacre for England, win or die\\nXXX\\n1 Yet hear, quoth Howard, calmly\\nhear,\\nNor deem my words the words of\\nfear:\\nFor who, in field or foray slack,\\nSaw the Blanche Lion e er fall\\nback?\\nBut thus to risk our Border flower\\nIn strife against a kingdom s\\npower,\\nTen thousand Scots gainst thou-\\nsands three,\\nCertes, were desperate policy.\\nNay, take the terms the Ladye\\nmade 510\\nEre conscious of the advancing\\naid:\\nLet Musgrave meet fierce Delo-\\nraine\\nIn single fight, and if he gain,\\nHe gains for us but if he s crossed,\\nT is but a single warrior lost\\nThe rest, retreating as they came,\\nAvoid defeat and death and shame.\\nXXXI\\n111 could the haughty Dacre brook\\nHis brother warden s sage rebuke\\nAnd yet his forward step he stayed,\\nAnd slow and sullenly obeyed. 521\\nBut ne er again the Border side\\nDid these two lords in friendship\\nride;\\nAnd this slight discontent, men\\nsay,\\nCost blood upon another day.\\nXXXII\\nThe pursuivant-at-arms again\\nBefore the castle took his stand\\nHis trumpet called with parleying\\nstrain\\nThe leaders of the Scottish band\\nAnd he defied, in Musgrave s right,\\nStout Deloraine to single fight. 531\\nA gauntlet at their feet he laid,\\nAnd thus the terms of fight he\\nsaid:\\n1 If in the lists good Musgrave s\\nsword\\nVanquish the Knight of Delo-\\nraine,\\nYour youthful chieftain, Brank-\\nsome s lord,\\nShall hostage for his clan re-\\nmain;\\nIf Deloraine foil good Musgrave,\\nThe boy his liberty shall have.\\nHowe er it falls, the English\\nband, S4 o\\nUnharming Scots, by Scots un-\\nharmed,\\nIn peaceful march, like men un-\\narmed,\\nShall straight retreat to Cumber-\\nland.\\nXXXIII\\nUnconscious of the near relief,\\nThe proffer pleased each Scottish\\nchief,\\nThough much the Ladye sage\\ngainsaid\\nFor though their hearts were brave\\nand true,\\nFrom Jedwood s recent sack they\\nknew\\nHow tardy was the Regent s aid\\nAnd you may guess the noble\\ndame 550\\nDurst not the secret prescience\\nown,\\nSprung from the art she might not\\nname,\\nBy which the coming help was\\nknown.\\nClosed was the compact, and agreed\\nThat lists should be enclosed with\\nspeed\\nBeneath the castle on a lawn\\nThey fixed the morrow for the\\nstrife,\\nOn foot, with Scottish axe and\\nknife,\\nAt the fourth hour from peep of\\ndawn", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0102.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n81\\nWhen Deloraine, from sickness\\nfreed, 560\\nOr else a champion in his stead,\\nShould for himself and chieftain\\nstand\\nAgainst stout Musgrave, hand to\\nhand.\\nxxxiv\\nI know right well that in their lay\\nFull many minstrels sing and say\\nSuch combat should be made on\\nhorse\\nOn foaming steed, in full career,\\nWith brand to aid, whenas the\\nspear\\nShould shiver in the course 569\\nBut he, the jovial harper, taught\\nMe, yet a youth, how it was fought,\\nIn guise which now I say\\nHe knew each ordinance and clause\\nOf Black Lord Archibald s battle-\\nlaws,\\nIn the old Douglas day.\\nHe brooked not, he, that scoffing\\ntongue\\nShould tax his minstrelsy with\\nwrong,\\nOr call his song untrue\\nFor this, when they the goblet\\nplied,\\nAnd such rude taunt had chafed\\nhis pride, 580\\nThe Bard of Eeull he slew.\\nOn Teviot s side in fight they stood,\\nAnd tuneful hands were stained\\nwith blood,\\nWhere still the thorn s white\\nbranches wave,\\nMemorial o er his rival s grave.\\nXXXV\\nWhy should I tell the rigid doom\\nThat dragged my master to his\\ntomb;\\nHow Ousenam s maidens tore\\ntheir hair,\\nWept till their eyes were dead and\\ndim,\\nAnd wrung their hands for love of\\nhim 590\\nWho died at Jedwood Air\\nHe died his scholars, one by one,\\nTo the cold silent grave are gone\\nAnd I, alas survive alone,\\nTo muse o er rivalries of yore,\\nAnd grieve that I shall hear no\\nmore\\nThe strains, with envy heard be-\\nfore\\nFor, with my minstrel brethren\\nfled,\\nMy jealousy of song is dead.\\nHe paused: the listening dames\\nagain 600\\nApplaud the hoary Minstrel s\\nstrain.\\nWith many a word of kindly\\ncheer,\\nIn pity half, and half sincere,\\nMarvelled the Duchess how so well\\nHis legendary song could tell\\nOf ancient deeds, so long forgot\\nOf feuds, whose memory was not;\\nOf forests, now laid waste and\\nbare;\\nOf towers, which harbor now the\\nhare;\\nOf manners, long since changed\\nand gone; 610\\nOf chiefs, who under their gray\\nstone\\nSo long had slept that fickle Fame\\nHad blotted from her rolls their\\nname,\\nAnd twined round some new min-\\nion s head\\nThe fading wreath for which they\\nbled:\\nIn sooth, twas strange this old\\nman s verse\\nCould call them from their marble\\nhearse.\\nThe harper smiled, well pleased;\\nfor ne er\\nWas flattery lost on poet s ear.\\nA simple race! they waste their\\ntoil 620\\nFor the vain tribute of a smile", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0103.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "82\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nE en when in age their flame ex-\\npires,\\nHer dulcet breath can fan its\\nfires:\\nTheir drooping fancy wakes at\\npraise,\\nAnd strives to trim the short-lived\\nblaze.\\nSmiled then, well pleased, the aged\\nman,\\nAnd thus his tale continued ran.\\nCANTO FIFTH\\nCall it not vain they do not err,\\nWho say that when the poet dies\\nMute Nature mourns her worship-\\nper\\nAnd celebrates his obsequies\\nWho say tall cliff and cavern lone\\nFor the departed bard make moan\\nThat mountains weep in crystal\\nrill;\\nThat flowers in tears of balm distil\\nThrough his loved groves that\\nbreezes sigh,\\nAnd oaks in deeper groan reply, 10\\nAnd rivers teach their rushing\\nwave\\nTo murmur dirges round his grave.\\nii\\nNot that, in sooth, o er mortal urn\\nThose things inanimate can mourn,\\nBut that the stream, the wood, the\\ngale,\\nIs vocal with the plaintive wail\\nOf those who, else forgotten long,\\nLived in the poet s faithful song,\\nAnd, with the poet s parting breath,\\nWhose memory feels a second\\ndeath. 20\\nThe maid s pale shade, who wails\\nher lot,\\nThat love, true love, should be for-\\ngot,\\nFrom rose and hawthorn shakes\\nthe tear\\nUpon the gentle minstrel s bier\\nThe phantom knight, his glory\\nfled,\\nMourns o er the field he heaped\\nwith dead,\\nMounts the wild blast that sweeps\\namain\\nAnd shrieks along the battle-plain\\nThe chief, whose antique crownlet\\nlong 29\\nStill sparkled in the feudal song,\\nNow, from the mountain s misty\\nthrone,\\nSees, in the thanedom once his\\nown,\\nHis ashes undistinguished lie,\\nHis place, his power, his memory\\ndie;\\nHis groans the lonely caverns fill,\\nHis tears of rage impel the rill\\nAll mourn the minstrel s harp un-\\nstrung,\\nTheir name unknown, their praise\\nunsung.\\nin\\nScarcely the hot assault was\\nstayed,\\nThe terms of truce were scarcely\\nmade, 40\\nWhen they could spy, from Brank-\\nsome s towers,\\nThe advancing march of martial\\npowers.\\nThick clouds of dust afar ap-\\npeared,\\nAnd trampling steeds were faintly\\nheard\\nBright spears above the columns\\ndun\\nGlanced momentary to the sun\\nAnd feudal banners fair displayed\\nThe bands that moved to Brank-\\nsome s aid.\\nIV\\nVails not to tell each hardy clan,\\nFrom the fair Middle Marches\\ncame 50\\nThe Bloody Heart blazed in the\\nvan,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0104.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n83\\nAnnouncing Douglas, dreaded\\nname!\\nVails not to tell what steeds did\\nspurn,\\nWhere the Seven Spears of Wed-\\nderburne\\nTheir men in battle-order set,\\nAnd Swinton laid the lance in rest\\nThat tamed of yore the sparkling\\ncrest\\nOf Clarence s Plantagenet.\\nNor list I say what hundreds\\nmore,\\nFrom the rich Merse and Lammer\\nmore, 60\\nAnd Tweed s fair borders, to the\\nwar,\\nBeneath the crest of Old Dunbar\\nAnd Hepburn s mingled banners,\\ncome\\nDown the steep mountain glitter-\\ning far,\\nAnd shouting still, A Home a\\nHome\\nNow squire and knight, from\\nBranksome sent,\\nOn many a courteous message\\nwent:\\nTo every chief and lord they paid\\nMeet thanks for prompt and power-\\nful aid,\\nAnd told them how a truce was\\nmade, 70\\nAnd how a day of flght was ta en\\nTwixt Musgrave and stout Delo-\\nraine\\nAnd how the Ladye prayed them\\ndear\\nThat all would stay the fight to see,\\nAnd deign, in love and courtesy,\\nTo taste of Branksome cheer.\\nNor, while they bade to feast each\\nScot,\\nWere England s noble lords forgot.\\nHimself, the hoary seneschal,\\nRode forth, in seemly terms to\\ncall 80\\nThose gallant foes to Branksome\\nHall.\\nAccepted Howard, than whom\\nknight\\nWas never dubbed, more bold in\\nfight,\\nNor, when from war and armor\\nfree,\\nMore famed for stately courtesy\\nBut angry Dacre rather chose\\nIn his pavilion to repose.\\nVI\\nNow, noble dame, perchance you\\nask\\nHow these two hostile armies\\nmet,\\nDeeming it were no easy task go\\nTo keep the truce which here\\nwas set\\nWhere martial spirits, all on fire,\\nBreathed only blood and mortal\\nire.\\nBy mutual inroads, mutual blows,\\nBy habit, and by nation, foes,\\nThey met on Teviot s strand;\\nThey met and sate them mingled\\ndown,\\nWithout a threat, without a frown,\\nAs brothers meet in foreign land\\nThe hands, the spear that lately\\ngrasped, 100\\nStill in the mailed gauntlet\\nclasped,\\nWere interchanged in greeting\\ndear\\nVisors were raised and faces\\nshown,\\nAnd many a friend, to friend made\\nknown,\\nPartook of social cheer.\\nSome drove the jolly bowl about\\nWith dice and draughts some\\nchased the day\\nAnd some, with many a merry\\nshout,\\nIn riot, revelry, and rout,\\nPursued the football play. 1 10\\nVII\\nYet, be it known, had bugles\\nblown\\nOr sign of war been seen,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0105.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "S4\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nThose bands, so fair together\\nranged,\\nThose hands, so frankly inter-\\nchanged,\\nHad dyed with gore the green\\nThe merry shout by Teviot-side\\nHad sunk in war-cries wild and\\nwide,\\nAnd in the groan of death\\nAnd whingers, now in friendship\\nbare,\\nThe social meal to part and\\nshare, 120\\nHad found a bloody sheath.\\nTwixt truce and war, such sudden\\nchange\\nWas not infrequent, nor held\\nstrange,\\nIn the old Border-day\\nBut yet on Branksome s towers\\nand town,\\nIn peaceful merriment, sunk down\\nThe sun s declining ray.\\nVIII\\nThe blithesome signs of wassail\\ngay\\nDecayed not with the dying day\\nSoon through the latticed windows\\ntall 130\\nOf lofty Branksome s lordly hall,\\nDivided square by shafts of stone,\\nHuge flakes of ruddy lustre shone\\nNor less the gilded rafters rang\\nWith merry harp and beakers\\nclang\\nAnd frequent, on the darkening\\nplain,\\nLoud hollo, whoop, or whistle\\nran,\\nAs bands, their stragglers to re-\\ngain,\\nGive the shrill watchword of\\ntheir clan\\nAnd revellers, o er their bowls,\\nproclaim 140\\nDouglas or Dacre s conquering\\nname.\\nIX\\nLess frequent heard, and fainter\\nstill,\\nAt length the various clamors\\ndied,\\nAnd you might hear from Brank-\\nsome hill\\nNo sound but Teviot s rushing\\ntide\\nSave when the changing sentinel\\nThe challenge of his watch could\\ntell\\nAnd save where, through the dark\\nprofound,\\nThe clanging axe and hammer s\\nsound\\nRung from the nether lawn 150\\nFor many a busy hand toiled there,\\nStrong pales to shape and beams\\nto square,\\nThe lists dread barriers to prepare\\nAgainst the morrow s dawn.\\nMargaret from hall did soon re-\\ntreat,\\nDespite the dame s reproving\\neye;\\nNor marked she, as she left her\\nseat,\\nFull many a stifled sigh\\nFor many a noble warrior strove\\nTo win the Flower of Teviot s\\nlove, 160\\nAnd many a bold ally.\\nWith throbbing head and anxious\\nheart,\\nAll in her lonely bower apart,\\nIn broken sleep she lay.\\nBy times, from silken couch she\\nrose\\nWhile yet the bannered hosts re-\\npose,\\nShe viewed the dawning day\\nOf all the hundreds sunk to rest,\\nFirst woke the loveliest and the\\nbest.\\nXI\\nShe gazed upon the inner court, 170\\nWhich in the tower s tall sha-\\ndow lay,\\nWhere coursers clang and stamp\\nand snort\\nHad rung the livelong yesterday", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0106.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n85\\nNow still as death till stalking\\nslow,\\nThe jingling spurs announced\\nhis tread,\\nA stately warrior passed below\\nBut when he raised his plumed\\nhead\\nBlessed Mary can it be\\nSecure, as if in Ousenam bowers,\\nHe walks through Branksome s\\nhostile towers, 180\\nWith fearless step and free.\\nShe dared not sign, she dared not\\nspeak\\nO, if one page s slumbers break,\\nHis blood the price must pay\\nNot all the pearls Queen Mary\\nwears,\\nNot Margaret s yet more precious\\ntears,\\nShall buy his life a day.\\nXII\\nYet was his hazard small for well\\nYou may bethink you of the spell\\nOf that sly urchin page 190\\nThis to his lord he did impart,\\nAnd made him seem, by glamour\\nart,\\nA knight from Hermitage.\\nUnchallenged, thus, the warder s\\npost,\\nThe court, unchallenged, thus he\\ncrossed,\\nFor all the vassalage\\nBut O, what magic s quaint dis-\\nguise\\nCould blind fair Margaret s azure\\neyes!\\nShe started from her seat\\nWhile with surprise and fear she\\nstrove, 200\\nAnd both could scarcely master\\nlove\\nLord Henry s at her feet.\\nXIII\\nOft have I mused what purpose\\nbad\\nThat foul malicious urchin had\\nTo bring this meeting round,\\nFor happy love s a heavenly\\nsight,\\nAnd by a vile malignant sprite\\nIn such no joy is found\\nAnd oft I ve deemed, perchance\\nhe thought\\nTheir erring passion might have\\nwrought 210\\nSorrow and sin and shame,\\nAnd death to Cranstoun s gallant\\nKnight,\\nAnd to the gentle Ladye bright\\nDisgrace and loss of fame.\\nBut earthly spirit could not tell\\nThe heart of them that loved so\\nwell.\\nTrue love s the gift which God\\nhas given\\nTo man alone beneath the hea-\\nven:\\nIt is not fantasy s hot fire,\\nWhose wishes, soon as granted,\\nfly; 220\\nIt liveth not in fierce desire,\\nWith dead desire it doth not\\ndie;\\nIt is the secret sympathy,\\nThe silver link, the silken tie,\\nWhich heart to heart, and mind to\\nmind,\\nIn body and in soul can bind.\\nNow leave we Margaret and her\\nknight,\\nTo tell you of the approaching\\nfight.\\nXIV\\nTheir warning blasts the bugles\\nblew,\\nThe pipe s shrill port aroused\\neach clan; 230\\nIn haste the deadly strife to view,\\nThe trooping warriors eager\\nran:\\nThick round the lists their lances\\nstood,\\nLike blasted pines in Ettrick\\nwood\\nTo Branksome many a look they\\nthrew,\\nThe combatants approach to view,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0107.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "86\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nAnd bandied many a word of\\nboast\\nAbout the knight each favored\\nmost.\\nxv\\nMeantime full anxious was the\\ndame\\nFor now arose disputed claim 240\\nOf who should fight for Deloraine,\\nTwixt Harden and twixt Thirle-\\nstane.\\nThey gan to reckon kin and rent,\\nAnd frowning brow on brow was\\nbent;\\nBut yet not long the strife for,\\nlo!\\nHimself, the Knight of Deloraine,\\nStrong, as it seemed, and free from\\npain,\\nIn armor sheathed from top to\\ntoe,\\nAppeared and craved the combat\\ndue.\\nThe dame her charm successful\\nknew, 250\\nAnd the fierce chiefs their claims\\nwithdrew.\\nXVI\\nWhen for the lists they sought the\\nplain,\\nThe stately Ladye s silken rein\\nDid noble Howard hold\\nUnarmed by her side he walked,\\nAnd much in courteous phrase\\nthey talked\\nOf feats of arms of old.\\nCostly his garb his Flemish ruff\\nFell o er his doublet, shaped of\\nbuff,\\nWith satin slashed and lined 260\\nTawny his boot, and gold his spur,\\nHis cloak was all of Poland fur,\\nHis hose with silver twined\\nHis Bilboa blade, by Marchmen\\nfelt,\\nHung in a broad and studded belt\\nHence, in rude phrase, the Bor-\\nderers still\\nCalled noble Howard Belted Will.\\nXVII\\nBehind Lord Howard and the\\ndame\\nFair Margaret on her palfrey\\ncame,\\nWhose footcloth swept the\\nground 270\\nW T hite was her wimple and her\\nveil,\\nAnd her loose locks a chapletpale\\nOf whitest roses bound\\nThe lordly Angus, by her side,\\nIn courtesy to cheer her tried\\nWithout his aid, her hand in vain\\nHad strove to guide her broidered\\nrein.\\nHe deemed she shuddered at the\\nsight\\nOf warriors met for mortal fight\\nBut cause of terror, all un-\\nguessed, 280\\nWas fluttering in her gentle breast,\\nWhen, in their chairs of crimson\\nplaced,\\nThe dame and she the barriers\\ngraced.\\nXVIII\\nPrize of the field, the young Buc-\\ncleuch\\nAn English knight led forth to\\nview\\nScarce rued the boy his present\\nplight,\\nSo much he longed to see the fight.\\nWithin the lists in knightly pride\\nHigh Home and haughty Dacre\\nride;\\nTheir leading staffs of steel they\\nwield, 290\\nAs marshals of the mortal field,\\nWTiile to each knight their care\\nassigned\\nLike vantage of the sun and wind.\\nThen heralds hoarse did loud pro-\\nclaim,\\nIn King and Queen and Warden s\\nname,\\nThat none, while lasts the strife,\\nShould dare, by look or sign or\\nword,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0108.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n87\\nAid to a champion to afford,\\nOn peril of his life\\nAnd not a breath the silence\\nbroke 300\\nTill thus the alternate heralds\\nspoke\\nXIX\\nENGLISH HERALD\\nHere standeth Richard of Mus-\\ngrave,\\nGood knight and true, and freely\\nborn,\\nAmends from Deloraine to crave,\\nFor foul despiteous scathe and I\\nscorn.\\nHe sayeth that William of Delo-\\nraine\\nIs traitor false by Border laws\\nThis with his sword he will main-\\ntain,\\nSo help him God and his good\\ncause\\nxx\\nSCOTTISH HERALD\\nHere standeth William of Delo-\\nraine, 310\\nGood knight and true, of noble\\nstrain,\\nWho sayeth that foul treason s\\nstain,\\nSince he bore arms, ne er soiled\\nhis coat\\nAnd that, so help him God above\\nHe will on Musgrave s body-\\nprove\\nHe lies most foully in his throat.\\nLORD DACRE\\nForward, brave champions, to the\\nfight!\\nSound trumpets\\nLORD HOME\\n1 God defend the right\\nThen, Teviot, how thine echoes\\nrang,\\nWhen bugle-sound and trumpet-\\nclang 320\\nLet loose the martial foes,\\nAnd in mid-list, with shield poised\\nhigh,\\nAnd measured step and wary eye,\\nThe combatants did close\\nXXI\\n111 would it suit your gentle ear,\\nYe lovely listeners, to hear\\nHow to the axe the helms did\\nsound,\\nAnd blood poured down from\\nmany a wound;\\nFor desperate was the strife and\\nlong,\\nAnd either warrior fierce and\\nstrong. 330\\nBut, were each dame a listening\\nknight,\\nI well could tell how warriors\\nfight;\\nFor I have seen war s lightning\\nflashing,\\nSeen the claymore with bayonet\\nclashing,\\nSeen through red blood the war-\\nhorse dashing,\\nAnd scorned, amid the reeling\\nstrife,\\nTo yield a step for death or life.\\nXXII\\nTis done, tis done! that fatal\\nblow\\nHas stretched him on the bloody\\nplain\\nHe strives to rise brave Mus-\\ngrave, no! 340\\nThence never shalt thou rise\\nagain\\nHe chokes in blood some\\nfriendly hand\\nUndo the visor s barred band,\\nUnfix the gorget s iron clasp,\\nAnd give him room for life to\\ngasp!\\nO, bootless aid haste, holy\\nfriar,\\nHaste, ere the sinner shall expire\\nOf all his guilt let him be shriven.\\nAnd smooth his path from earth\\nto heaven", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0109.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "88\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nXXIII\\nIn haste the holy friar sped 5\u00e2\u0080\u0094350\\nHis naked foot was dyed with red,\\nAs through the lists he ran\\nUnmindful of the shouts on high\\nThat hailed the conqueror s vic-\\ntory,\\n1 He raised the dying man\\nLoose waved his silver beard and\\nhair,\\nAs o er him he kneeled down in\\nprayer\\nAnd still the crucifix on high\\nHe holds before his darkening eye\\nAnd still he bends an anxious\\near, 360\\nHis faltering penitence to hear\\nStill props him from the bloody\\nsod,\\nStill, even when soul and body\\npart,\\nPours ghostly comfort on his heart,\\nAnd bids him trust in God\\nUnheard he prays; the death-\\npang s o er\\nRichard of Musgrave breathes no\\nmore.\\nXXIV\\nAs if exhausted in the fight,\\nOr musing o er the piteous sight,\\nThe silent victor stands 370\\nHis beaver did he not unclasp,\\nMarked not the shouts, felt not the\\ngrasp\\nOf gratulating hands.\\nWhen lo strange cries of wild sur-\\nprise,\\nMingled with seeming terror, rise\\nAmong the Scottish bands\\nAnd all, amid the thronged array,\\nIn panic haste gave open way\\nTo a half-naked ghastly man,\\nWho downward from the castle\\nran 380\\nHe crossed the barriers at a bound,\\nAnd wild and haggard looked\\naround,\\nAs dizzy and in pain\\nAnd all upon the armed ground\\nKnew William of Deloraine\\nEach ladye sprung from seat with\\nspeed\\nVaulted each marshal from his\\nsteed\\n4 And who art thou, they cried,\\n4 Who hast this battle fought and\\nwon?\\nHis plumed helm was soon un-\\ndone\u00e2\u0080\u0094 390\\nCranstoun of Teviot-side\\nFor this fair prize I ve fought and\\nwon, 1\\nAnd to the Ladye led her son.\\nXXV\\nFull oft the rescued boy she kissed,\\nAnd often pressed him to her\\nbreast,\\nFor, under all her dauntless show,\\nHer heart had throbbed at every\\nblow;\\nYet not Lord Cranstoun deigned\\nshe greet,\\nThough low he kneeled at her\\nfeet.\\nMe lists not tell what words were\\nmade, 4 oo\\nWhat Douglas, Home, and Howard\\nsaid\\nFor Howard was a generous\\nfoe\\nAnd how the clan united prayed\\nThe Ladye would the feud fore-\\ngo,\\nAnd deign to bless the nuptial\\nhour\\nOf Cranstoun s lord and Teviot s\\nFlower.\\nXXVI\\nShe looked to river, looked to hill,\\nThought on the Spirit s pro-\\nphecy,\\nThen broke her silence stern and\\nstill\\n1 Not you, but Fate, has van-\\nquished me; 410\\nTheir influence kindly stars may\\nshower\\nOn Teviot s tide and Branksome s\\ntower,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0110.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n89\\nFor pride is quelled and love is\\nfree.\\nShe took fair Margaret by the\\nhand,\\nWho, breathless, trembling, scarce\\nmight stand\\nThat hand to Cranstoun s lord\\ngave she\\n4 As I am true to thee and thine,\\nDo thou be true to me and mine\\nThis clasp of love our bond shall\\nbe,\\nFor this is your betrothing day,\\nAnd all these noble lords shall\\nstay, 42 1\\nTo grace it with their company.\\nXXVII\\nAll as they left the listed plain,\\nMuch of the story she did gain\\nHow Cranstoun fought with De-\\nloraine,\\nAnd of his page, and of the book\\nWhich from the wounded knight\\nhe took\\nAnd how he sought her castle\\nhigh,\\nThat morn, by help of gramarye\\nHow, in Sir William s armor dight,\\nStolen by his page, while slept the\\nknight, 431\\nHe took on him the single fight\\nBut half his tale he left unsaid,\\nAnd lingered till he joined the\\nmaid.\\nCared not the Lad ye to betray\\nHer mystic arts in view of day\\nBut well she thought, ere midnight\\ncame,\\nOf that strange page the pride to\\ntame,\\nFrom his foul hands the book to\\nsave,\\nAnd send it back to Michael s\\n440\\ntender\\ngrave.\\nNeeds not to tell each\\nword\\nTwixt Margaret and twixt, Cran-\\nstoun s lord\\nNor how she told of former woes,\\nAnd how her bosom fell and rose\\nWhile he and Musgrave bandied\\nblows.\\nNeeds not these lovers joys to\\ntell;\\nOne day, fair maids, you 11 know\\nthem well.\\nXXVIII\\nWilliam of Deloraine some chance\\nHad wakened from his deathlike\\ntrance,\\nAnd taught that in the listed\\nplain 450\\nAnother, in his arms and shield,\\nAgainst fierce Musgrave axe did\\nwield,\\nUnder the name of Deloraine.\\nHence, to the field unarmed he\\nran,\\nAnd hence his presence scared the\\nclan,\\nWho held him for some fleeting\\nwraith,\\nAnd not a man of blood and\\nbreath.\\nNot much this new ally he loved,\\nYet, when he saw what hap had\\nproved, 459\\nHe greeted him right heartilie\\nHe would not waken old debate,\\nFor he was void of rancorous hate,\\nThough rude and scant of cour-\\ntesy\\nIn raids he spilt but seldom blood,\\nUnless when men-at-arms with-\\nstood,\\nOr, as was meet, for deadly feud.\\nHe ne er bore grudge for stalwart\\nblow,\\nTa en in fair fight from gallant foe.\\nAnd so t was seen of him e en\\nnow,\\nWhen on dead Musgrave he\\nlooked down 470\\nGrief darkened on his rugged\\nbrow,\\nThough half disguised with a\\nfrown\\nAnd thus, while sorrow bent his\\nhead,\\nHis f oeman s epitaph he made", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0111.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "90\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nXXIX\\n*Now, Richard Musgrave, liest\\nthou here,\\nI ween, my deadly enemy\\nFor, if I slew thy brother dear,\\nThou slew st a sister s son to\\nme;\\nAnd when I lay in dungeon dark\\nOf Na worth Castle long months\\nthree, 480\\nTill ransomed for a thousand\\nmark,\\nDark Musgrave, it was long of\\nthee.\\nAnd, Musgrave, could our fight he\\ntried,\\nAnd thou wert now alive, as I,\\nNo mortal man should us divide,\\nTill one, or both of us, did die\\nYet rest thee God! for well I\\nknow\\n1 ne er shall find a nobler foe.\\nIn all the northern countries here,\\nWhose word is Snaffle, spur, and\\nspear, 490\\nThou wert the best to follow gear.\\nT was pleasure, as we looked be-\\nhind,\\nTo see how thou the chase couldst\\nwind,\\nCheer the dark bloodhound on his\\nway,\\nAnd with the bugle rouse the\\nfray!\\nI d give the lands of Deloraine,\\nDark Musgrave were alive again.\\nXXX\\nSo mourned he till Lord Dacre s\\nband\\nWere bowning back to Cumber-\\nland.\\nThey raised brave Musgrave from\\nthe field 500\\nAnd laid him on his bloody shield;\\nOn levelled lances, four and four,\\nBy turns, the noble burden bore.\\nBefore, at times, upon the gale\\nWas heard the Minstrel s plain-\\ntive wail\\nBehind, four priests in sable stole\\nSung requiem for the warrior s\\nsoul;\\nAround, the horsemen slowly\\nrode;\\nWith trailing pikes the spearmen\\ntrode\\nAnd thus the gallant knight they\\nbore 510\\nThrough Liddesdale to Leven s\\nshore,\\nThence to Holme Coltrame s lofty\\nnave,\\nAnd laid him in his father s grave.\\nThe harp s wild notes, though\\nhushed the song,\\nThe mimic march of death pro-\\nlong;\\nNow seems it far, and now a-near,\\nNow meets, and now eludes the\\near,\\nNow seems some mountain side to\\nsweep,\\nNow faintly dies in valley deep,\\nSeems now as if the Minstrel s\\nwail, 520\\nNow the sad requiem, loads the\\ngale;\\nLast, o er the warrior s closing\\ngrave,\\nRung the full choir in choral\\nstave.\\nAfter due pause, they bade him\\ntell\\nWhy he, who touched the harp so\\nwell,\\nShould thus, with ill-rewarded toil,\\nWander a poor and thankless soil,\\nWhen the more generous Southern\\nLand\\nWould well requite his skilful\\nhand.\\nThe aged harper, howsoe er 530\\nHis only friend, his harp, was\\ndear,\\nLiked not to hear it ranked so\\nhigh\\nAbove his flowing poesy", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0112.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n9*\\nLess liked he still that scornful\\njeer\\nMisprized the land he loved so\\ndear;\\nHigh was the sound as thus again\\nThe hard resumed his minstrel\\nstrain.\\nCANTO SIXTH\\nBreathes there the man, with\\nsoul so dead,\\nWho never to himself hath said,\\nThis is my own, my native land?\\n^Yhose heart hath ne er within\\nhim burned\\nAs home his footsteps he hath\\nturned\\nFrom wandering on a foreign\\nstrand\\nIf such there breathe, go, mark\\nhim well\\nFor him no minstrel raptures\\nswell\\nHigh though his titles, proud his\\nname,\\nBoundless his wealth as wish can\\nclaim,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 10\\nDespite those titles, power, and\\npelf,\\nThe wretch, concentred all in self,\\nLiving, shall forfeit fair renown,\\nAnd, doubly dying, shall go down\\nTo the vile dust from whence he\\nsprung,\\nUnwept, unhonored, and unsung.\\n11\\nO Caledonia, stern and wild,\\nMeet nurse for a poetic child\\nLand of brown heath and shaggy\\nwood,\\nLand of the mountain and the\\nflood, 20\\nLand of my sires! what mortal\\nhand\\nCan e er untie the filial band\\nThat knits me to thy rugged\\nstrand I\\nStill, as I view each well-known\\nscene,\\nThink what is now and what hath\\nbeen,\\nSeems as to me, of all bereft,\\nSole friends thy woods and streams\\nwere left\\nAnd thus I love them better still,\\nEven in extremity of ill.\\nBy Yarrow s stream still let me\\nstray, 30\\nThough none should guide my\\nfeeble way\\nStill feel the breeze down Ettrick\\nbreak,\\nAlthough it chill my withered\\ncheek\\nStill lay my head by Teviot-stone,\\nThough there, forgotten and alone,\\nThe bard may draw his parting\\ngroan.\\nin\\nNot\\nscorned like me, to Brank-\\nsome Hall\\nThe minstrels came at festive call\\nTrooping they carne from near and\\nfar,\\nThe jovial priests of mirth and\\nwar 40\\nAlike for feast and fight prepared,\\nBattle and banquet both they\\nshared.\\nOf late, before each martial clan\\nThey blew their death-note in the\\nvan,\\nBut now for every merry mate\\nRose the portcullis iron grate\\nThey sound the pipe, they strike\\nthe string,\\nThey dance, they revel, and they\\nsing,\\nTill the rude turrets shake and\\nring. 49\\nIT\\nMe lists not at this tide declare\\nThe splendor of the spousal\\nrite,\\nHow mustered in the chapel fair\\nBoth maid and matron, squire\\nand knight;", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0113.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "$2\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nMe lists not tell of owcties rare,\\nOf mantles green, and braided\\nhair,\\nAnd kirtles furred with miniver\\nWhat plumage waved the altar\\nround,\\nHow spurs and ringing chainlets\\nsound\\nAnd hard it were for bard to speak\\nThe changeful hue of Margaret s\\ncheek, 60\\nThat lovely hue which comes and\\nflies,\\nAs awe and shame alternate rise\\nSome bards have sung, the Ladye\\nhigh\\nChapel or altar came not nigh,\\nNor durst the rites of spousal\\ngrace,\\nSo much she feared each holy\\nplace.\\nFalse slanders these I trust\\nright well,\\nShe wrought not by forbidden\\nspell,\\nFor mighty words and signs have\\npower\\nO er sprites in planetary hour 70\\nYet scarce I praise their ventu-\\nrous part\\nWho tamper with such dangerous\\nart.\\nBut this for faithful truth I say,\\nThe Ladye by the altar stood,\\nOf sable velvet her array,\\nAnd on her head a crimson\\nhood,\\nWith pearls embroidered and en-\\ntwined,\\nGuarded with gold, with ermine\\nlined\\nA merlin sat upon her wrist,\\nHeld by a leash of silken twist. 80\\nVI\\nThe spousal rites were ended\\nsoon;\\nT was now the merry hour of\\nnoon,\\nAnd in the lofty arched hall\\nWas spread the gorgeous festival.\\nSteward and squire, with heedful\\nhaste,\\nMarshalled the rank of every\\nguest\\nPages, with ready blade, were\\nthere,\\nThe mighty meal to carve and\\nshare\\nO er capon, heron -shew, and\\ncrane,\\nAnd princely peacock s gilded\\ntrain, 90\\nAnd o er the boar-head, garnished\\nbrave,\\nAnd cygnet from Saint Mary s\\nwave,\\nO er ptarmigan and venison,\\nThe priest had spoke his benison.\\nThen rose the riot and the din,\\nAbove, beneath, without, within\\nFor, from the lofty balcony,\\nRung trumpet, shalm, and psal-\\ntery\\nTheir clanging bowls old warriors\\nquaffed,\\nLoudly they spoke and loudly\\nlaughed; 100\\nWhispered young knights, in tone\\nmore mild,\\nTo ladies fair, and ladies smiled.\\nThe hooded hawks, high perched\\non beam,\\nThe clamor joined with whistling\\nscream,\\nAnd flapped their wings and shook\\ntheir bells,\\nIn concert with the stag-hounds\\nyells.\\nRound go the flasks of ruddy wine,\\nFrom Bordeaux, Orleans, or the\\nRhine\\nTheir tasks the busy sewers ply,\\nAnd all is mirth and revelry, no\\nVII\\nThe Goblin Page, omitting still\\nNo opportunity of ill,\\nStrove now, while blood ran hot\\nand high,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0114.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n93\\nTo rouse debate and jealousy\\nTill Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein,\\nBy nature fierce, and warm with\\nwine,\\nAnd now in humor highly crossed\\nAbout some steeds his band had\\nlost,\\nHigh words to words succeeding\\nstill,\\nSmote with his gauntlet stout\\nHunthill, 1 20\\nA hot and hardy Rutherford,\\nWhom men called Dickon Draw-\\nthe-Sword.\\nHe took it on the page s saye,\\nHunthill had driven these steeds\\naway.\\nThen Howard, Home, and Douglas\\nrose,\\nThe kindling discord to compose\\nStern Rutherford right little said,\\nBut bit his glove and shook his\\nhead.\\nA fortnight thence, in Inglewood,\\nStout Conrad, cold, and drenched\\nin blood, 130\\nHis bosom gored with many a\\nwound,\\nWas by a woodman s lyme-dog\\nfound\\nUnknown the manner of his death,\\nGone was his brand, both sword\\nand sheath\\nBut ever from that time, t was\\nsaid,\\nThat Dickon wore a Cologne blade.\\nVIII\\nThe dwarf, who feared his master s\\neye\\nMight his foul treachery espie,\\nNow sought the castle buttery,\\nWhere many a yeoman, bold and\\nfree, 140\\nRevelled as merrily and well\\nAs those that sat in lordly selle.\\nWatt Tinlinn there did frankly\\nraise\\nThe pledge to Arthur Fire-the-\\nBraes\\nAnd he, as by his breeding bound,\\nTo Howard s merry men sent it\\nround.\\nTo quit them, on the English side,\\n1 Red Roland Forster loudly cried,\\nA deep carouse to yon fair bride\\nAt every pledge, from vat and pail,\\nFoamed forth in floods the nut-\\nbrown ale, 151\\nWhile shout the riders every one\\nSuch day of mirth ne er cheered\\ntheir clan,\\nSince old Buccleuch the name did\\ngain,\\nWhen in the cleuch the buck was\\nta en.\\nIX\\nThe wily page, with vengeful\\nthought\\nRemembered him of Tinlinn s\\nyew,\\nAnd swore it should be dearly\\nbought\\nThat ever he the arrow drew.\\nFirst, he the yeoman did molest\\nWith bitter gibe and taunting\\njest; 161\\nTold how he fled at Solway strife,\\nAnd how Hob Armstrong cheered\\nhis wife\\nThen, shunning still his powerful\\narm,\\nAt unawares he wrought him\\nharm\\nFrom trencher stole his choicest\\ncheer,\\nDashed from his lips his can of\\nbeer;\\nThen, to his knee sly creeping\\non,\\nWith bodkin pierced him to the\\nbone\\nThe venomed wound and festering\\njoint 170\\nLong after rued that bodkin s\\npoint.\\nThe startled yeoman swore and\\nspurned,\\nAnd board and flagons overturned.\\nRiot and clamor wild began\\nBack to the hall the urchin ran,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0115.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "94\\nTHE LAV OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nTook in a darkling nook his post,\\nAnd grinned, and muttered, Lost\\nlost lost\\nx\\nBy this, the dame, lest farther\\nfray\\nShould mar the concord of the\\nday,\\nHad bid the minstrels tune their\\nlay. i So\\nAnd first stepped forth old Albert\\nGraeme,\\nThe minstrel of that ancient name\\nWas none who struck the harp so\\nwell\\nWithin the Land Debatable\\nWell friended too, his hardy kin,\\nWhoever lost, were sure to win\\nThey sought the beeves that made\\ntheir broth\\nIn Scotland and in England both.\\nIn homely guise, as nature bade,\\nHis simple song the Borderer said,\\nXI\\nALBERT GKJiME\\nIt was an English ladye bright, 191\\n(The sun shines fair on Carlisle\\nwall)\\nAnd she would marry a Scottish\\nknight,\\nFor Love will still be lord of all.\\nBlithely they saw the rising sun,\\nWhen he shone fair on Carlisle\\nwall;\\nBut they were sad ere day was\\ndone,\\nThough Love was still the lord\\nof all.\\nHer sire gave brooch and jewel\\nfine,\\nWhere the sun shines fair on\\nCarlisle wall 200\\nHer brother gave but a flask of\\nwine,\\nFor ire that Love was lord of\\nall.\\nFor she had lands both meadow\\nand lea,\\nWhere the sun shines fair on\\nCarlisle wall\\nAnd he swore her death, ere he\\nwould see\\nA Scottish knight the lord of all\\nXII\\nThat wine she had not tasted well,\\n(The sun shines fair on Carlisle\\nwall)\\nWhen dead, in her true love s arms,\\nshe fell, 209\\nFor Love was still the lord of all.\\nHe pierced her brother to the\\nheart,\\nWhere the sun shines fair on\\nCarlisle wall\\nSo perish all would true love part,\\nThat Love may still be lord of\\nall!\\nAnd then he took the cross divine,\\nWhere the sun shines fair on\\nCarlisle wall,\\nAnd died for her sake in Palestine,\\nSo Love was still the lord of all.\\nNow all ye lovers, that faithful\\nprove,\\n(The sun shines fair on Carlisle\\nwall) 220\\nPray for their souls who died for\\nlove,\\nFor Love shall still be lord of\\nall!\\nXIII\\nAs ended Albert s simple lay,\\nArose a bard of loftier port,\\nFor sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay\\nRenowned in haughty Henry s\\ncourt\\nThere rung thy harp, unrivalled\\nlong,\\nFitztraver of the silver song\\nThe gentle Surrey loved his lyre\\nWho has not heard of Surrey s\\nfame 230", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0116.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n95\\nHis was the hero s soul of fire,\\nAnd his the bard s immortal\\nname,\\nAnd his was love, exalted high\\nBy all the glow of chivalry.\\nXIV\\nThey sought together climes afar,\\nAnd oft, within some olive grove,\\nWhen even came with twinkling\\nstar,\\nThey sung of Surrey s absent\\nlove.\\nHis step the Italian peasant stayed,\\nAnd deemed that spirits from on\\nhigh, 240\\nRound where some hermit saint\\nwas laid,\\nWere breathing heavenly mel-\\nody;\\nSo sweet did harp and voice com-\\nbine\\nTo praise the name of Geraldine.\\nxv\\nFitztraver, O, what tongue may say\\nThe pangs thy faithful bosom\\nknew,\\nWhen Surrey of the deathless lay\\nUngrateful Tudor s sentence\\nslew?\\nRegardless of the tyrant s frown,\\nHis harp called wrath and ven-\\ngeance down. 250\\nHe left, for Naworth s iron towers,\\nWindsor s green glades and courtly\\nbowers,\\nAnd, faithful to his patron s name,\\nWith Howard still Fitztraver\\ncame;\\nLord William s foremost favorite\\nhe,\\nAnd chief of all his minstrelsy.\\nXVI\\nFITZTRAVER\\nTwas All-souls eve, and Sur-\\nrey s heart beat high\\nHe heard the midnight bell\\nwith anxious start,\\nWhich told the mystic hour, ap-\\nproaching nigh,\\nWhen wise Cornelius promised\\nby his art 260\\nTo show to him the ladye of\\nhis heart,\\nAlbeit betwixt them roared the\\nocean grim\\nYet so the sage had hight to\\nplay his part,\\nThat he should see her form in\\nlife and limb,\\nAnd mark if still she loved and\\nstill she thought of him.\\nXVII\\nDark was the vaulted room of\\ngramarye,\\nTo which the wizard led the\\ngallant knight,\\nSave that before a mirror, huge\\nand high,\\nA hallowed taper shed a glim-\\nmering light\\nOn mystic implements of magic\\nmight, 270\\nOn cross, and character, and\\ntalisman,\\nAnd almagest, and altar, no-\\nthing bright\\nFor fitful was the lustre, pale\\nand wan,\\nAs watch-light by the bed of some\\ndeparting man.\\nXVIII\\nBut soon, within that mirror-\\nhuge and high,\\nWas seen a self-emitted light\\nto gleam\\nAnd forms upon its breast the\\nearl gan spy,\\nCloudy and indistinct as fever-\\nish dream\\nTill, slow arranging and de-\\nfined, they seem\\nTo form a lordly and a lofty\\nroom, 280\\nPart lighted by a lamp with\\nsilver beam,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0117.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "9 6\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nPlaced by a couch of Agra s\\nsilken loom,\\nAnd part by moonshine pale, and\\npart was hid in gloom.\\nXIX\\nFair all the pageant\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but how\\npassing fair\\nThe slender form which lay on\\ncouch of Ind\\nO er her white bosom strayed\\nher hazel hair,\\nPale her dear cheek, as if for\\nlove she pined\\nAll in her night-robe loose she\\nlay reclined,\\nAnd pensive read from tablet\\neburnine\\nSome strain that seemed her\\ninmost soul to find 290\\nThat favored strain was Surrey s\\nraptured line,\\nThat fair and lovely form the\\nLady Geraldine.\\nxx\\nSlow rolled the clouds upon the\\nlovely form,\\nAnd swept the goodly vision\\nall away\\nSo royal envy rolled the murky\\nstorm\\nO er my beloved Master s glori-\\nous day.\\nThou jealous, ruthless tyrant\\nHeaven repay\\nOn thee, and on thy children s\\nlatest line,\\nThe wild caprice of thy de-\\nspotic sway,\\nThe gory bridal bed, the plun-\\ndered shrine, 300\\nThe murdered Surrey s blood, the\\ntears of Geraldine\\nXXI\\nBoth Scots and Southern chief s pro-\\nlong\\nApplauses of Fitztraver s song\\nThese hated Henry s name as\\ndeath,\\nAnd\\nthose still held the ancient\\nfaith.\\nThen from his seat with lofty air\\nRose Harold, bard of brave Saint\\nClair,\\nSaint Clair, who, feasting high at\\nHome,\\nHad with that lord to battle come.\\nHarold was born where restless\\nseas o jq\\nHowl round the storm-swept Or-\\ncades\\nWhere erst Saint Clairs held\\nprincely sway\\nO er isle and islet, strait and\\nbay\\nStill nods their palace to its fall,\\nThy pride and sorrow, fair Kirk-\\nwall\\nThence oft he marked fierce Pent-\\nland rave,\\nAs if grim Odin rode her wave,\\nAnd watched the whilst, with vis-\\nage pale\\nAnd throbbing heart, the strug-\\ngling sail\\nFor all of wonderful and wild 320\\nHad rapture for the lonely child.\\nXXII\\nAnd much of wild and wonderful\\nIn these rude isles might Fancy\\ncull;\\nFor thither came in times afar\\nStern Lochlin s sons of roving war,\\nThe Norsemen, trained to spoil\\nand blood,\\nSkilled to prepare the raven s\\nfood,\\nKings of the main their leaders\\nbrave,\\nTheir barks the dragons of the\\nwave\\nAnd there, in many a stormy vale,\\nThe Scald had told his wondrous\\ntale, 331\\nAnd many a Runic column high\\nHad witnessed grim idolatry.\\nAnd thus had Harold in his youth\\nLearned many a Saga s rhyme un-\\ncouth,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0118.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n97\\nOf that Sea-Snake, tremendous\\ncurled,\\nWhose monstrous circle girds the\\nworld\\nOf those dread Maids whose hide-\\nous yell\\nMaddens the battle s bloody\\nswell\\nOf chiefs who, guided through the\\ngloom 340\\nBy the pale death-lights of the\\ntomb,\\nRansacked the graves of warriors\\nold,\\nTheir falchions wrenched from\\ncorpses hold,\\nWaked the deaf tomb with war s\\nalarms,\\nAnd bade the dead arise to arms\\nWith war and woncler all on flame,\\nTo Roslin s bowers young Harold\\ncame,\\nWhere, by sweet glen and green-\\nwood tree,\\nHe learned a milder minstrelsy\\nYet something of the Northern\\nspell 350\\nMixed with the softer numbers\\nwell.\\nXXIII\\nHAROLD\\nO, listen, listen, ladies gay\\nNo haughty feat of arms I tell\\nSoft is the note, and sad the lay,\\nThat mourns the lovely Rosa-\\nbelle.\\nMoor, moor the barge, ye gallant\\ncrew\\nAnd, gentle ladye, deign to stay\\nRest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,\\nNor tempt the stormy firth to-\\nday.\\nThe blackening wave is edged\\nwith white 360\\nTo inch and rock the sea-mews\\nfly;\\nThe fishers have heard the Water\\nSprite,\\nWhose screams forbode that\\nwreck is nigh.\\n1 Last night the gifted Seer did\\nview\\nA wet shroud swathed round\\nladye gay;\\nThen stay thee, fair, in Ravens-\\nheuch\\nWhy cross the gloomy firth to-\\nday?\\nT is not because Lord Lindesay s\\nheir\\nTo-night at Roslin leads the\\nball,\\nBut that my ladye mother\\nthere 370\\nSits lonely in her castle-hall.\\nT is not because the ring they\\nride,\\nAnd Lindesay at the ring rides\\nwell,\\nBut that my sire the wine will\\nchide,\\nIf t is not filled by Rosabelle.\\nO er Roslin all that dreary night\\nA wondrous blaze was seen to\\ngleam\\nT was broader than the watch-fire\\nlight,\\nAnd redder than the bright\\nmoonbeam.\\nIt glared on Roslin s castled\\nrock, 380\\nIt ruddied all the copsewood\\nglen;\\nT was seen from Dreyden s groves\\nof oak,\\nAnd seen from caverned Haw-\\nthornden.\\nSeemed all on fire that chapel\\nproud\\nWhere Roslin s chiefs uncotfined\\nlie,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0119.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "9 8\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nEach baron, for a sable shroud,\\nSheathed in his iron panoply.\\nSeemed all on fire within, around,\\nDeep sacristy and altar s pale\\nShone every pillar foliage-\\nbound, 390\\nAnd glimmered all the dead\\nmen s mail.\\nBlazed battlement and pinnet high,\\nBlazed every rose-carved but-\\ntress fair\\nSo still they blaze when fate is\\nnigh\\nThe lordly line of high Saint\\nClair.\\nThere are twenty of Roslin s bar-\\nons bold\\nLie buried within that proud\\nchapelle\\nEach one the holy vault doth\\nhold\\nBut the sea holds lovely Rosa-\\nbelle\\nAnd each Saint Clair was buried\\nthere, 400\\nWith candle, with book, and\\nwith knell\\nBut the sea-caves rung and the\\nwild winds sung\\nThe dirge of lovely Rosabelle.\\nXXIV\\nSo sweet was Harold s piteous\\nlay,\\nScarce marked the guests the\\ndarkened hall,\\nThough, long before the sinking-\\nday,\\nA wondrous shade involved\\nthem all.\\nIt was not eddying mist or fog,\\nDrained by the sun from fen or\\nbog;\\nOf no eclipse had sages told 410\\nAnd yet, as it came on apace,\\nEach one could scarce his neigh-\\nbor s face,\\nCould scarce his own stretched\\nhand behold.\\nA secret horror checked the\\nfeast,\\nAnd chilled the soul of every\\nguest\\nEven the high dame stood half\\naghast,\\nShe knew some evil on the blast\\nThe elfish page fell to the ground,\\nAnd, shuddering, muttered,\\nFound found found\\nXXV\\nThen sudden through the darkened\\nair 420\\nA flash of lightning came\\nSo broad, so bright, so red the\\nglare,\\nThe castle seemed on flame.\\nGlanced every rafter of the hall,\\nGlanced every shield upon the\\nwall\\nEach trophied beam, each sculp-\\ntured stone,\\nWere instant seen and instant\\ngone;\\nFull through the guests bedazzled\\nband\\nResistless flashed the levin-brand,\\nAnd filled the hall with smoulder-\\ning smoke, 430\\nAs on the elfish page it broke.\\nIt broke with thunder long and\\nloud,\\nDismayed the brave, appalled the\\nproud,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFrom sea to sea the larum rung\\nOn Berwick wall, and at Carlisle\\nwithal,\\nTo arms the startled warders\\nsprung.\\nWhen ended was the dreadful roar,\\nThe elfish dwarf was seen no\\nmore!\\nxxvi\\nSome heard a voice in Branksome\\nHall,\\nSome saw a sight, not seen by\\nall 440", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0120.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "CAXTO SIXTH\\n99\\nThat dreadful voice was heard by\\nsome\\nCry, with loud summons, Gylbi\\nCOME\\nAnd on the spot where burst the\\nbrand,\\nJust where the page had flung him\\ndown.\\nSome saw an arm, and some a\\nhand,\\nAnd some the waving of a gown.\\nThe guests in silence prayed and\\nshook,\\nAnd terror dimmed each loftylook.\\nBut none of all the astonished train\\nWas so dismayed as Deloraine 450\\nHis blood did freeze, his brain did\\nburn,\\nT was feared his mind would ne er\\nreturn\\nFor he was speechless, ghastly,\\nwan,\\n^Like him of whom the story ran,\\nJWho spoke the spectre-hound in\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a25 Man.\\nAt length by fits he darkly told,\\nWith broken hint and shuddering\\ncold,\\nThat he had seen right certainly j\\nA shape with amice wrapped\\naround,\\nWith a wrought Spanish baldric\\nbound, 460\\nLike pilgrim from beyond the\\nsea,;\\nAnd knew but how it mattered\\nnot\\nIt was the wizard, Michael Scott.\\nXXYII\\nThe anxious crowd, with horror\\npale,\\nAll trembling heard the wondrous\\ntale\\nXo sound was made, no word was\\nspoke,\\nTill noble Angus silence broke\\nAnd he a solemn sacred plight\\nDid to Saint Bride of Douglas\\nmake, 469\\nThat he a pilgrimage would take\\nTo Melrose Abbey, for the sake\\nOf Michael s restless sprite.\\nThen each, to ease his troubled\\nbreast,\\nTo some blest saint his prayers\\naddressed\\nSome to Saint Modan made their\\nvows,\\nSome to Saint Mary of the Lowes,\\nSome to the Holy Rood of Lisle,\\nSome to Our Lady of the Isle\\nEach did his patron witness make\\nThat he such pilgrimage would\\ntake, 480\\nAnd monks should sing and bells\\nshould toll,\\nAll for the weal of Michael s soul.\\nWhile vows were ta en and prayers\\nwere prayed,\\nTis said the noble dame, dis-\\nmayed,\\nRenounced for aye dark magic s\\naid.\\nXXTIII\\nXought of the bridal will I tell,\\nWhich after in short space befell;\\nXor how brave sons and daughters\\nfair\\nBlessed Teviot s Flower and Crans-\\ntoun s heir\\nAfter such dreadful scene t were\\nvain 490\\nTo wake the note of mirth again.\\nMore meet it were to mark the\\nclay\\nOf penitence and prayer divine.\\nWhen pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array,\\nSought Melrose holy shrine.\\nXXIX\\nWith naked foot, and sackcloth\\nvest,\\nAnd arms enfolded on his breast,\\nDid every pilgrim go\\nThe standers-by might hear un-\\neath\\nFootstep, or voice, or high-drawn\\nbreath. 500\\nThrough all the lengthened row\\nNo lordly look nor martial stride,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0121.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "100\\nTHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL\\nGone was their glory, sunk their\\npride,\\nForgotten their renown\\nSilent and slow, like ghosts, they\\nglide\\nTo the high altar s hallowed side,\\nAnd there they knelt them down.\\nAbove the suppliant chieftains\\nwave\\nThe banners of departed brave\\nBeneath the lettered stones were\\nlaid 510\\nThe ashes of their fathers dead\\nFrom many a garnished niche\\naround\\nStern saints and tortured martyrs\\nfrowned.\\nXXX\\nAnd slow up the dim aisle afar,\\nWith sable cowl and scapular,\\nAnd snow-white stoles, in order\\ndue,\\nThe holy fathers, two and two,\\nIn long procession came\\nTaper and host and book they bare,\\nAnd holy banner, flourished fair\\nWith the Redeemer s name. 521\\nAbove the prostrate pilgrim band\\nThe mitred abbot stretched his\\nhand,\\nAnd blessed them as they\\nkneeled\\nWith holy cross he signed them all,\\nAnd prayed they might be sage in\\nhall\\nAnd fortunate in field.\\nThen mass was sung, and prayers\\nwere said,\\nAnd solemn requiem for the dead\\nAnd bells tolled out their mighty\\npeal 530\\nFor the departed spirit s weal\\nAnd ever in the office close\\nThe hymn of intercession rose\\nAnd far the echoing aisles prolong\\nThe awful burden of the song,\\nDies ir2e, dies ilea,\\nsoeyet s^eclum in faviela,\\nWhile the pealing organ rung.\\nWere it meet with sacred strain\\nTo close my lay, so light and\\nvain, 540\\nThus the holy fathers sung\\nHYMN FOR THE DEAD\\nThat day of wrath, that dreadful\\nday,\\nWhen heaven and earth shall pass\\naway,\\nWhat power shall be the sinner s\\nstay?\\nHow shall he meet that dreadful\\nday?\\nWhen, shrivelling like a parched\\nscroll,\\nThe flaming heavens together roll,\\nWhen louder yet, and yet more\\ndread,\\nSwells the high trump that wakes\\nthe dead 549\\nO, on that day, that wrathful day,\\nWhen man to judgment wakes\\nfrom clay,\\nBe Thou the trembling sinner s\\nstay,\\nThough heaven and earth shall\\npass away\\nHushed is the harp the Min-\\nstrel gone.\\nAnd did he wander forth alone\\nAlone, in indigence and age,\\nTo linger out his pilgrimage\\nNo close beneath proud Newark s\\ntower\\nArose the Minstrel s lowly bower,\\nA simple hut; but there was seen\\nThe little garden hedged with\\ngreen, 561\\nThe cheerful hearth, and lattice\\nclean.\\nThere sheltered wanderers, by the\\nblaze,\\nOft heard the tale of other days\\nFor much he loved to ope his door,\\nAnd give the aid he begged be-\\nfore.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0122.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST\\n:oi\\nSo passed the winter s day; but\\nstill,\\nWhen summer smiled on sweet\\nBowhill,\\nAnd July s eve, with balmy breath.\\nWaved the blue-bells on Newark\\nheath, 570\\nWhen throstles sung in Harehead-\\nshaw,\\nAnd corn was green on Carter-\\nhaugh,\\nAnd flourished, broad, Blackan-\\ndro s oak,\\nThe aged harper s soul awoke\\nThen would he sing achievements\\nhigh\\nAnd circumstance of chivalry,\\nTill the rapt traveller would\\nstay,\\nForgetful of the closing day\\nAnd noble youths, the strain to\\nhear, 579\\nForsook the hunting of the deer\\nAnd Yarrow, as he rolled along,\\nBore burden to the Minstrel s\\nsong.\\nMARMION\\nA TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD\\nAlas that Scottish maid should sing\\nThe combat where her lover fell\\nThat Scottish Bard should wake the string,\\nThe triumph of our foes to tell\\nLeyden s Ode on Visiting Flodden.\\nTO THE\\nRIGHT HONORABLE HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE,\\nc. 5 c, c,\\nTHIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED BY\\nTHE AUTHOR\\nINTRODUCTION TO CANTO\\nFIRST\\nTO WILLIAM STEWART ROSE,\\nESQ.\\nAshestiel, Ettrick Forest\\nNovember s sky is chill and\\ndrear,\\nNovember s leaf is red and sear:\\nLate, gazing down the steepy linn\\nThat hems our little garden in,\\nLow in its dark and narrow glen,\\nYou scarce the rivulet might ken,\\nSo thick the tangled greenwood\\ngrew,\\nSo feeble trilled the streamlet\\nthrough\\nNow, murmuring hoarse, and fre-\\nquent seen\\nThrough bush and brier, no longer\\ngreen, 10\\nAn angry brook, it sweeps the\\nglade,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0123.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "102\\nMARMION\\nBrawls Over rock and wild cas-\\ncade,\\nAnd, foaming brown with double\\nspeed,\\nHurries its waters to the Tweed.\\nNo longer autumn s glowing red\\nUpon our Forest hills is shed\\nNo more, beneath the evening\\nbeam,\\nFair Tweed reflects their purple\\ngleam.\\nAway hath passed the heather-\\nbell\\nThat bloomed so rich on Need-\\npath-fell; 20\\nSallow his brow, and russet bare\\nAre now the sister-heights of Yair.\\nThe sheep, before the pinching\\nheaven,\\nTo sheltered dale and down are\\ndriven,\\nWhere yet some faded herbage\\npines,\\nAnd yet a watery sunbeam shines\\nIn meek despondency they eye\\nThe withered sward and wintry\\nsky,\\nAnd far beneath their summer\\nhill\\nStray sadly by Glenkinnon s rill.\\nThe shepherd shifts his mantle s\\nfold, 31\\nAnd wraps him closer from the\\ncold:\\nHis dogs no merry circles wheel,\\nBut shivering follow at his heel\\nA cowering glance they often cast,\\nAs deeper moans the gathering-\\nblast\\nMy imps, though hardy, bold,\\nand wild.\\nAs best befits the mountain child,\\nFeel the sad influence of the hour,\\nAnd wail the daisy s vanished\\nflower, 40\\nTheir summer gambols tell, and\\nmourn,\\nAnd anxious ask, Will spring re-\\nturn,\\nAnd birds and lambs again be gay,\\nAnd blossoms clothe the hawthorn\\nspray?\\nYes, prattlers, yes. The daisy s\\nflower\\nAgain shall paint your summer\\nbower\\nAgain the hawthorn shall supply\\nThe garlands you delight to tie\\nThe lambs upon the lea shall\\nbound, 49\\nThe wild birds carol to the round;\\nAnd while you frolic light as they,\\nToo short shall seem the summer\\nday.\\nTo mute and to material things\\nNew life revolving summer brings\\nThe genial call dead Nature hears,\\nAnd in her glory reappears.\\nBut oh my country s wintry state\\nWhat second spring shall reno-\\nvate?\\nWhat powerful call shall bid arise\\nThe buried warlike and the wise,\\nThe mind that thought for Britain s\\nweal, 61\\nThe hand that grasped the victor\\nsteel\\nThe vernal sun new life bestows\\nEven on the meanest flower that\\nblows\\nBut vainly, vainly may he shine\\nWhere Glory weeps o er Nel-\\nson s shrine,\\nAnd vainly pierce the solemn\\ngloom\\nThat shrouds, O Pitt, thy hal-\\nlowed tomb\\nDeep graved in every British\\nheart,\\nOh, never let those names de-\\npart 70\\nSay to your sons, Lo, here his\\ngrave\\nWho victor died on Gadite wave!\\nTo him, as to the burning levin,\\nShort, bright, resistless course was\\ngiven j", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0124.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST\\n*\u00c2\u00b03\\nWhere er his country s foes were\\nfound,\\nWas heard the fated thunder s\\nsound,\\nTill burst the bolt on yonder shore,\\nRolled, blazed, destroyed, and\\nwas no more.\\nNor mourn ye less his perished\\nworth\\nWho bade the conqueror go forth,\\nAnd launched that thunderbolt of\\nwar 81\\nOn Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar;\\nWho, born to guide such high em-\\nprise,\\nFor Britain s weal was early wise\\nAlas to whom the Almighty gave,\\nFor Britain s sins, an early grave\\nHis worth who, in his mightiest\\nhour,\\nA bauble held the pride of power,\\nSpurned at the sordid lust of pelf,\\nAnd served his Albion for her-\\nself 90\\nWho, when the frantic crowd\\namain\\nStrained at subjection s bursting\\nrein,\\nO er their wild mood full conquest\\ngained,\\nThe pride, he would not crush, re-\\nstrained,\\nShowed their fierce zeal a worthier\\ncause,\\nAnd brought the freeman s arm to\\naid the freeman s laws.\\nHadst thou but lived, though\\nstripped of power,\\nA watchman on the lonely tower,\\nThy thrilling trump had roused\\nthe land,\\nWhen fraud or danger were at\\nhand 100\\nBy thee, as by the beacon-light,\\nOur pilots had kept course aright\\nAs some proud column, though\\nalone,\\nThy strength had propped the tot-\\ntering throne.\\nNow is the stately column broke,\\nThe beacon-light is quenched in\\nsmoke,\\nThe trumpet s silver sound is\\nstill,\\nThe warder silent on the hill\\nOh, think, how to his latest day,\\nWhen Death, just hovering, claim-\\ned his prey, no\\nWith Palinure s unaltered mood,\\nFirm at his dangerous post he\\nstood,\\nEach call for needful rest repelled,\\nWith dying hand the rudder held,\\nTill, in his fall, with fateful sway,\\nThe steerage of the realm gave\\nway\\nThen, while on Britain s thousand\\nplains\\nOne unpolluted church remains,\\nWhose peaceful bells ne er sent\\naround\\nThe bloody tocsin s maddening\\nsound, 120\\nBut still, upon the hallowed day,\\nConvoke the swains to praise and\\npray;\\nWhile faith and civil peace are\\ndear,\\nGrace this cold marble with a tear,\\nHe who preserved them, Pitt, lies\\nhere.\\nNor yet suppress the generous\\nsigh\\nBecause his rival slumbers nigh,\\nNor be thy requiescat dumb\\nLest it be said o er Fox s tomb\\nFor talents mourn, untimely lost,\\nWhen best employed and wanted\\nmost 13 1\\nMourn genius high, and lore pro-\\nfound,\\nAnd wit that loved to play, not\\nwound\\nAnd all the reasoning powers di-\\nvine,\\nTo penetrate, resolve, combine\\nAnd feelings keen, and fancy s\\nglow,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0125.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "104\\nMARMION\\nThey sleep with him who sleeps\\nbelow:\\nAnd, if thou mourn st they could\\nnot save\\nFrom error him who owns this\\ngrave,\\nBe every harsher thought sup-\\npressed, 140\\nAnd sacred be the last long rest.\\nHere, where the end of earthly\\nthings\\nLays heroes, patriots, bards, and\\nkings\\nWhere stiff the hand, and still the\\ntongue,\\nOf those who fought, and spoke,\\nand sung\\nHere, where the fretted aisles pro-\\nlong\\nThe distant notes of holy song,\\nAs if some angel spoke again,\\nAll peace on earth, good-will to\\nmen;\\nIf ever from an English heart, 150\\nOh, here let prejudice depart,\\nAnd, partial feeling cast aside,\\nRecord that Fox a Briton died\\nWhen Europe crouched to France s\\nyoke,\\nAnd Austria bent, and Prussia\\nbroke,\\nAnd the firm Russian s purpose\\nbrave\\nWas bartered by a timorous slave,\\nEven then dishonor s peace he\\nspurned,\\nThe sullied olive-branch returned,\\nStood for his country s glory\\nfast, 160\\nAnd nailed her colors to the mast\\nHeaven, to reward his firmness,\\ngave\\nA portion in this honored grave,\\nAnd ne er held marble in its trust\\nOf two such wondrous men the\\ndust.\\nWith more than mortal powers\\nendowed,\\nHow high they soared above the\\ncrowd\\nTheirs was no common party race,\\nJostling by dark intrigue for\\nplace\\nLike fabled Gods, their mighty\\nwar 170\\nShook realms and nations in its\\njar;\\nBeneath each banner proud to\\nstand,\\nLooked up the noblest of the land,\\nTill through the British world\\nwere known\\nThe names of Pitt and Fox alone.\\nSpells of such force no wizard\\ngrave\\nE er framed in dark Thessalian\\ncave,\\nThough his could drain the ocean\\ndry,\\nAnd force the planets from the\\nsky.\\nThese spells are spent, and, spent\\nwith these, 180\\nThe wine of life is on the lees,\\nGenius and taste and talent gone,\\nForever tombed beneath the stone\\nWhere taming thought to human\\npride\\nThe mighty chiefs sleep side by\\nside.\\nDrop upon Fox s grave the tear,\\nT will trickle to his rival s bier;\\nO er Pitt s the mournful requiem\\nsound,\\nAnd Fox s shall the notes re-\\nbound.\\nThe solemn echo seems to\\ncry, 190\\nHere let their discord with them\\ndie.\\nSpeak not for those a separate\\ndoom\\nWhom Fate made brothers in the\\ntomb\\nBut search the land, of living\\nmen,\\nWhere wilt thou find their like\\nagain\\nRest, ardent spirits, till the cries\\nOf dying nature bid you rise", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0126.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST\\n105\\nNot even your Britain s groans can\\npierce\\nThe leaden silence of your hearse\\nThen, oh, how impotent and\\nvain 200\\nThis grateful tributary strain\\nThough not unmarked from north-\\nern clime,\\nYe heard the Border Minstrel s\\nrhyme\\nHis Gothic harp has o er you rung\\nThe Bard you deigned to praise,\\nyour deathless names has\\nsung.\\nStay yet, illusion, stay a while,\\nMy wildered fancy still beguile\\nFrom this high theme how can I\\npart,\\nEre half unloaded is my heart\\nFor all the tears e er sorrow\\ndrew, 210\\nAnd all the raptures fancy knew,\\nAnd all the keener rush of blood\\nThat throbs through bard in bard-\\nlike mood,\\nWere here a tribute mean and low,\\nThough all their mingled streams\\ncould flow\\nWoe, wonder, and sensation high,\\nIn one spring-tide of ecstasy\\nIt will not be it may not last\\nThe vision of enchantment s past\\nLike frostwork in the morning\\nray, 220\\nThe fancy fabric melts away\\nEach Gothic arch, memorial-stone,\\nAnd long, dim, lofty aisle, are\\ngone;\\nAnd, lingering last, deception dear,\\nThe choir s high sounds die on my\\near.\\nNow slow return the lonely down,\\nThe silent pastures bleak and\\nbrown,\\nThe farm begirt with copsewood\\nwild,\\nThe gambols of each frolic child,\\nMixing their shrill cries with the\\ntone 230\\nOf Tweed s dark waters rushing on.\\nPrompt on unequal tasks to run,\\nThus Nature disciplines her son\\nMeeter, she says, for me to stray,\\nAnd waste the solitary day\\nIn plucking from yon fen the\\nreed,\\nAnd watch it floating down the\\nTweed,\\nOr idly list the shrilling lay\\nWith which the milkmaid cheers\\nher way.\\nMarking its cadence rise and\\nfail, 240\\nAs from the field, beneath her\\npail,\\nShe trips it down the uneven\\ndale\\nMeeter for me, by yonder cairn,\\nThe ancient shepherd s tale to\\nlearn,\\nThough oft he stop in rustic fear,\\nLest his old legends tire the ear\\nOf one who, in his simple mind,\\nMay boast of book-learned taste\\nrefined.\\nBut thou, my friend, canst fitly\\ntell\\nFor few have read romance so\\nwell 250\\nHow still the legendary lay\\nO er poet s bosom holds its sway\\nHow on the ancient minstrel strain\\nTime lays his palsied hand in\\nvain;\\nAnd how our hearts at doughty\\ndeeds,\\nBy warriors wrought in steely\\nweeds,\\nStill throb for fear and pity s sake\\nAs when the Champion of the\\nLake\\nEnters Morgana s fated house,\\nOr in the Chapel Perilous, 260\\nDespising spells and demons force,\\nHolds converse with the unburied\\ncorse\\nOr when, Dame Ganore s grace to\\nmove\\nAlas, that lawless was their\\nlove!", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0127.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "io6\\nMARMION\\nHe sought proud Tarquin in his\\nden,\\nAnd freed full sixty knights or\\nwhen,\\nA sinful man and unconfessed,\\nHe took the Sangreal s holy quest,\\nAnd slumbering saw the vision\\nhigh\\nHe might not view with waking\\neye. 270\\nThe mightiest chiefs of British\\nsong\\nScorned not such legends to pro-\\nlong.\\nThey gleam through Spenser s elfin\\ndream,\\nAnd mix in Milton s heavenly\\ntheme\\nAnd Dryden, in immortal strain,\\nHad raised the Table Bound again,\\nBut that a ribald king and court\\nBade him toil on, to make them\\nsport\\nDemanded for their niggard pay,\\nFit for their souls, a looser lay, 280\\nLicentious satire, song, and play\\nThe world defrauded of the high\\ndesign,\\nProfaned the God-given strength,\\nand marred the lofty line.\\nWarmed by such names, well\\nmay we then,\\nThough dwindled sons of little\\nmen,\\nEssay to break a feeble lance\\nIn the fair fields of old romance\\nOr seek the moated castle s cell,\\nWhere long through talisman and\\nspell,\\nWhile tyrants ruled and damsels\\nwept, 290\\nThy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept.\\nThere sound the harpings of the\\nNorth,\\nTill he awake and sally forth,\\nOn venturous quest to prick again,\\nIn all his arms, with all his train,\\nShield, lance, and brand, and\\nplume, and scarf,\\nFay, giant, dragon, squire, and\\ndwarf,\\nAnd wizard with his wand of\\nmight,\\nAnd errant maid on palfrey white.\\nAround the Genius weave their\\nspells, 300\\nPure Love, who scarce his passion\\ntells\\nMystery, half veiled and half re-\\nvealed\\nAnd Honor, with his spotless\\nshield\\nAttention, with fixed eye; and\\nFear,\\nThat loves the tale she shrinks to\\nhear;\\nAnd gentle Courtesy and Faith,\\nUnchanged by sufferings, time, or\\ndeath\\nAnd Valor, lion-mettled lord,\\nLeaning upon his own good sword.\\nWell has thy fair achievement\\nshown 310\\nA worthy meed may thus be\\nwon:\\nYtene s oaks beneath whose\\nshade\\nTheir theme the merry minstrels\\nmade,\\nOf Ascapart, and Bevis bold,\\nAnd that Bed King, who, while of\\nold\\nThrough Boldrewood the chase he\\nled,\\nBy his loved huntsman s arrow\\nbled\\nYtene s oaks have heard again\\nRenewed such legendary strain\\nFor thou hast sung, how he of\\nGaul, 320\\nThat Amadis so famed in hall,\\nFor Oriana, foiled in fight\\nThe Necromancer s felon might\\nAnd well in modern verse hast\\nwove\\nPartenopex s mystic love\\nHear, then, attentive to my lay,\\nA knightly tale of Albion s elder\\nday.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0128.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n107\\nCANTO FIRST\\nTHE CASTLE\\nDay set on Norham s castled\\nsteep,\\nAnd Tweed s fair river, broad and\\ndeep,\\nAnd Cheviot s mountains lone\\nThe battled towers, the donjon\\nkeep,\\nThe loophole grates where cap-\\ntives weep,\\nThe flanking walls that round it\\nsweep,\\nIn yellow lustre shone.\\nThe warriors on the turrets high,\\nMoving athwart the evening sky,\\nSeemed forms of giant height ;xo\\nTheir armor, as it caught the rays.\\nFlashed back again the western\\nblaze,\\nIn lines of dazzling light.\\n11\\nSaint George s banner, broad and\\ngay,\\nNow faded, as the fading ray\\nLess bright, and less, was flung\\nThe evening gale had scarce the\\npower\\nTo wave it on the donjon tower,\\nSo heavily it hung.\\nThe scouts had parted on their\\nsearch, 20\\nThe castle gates were barred;\\nAbove the gloomy portal arch,\\nTiming his footsteps to a march,\\nThe warder kept his guard,\\nLow humming, as he paced along,\\nSome ancient Border gathering\\nsong.\\nin\\nA distant trampling sound he\\nhears\\nHe looks abroad, and soon ap-\\npears,\\nO er Horncliff-hill, a plump of\\nspears\\nBeneath a pennon gay 30\\nA horseman, darting from the\\ncrowd\\nLike lightning from a summer\\ncloud,\\nSpurs on his mettled courser\\nproud,\\nBefore the dark array.\\nBeneath the sable palisade\\nThat closed the castle barricade,\\nHis bugle-horn he blew\\nThe warder hasted from the wall.\\nAnd warned the captain in the\\nhall,\\nFor well the blast he knew 4 o\\nAnd joyfully that knight did call\\nTo sewer, squire, and seneschal.\\nIV\\nNow broach ye a pipe of Malvoi-\\nsie,\\nBring pasties of the doe,\\nAnd quickly make the entrance\\nfree,\\nAnd bid my heralds ready be,\\nAnd every minstrel sound his\\nglee,\\nAnd all our trumpets blow\\nAnd, from the platform, spare ye\\nnot\\nTo fire a noble salvo-shot 50\\nLord Marmion waits below\\nThen to the castle s lower ward\\nSped forty yeomen tall,\\nThe iron-studded gates unbarred.\\nRaised the portcullis ponderous\\nguard,\\nThe lofty palisade unsparred,\\nAnd let the drawbridge fall.\\nI Along the bridge Lord Marmion\\nrode,\\nProudly his red -roan charger\\ntrode, 59\\nHis helm hung at the saddle\\nbow\\nj Well by his visage you might\\nknow\\nHe was a stalworth knight and\\nkeen,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0129.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "io8\\nMARMION\\nAnd had in many a battle been\\nThe scar on his brown cheek re-\\nvealed\\nA token true of Bosworth field\\nHis eyebrow dark and eye of\\nfire\\nShowed spirit proud and prompt\\nto ire,\\nYet lines of thought upon his\\ncheek\\nDid deep design and counsel speak.\\nHis forehead, by his casque worn\\nbare, 70\\nHis thick moustache and curly\\nhair,\\nCoal-black, and grizzled here and\\nthere,\\nBut more through toil than age,\\nHis square turned joints and\\nstrength of limb,\\nShowed him no carpet knight so\\ntrim,\\nBut in close fight a champion\\ngrim,\\nIn camps a leader sage.\\nVI\\nWell was he armed from head to\\nheel,\\nIn mail and plate of Milan steel\\nBut his strong helm, of mighty\\ncost, 80\\nWas all with burnished gold em-\\nbossed.\\nAmid the plumage of the crest\\nA falcon hovered on her nest,\\nWith wings outspread and for-\\nward breast\\nE en such a falcon, on his shield,\\nSoared sable in an azure field\\nThe golden legend bore aright,\\nWho checks at me. to death is\\ndight\\nBlue was the charger s broidered\\nrein\\nBlue ribbons decked his arching\\nmane 90\\nThe knightly housing s ample\\nfold\\nWas velvet blue and trapped with\\ngold.\\nVII\\nBehind him rode two gallant\\nsquires,\\nOf noble name and knightly sires\\nThey burned the gilded spurs to\\nclaim,\\nFor well could each a war-horse\\ntame,\\nCould draw the bow, the sword\\ncould sway,\\nAnd lightly bear the ring away;\\nNor less with courteous precepts\\nstored,\\nCould dance in hall, and carve at\\nboard, 100\\nAnd frame love -ditties passing\\nrare,\\nAnd sing them to a lady fair.\\nVIII\\nFour men-at-arms came at their\\nbacks,\\nWith halbert, bill, and battle-axe\\nThey bore Lord Marmion s lance\\nso strong,\\nAnd led his sumpter-mules along,\\nAnd ambling palfrey, when at\\nneed\\nHim listed ease his battle-steed.\\nThe last and trustiest of the four\\nOn high his forky pennon bore\\nLike swallow s tail in shape and\\nhue, in\\nFluttered the streamer glossy\\nblue,\\nWhere, blazoned sable, as before,\\nThe towering falcon seemed to\\nsoar.\\nLast, twenty yeomen, two and\\ntwo,\\nIn hosen black ano: jerkins blue,\\nWith falcons broidered on each\\nbreast,\\nAttended on their lord s behest.\\nEach, chosen for an archer good,\\nKnew hunting-craft by lake or\\nwood; 120\\nEach one a six-foot bow could\\nbend,\\nAnd far a cloth-yard shaft could\\nsend;", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0130.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n109\\nEach held a boar-spear tough and\\nstrong,\\nAnd at their belts their quivers\\nrung.\\nTheir dusty palfreys and array\\nShowed they had marched a weary\\nway. i\\nIX\\nT is meet that I should tell you\\nnow.\\nHow fairly armed, and ordered\\nhow,\\nThe soldiers of the guard, 129\\nWith musket, pike, and morion,\\nTo welcome noble Marmion,\\nStood in the castle-yard\\nMinstrels and trumpeters were\\nthere,\\nThe gunner held his linstock\\nyare,\\nFor welcome-shot prepared\\nEntered the train, and such a\\nclang\\nAs then through all his turrets\\nrang\\nOld Xorham never heard.\\nx\\nThe guards their morrice-pikes\\nadvanced, 139\\nThe trumpets flourished brave,\\nThe cannon from the ramparts\\nglanced,\\nAnd thundering welcome gave.\\nA blithe salute, in martial sort,\\nThe minstrels well might sound,\\nFor, as Lord Marmion crossed the\\ncourt,\\nHe scattered angels round.\\nWelcome to Xorham, Marmion\\nStout heart and open hand\\nWell dost thou brook thy gallant\\nroan, 149\\nThou flower of English land\\nXI\\nTwo pursuivants, whom tabards\\ndeck,\\nWith silver scutcheon round th\\nneck,\\nStood on the steps of stone,\\nBy which you reach the donjon\\ngate,\\nAnd there, with herald pomp and\\nstate,\\nThey hailed Lord Marmion\\nThey hailed him Lord of Fonte-\\nnaye,\\nOf Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye,\\nOf Tamworth tower and town\\nAnd he, their courtesy to requite,\\nGave them a chain of twelve\\nmarks weight, 161\\nAll as he lighted down.\\nNow, largesse, largesse, Lord\\nMarmion,\\nKnight of the crest of gold\\nA blazoned shield, in battle won,\\nNe er guarded heart so bold.\\nXII\\nThey marshalled him to the castle-\\nhall,\\nWhere the guests stood all aside,\\nAnd loudly flourished the trumpet-\\ncall,\\nAnd the heralds loudly cried,\\nRoom, lordlings, room for Lord\\nMarmion, 171\\nWith the crest and helm of gold\\nFull well we know the trophies\\nwon\\nIn the lists at Cottiswold\\nThere, vainly Ralph de Wilton\\nstrove\\nGainst Marmion s force to\\nstand\\nTo him he lost his lady-love,\\nAnd to the king his land.\\nOurselves beheld the listed field,\\nA sight both sad and fair\\nWe saw Lord Marmion piP v\\nshield,\\nAnd saw his sad rP\\nWe saw 7 the v 1\\nHe wear^\\nAnd on", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0131.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "110\\nMARMION\\nFor him who conquered in the\\nright,\\nMarmion of Fontenaye 190\\nXIII\\nThen stepped, to meet that noble\\nlord,\\nSir Hugh the Heron bold,\\nBaron of Twisell and of Ford,\\nAnd Captain of the Hold\\nHe led Lord Marmion to the deas,\\nBaised o er the pavement high,\\nAnd placed him in the upper\\nplace\\nThey feasted full and high\\nThe whiles a Northern harper\\nrude 199\\nChanted a rhyme of deadly feud,\\n1 How the fierce Thirwalls, and\\nRidley s all,\\nStout Willimondswick,\\nAnd Hardridiug Dick,\\nAnd Hughie of Hawdon, and\\nWill o the Wall,\\nHave set on Sir Albany Feather-\\nstonhaugh,\\nAnd taken his life at the Dead-\\nraan s-shaw.\\nScantly Lord Marmion s ear could\\nbrook\\nThe harper s barbarous lay,\\nYet much he praised the pains he\\ntook, 209\\nAnd well those pains did pay\\nFor lady s suit and minstrel s\\nstrain\\nBy knight should ne er be heard\\nin vain.\\nXIV\\nVow, good Lord Marmion, Heron\\nsays,\\n*our fair courtesy,\\nK ide some little space\\nower with me.\\n^o your arms\\n--horse\\nOr feat of arms befell. 220\\nThe Scots can rein a mettled\\nsteed,\\nAnd love to couch a spear\\nSaint George a stirring life they\\nlead\\nThat have such neighbors near\\nThen stay with us a little space,\\nOur Northern wars to learn\\nI pray you for your lady s grace\\nLord Marmion s brow grew\\nstern.\\nxv\\nThe captain marked his altered\\nlook, 229\\nAnd gave the squire the sign\\nA mighty wassail-bowl he took,\\nAnd crowned it high with wine.\\nNow pledge me here, Lord Mar-\\nmion\\nBut first I pray thee fair.\\nWhere hast thou left that page of\\nthine\\nThat used to serve thy cup of\\nwine,\\nWhose beauty was so rare\\nWhen last in Eaby-towers we met,\\nThe boy I closely eyed,\\nAnd often marked his cheeks were\\nwet 240\\nWith tears he fain would hide.\\nHis was no rugged horse-boy s\\nhand,\\nTo burnish shield or sharpen\\nbrand,\\nOr saddle battle-steed,\\nBut meeter seemed for lady fair,\\nTo fan her cheek, or curl her\\nhair,\\nOr through embroidery, rich and\\nrare,\\nThe slender silk to lead\\nHis skin was fair, his ringlets\\ngold,\\nHis bosom when he sighed, 250\\nThe russet doublet s rugged fold\\nCould scarce repel its pride\\nSay, hast thou given that lovely\\nyouth\\nTo serve in lady s bower", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0132.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\nin\\nOr was the gentle page, in sooth,\\nA gentle paramour\\nXYI\\nLord Marmion ill could brook such\\njest;\\nHe rolled his kindling eye,\\nWith pain his rising wrath sup-\\npressed,\\nYet made a calm reply 260\\n1 That boy thou thought so goodly\\nfair,\\nHe might not brook the Northern\\nair.\\nMore of his fate if thou wouldst\\nlearn,\\nI left him sick in Lindisfarne.\\nEnough of him. But, Heron, say,\\nWhy does thy lovely lady gay\\nDisdain to grace the hall to-day\\nOr has that dame, so fair and sage,\\nGone on some pious pilgrim-\\nage\\nHe spoke in covert scorn, for\\nfame 270\\nWhispered light tales of Heron s\\ndame.\\nXVII\\nUnmarked, at least unrecked, the\\ntaunt,\\nCareless the knight replied\\n4 No bird whose feathers gayly\\nflaunt\\nDelights in cage to bide\\nNorham is grim and grated close,\\nHemmed in by battlement and\\nfosse,\\nAnd many a darksome tower,\\nAnd better loves my lady bright\\nTo sit in liberty and light 280\\nIn fair Queen Margaret s bower.\\nWe hold our greyhound in our\\nhand,\\nOur falcon on our glove,\\nBut where shall we find leash or\\nband\\nFor dame that loves to rove?\\nLet the wild falcon soar her swing,\\nShe 11 stoop when she has tired\\nher wing.\\nXVIII\\nNay, if with Royal James s bride\\nThe lovely Lady Heron bide,\\nBehold me here a messenger, 290\\nYour tender greetings prompt to\\nbear;\\nFor, to the Scottish court ad-\\ndressed,\\nI journey at our king s behest,\\nAnd pray you, of your grace, pro-\\nvide\\nFor me and mine a trusty guide.\\nI have not ridden in Scotland since\\nJames backed the cause of that\\nmock prince,\\nWarbeck, that Flemish counter-\\nfeit,\\nI Who on the gibbet paid the cheat.\\nThen did I march with Surrey s\\npower, 300\\nI What time we razed old Aytoun\\ntower.\\nXIX\\n4 For such-like need, my lord, I\\ntrow,\\nNorham can find you guides enow\\nFor here be some have pricked as\\nfar\\nOn Scottish ground as to Dun-\\nbar,\\nHave drunk the monks of Saint\\nBothan s ale,\\nAnd driven the beeves of Lauder-\\ndale,\\nHarried the wives of Greenlasv s\\ngoods,\\nAnd given them light to set their\\nhoods.\\nXX\\nNow, in good sooth, Lord Mar-\\nmion cried, 310\\nWere I in warlike wise to ride,\\nA better guard I would not lack\\nThan your stout forayers at my\\nback;\\nBut as in form of peace I go,\\nA friendly messenger, to know,\\nWhy, through all Scotland, near\\nand far,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0133.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "112\\nMARMION\\nTheir king is mustering troops\\nfor war,\\nThe sight of plundering Border\\nspears\\nMight justify suspicious fears,\\nAnd deadly feud or thirst of\\nspoil 320\\nBreak out in some unseemly broil.\\nA herald were my fitting guide\\nOr friar, sworn in peace to bide\\nOr pardoner, or travelling priest,\\nOr strolling pilgrim, at the least\\nXXI\\nThe captain mused a little space,\\nAnd passed his hand across his\\nface.\\nFain would I find the guide you\\nwant,\\nBut ill may spare a pursuivant,\\nThe only men that safe can\\nride 330\\nMine errands on the Scottish side\\nAnd though a bishop built this\\nfort,\\nFew holy brethren here resort\\nEven our good chaplain, as I\\nween,\\nSince our last siege we have not\\nseen.\\nThe mass he might not sing or say\\nUpon one stinted meal a-day\\nSo, safe he sat in Durham aisle,\\nAnd prayed for our success the\\nwhile,\\nOur Norham vicar, woe betide, 340\\nIs all too well in case to ride\\nThe priest of Shoreswood\u00e2\u0080\u0094 he\\ncould rein\\nThe wildest war-horse in your\\ntrain.\\nBut then no spearman in the hall\\nWill sooner swear, or stab, or\\nbrawl,\\nFriar John of Tillmouth were the\\nman;\\nA blithesome brother at the can,\\nA welcome guest in hall and\\nbower,\\nHe knows each castle, town, and\\ntower.\\nIn which the wine and ale is\\ngood, 3S o\\nTwixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood.\\nBut that good man, as ill befalls,\\nHath seldom left our castle walls,\\nSince, on the vigil of Saint Bede,\\nIn evil hour he crossed the Tweed,\\nTo teach Dame Alison her creed.\\nOld Bughtrig found him with his\\nwife,\\nAnd John, an enemy to strife,\\nSans frock and hood, fled for his\\nlife.\\nThe jealous churl hath deeply\\nswore 360\\nThat, if again he venture o er,\\nHe shall shrieve penitent no\\nmore.\\nLittle he loves such risks, I know,\\nYet in your guard perchance will\\ngo.\\nXXII\\nYoung Selby, at the fair hall-\\nboard,\\nCarved to his uncle and that lord,\\nAnd reverently took up the word\\nKind uncle, woe were we each\\none,\\nIf harm should hap to brother\\nJohn.\\nHe is a man of mirthful speech, 370\\nCan many a game and gambol\\nteach\\nFull well at tables can he play,\\nAnd sweep at bowls the stake\\naway.\\nNone can a lustier carol bawl,\\nThe needfullest among us all,\\nWhen time hangs heavy in the\\nhall,\\nAnd snow comes thick at Christ-\\nmas tide,\\nAnd we can neither hunt nor ride\\nA foray on the Scottish side.\\nThe vowed revenge of Bughtrig\\nrude 380\\nMay end in worse than loss of\\nhood.\\nLet Friar John in safety still\\nIn chimney-corner snore his fill,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0134.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n3\\nRoast hissing crabs, or flagons\\nswill\\nLast night, to Norham there came\\none\\nWill better guide Lord Mar-\\nmion.\\nNephew, quoth Heron, by my\\nfay,\\nWell hast thou spoke say forth\\nthy say.\\nXXIII\\nHere is a holy Palmer come,\\nFrom Salem first, and last from\\nRome 390\\nOne that hath kissed the blessed\\ntomb,\\nAnd visited each holy shrine\\nIn Araby and Palestine\\nOn hills of Armenie hath been,\\nWhere Noah s ark may yet be\\nseen;\\nBy that Red Sea, too, hath he\\ntrod,\\nWhich parted at the Prophet s\\nrod;\\nIn Sinai s wilderness he saw\\nThe Mount where Israel heard the\\nlaw,\\nMid thunder dint, and flashing\\nlevin, 400\\nAnd shadows, mists, and darkness,\\ngiven.\\nHe shows Saint James s cockle-\\nshell,\\nOf fair Montserrat, too, can tell\\nAnd of that Grot where Olives\\nnod,\\nWhere, darling of each heart and\\neye,\\nFrom all the youth of Sicily,\\nSaint Rosalie retired to God.\\nxxrv\\n4 To stout Saint George of Norwich\\nmerry,\\nSaint Thomas, too, of Canterbury,\\nCuthbert of Durham and Saint\\nBede, 410\\nFor his sins pardon hath he\\nprayed.\\nHe knows the passes of the North,\\nAnd seeks far shrines beyond the\\nForth;\\nLittle he eats, and long will wake,\\nAnd drinks but of the stream or\\nlake.\\nThis were a guide o er moor and\\ndale;\\nBut when our John hath quaffed\\nhis ale,\\nAs little as the wind that blows,\\nAnd warms itself against his nose,\\nKens he, or cares, which way he\\ngoes. 420\\nXXV\\nGramercy quoth Lord Mar-\\nmion,\\nFull loath were I that Friar John,\\nThat venerable man, for me\\nWere placed in fear or jeopardy\\nIf this same Palmer will me lead\\nFrom hence to Holy-Rood,\\nLike his good saint, I 11 pay his\\nmeed,\\nInstead of cockle-shell or bead,\\nW r ith angels fair and good.\\nI love such holy ramblers still 430\\nThey know to charm a weary hill\\nWith song, romance, or lay\\nSome jovial tale, or glee, or jest,\\nSome lying legend, at the least,\\nThey bring to cheer the way.\\nXXVI\\nAh noble sir, young Selby said,\\nAnd finger on his lip he laid,\\n1 This man knows much, perchance\\ne en more\\nThan he could learn by holy lore.\\nStill to himself he s muttering, 44 o\\nAnd shrinks as at some unseen\\nthing.\\nLast night we listened at his cell\\nStrange sounds we heard, and,\\nsooth to tell,\\nHe murmured on till morn, how-\\ne er\\nNo living mortal could be near.\\nSometimes I thought I heard it\\nplain,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0135.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "H4\\nMARMION\\nAs other voices spoke again.\\nI cannot tell I like it not\\nFriar John hath told us it is wrote,\\nNo conscience clear and void of\\nwrong 450\\nCan rest awake and pray so long.\\nHimself still sleeps before his\\nbeads\\nHave marked ten aves and two\\ncreeds.\\nXXVII\\n1 Let pass, quoth Marmion by\\nmy fay,\\nThis man shall guide me on my\\nway,\\nAlthough the great arch-fiend and\\nhe\\nHad sworn themselves of com-\\npany.\\nSo please you. gentle youth, to call\\nThis Palmer to the castle-hall.\\nThe summoned Palmer came in\\nplace 460\\nHis sable cowl o erhung his face\\nIn his black mantle was he clad,\\nWith Peter s keys, in cloth of red,\\nOn his broad shoulders wrought\\nThe scallop shell his cap did deck\\nThe crucifix around his neck\\nWas from Loretto brought\\nHis sandals were with travel tore,\\nStaff, budget, bottle, scrip, he\\nwore\\nThe faded palm -branch in his\\nhand 47\u00c2\u00b0\\nShowed pilgrim from the Holy\\nLand.\\nXXVIII\\nWhenas the Palmer came in hall,\\nNor lord nor knight was there\\nmore tall,\\nOr had a statelier step withal,\\nOr looked more high and keen\\nFor no saluting did he wait,\\nBut strode across the hall of\\nstate,\\nAnd fronted Marmion where he\\nsate,\\nAs he his peer had been.\\nBut his gaunt frame was worn with\\ntoil 480\\nHis cheek was sunk, alas the\\nwhile\\nAnd when he struggled at a smile\\nHis eye looked haggard wild\\nPoor wretch, the mother that him\\nbare,\\nIf she had been in presence there,\\nIn his wan face and sunburnt hair\\nShe had not known her child.\\nDanger, long travel, want, or woe,\\nSoon change the form that best we\\nknow\\nFor deadly fear can time out-\\ngO, 490\\nAnd blanch at once the hair;\\nHard toil can roughen form and\\nface,\\nAnd want can quench the eye s\\nbright grace,\\nNor does old age a wrinkle trace\\nMore deeply than despair.\\nHappy whom none of these be-\\nfall,\\nBut this poor Palmer knew them\\nall.\\nXXIX\\nLord Marmion then his boon did\\nask;\\nThe Palmer took on him the task,\\nSo he would march with morning\\ntide, 500\\nTo Scottish court to be his guide.\\nBut I have solemn vows to pay,\\nAnd may not linger by the way,\\nTo fair Saint Andrew s bound.\\nWithin the ocean-cave to pray,\\nWhere good Saint Rule his holy\\nlay,\\nFrom midnight to the dawn of\\nday,\\nSung to the billows sound\\nThence to Saint Fillan s blessed\\nwell,\\nWhose spring can frenzied dreams\\ndispel, 510\\nAnd the crazed brain restore.\\nSaint Mary grant that cave or\\nspring", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0136.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND\\ni\\\\\\nCould back to peace my bosom\\nbring,\\nOr bid it throb no more\\nXXX\\nAnd now the midnight draught of\\nsleep,\\nWhere wine and spices richly\\nsteep,\\nIn massive bowl of silver deep,\\nThe page presents on knee.\\nLord Marmion drank a fair good\\nrest,\\nThe captain pledged his noble\\nguest, 520\\nThe cup went through among the\\nrest,\\nWho drained it merrily\\nAlone the Palmer passed it by,\\nThough Selby pressed him cour-\\nteously.\\nThis was a sign the feast was\\no er;\\nIt hushed the merry wassail roar,\\nThe minstrels ceased to sound.\\nSoon in the castle nought was\\nheard\\nBut the slow footstep of the guard\\nPacing his sober round. 530\\nXXXI\\nWith early dawn Lord Marmion\\nrose\\nAnd first the chapel doors unclose\\nThen, after morning rites were\\ndone\\nA hasty mass from Friar John\\nAnd knight and squire had broke\\ntheir fast\\nOn rich substantial repast,\\nLord Marmion s bugles blew to\\nhorse.\\nThen came the stirrup-cup in\\ncourse\\nBetween the baron and his host,\\nx/o point of courtesy was lost; 540\\nHigh thanks were by Lord Mar-\\nmion paid,\\nSolemn excuse the captain made.\\nTill, filing from the gate, had\\npassed\\nThat noble train, their lord the\\nlast.\\nThen loudly rung the trumpet call\\nThundered the cannon from the\\nwall,\\nAnd shook the Scottish shore\\nAround the castle eddied slow\\nVolumes of smoke as white as\\nsnow\\nAnd hid its turrets hoar, 550\\nTill they rolled forth upon the air,\\nAnd met the river breezes there,\\nWhich gave again the prospect\\nfair.\\nINTRODUCTION TO CANTO\\nSECOND\\nTO THE REV. JOHX ZNIARRIOT, A.M.\\nAshestiel, Ettrick Forest\\nThe scenes are desert now and\\nbare,\\nWhere flourished once a forest\\nfair,\\nWhen these waste glens with copse\\nwere lined,\\nAnd peopled with the hart and\\nhind.\\nYon thorn perchance whose\\nprickly spears\\nHave fenced him for three hun-\\ndred years,\\nWhile fell around his green com-\\npeers-\\nYon lonely thorn, would he could\\ntell\\nThe changes of his parent dell,\\nSince he, so gray and stubborn\\nnow, 10\\nWaved in each breeze a sapling\\nbough\\nWould he could tell how deep the\\nshade\\nA thousand mingled branches\\nmade;\\nHow broad the shadows of the oak,\\nHow clung the rowan to the rock,\\nAnd through the foliage showed\\nhis head,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0137.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "n6\\nMARMION\\nWith narrow leaves and berries\\nred;\\nWhat pines on every mountain\\nsprung, 1 8\\nO er every dell what birches hung,\\nIn every breeze what aspens shook,\\nWhat alders shaded every brook\\nHere, in my shade, methinks\\nhe d say,\\nThe mighty stag at noontide lay\\nThe wolf I ve seen, a fiercer\\ngame,\\nThe neighboring dingle bears his\\nname,\\nWith lurching step around me\\nprowl,\\nAnd stop, against the moon to\\nhowl;\\nThe mountain-boar, on battle set,\\nHis tusks upon my stem would\\nwhet;\\nWhile doe, and roe, and red-deer\\ngood, 30\\nHave bounded by through gay\\ngreenwood.\\nThen oft from Newark s riven\\ntower\\nSallied a Scottish monarch s\\npower\\nA thousand vassals mustered\\nround,\\nWith horse, and hawk, and horn,\\nand hound\\nAnd I might see the youth intent\\nGuard every pass with crossbow\\nbent;\\nAnd through the brake the rangers\\nstalk,\\nAnd falconers hold the ready\\nhawk; 39\\nAnd foresters, in greenwood trim,\\nLead in the leash the gazehounds\\ngrim,\\nAttentive, as the bratchet s bay\\nFrom the dark covert drove the\\nprey,\\nTo slip them as he broke away.\\nThe startled quarry bounds amain,\\nAs fast the gallant greyhounds\\nstrain\\nWhistles the arrow from the bow,\\nAnswers the harquebuss below\\nWhile all the rocking hills reply\\nTo hoof-clang, hound, and hunters\\ncry, 50\\nAnd bugles ringing lightsomely.\\nOf such proud huntings many\\ntales\\nYet linger in our lonely dales,\\nUp pathless Ettrick and on Yar-\\nrow,\\nWhere erst the outlaw drew his\\narrow.\\nBut not more blithe that sylvan\\ncourt,\\nThan we have been at humbler\\nsport\\nThough small our pomp and mean\\nour game,\\nOur mirth, dear Marriot, was the\\nsame.\\nRemember st thou my greyhounds\\ntrue 60\\nO er holt or hill there never .flew,\\nFrom slip or leash there never\\nsprang,\\nMore fleet of foot or sure of fang.\\nNor dull, between each merry\\nchase,\\nPassed by the intermitted space\\nFor we had fair resource in store,\\nIn Classic and in Gothic lore\\nWe marked each memorable scene,\\nAnd held poetic talk between\\nNor hill, nor brook, we paced\\nalong, 70\\nBut had its legend or its song.\\nAll silent now for now are still\\nThy bowers, untenanted Bowhill\\nNo longer from thy mountains dun\\nThe yeoman hears the well-known\\ngun,\\nAnd while his honest heart glows\\nwarm\\nAt thought of his paternal farm,\\nRound to his mates a brimmer fills,\\nAnd drinks, The Chieftain of the\\nHills\\nNo fairy forms, in Yarrow s bow-\\ners, 80", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0138.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND\\nii7\\nTrip o er the walks or tend the\\nflowers,\\nFair as the elves whom Janet saw\\nBy moonlight dance on Carter-\\nhaugh\\nNo youthful Baron s left to grace\\nThe Forest-Sheriffs lonely chace,\\nAnd ape, in manly step and tone,\\nThe majesty of Oberon:\\nAnd she is gone whose lovely face\\nIs but her least and lowest grace\\nThough if to Sylphid Queen t were\\ngiven 90\\nTo show our earth the charms of\\nheaven,\\nShe could not glide along the air\\nWith form more light or face more\\nfair.\\nNo more the widow s deafened ear\\nGrows quick that lady s step to\\nhear:\\nAt noontide she expects her not,\\nNor busies her to trim the cot\\nPensive she turns her humming\\nwheel,\\nOr pensive cooks her orphans\\nmeal,\\nYet blesses, ere she deals their\\nbread, 100\\nThe gentle hand by which they re\\nfed.\\nFrom Yair which hills so\\nclosely bind,\\nScarce can the Tweed his passage\\nfind,\\nThough much he fret, and chafe,\\nand toil,\\nTill all his eddying currents boil\\nHer long-descended lord is gone,\\nAnd left us by the stream alone.\\nAnd much I miss those sportive\\nboys,\\nCompanions of my mountain joys,\\nJust at the age twixt boy and\\nyouth, no\\nWhen thought is speech, and\\nspeech is truth.\\nClose to my side with what delight\\nThey pressed to hear of Wallace\\nwight,\\nWhen, pointing to his airy mound,\\nI called his ramparts holy ground\\nKindled their brows to hear me\\nspeak\\nAnd I have smiled, to feel my\\ncheek,\\nDespite the difference of our years,\\nReturn again the glow of theirs.\\nAh, happy boys such feelings\\npure, 120\\nThey will not, cannot long endure\\nCondemned to stem the world s\\nrude tide,\\nYou may not linger by the side\\nFor Fate shall thrust you from the\\nshore\\nAnd Passion ply the sail and oar.\\nYet cherish the remembrance still\\nOf the lone mountain and the\\nrill;\\nFor trust, dear boys, the time will\\ncome,\\nWhen fiercer transport shall be\\ndumb,\\nAnd you will think right fre-\\nquently, 130\\nBut, well I hope, without a sigh,\\nOn the free hours that we have\\nspent\\nTogether on the brown hill s bent.\\nWhen, musing on companions\\ngone,\\nWe doubly feel ourselves alone,\\nSomething, my friend, we yet may\\ngain;\\nThere is a pleasure in this pain\\nIt soothes the love of lonely rest,\\nDeep in each gentler heart im-\\npressed.\\nT is silent amid worldly toils, 140\\nAnd stifled soon by mental broils;\\nBut, in a bosom thus prepared,\\nIts still small voice is often heard,\\nWhispering a mingled sentiment\\nTwixt resignation and content.\\nOft in my mind such thoughts\\nawake\\nBy lone Saint Mary s silent lake\\nThou know st it well, nor fen nor\\nsedge", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0139.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "u8\\nMARMION\\nPollute the pure lake s crystal\\nedge;\\nAbrupt and sheer, the mountains\\nsink 150\\nAt once upon the level brink,\\nAnd just a trace of silver sand\\nMarks where the water meets the\\nland.\\nFar in the mirror, bright and blue,\\nEach hill s huge outline you may\\nview;\\nShaggy with heath, but lonely\\nbare,\\nNor tree, nor bush, nor brake is\\nthere,\\nSave where of land yon slender\\nline\\nBears thwart the lake the scattered\\npine.\\nYet even this nakedness has\\npower, 160\\nAnd aids the feeling of the hour\\nNor thicket, dell, nor copse you\\nspy,\\nWhere living thing concealed\\nmight lie\\nNor point retiring hides a dell\\nWhere swain or woodman lone\\nmight dwell\\nThere s nothing left to fancy s\\nguess,\\nYou see that all is loneliness\\nAnd silence aids though the\\nsteep hills 168\\nSend to the lake a thousand rills\\nIn summer tide so soft they weep,\\nThe sound but lulls the ear asleep\\nYour horse s hoof-tread sounds too\\nrude,\\nSo stilly is the solitude.\\nNought living meets the eye or\\near,\\nBut well I ween the dead are\\nnear;\\nFor though, in feudal strife, a foe\\nHath laid Our Lady s chapel low,\\nYet still, beneath the hallowed\\nsoil,\\nThe peasant rests him from his\\ntoil, 179\\nAnd dying bids his bones be laid\\nWhere erst his simple fathers\\nprayed.\\nIf age had tamed the passions\\nstrife,\\nAnd fate had cut my ties to life,\\nHere have I thought t were sweet\\nto dwell,\\nAnd rear again the chaplain s cell,\\nLike that same peaceful hermitage,\\nWhere Milton longed to spend his\\nage.\\nT were sweet to mark the setting\\nday\\nOn Bourhope s lonely top decay,\\nAnd, as it faint and feeble died 190\\nOn the broad lake and mountain s\\nside,\\nTo say, Thus pleasures fade away\\nYouth, talents, beauty, thus decay,\\nAnd leave us dark, forlorn, and\\ngray;\\nThen gaze on Dryhope s ruined\\ntower,\\nAnd think on Yarrow s faded\\nFlower\\nAnd wben that mountain-sound I\\nheard,\\nWhich bids us be for storm pre-\\npared,\\nThe distant rustling of his wings,\\nAs up his force the Tempest brings,\\nT were sweet, ere yet his terrors\\nrave, 201\\nTo sit upon the Wizard s grave,\\nThat Wizard Priest s whose bones\\nare thrust\\nFrom company of holy dust\\nOn which no sunbeam ever\\nshines\\nSo superstition s creed divines\\nThence view the lake with sullen\\nroar\\nHeave her broad billows to the\\nshore\\nAnd mark the wild-swans mount\\nthe gale,\\nSpread wide through mist their\\nsnowy sail, 210\\nAnd ever stoop again, to lave", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0140.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n119\\nTheir bosoms on the surging wave\\nThen, when against the driving\\nhail\\nNo longer might my plaid avail,\\nBack to my lonely home retire,\\nAnd light my lamp and trim my\\nfire;\\nThere ponder o er some mystic lay,\\nTill the wild tale had all its sway,\\nAnd, in the bittern s distant shriek,\\nI heard unearthly voices speak,\\nAnd thought the Wizard Priest\\nwas come 221\\nTo claim again his ancient home\\nAnd bade my busy fancy range,\\nTo frame him fitting shape and\\nstrange,\\nTill from the task my brow I\\ncleared,\\nAnd smiled to think that I had\\nfeared.\\nBut chief t were sweet to think\\nsuch life\\nThough but escape from fortune s\\nstrife\\nSomething most matchless good\\nand wise,\\nA great and grateful sacrifice, 230\\nAnd deem each hour to musing\\ngiven\\nA step upon the road to heaven.\\nYet him whose heart is ill at\\nease\\nSuch peaceful solitudes displease\\nHe loves to drown his bosom s jar\\nAmid the elemental war\\nAnd my black Palmer s choice had\\nbeen\\nSome ruder and more savage scene,\\nLike that which frowns round dark\\nLochskene.\\nThere eagles scream from isle to\\nshore 240\\nDown all the rocks the torrents\\nroar;\\nO er the black waves incessant\\ndriven,\\nDark mists infect the summer\\nheaven\\nThrough the rude barriers of the\\nlake,\\nAway its hurrying waters break,\\nFaster and whiter dash and curl,\\nTill down yon dark abyss they\\nhurl.\\nRises the fog-smoke white as snow,\\nThunders the viewless stream be-\\nlow, 249\\nDiving, as if condemned to lave\\nSome demon s subterranean cave,\\nWho, prisoned by enchanter s\\nspell,\\nShakes the dark rock with groan\\nand yell.\\nAnd well that Palmer s form and\\nmien\\nHad suited with the stormy scene,\\nJust on the edge, straining his ken\\nTo view the bottom of the den,\\nWhere, deep deep down, and far\\nwithin,\\nToils with the rocks the roaring\\nlinn\\nThen, issuing forth one foamy\\nwave, 260\\nAnd wheeling round the Giant s\\nGrave,\\nWhite as the snowy charger s tail,\\nDrives down the pass of Moffat-\\ndale.\\nMarriot, thy harp, on Isis strung,\\nTo many a Border theme has\\nrung:\\nThen list to me, and thou shalt\\nknow\\nOf this mysterious Man of Woe.\\nCANTO SECOND\\nTHE CONTENT\\nThe breeze which swept away the\\nsmoke\\nEound Norham Castle rolled,\\nWhen all the loud artillery spoke\\nWith lightning-flash and thunder-\\nstroke,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0141.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "120\\nMARMION\\nAs Marmion left the hold,\\nIt curled not Tweed alone, that\\nbreeze,\\nFor, far upon Northumbrian seas,\\nIt freshly blew and strong,\\nWhere, from high Whitby s clois-\\ntered pile,\\nBound to Saint Cuthbert s Holy\\nIsle, 10\\nIt bore a bark along.\\nUpon the gale she stooped her\\nside,\\nAnd bounded o er the swelling\\ntide,\\nAs she were dancing home\\nThe merry seamen laughed to see\\nTheir gallant ship so lustily\\nFurrow the green sea-foam.\\nMuch joyed they in their honored\\nfreight\\nFor on the deck, in chair of state,\\nThe Abbess of Saint Hilda placed,\\nWith five fair nuns, the galley\\ngraced. 21\\n11\\nTwas sweet to see these holy\\nmaids,\\nLike birds escaped to greenwood\\nshades,\\nTheir first flight from the cage,\\nHow timid, and how curious too,\\nFor all to them was strange and\\nnew,\\nAnd all the common sights they\\nview\\nTheir wonderment engage.\\nOne eyed the shrouds and swelling\\nsail,\\nWith many a benedicite 30\\nOne at the rippling surge grew\\npale,\\nAnd would for terror pray,\\nThen shrieked because the sea-dog\\nnigh\\nHis round black head and spark-\\nling eye\\nReared o er the foaming spray\\nAnd one would still adjust her\\nveil,\\nDisordered by the summer gale,\\nPerchance lest some more worldly\\neye\\nHer dedicated charms might spy,\\nPerchance because such action\\ngraced 40\\nHer fair-turned arm and slender\\nwaist.\\nLight was each simple bosom\\nthere,\\nSave two, who ill might pleasure\\nshare,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe Abbess and the Novice Clare.\\nin\\nThe Abbess was of noble blood,\\nBut early took the veil and hood,\\nEre upon life she cast a look,\\nOr knew the world that she for-\\nsook.\\nFair too she was, and kind had\\nbeen\\nAs she was fair, but ne er had\\nseen 50\\nFor her a timid lover sigh,\\nNor knew the influence of her\\neye.\\nLove to her ear was but a name,\\nCombined with vanity and shame\\nHer hopes, her fears, her joys,\\nwere all\\nBounded within the cloister wall\\nThe deadliest sin her mind could\\nreach\\nWas of monastic rule the breach\\nAnd her ambition s highest aim\\nTo emulate Saint Hilda s fame. 60\\nFor this she gave her ample dower\\nTo raise the convent s eastern\\ntower\\nFor this, with carving rare and\\nquaint,\\nShe decked the chapel of the saint,\\nAnd gave the relic-shrine of cost,\\nWith ivory and gems embossed.\\nThe poor her convent s bounty\\nblest,\\nThe pilgrim in its halls found rest.\\nIV\\nBlack was her garb, her rigid rule\\nReformed on Benedictine school", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0142.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n121\\nHer cheek was pale, her form was\\nspare 7 1\\nVigils and penitence austere\\nHad early quenched the light of\\nyouth\\nBut gentle was the dame, in sooth\\nThough, vain of her religious\\nsway,\\nShe loved to see her maids obey,\\nYet nothing stern was she in cell,\\nAnd the nuns loved their Abbess\\nwell.\\nSad was this voyage to the dame\\nSummoned to Lindisfarue, she\\ncame, 80\\nThere, with Saint Cuthbert s Abbot\\nold\\nAnd Tynemouth s Prioress, to\\nhold\\nA chapter of Saint Benedict,\\nFor inquisition stern and strict\\nOn two apostates from the faith,\\nAnd, if need were, to doom to\\ndeath.\\nv\\nNaught say I here of Sister Clare,\\nSave this, that she was young and\\nfair;\\nAs yet a novice unprofessed,\\nLovely and gentle, but distressed.\\nShe was betrothed to one now\\ndead, 91\\nOr worse, who had dishonored\\nfled.\\nHer kinsmen bade her give her\\nhand\\nTo one who loved her for her land\\nHerself, almost heart broken\\nnow,\\nWas bent to take the vestal vow,\\nAnd shroud within Saint Hilda s\\ngloom\\nHer blasted hopes and withered\\nbloom.\\nVI\\nShe sate upon the galley s prow,\\nAnd seemed to mark the waves\\nbelow 100\\nNay, seemed, so fired her look and\\neye,\\nTo count them as they glided by.\\nShe saw them not\u00e2\u0080\u0094 t was seem-\\ning all\\nFar other scene her thoughts re-\\ncall,\\nA sun-scorched desert, waste and\\nbare,\\nNor waves nor breezes murmured\\nthere\\nThere saw she where some care-\\nless hand\\nO er a dead corpse had heaped\\nthe sand,\\nTo hide it till the jackals come 109\\nTo tear it from the scanty tomb.\\nSee what a woful look was given,\\nAs she raised up her eyes to\\nheaven\\nVII\\nLovely, and gentle, and dis-\\ntressed\\nThese charms might tame the\\nfiercest breast\\nHarpers have sung and poets told\\nThat he, in fury uncontrolled,\\nThe shaggy monarch of the wood,\\nBefore a virgin, fair and good,\\nHath pacified his savage mood. 119\\nBut passions in the human frame\\nOft put the lion s rage to shame\\nAnd jealousy, by dark intrigue,\\nWith sordid avarice in league,\\nHad practised with their bowl and\\nknife\\nAgainst the mourner s harmless\\nlife.\\nThis crime was charged gainst\\nthose who lay\\nPrisoned in Cuthbert s islet gray.\\nVIII\\nAnd now the vessel skirts the\\nstrand\\nOf mountainous Northumberland\\nTowns, towers, and halls succes-\\nsive rise, 130\\nAnd catch the nuns delighted\\neyes.\\nMonk Wearmouth soon behind\\nthem lay,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0143.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "122\\nMARMION\\nAnd Tynemouth s priory and bay\\nThey marked amid her trees the\\nhall\\nOf lofty Seaton-Delaval\\nThey saw the Blythe and Wans-\\nbeck floods\\nRush to the sea through sounding\\nwoods;\\nThey passed the tower of Widder-\\nington,\\nMother of many a valiant son\\nAt Coquet-isle their beads they\\ntell 140\\nTo the good saint who owned the\\ncell;\\nThen did the Alne attention claim,\\nAnd Warkworth, proud of Percy s\\nname;\\nAnd next they crossed themselves\\nto hear\\nThe whitening breakers sound so\\nnear,\\nWhere, boiling through the rocks,\\nthey roar\\nOn Dunstanborough s caverned\\nshore\\nThy tower, proud Bamborough,\\nmarked they there,\\nKing Ida s castle, huge and\\nsquare,\\nFrom its tall rock look grimly\\ndown, 150\\nAnd on the swelling ocean frown\\nThen from the coast they bore\\naway,\\nAnd reached the Holy Island s bay.\\nIX\\nThe tide did now its flood-mark\\ngain,\\nAnd girdled in the Saint s domain\\nFor, with the flow and ebb, its\\nstyle\\nVaries from continent to isle\\nDry shod, o er sands, twice every\\nday\\nThe pilgrims to the shrine find\\nway;\\nTwice every day the waves efface\\nOf staves and sandalled feet the\\ntrace. 161\\nAs to the port the galley flew,\\nHigher and higher rose to view\\nThe castle with its battled walls,\\nThe ancient monastery s halls,\\nA solemn, huge, and dark-red pile.\\nPlaced on the margin of the isle.\\nIn Saxon strength that abbey\\nfrowned,\\nWith massive arches broad and\\nround,\\nThat rose alternate, row and\\nrow, 170\\nOn ponderous columns, short\\nand low,\\nBuilt ere the art was known,\\nBy pointed aisle and shafted\\nstalk\\nThe arcades of an alleyed walk\\nTo emulate in stone.\\nOn the deep walls the heathen\\nDane\\nHad poured his impious rage in\\nvain\\nAnd needful was such strength to\\nthese,\\nExposed to the tempestuous seas,\\nScourged by the winds eternal\\nsway, 180\\nOpen to rovers fierce as they,\\nWhich could twelve hundred\\nyears withstand\\nWinds, waves, and northern pi-\\nrates hand.\\nNot but that portions of the pile,\\nRebuilded in a later style,\\nShowed where the spoiler s hand\\nhad been\\nNot but the wasting sea-breeze\\nkeen\\nHad worn the pillar s carving\\nquaint,\\nAnd mouldered in his niche the\\nsaint,\\nAnd rounded with consuming\\npower 190\\nThe pointed angles of each tower\\nYet still entire the abbey stood,\\nLike veteran, worn, but unsub-\\ndued.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0144.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n123\\nXI\\nSoon as they neared his turrets\\nstrong,\\nThe maidens raised Saint Hilda s\\nsong,\\nAnd with the sea-wave and the\\nwind\\nTheir voices, sweetly shrill, com- 1\\nbined,\\nAnd made harmonious close\\nThen, answering from the sandy\\nshore,\\nHalf-drowned amid the breakers\\nroar, 200\\nAccording chorus rose\\nDown to the haven of the Isle\\nThe monks and nuns in order file\\nFrom Cuthbert s cloisters grim\\nBanner, and cross, and relics there,\\nTo meet Saint Hilda s maids, they\\nbare\\nAnd, as they caught the sounds on\\nair,\\nThey echoed back the hymn.\\nThe islanders in joyous mood\\nRushed emulously through the\\nflood 210\\nTo hale the bark to land\\nConspicuous by her veil and hood,\\nSigning the cross, the Abbess\\nstood,\\nAnd blessed them with her hand.\\nXII\\nSuppose we now the welcome said,\\nSuppose the convent banquet\\nmade\\nAll through the holy dome,\\nThrough cloister, aisle, and gal-\\nlery,\\nWherever vestal maid might pry,\\nNor risk to meet unhallowed eye.\\nThe stranger sisters roam 221\\nTill fell the evening damp with\\ndew,\\nAnd the sharp sea-breeze coldly\\nblew,\\nFor there even summer night is\\nchill.\\nThen, having strayed and gazed\\ntheir fill,\\nThey closed around the fire\\nAnd all, in turn, essayed to paint\\nThe rival merits of their saint,\\nA theme that ne er can tire\\nA holy maid, for be it known 230\\nThat their saint s honor is their\\nown.\\nXIII\\nThen Whitby s nuns exulting told\\nHow to their house three barons\\nbold\\nMust menial service do,\\nWhile horns blow out a note of\\nshame,\\nAnd monks cry, Fie upon your\\nname!\\nIn wrath, for loss of sylvan game,\\nSaint Hilda s priest ye slew/\\nThis, on Ascension-day, each year\\nWhile laboring on our harbor-\\npier, 240\\nMust Herbert, Bruce, and Percy\\nhear.\\nThey told how in their convent-\\ncell\\nA Saxon princess once did dwell,\\nThe lovely Edelfled\\nAnd how, of thousand snakes, each\\none\\nWas changed into a coil of stone\\nWhen holy Hilda prayed\\nThemselves, within their holy\\nbound,\\nTheir stony folds had often found.\\nThey told how sea-fowls pinions\\nfail, 250\\nAs over Whitby s towers they sail,\\nAnd, sinking down, with flutter-\\nings faint,\\nThey do their homage to the saint.\\nXIV\\nNor did Saint Cuthbert s daughters\\nfail\\nTo vie with these in holy tale\\nHis body s resting-place, of old,\\nHow oft their patron changed,\\nthey told\\nHow, when the rude Dane burned\\ntheir pile,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0145.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "124\\nMARMION\\nThe monks fled forth from Holy\\nIsle;\\nO er Northern mountain, marsh,\\nand moor, 260\\nFrom sea to sea, from shore to\\nshore,\\nSeven years Saint Cuthbert s\\ncorpse they bore.\\nThey rested them in fair Mel-\\nrose\\nBut though, alive, he loved it\\nwell,\\nNot there his relics might re-\\npose\\nFor, wondrous tale to tell\\nIn his stone coffin forth he rides,\\nA ponderous bark for river tides,\\nYet light as gossamer it glides\\nDownward to Tilmouth cell.\\nNor long was his abiding there,\\nFor southward did the saint re-\\npair\\nOhester-le-Street and Ripon saw\\nHis holy corpse ere Wardilaw\\nHailed him with joy and fear\\nAnd, after many wanderings past,\\nHe chose his lordly seat at last\\nWhere his cathedral, huge and\\nvast,\\nLooks down upon the Wear.\\nThere, deep in Durham s Gothic\\nshade, 280\\nHis relics are in secret laid\\nBut none may know the place,\\nSave of his holiest servants three,\\nDeep sworn to solemn secrecy,\\nWho share that wondrous grace.\\nxv\\nWho may his miracles declare\\nEven Scotland s dauntless king\\nand heir\\nAlthough with them they led\\nGalwegians, wild as ocean s gale,\\nAnd Loden s knights, all sheathed\\nin mail, 290\\nAnd the bold men of Teviotdale\\nBefore his standard fled.\\nT was he, to vindicate his reign,\\nEdged Alfred s falchion on the\\nDane,\\nAnd turned the Conqueror back\\nagain,\\nWhen, with his Norman bowyer\\nband,\\nHe came to waste Northumber-\\nland.\\nXVI\\nBut fain Saint Hilda s nuns would\\nlearn\\nIf on a rock, by Lindisfarne,\\nSaint Cuthbert sits, and toils to\\nframe 300\\nThe sea-born beads that bear his\\nname\\nSuch tales had Whitby s fishers\\ntold,\\nAnd said they might his shape be-\\nhold,\\nAnd hear his anvil sound\\nA deadened clang, a huge dim\\nform,\\nSeen but, and heard, when gather-\\ning storm\\nAnd night were closing round.\\nBut this, as tale of idle fame,\\nThe nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim.\\nXVII\\nWhile round the fire such legends\\ngo, 310\\nFar different was the scene of\\nwoe\\nWhere, in a secret aisle beneath,\\nCouncil was held of life and death.\\nIt was more dark and lone, that\\nvault,\\nThan the worst dungeon cell\\nOld Colwulf built it, for his fault\\nIn penitence to dwell,\\nWhen he for cowl and beads laid\\ndown\\nThe Saxon battle-axe and crown.\\nThis den, which, chilling every\\nsense 320\\nOf feeling, hearing, sight,\\nWas called the Vault of Penitence,\\nExcluding air and light,\\nWas by the prelate Sexhelm made\\nA place of burial for such dead\\nAs, having died in mortal sin,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0146.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n125\\nMight not be laid the church\\nwithin.\\nT was now a place of punish-\\nment;\\nWhence if so loud a shriek were\\nsent\\nAs reached the upper air, 330\\nThe hearers blessed themselves,\\nand said\\nThe spirits of the sinful dead\\nBemoaned their torments there.\\nXVIII\\nBut though, in the monastic pile,\\nDid of this penitential aisle\\nSome vague tradition go,\\nFew only, save the Abbot, knew\\nWhere the place lay, and still more\\nfew\\nWere those who had from him the\\nclew\\nTo that dread vault to go. 340\\nVictim and executioner\\nWere blindfold when transported\\nthere.\\nIn low dark rounds the arches\\nhung,\\nFrom the rude rock the side-walls\\nsprung\\nThe gravestones, rudely sculp-\\ntured o er,\\nHalf sunk in earth, by time half\\nwore,\\nWere all the pavement of the\\nfloor\\nThe mildew-drops fell one by one,\\nWith tinkling plash, upon the\\nstone.\\nA cresset, in an iron chain, 350\\nWhich served to light this drear\\ndomain.\\nWith damp and darkness seemed\\nto strive,\\nAs if it scarce might keep alive\\nAnd yet it dimly served to show\\nThe awful conclave met below.\\nXIX\\nThere, met to doom in secrecy,\\nWere placed the heads of convents\\nthree,\\nAll servants of Saint Benedict,\\nThe statutes of whose order strict\\nOn iron table lay; 360\\nIn long black dress, on seats of\\nstone,\\nBehind were these three judges\\nshown\\nBy the pale cresset s ray.\\nThe Abbess of Saint Hilda s there\\nSat for a space with visage bare,\\nUntil, to hide her bosom s swell,\\nAnd tear-drops that for pity fell,\\nShe closely drew her veil\\nYon shrouded figure, as I guess,\\nBy her proud mien and flowing\\ndress, 370\\nIs Tynemouth s haughty Prior-\\ness,\\nAnd she with awe looks pale\\nAnd he, that ancient man, whose\\nsight\\nHas long been quenched by age s\\nnight,\\nUpon whose wrinkled brow alone\\nNor ruth nor mercy s trace is\\nshown,\\nWhose look is hard and stern,\\nSaint Cuthbert s Abbot is his style,\\nFor sanctity called through the\\nisle\\nThe Saint of Lindisfarne. 380\\nxx\\nBefore them stood a guilty pair\\nBut, though an equal fate they\\nshare,\\nYet one alone deserves our care.\\nHer sex a page s dress belied\\nThe cloak and doublet, loosely\\ntied,\\nObscured her charms, but could\\nnot hide.\\nHer cap down o er her face she\\ndrew;\\nAnd, on her doublet breast,\\nShe tried to hide the badge of\\nblue, 389\\nLord Marmion s falcon crest.\\nBut, at the prioress command,\\nA monk undid the silken band\\nThat tied her tresses fair.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0147.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "126\\nMARMION\\nAnd raised the bonnet from her\\nhead,\\nAnd down her slender form they\\nspread\\nIn ringlets rich and rare.\\nConstance de Beverley they know,\\nSister professed of Fontevraud,\\nWhom the Church numbered with\\nthe dead, 399\\nFor broken vows and convent fled.\\nXXI\\nWhen thus her face was given to\\nview,\\nAlthough so pallid was her hue,\\nIt did a ghastly contrast bear\\nTo those bright ringlets glistering\\nfair,\\nHer look composed, and steady\\neye,\\nBespoke a matchless constancy\\nAnd there she stood so calm and\\npale\\nThat, but her breathing did not\\nfail,\\nAnd motion slight of eye and head,\\nAnd of her bosom, warranted 410\\nThat neither sense nor pulse she\\nlacks,\\nYou might have thought a form of\\nwax,\\nWrought to the very life, was\\nthere\\nSo still she was, so pale, so fair.\\nXXII\\nHer comrade was a sordid soul,\\nSuch as does murder for a meed\\nWho, but of fear, knows no con-\\ntrol,\\nBecause his conscience, seared\\nand foul,\\nFeels not the import of his deed\\nOne whose brute-feeling ne er as-\\npires 420\\nBeyond his own more brute de-\\nsires.\\nSuch tools the Tempter ever needs\\nTo do the savagest of deeds\\nFor them no visioned terrors\\ndaunt,\\nTheir nights no fancied spectres\\nhaunt\\nOne fear with them, of all most\\nbase,\\nThe fear of death, alone finds\\nplace.\\nThis wretch was clad in frock and\\ncowl,\\nAnd shamed not loud to moan and\\nhowl,\\nHis body on the floor to dash, 430\\nAnd crouch, like hound beneath\\nthe lash\\nWhile his mute partner, standing\\nnear,\\nWaited her doom without a tear.\\nXXIII\\nYet well the luckless wretch\\nmight shriek,\\nWell might her paleness terror\\nspeak\\nFor there were seen in that dark\\nwall\\nTwo niches, narrow, deep, and\\ntall\\nWho enters at such grisly door\\nShall ne er, I ween, find exit more.\\nIu each a slender meal was laid, 440\\nOf roots, of water, and of bread;\\nBy each, in Benedictine dress,\\nTwo haggard monks stood motion-\\nless,\\nWho, holding high a blazing torch,\\nShowed the grim entrance of the\\nporch\\nEeflecting back the smoky beam,\\nThe dark- red walls and arches\\ngleam.\\nHewn stones and cement were dis-\\nplayed,\\nAnd building tools in order laid.\\nXXIV\\nThese executioners were chose 450\\nAs men who were with mankind\\nfoes,\\nAnd, with despite and envy fired,\\nInto the cloister had retired,\\nOr who, in desperate doubt of\\ngrace,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0148.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n127\\nStrove by deep penance to efface\\nOf some foul crime the stain\\nFor, as the vassals of her will,\\nSuch men the Church selected\\nstill\\nAs either joyed in doing ill, 459\\nOr thought more grace to gain\\nIf in her cause they wrestled dowu\\nFeelings their nature strove to\\nown.\\nBy strange device were they\\nbrought there,\\nThey knew not how, and knew\\nnot where.\\nXXV\\nAnd now that blind old Abbot\\nrose,\\nTo speak the Chapter s doom\\nOn those the wall was to enclose\\nAlive within the tomb,\\nBut stopped because that woful\\nmaid,\\nGathering her powers, to speak\\nessayed 470\\nTwice she essayed, and twice in\\nvain,\\nHer accents might no utterance\\ngain;\\nNought but imperfect murmurs\\nslip\\nFrom her convulsed and quiver-\\ning lip\\nTwixt each attempt all was so\\nstill,\\nYou seemed to hear a distant\\nrill\\nT was ocean s swells and\\nfalls\\nFor though this vault of sin and\\nfear\\nWas to the sounding surge so\\nnear,\\nA tempest there you scarce\\ncould hear, 480\\nSo massive were the walls.\\nXXVI\\nAt length, an effort sent apart\\nThe blood that curdled to her\\nheart,\\nAnd light came to her eye,\\nAnd color dawned upon her cheek,\\nA hectic and a fluttered streak,\\nLike that left on the Cheviot\\npeak\\nBy Autumn s stormy sky\\nAnd when her silence broke at\\nlength,\\nStill as she spoke she gathered\\nstrength, 490\\nAnd armed herself to bear.\\nIt was a fearful sight to see\\nSuch high resolve and constancy\\nIn form so soft and fair.\\nXXVII\\n1 1 speak not to implore your grace,\\nWell know I for one minute s\\nspace\\nSuccessless might I sue\\nNor do I speak your prayers to\\ngain\\nFor if a death of lingering pain\\nTo cleanse my sins be penance\\nvain, 500\\nVain are your masses too.\\nI listened to a traitor s tale,\\nI left the convent and the veil\\nFor three long years I bowed my\\npride,\\nA horse-boy in his train to ride\\nAnd well my folly s meed he gave,\\nWho forfeited, to be his slave,\\nAll here, and all beyond the grave.\\nHe saw young Clara s face more\\nfair,\\nHe knew her of broad lands the\\nheir, 510\\nForgot his vows, his faith for-\\nswore,\\nAnd Constance was beloved no\\nmore.\\nT is an old tale, and often told\\nBut did my fate and wish\\nagree,\\nNe er had been read, in story\\nold,\\nOf maiden true betrayed for\\ngold,\\nThat loved, or was avenged,\\nlike me", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0149.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "128\\nMARMION\\nXXVIII\\nThe king approved his favorite s\\naim;\\nIn vain a rival barred his claim,\\nWhose fate with Clare s was\\nplight, 520\\nFor he attaints that rival s fame\\nWith treason s charge and on\\nthey came\\nIn mortal lists to fight.\\nTheir oaths are said,\\nTheir prayers are prayed,\\nTheir lances in the rest are\\nlaid,\\nThey meet in mortal shock\\nAnd hark the throng, with thun-\\ndering cry,\\nShout Marmion, Marmion to\\nthe sky, 529\\nDe Wilton to the block\\nSay, ye who preach Heaven shall\\ndecide\\nWhen in the lists two champions\\nride,\\nSay, was Heaven s justice here\\nWhen, loyal in his love and faith,\\nWilton found overthrow or death\\nBeneath a traitor s spear\\nHow false the charge, how true he\\nfell,\\nThis guilty packet best can tell.\\nThen drew a packet from her\\nbreast,\\nPaused, gathered voice, and spoke\\nthe rest. 540\\nXXIX\\nStill was false Marmion s bridal\\nstayed\\nTo Whitby s convent fled the\\nmaid,\\nThe hated match to shun.\\nHo! shifts she thus? King\\nHenry cried,\\nSir Marmion, she shall be thy\\nbride,\\nIf she were sworn a nun.\\nOne way remained the king s\\ncommand\\nSent Marmion to the Scottish\\nland;\\nI lingered here, and rescue planned\\nFor Clara and for me: 550\\nThis caitiff monk for gold did\\nswear\\nHe would to Whitby s shrine re-\\npair,\\nAnd by his drugs my rival fair\\nA saint in heaven should be\\nBut ill the dastard kept his oath,\\nWhose cowardice hath undone us\\nboth.\\nXXX\\n1 And now my tongue the secret\\ntells,\\nNot that remorse my bosom swells,\\nBut to assure my soul that none\\nShall ever wed with Marmion. 560\\nHad fortune my last hope be-\\ntrayed,\\nThis packet, to the king conveyed,\\nHad given him to the headsman s\\nstroke,\\nAlthough my heart that instant\\nbroke.\\nNow, men of death, work forth\\nyour will,\\nFor I can suffer, and be still\\nAnd come he slow, or come he\\nfast,\\nIt is but Death who comes at\\nlast.\\nXXXI\\n4 Yet dread me from my living\\ntomb,\\nYe vassal slaves of bloody Rome\\nIf Marmion s late remorse should\\nwake, 571\\nFull soon such vengeance will he\\ntake\\nThat you shall wish the fiery Dane\\nHad rather been your guest again.\\nBehind, a darker hour ascends\\nThe altars quake, the crosier\\nbends,\\nThe ire of a despotic king\\nRides forth upon destruction s\\nwing\\nThen shall these vaults, so strong\\nand deep,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0150.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD\\n129\\nBurst open to the sea winds\\nsweep 580\\nSome traveller then shall find my\\nbones\\nWhitening amid disjointed stones,\\nAnd, ignorant of priests cruelty.\\nMarvel such relics here should be.\\nXXXII\\nFixed was her look and stern her\\nair:\\nBack from her shoulders streamed\\nher hair\\nThe locks that wont her brow to\\nshade\\nStared up erectly from her head\\nHer figure seemed to rise more\\nhigh;\\nHer voice despair s wild energy\\nHad given a tone of prophecy. 591\\nAppalled the astonished conclave\\nsate;\\nWith stupid eyes, the men of fate\\nGazed on the light inspired form,\\nAnd listened for the avenging\\nstorm\\nThe judges felt the victim s dread\\nNo hand was moved, no word was\\nsaid,\\nTill thus the abbot s doom was\\ngiven,\\nRaising his sightless balls to hea-\\nven:\\n1 Sister, let thy sorrows cease 600\\nSinful brother, part in peace\\nFrom that dire dungeon, place of\\ndoom,\\nOf execution too, and tomb,\\nPaced forth the judges three\\nSorrow it were and shame to tell\\nThe butcher-work that there be-\\nfell,\\nWhen they had glided from the\\ncell\\nOf sin and misery.\\nXXXIII\\nAn hundred winding steps convey\\nThat conclave to the upper day\\nBut ere they breathed the fresher\\nair 6n\\nThey heard the shriekings of de-\\nspair,\\nAnd many a stifled groan.\\nWith speed their upward way they\\ntake,\\nSuch speed as age and fear can\\nmake,\\nAnd crossed themselves for ter-\\nror s sake,\\nAs hurrying, tottering on,\\nEven in the vesper s heavenly tone\\nThey seemed to hear a dying\\ngroan,\\nAnd bade the passing knell to toll\\nFor welfare of a parting soul. 62 1\\nSlow o er the midnight wave it\\nswung,\\nNorthumbrian rocks in answer\\nrung\\nTo Warkworth cell the echoes\\nrolled,\\nHis beads the wakeful hermit\\ntold\\nThe Bamborough peasant raised\\nhis head,\\nBut slept ere half a prayer he said;\\nSo far was heard the mighty knell,\\nThe stag sprung up on Cheviot\\nFell,\\nSpread his broad nostril to the\\nwind, 630\\nListed before, aside, behind,\\nThen couched him down beside\\nthe hind,\\nAnd quaked among the mountain\\nfern,\\nTo hear that sound so dull and\\nstern.\\nINTRODUCTION TO CANTO\\nTHIRD\\nTO WILLIAM ERSKIXE, ESQ.\\nAshestielj Ettrick Forest\\nLike April morning clouds, that\\npass\\nWith varying shadow o er the\\ngrass,\\nAnd imitate on field and furrow", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0151.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "l 3\u00c2\u00b0\\nMARMION\\nLife s checkered scene of joy and\\nsorrow\\nLike streamlet of the mountain\\nnorth,\\nNow in a torrent racing forth,\\nNow winding slow its silver train,\\nAnd almost slumbering on the\\nplain\\nLike breezes of the autumn day,\\nWhose voice inconstant dies away,\\nAnd ever swells again as fast 1 1\\nWhen the ear deems its murmur\\npast;\\nThus various, my romantic theme\\nFlits, winds, or sinks, a morning\\ndream.\\nYet pleased, our eye pursues the\\ntrace\\nOf Light and Shade s inconstant\\nrace;\\nPleased, views the rivulet afar,\\nWeaving its maze irregular\\nAnd pleased, we listen as the\\nbreeze\\nHeaves its wild sigh through Au-\\ntumn trees 20\\nThen, wild as cloud, or stream, or\\ngale,\\nFlow on, flow unconfined, my tale\\nNeed I to thee, dear Erskine, tell\\nI love the license all too well,\\nIn sounds now lowly, and now\\nstrong,\\nTo raise the desultory song?\\nOft, when mid such capricious\\nchime\\nSome transient fit of loftier rhyme\\nTo thy kind judgment seemed ex-\\ncuse\\nFor many an error of the muse, 30\\nOft hast thou said, If, still mis-\\nspent,\\nThine hours to poetry are lent,\\nGo, and to tame thy wandering\\ncourse,\\nQuaff from the fountain at the\\nsource\\nApproach those masters o er\\nwhose tomb\\nImmortal laurels ever bloom\\nInstructive of the feebler bard,\\nStill from the grave their voice is\\nheard\\nFrom them, and from the paths\\nthey showed,\\nChoose honored guide and prac-\\ntised road 40\\nNor ramble on through brake and\\nmaze,\\nWith harpers rude of barbarous\\ndays.\\n4 Or deem st thou not our later\\ntime\\nYields topic meet for classic\\nrhyme\\nHast thou no elegiac verse\\nFor Brunswick s venerable\\nhearse\\nWhat not a line, a tear, a sigh,\\nWhen valor bleeds for liberty?\\nOh, hero of that glorious time,\\nWhen, with unrivalled light sub-\\nlime, 50\\nThough martial Austria, and\\nthough all\\nThe might of Russia, and the\\nGaul,\\nThough banded Europe stood her\\nfoes\\nThe star of Brandenburg arose\\nThou couldst not live to see her\\nbeam\\nForever quenched in Jena s\\nstream.\\nLamented chief! it was not\\ngiven\\nTo thee to change the doom of\\nHeaven,\\nAnd crush that dragon in its birth,\\nPredestined scourge of guilty\\nearth. 60\\nLamented chief not thine the\\npower\\nTo save in that presumptuous hour\\nWhen Prussia hurried to the field,\\nAnd snatched the spear, but left\\nthe shield\\nValor and skill t was thine to try,\\nAnd, tried in vain, t was thine to\\ndie.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0152.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD\\n131\\n111 had it seemed thy silver hair\\nThe last, the bitterest pang to\\nshare,\\nFor princedoms reft, and scutch-\\neons riven,\\nAnd birthrights to usurpers given\\nThy land s, thy children s wrongs\\nto feel, 71\\nAnd witness woes thou couldst\\nnot heal\\nOn thee relenting Heaven bestows\\nFor honored life an honored close\\nAnd when revolves, in time s sure\\nchange,\\nThe hour of Germany s revenge,\\nWhen, breathing fury for her sake,\\nSome new Arminius shall awake,\\nHer champion, ere he strike, shall\\ncome\\nTo whet his sword on Bruns-\\nwick s tomb, 80\\n4 Or of the Red-Cross hero teach,\\nDauntless in dungeon as on breach.\\nAlike to him the sea, the shore,\\nThe brand, the bridle, or the oar\\nAlike to him the war that calls\\nIts votaries to the shattered walls\\nWhich the gfim Turk, besmeared\\nwith blood,\\nAgainst the Invincible made good;\\nOr that w r hose thundering voice\\ncould wake\\nThe silence of the polar lake, go\\nWhen stubborn Russ and mettled\\nSwede\\nOn the warped wave their death-\\ngame played\\nOr that where Vengeance and\\nAffright\\nHowled round the father of the\\nfight,\\nWho snatched on Alexandria s\\nsand\\nThe conqueror s wreath with dying\\nhand.\\nOr, if to touch such chord be\\nthine,\\nRestore the ancient tragic line,\\nAnd emulate the notes that rung\\nFrom the wild harp which silent\\nhung 100\\nBy silver Avon s holy shore\\nTill twice an hundred years rolled\\no er;\\nWhen she, the bold Enchantress,\\ncame,\\nWith fearless hand and heart on\\nflame,\\nFrom the pale willow snatched\\nthe treasure,\\nAnd swept it with a kindred mea-\\nsure,\\nTill Avon s swans, while rung the\\ngrove\\nWith Montfort s hate and Basil s\\nlove,\\nAwakening at the inspired strain,\\nDeemed their own Shakespeare\\nlived again. no\\nThy friendship thus thy judg-\\nment wronging\\nWith praises not to me belong-\\ning,\\nIn task more meet for mightiest\\npowers\\nWouldst thou engage my thrift-\\nless hours.\\nBut say, my Erskine, hast thou\\nweighed\\nThat secret power by all obeyed,\\nWhich w r arps not less the passive\\nmind,\\nIts source concealed or undefined\\nWhether an impulse, that has\\nbirth no\\nSoon as the infant wakes on earth,\\nOne with our feelings and our\\npowers,\\nAnd rather part of us than ours\\nOr whether fitlier termed the\\nsway\\nOf habit, formed in early day\\nHowe er derived, its force con-\\nfessed\\nRules with despotic sway the\\nbreast,\\nAnd drags us on by viewless chain,\\nWhile taste and reason plead in\\nvain,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0153.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "132\\nMARMION\\nLook east, and ask the Belgian\\nwhy,\\nBeneath Batavia s sultry sky, 130\\nHe seeks not eager to inhale\\nThe freshness of the mountain\\ngale,\\nContent to rear his whitened wall\\nBeside the dank and dull canal\\nHe 11 say, from youth he loved to\\nsee\\nThe white sail gliding by the tree.\\nOr see yon weather-beaten hind,\\nWhose sluggish herds before him\\nwind,\\nWhose tattered plaid and rugged\\ncheek\\nHis northern clime and kindred\\nspeak 140\\nThrough England s laughing\\nmeads he goes,\\nAnd England s wealth around him\\nflows;\\nAsk if it would content him well,\\nAt ease in those gay plains to\\ndwell,\\nWhere hedge-rows spread a ver-\\ndant screen,\\nAnd spires and forests intervene,\\nAnd the neat cottage peeps be-\\ntween?\\nNo! not for these will he ex-\\nchange\\nHis dark Lochaber s boundless\\nrange,\\nNot for fair Devon s meads for-\\nsake 150\\nBen Nevis gray and Garry s lake.\\nThus while I ape the measure\\nwild\\nOf tales that charmed me yet a\\nchild,\\nRude though they be, still with\\nthe chime\\nReturn the thoughts of early time\\nAnd feelings, roused in life s first\\nday,\\nGlow in the line and prompt the\\nlay.\\nThen rise those crags, that moun-\\ntain tower,\\nWhich charmed my fancy s waken-\\ning hour.\\nThough no broad river swept\\nalong, 160\\nTo claim, perchance, heroic song,\\nThough sighed no groves in sum-\\nmer gale,\\nTo prompt of love a softer tale,\\nThough scarce a puny streamlet s\\nspeed\\nClaimed homage from a shepherd s\\nreed,\\nYet was poetic impulse given\\nBy the green hill and clear blue\\nheaven.\\nIt was a barren scene and wild,\\nWhere naked cliffs were rudely\\npiled,\\nBut ever and anon between 170\\nLay velvet tufts of loveliest green\\nAnd well the lonely infant knew\\nRecesses where the wall-flower\\ngrew,\\nAnd honeysuckle loved to crawl\\nUp the low crag and ruined wall.\\nI deemed such nooks the sweetest\\nshade\\nThe sun in all its round surveyed\\nAnd still I thought that shattered\\ntower\\nThe mightiest work of human\\npower,\\nAnd marvelled as the aged hind 180\\nWith some strange tale bewitched\\nmy mind\\nOf forayers, who with headlong\\nforce\\nDown from that strength had\\nspurred their horse,\\nTheir southern rapine to renew\\nFar in the distant Cheviots blue,\\nAnd, home returning, filled the\\nhall\\nWith revel, wassail rout, and\\nbrawl.\\nMethought that still with trump\\nand clang\\nThe gateway s broken arches\\nrang\\nMethought grim features, seamed\\nwith scars, 190", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0154.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n133\\nGlared through the window s rusty\\nbars,\\nAnd ever, by the winter hearth,\\nOld tales I heard of woe or mirth,\\nOf lovers sleights, of ladies\\ncharms,\\nOf witches spells, of warriors\\narms;\\nOf patriot battles, won of old\\nBy Wallace wight and Bruce the\\nbold;\\nOf later fields of feud and fight,\\nWhen, pouring from their High-\\nland height,\\nThe Scottish clans in headlong\\nsway 200\\nHad swept the scarlet ranks away.\\nWhile stretched at length upon\\nthe floor,\\nAgain I fought each combat o er,\\nPebbles and shells, in order laid,\\nThe mimic ranks of war displayed\\nAnd onward still the Scottish\\nLion bore,\\nAnd still the scattered Southron\\nfled before.\\nStill, with vain fondness, could\\nI trace\\nAnew each kind familiar face\\nThat brightened at our evening\\nfire 210 j\\nFrom the thatched mansion s gray-\\nhaired sire,\\nWise without learning, plain and\\ngood,\\nAnd sprung of Scotland s gentler\\nblood\\nWhose eye in age, quick, clear,\\nand keen,\\nShowed what in youth its glance\\nhad been\\nWhose doom discording neighbors\\nsought,\\nContent with equity unbought;\\nTo him the venerable priest,\\nOur frequent and familiar guest,\\nWhose life and manners well could\\npaint 220\\nAlike the student and the saint,\\nAlas whose speech too oft I broke\\nWith gambol rude and timeless\\njoke\\nFor I was wayward, bold, and\\nwild,\\nA self-willed imp, a grandame s\\nchild,\\nBut half a plague, and half a jest,\\nWas still endured, beloved, ca-\\nressed.\\nFrom me, thus nurtured, dost\\nthou ask\\nThe classic poet s well -conned\\ntask?\\nNay, Erskine, nay on the wild\\nhill 230\\nLet tl)\u00c2\u00a3 wild heath-bell flourish\\nstill\\nCherish the tulip, prune the vine,\\nBut freely let the woodbine twine\\nAnd leave untrimmed the eglan-\\ntine\\nXay, my friend, nay since oft\\nthy praise\\nHath given fresh vigor to my lays,\\nSince oft thy judgment could re-\\nfine\\nMy flattened thought or cumbrous\\nline,\\nStill kind, as is thy wont, attend,\\nAnd in the minstrel spare the\\nfriend. 240\\nThough wild as cloud, as stream,\\nas gale,\\nFlow forth, flow unrestrained, my\\ntale!\\nCANTO THIRD\\nTHE HOSTEL, OR IXN\\nThe livelong day Lord Marmion\\nrode\\nThe mountain path the Palmer\\nshowed\\nBy glen and streamlet winded\\nstill,\\nWhere stunted birches hid the\\nrill.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0155.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "134\\nMARMION\\nThey might not choose the low-\\nland road,\\nFor the Merse forayers were\\nabroad,\\nWho, fired with hate and thirst of\\nprey,\\nHad scarcely failed to bar their\\nway.\\nOft on the trampling band from\\ncrown\\nOf some tall cliff the deer looked\\ndown 10\\nOn wing of jet from his repose\\nIn the deep heath the blackcock\\nrose;\\nSprung from the gorse the timid\\nroe,\\nNor waited for the bending bow\\nAnd when the stony path began\\nBy which the naked peak they\\nwan,\\nUp flew the snowy ptarmigan.\\nThe noon had long been passed\\nbefore\\nThey gained the height of Lam-\\nmermoor;\\nThence winding down the northern\\nway, 20\\nBefore them at the close of day\\nOld Gifford s towers and hamlet\\nlay.\\n11\\nNo summons calls them to the\\ntower,\\nTo spend the hospitable hour.\\nTo Scotland s camp the lord was\\ngone\\nHis cautious dame, in bower alone,\\nDreaded her castle to unclose,\\nSo late, to unknown friends or\\nfoes.\\nOn through the hamlet as they\\npaced,\\nBefore a porch whose front was\\ngraced 30\\nWith bush and flagon trimly\\nplaced,\\nLord Marmion drew his rein\\nThe village inn seemed large,\\nthough rude\\nIts cheerful fire and hearty food\\nMight well relieve his train.\\nDown from their seats the horse-\\nmen sprung,\\nWith jingling spurs the court-yard\\nrung\\nThey bind their horses to the stall,\\nFor forage, food, and firing call,\\nAnd various clamor fills the hall\\nWeighing the labor with the\\nCOSt, 41\\nToils everywhere the bustling\\nhost.\\nin\\nSoon, by the chimney s merry\\nblaze,\\nThrough the rude hostel might you\\ngaze,\\nMight see where in dark nc^k\\naloof\\nThe rafters of the sooty roof\\nBore wealth of winter cheer\\nOf sea -fowl dried, and solands\\nstore,\\nAnd gammons of the tusky boar,\\nAnd savory haunch of deer. 50\\nThe chimney arch projected wide\\nAbove, around it, and beside,\\nWere tools for housewives hand;\\nNor wanted, in that martial day,\\nThe implements of Scottish fray,\\nThe buckler, lance, and brand.\\nBeneath its shade, the place of\\nstate,\\nOn oaken settle Marmion sate,\\nAnd viewed around the blazing\\nhearth\\nHis followers mix in noisy mirth\\nWhom with brown ale, in jolly\\ntide, 61\\nFrom ancient vessels ranged aside\\nFull actively their host supplied.\\nIV\\nTheirs was the glee of martial\\nbreast,\\nAnd laughter theirs at little jest\\nAnd oft Lord Marmion deigned to\\naid,\\nAnd mingle in the mirth they\\nmade", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0156.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n135\\nFor though, with men of high de-\\ngree,\\nThe proudest of the proud was he,\\nYet, trained in camps, he knew the\\nart 70\\nTo win the soldiers hardy heart.\\nThey love a captain to obey,\\nBoisterous as March, yet fresh as\\nMay\\nWith open hand and brow as free,\\nLover of wine and minstrelsy\\nEver the first to scale a tower,\\nAs venturous in a lady s bower:\\nSuch buxom chief shall lead his\\nhost\\nFrom India s fires to Zembla s\\nfrost.\\nResting upon his pilgrim staff, So\\nRight opposite the Palmer stood,\\nHis thin dark visage seen but half,\\nHalf hidden by his hood.\\nStill fixed on Marmion was his\\nlook,\\nWhich he, who ill such gaze could\\nbrook,\\nStrove by a frown to quell\\nBut not for that, though more\\nthan once\\nFull met their stern encountering\\nglance,\\nThe Palmer s visage fell.\\nVI\\nBy fits less frequent from the\\ncrowd 90\\nWas heard the burst of laughter\\nloud\\nFor still, as squire and archer\\nstared\\nOn that dark face and matted\\nbeard,\\nTheir glee and game declined.\\nAll gazed at length in silence\\ndrear,\\nUnbroke save when in comrade s\\near\\nSome yeoman, wondering in his\\nfear,\\nThus whispered forth his mind\\n1 Saint Mary saw st thou e er such\\nsight?\\nHow pale his cheek, his eye how\\nbright, 100\\nWhene er the firebrand s fickle\\nlight\\nGlances beneath his cowl\\nFull on our lord he sets his eye\\nFor his best palfrey would not I\\nEndure that sullen scowl/\\nVII\\nBut Marmion, as to chase the awe\\nWhich thus had quelled their\\nhearts who saw\\nThe ever-varying firelight show\\nThat figure stern and face of woe,\\nNow called upon a squire no\\nFitz-Eustace, know st thou not\\nsome lay,\\nTo speed the lingering night away\\nWe slumber by the fire.\\nVIII\\n1 So please you, thus the youth re-\\njoined,\\nOur choicest minstrel s left be-\\nhind.\\nIll may we hope to please your ear,\\nAccustomed Constant s strains to\\nhear.\\nThe harp full deftly can he strike,\\nAnd wake the lover s lute alike\\nTo dear Saint Valentine no\\nthrush 120\\nSings livelier from a springtide\\nbush,\\nXo nightingale her lovelorn tune\\nMore sweetly warbles to the moon.\\nWoe to the cause, whate er it be,\\nDetains from us his melody,\\nLavished on rocks and billows\\nstern,\\nOr duller monks of Lindisfarne.\\nNow must I venture as I may,\\nTo sing his favorite roundelay.*\\nIX\\nA mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had,\\nThe air he chose was wild and sad\\nSuch have I heard in Scottish land", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0157.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "136\\nMARMION\\nRise from the busy harvest hand,\\nWhen falls before the mountaineer\\nOn Lowland plains the ripened ear.\\nNow one shrill voice the notes pro-\\nlong,\\nNow a wild chorus swells the\\nsong\\nOft have I listened and stood still\\nAs it came softened up the hill,\\nAnd deemed it the lament of men\\nWho languished for their native\\nglen, 141\\nAnd thought how sad would be\\nsuch sound\\nOn Susquehanna s swampy\\nground,\\nKentucky s wood encumbered\\nbrake,\\nOr wild Ontario s boundless lake,\\nWhere heart-sick exiles in the\\nstrain\\nRecalled fair Scotland s hills\\nagain\\nSONG\\nWhere shall the lover rest,\\nWhom the fates sever\\nFrom his true maiden s breast, 150\\nParted forever?\\nWhere, through groves deep and\\nhigh,\\nSounds the far billow,\\nWhere early violets die,\\nUnder the willow.\\nCHORUS\\nEleu loro, etc. Soft shall be his\\npillow.\\nThere, through the summer day,\\nCool streams are laving\\nThere, while the tempests sway,\\nScarce are boughs waving 160\\nThere thy rest shalt thou take,\\nParted forever,\\nNever again to wake,\\nNever, O never\\nCHORUS\\nEleu loro, etc. Never, never\\nXI\\nWhere shall the traitor rest,\\nHe the deceiver,\\nWho could win maiden s breast,\\nRuin and leave her\\nIn the lost battle, 170\\nBorne down by the flying,\\nWhere mingles war s rattle\\nWith groans of the dying.\\nCHORUS\\nEleu loro, etc. There shall he be\\nlying.\\nHer wing shall the eagle flap\\nO er the false-hearted\\nHis warm blood the wolf shall 7 ap,\\nEre life be parted.\\nShame and dishonor sit\\nBy his grave ever 180\\nBlessing shall hallow it,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNever, O never\\nCHORUS\\nEleu loro, etc. Never, O never\\nXII\\nIt ceased, the melancholy sound,\\nAnd silence sunk on all around.\\nThe air was sad but sadder still\\nIt fell on Marmion s ear,\\nAnd plained as if disgrace and ill,\\nAnd shameful death, were near.\\nHe drew his mantle past his face,\\nBetween it and the band, 191\\nAnd rested with his head a space\\nReclining on his hand.\\nHis thoughts I scan not; but I\\nween\\nThat, could their import have been\\nseen,\\nThe meanest groom in all the hall,\\nThat e er tied courser to a stall,\\nWould scarce have wished to be\\ntheir prey,\\nFor Lutterward and Fontenaye.\\nXIII\\nHigh minds, of native pride and\\nforce, 200\\nMost deeply feel thy pangs, Re-\\nmorse", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0158.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n*37\\nFear for their scourge mean vil-\\nlains have,\\nThou art the torturer of the brave\\nYet fatal strength they boast to\\nsteel\\nTheir minds to bear the wounds\\nthey feel,\\nEven while they writhe beneath\\nthe smart\\nOf civil conflict in the heart.\\nFor soon Lord Marmion raised his\\nhead,\\nAnd smiling to Fitz-Eustace said\\n1 Is it not strange that, as ye sung,\\nSeemed in mine ear a death-peal\\nrung, 211\\nSuch as in nunneries they toll\\nFor some departing sister s soul?\\nSay, what may this portend\\nThen first the Palmer silence\\nbroke,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe livelong day he had not\\nspoke,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n4 The death of a dear friend.\\nxrv\\nMarmion, whose steady heart and\\neye\\nNe er changed in worst extrem-\\nity,\\nMarmion, whose soul could scantly\\nbrook 220\\nEven from his king a haughty\\nlook,\\nWhose accent of command con-\\ntrolled\\nIn camps the boldest of the bold\\nThought, look, and utterance\\nfailed him now,\\nFallen was his glance and flushed\\nhis brow;\\nFor either in the tone,\\nOr something in the Palmer s look,\\nSo full upon his conscience strook\\nThat answer he found none.\\nThus oft it haps that when with-\\nin 230\\nThey shrink at sense of secret sin,\\nA feather daunts the brave\\nA fool s wild speech confounds the\\nwise,\\nAnd proudest princes vail their\\neyes\\nBefore their meanest slave.\\nxv\\nWell might he falter By his aid\\nWas Constance Beverley betrayed.\\nNot that he augured of the doom\\nWhich on the living closed the\\ntomb\\nhear the desperate\\n240\\nturns, beseech, up-\\nBut,\\ntired to\\nmaid\\nThreaten by\\nbraid,\\nAnd wroth because in wild despair\\nShe practised on the life of Clare,\\nIts fugitive the Church he gave,\\nThough not a victim, but a slave,\\nAnd deemed restraint in convent\\nstrange\\nWould hide her wrongs and her\\nrevenge.\\nHimself, proud Henry s favorite\\npeer,\\nHeld Romish thunders idle fear\\nSecure his pardon he might hold\\nFor some slight mulct of penance-\\ngold. 251\\nThus judging, he gave secret way\\nWhen the stern priests surprised\\ntheir prey.\\nHis train but deemed the favorite\\npage\\nWas left behind to spare his age\\nOr other if they deemed, none\\ndared\\nTo mutter what he thought and\\nheard\\nWoe to the vassal who durst pry\\nInto Lord Marmion s privacy\\nXVI\\nHis conscience slept he deemed\\nher well, 260\\nAnd safe secured in distant cell\\nBut, wakened by her favorite lay,\\nAnd that strange Palmer s boding\\nsay\\nThat fell so ominous and drear\\nFull on the object of his fear,\\nTo aid remorse s venomed throes,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0159.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "138\\nMARMION\\nDark tales of convent-vengeance\\nrose\\nAnd Constance, late betrayed and\\nscorned,\\nAll lovely on his soul returned;\\nLovely as when at treacherous\\ncall 270\\nShe left her convent s peaceful\\nwall,\\nCrimsoned with shame, with ter-\\nror mute,\\nDreading alike escape, pursuit,\\nTill love, victorious o er alarms,\\nHid fears and blushes in his arms.\\nXVII\\n1 Alas l he thought, how changed\\nthat mien\\nHow changed these timid looks\\nhave been,\\nSince years of guilt and of disguise\\nHave steeled her brow and armed\\nher eyes 279\\nNo more of virgin terror speaks\\nThe blood that mantles in her\\ncheeks\\nFierce and unfeminine are there,\\nFrenzy for joy, for grief despair\\nAnd I the cause for whom were\\ngiven\\nHer peace on earth, her hopes in\\nheaven\\nWould, thought he, as the picture\\ngrows,\\n4 1 on its stalk had left the rose\\nOh, why should man s success re-\\nmove\\nThe very charms that wake his\\nlove?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 289\\nHer convent s peaceful solitude\\nIs now a prison harsh and rude\\nAnd, pent within the narrow cell,\\nHow will her spirit chafe and swell\\nHow brook the stern monastic\\nlaws\\nThe penance how and I the\\ncause\\nVigil and scourge perchance\\neven worse\\nAnd twice he rose to cry, To\\nhorse 1\\nAnd twice his sovereign s mandate\\ncame,\\nLike damp upon a kindling flame\\nAnd twice he thought, Gave I not\\ncharge 300\\nShe should be safe, though not at\\nlarge\\nThey durst not, for their island,\\nshred\\nOne golden ringlet from her head.\\nXVIII\\nWhile thus in Marmion s bosom\\nstrove\\nRepentance and reviving love,\\nLike whirlwinds whose contend-\\ning sway\\n1 ve seen Loch Vennachar obey,\\nTheir host the Palmer s speech\\nhad heard,\\nAnd talkative took up the word:\\n4 Ay, reverend pilgrim, you who\\nstray 310\\nFrom Scotland s simple land\\naway,\\nTo visit realms afar,\\nFull often learned the art to\\nknow\\nOf future weal or future woe,\\nBy word, or sign, or star\\nYet might a knight his fortune\\nhear,\\nIf, knight-like, he despises fear,\\nNot far from hence; if fathers\\nold\\nAright our hamlet legend told.\\nThese broken words the menials\\nmove,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 320\\nFor marvels still the vulgar love,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd, Marmion giving license cold,\\nHis tale the host thus gladly\\ntold:\\nXIX\\nTHE HOST S TALE\\nA clerk could tell what years\\nhave flown\\nSince Alexander filled our throne,\\nThird monarch of that warlike\\nname,\u00e2\u0080\u0094", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0160.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n139\\nAnd eke the time when here he\\ncame\\nTo seek Sir Hugo, then our lord\\nA braver never drew a sword;\\nA wiser never, at the hour 330\\nOf midnight, spoke the word of\\npower\\nThe same whom ancient records\\ncall\\nThe founder of the Goblin-Hall.\\nI would, Sir Knight, your longer\\nstay\\nGave you that cavern to survey.\\nOf lofty roof and ample size,\\nBeneath the castle deep it lies\\nTo hew the living rock profound,\\nThe floor to pave, the arch to\\nround, 339 i\\nThere never toiled a mortal arm,\\nIt all was wrought by word and\\ncharm\\nAnd I have heard my grandsire\\nsay\\nThat the wild clamor and affray\\nOf those dread artisans of hell,\\nWho labored under Hugo s spell,\\nSounded as loud as ocean s war\\nAmong the caverns of Dunbar.\\nxx\\nThe king Lord Gifford s castle\\nsought,\\nDeep laboring with uncertain\\nthought.\\nEven then he mustered all his\\nhost, 35\u00c2\u00b0\\nTo meet upon the western coast;\\nFor Norse and Danish galleys\\nplied\\nTheir oars within the Firth of\\nClyde.\\nThere floated Haco s banner trim\\nAbove Norweyan warriors grim,\\nSavage of heart and large of limb,\\nThreatening both continent and\\nisle,\\nBute, Arran, Cunninghame, and\\nKyle.\\nLord Gifford, deep beneath the\\nground, 359\\nHeard Alexander s bugle sound,\\nAnd tarried not his garb to change\\nBut, in his wizard habit strange,\\nCame forth, a quaint and fearful\\nsight\\nHis mantle lined with fox-skins\\nwhite\\nHis high and wrinkled forehead\\nbore\\nA pointed cap, such as of yore\\nClerks say that Pharaoh s Magi\\nwore;\\nHis shoes were marked with cross\\nand spell,\\nUpon his breast a pentacle 369\\nHis zone of virgin parchment thin,\\nOr, as some tell, of dead man s\\nskin,\\nBore many a planetary sign,\\nCombust, and retrograde, and\\ntrine\\nAnd in his hand he held prepared\\nA naked sword without a guard.\\nXXI\\nDire dealings with the fiendish\\nrace\\nHad marked strange lines upon\\nhis face\\nVigil and fast had worn him grim,\\nHis eyesight dazzled seemed and\\ndim,\\nAs one unused to upper day 380\\nEven his own menials with dismay\\nBeheld, Sir Knight, the grisly sire\\nIn this unwonted wild attire;\\nUnwonted, for traditions run\\nHe seldom thus beheld the sun.\\nI know, he said, his voice was\\nhoarse,\\nAnd broken seemed its hollow\\nforce,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI know the cause, although un-\\ntold,\\nWhy the king seeks his vassal s\\nhold:\\nVainly from me my liege would\\nknow 390\\nHis kingdom s future weal or woe\\nBut yet, if strong his arm and\\nheart,\\nHis courage may do more than art.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0161.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "140\\nMARMION\\nXXII\\nOf middle air the demons proud,\\nWho ride upon the racking cloud,\\nCan read in fixed or wandering\\nstar\\nThe issue of events afar,\\nBut still their sullen aid withhold,\\nSave when by mightier force con-\\ntrolled. 399\\nSuch late I summoned to my hall\\nAnd though so potent was the call\\nThat scarce the deepest nook of\\nhell\\nI deemed a refuge from the spell,\\nYet, obstinate in silence still,\\nThe haughty demon mocks my\\nskill.\\nBut thou, who little know st thy\\nmight\\nAs born upon that blessed night\\nWhen yawning graves and dying\\ngroan\\nProclaimed hell s empire over-\\nthrown, 409\\nWith untaught valor shalt compel\\nResponse denied to magic spell.\\nGramercy, quoth our monarch\\nfree,\\nPlace him but front to front with\\nme,\\nAnd, by this good and honored\\nbrand,\\nThe gift of Cceur-de-Lion s hand,\\nSoothly I swear that, tide what\\ntide,\\nThe demon shall a buffet bide.\\nHis bearing bold the wizard\\nviewed,\\nAnd thus, well pleased, his speech\\nrenewed\\n44 There spoke the blood of Mal-\\ncolm!\u00e2\u0080\u0094 mark: 420\\nForth pacing hence at midnight\\ndark,\\nThe rampart seek whose circling\\ncrown\\nCrests the ascent of yonder down\\nA southern entrance shalt thou\\nfind;\\nThere halt, and there thy bugle\\nwind,\\nAnd trust thine elfin foe to see\\nIn guise of thy worst enemy.\\nCouch then thy lance and spur thy\\nsteed\\nUpon him and Saint George to\\nspeed\\nIf he go down, thou soon shalt\\nknow 430\\nWhate er these airy sprites can\\nshow;\\nIf thy heart fail thee in the strife,\\nI am no warrant for thy life.\\nXXIII\\n1 Soon as the midnight bell did\\nring,\\nAlone and armed, forth rode the\\nking\\nTo that old camp s deserted round.\\nSir Knight, you well might mark\\nthe mound\\nLeft hand the town, the Pictish\\nrace\\nThe trench, long since, in blood\\ndid trace\\nThe moor around is brown and\\nbare, 440\\nThe space within is green and fair.\\nThe spot our village children know,\\nFor there the earliest wild-flowers\\ngrow\\nBut woe betide the wandering\\nwight\\nThat treads its circle in the night\\nThe breadth across, a bowshot\\nclear,\\nGives ample space for full career;\\nOpposed to the four points of hea-\\nven,\\nBy four deep gaps are entrance\\ngiven.\\nThe southernmost our monarch\\npassed, 450\\nHalted, and blew a gallant blast\\nAnd on the north, within the ring,\\nAppeared the form of England s\\nking,\\nWho then, a thousand leagues afar,\\nIn Palestine waged holy war\\nYet arms like England s did he\\nwield", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0162.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\nUi\\nAlike the leopards in the shield,\\nAlike his Syrian courser s frame,\\nThe rider s length of limb the same.\\nLong afterwards did Scotland\\nknow 460\\nFell Edward was her deadliest\\nfoe.\\nXXIV\\n1 The vision made our monarch\\nstart,\\nBut soon he manned his noble\\nheart,\\nAnd in the first career they ran,\\nThe Elfin Knight fell, horse and\\nman;\\nYet did a splinter of his lance\\nThrough Alexander s visor glance\\nAnd razed the skin a puny\\nwound.\\nThe king, light leaping to the\\nground, 469\\nWith naked blade his phantom\\nfoe\\nCompelled the future war to show.\\nOf Largs he saw the glorious\\nplain,\\nWhere still gigantic bones remain\\nMemorial of the Danish war\\nHimself he saw, amid the field,\\nOn high his brandished war-axe\\nwield\\nAnd strike proud Haco from his\\ncar,\\nWhile all around the shadowy\\nkings\\nDenmark s grim ravens cowered\\ntheir wings. 479\\nT is said that in that awful night\\nRemoter visions met his sight,\\nForeshowing future conquest far,\\nWhen our sons sons wage North-\\nern war;\\nA royal city, tower and spire,\\nReddened the midnight sky with\\nfire,\\nAnd shouting crews her navy bore\\nTriumphant to the victor shore.\\nSuch signs may learned clerks\\nexplain,\\nThey pass the wit of simple swain.\\nXXV\\nThe joyful king turned home\\nagain, 490\\nHeaded his host, and quelled the\\nDane;\\nBut yearly, when returned the\\nnight\\nOf his strange combat with the\\nsprite,\\nHis wound must bleed and\\nsmart\\nLord Gifford then would gibing\\nsay,\\nBold as ye were, my liege, ye\\npay\\nThe penance of your start.\\nLong since, beneath Dunfermline s\\nnave,\\nKing Alexander fills his grave.\\nOur Lady give him rest 500\\nYet still the knightly spear and\\nshield\\nThe Elfin W r arrior doth wield\\nUpon the brown hill s breast,\\nAnd many a knight hath proved\\nhis chance\\nIn the charmed ring to break a\\nlance,\\nBut all have foully sped\\nSave two, as legends tell, and they\\nWere Wallace wight and Gilbert\\nHay.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nGentles, my tale is said.\\nXXVI\\nThe quaighs were deep, the liquor\\nstrong, 510\\nAnd on the tale the yeoman-throng\\nHad made a comment sage and\\nlong,\\nBut Marmion gave a sign\\nAnd with their lord the squires\\nretire,\\nThe rest around the hostel fire\\nTheir drowsy limbs recline\\nFor pillow, underneath each head,\\nj The quiver and the targe were laid,\\nDeep slumbering on the hostel\\nfloor,\\nOppressed with toil and ale, they\\nsnore; 520", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0163.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "142\\nMARMION\\nThe dying flame, in fitful change,\\nThrew on the group its shadows\\nstrange.\\nXXVII\\nApart, and nestling in the hay\\nOf a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay\\nScarce by the pale moonlight were\\nseen\\nThe foldings of his mantle green\\nLightly he dreamt, as youth will\\ndream,\\nOf sport by thicket, or by stream,\\nOf hawk or hound, or ring or glove,\\nOr, lighter yet, of lady s love. 530\\nA cautious tread his slumber\\nbroke,\\nAnd, close beside him when he\\nwoke,\\nIn moonbeam half, and half in\\ngloom,\\nStood a tall form with nodding\\nplume\\nBut, ere his dagger Eustace drew,\\nHis master Marmion s voice he\\nknew\\nXXVIII\\nFitz-Eustace rise, I cannot\\nrest;\\nYon churl s wild legend haunts my\\nbreast,\\nAnd graver thoughts have chafed\\nmy mood\\nThe air must cool my feverish\\nblood, 540\\nAnd fain would I ride forth to\\nsee\\nThe scene of elfin chivalry.\\nArise, and saddle me my steed\\nAnd, gentle Eustace, take good\\nheed\\nThou dost not rouse these drowsy\\nslaves\\nI would not that the prating knaves\\nHad cause for saying, o er their\\nale,\\nThat I could credit such a tale.\\nThen softly down the steps they\\nslid,\\nEustace the stable door undid, 550\\nAnd, darkling, Marmion s steed\\narrayed,\\nWhile, whispering, thus the baron\\nsaid\\nXXIX\\n1 Didst never, good my youth, hear\\ntell\\nThat on the hour w T hen I was\\nborn\\nSaint George, who graced my sire s\\nchapelle,\\nI Down from his steed of marble\\nfell,\\nA weary wight forlorn\\nj The flattering chaplains all agree,\\nThe champion left his steed to me.\\nI would, the omen s truth to\\nshow, 560\\nThat I could meet this elfin foe\\nBlithe would I battle for the right\\nTo ask one question at the\\nsprite.\\nVain thought! for elves, if elves\\nthere be,\\nAn empty race, by fount or sea\\nTo dashing waters dance and sing,\\nOr round the green oak wheel\\ntheir ring.\\nThus speaking, he his steed be-\\nstrode,\\nAnd from the hostel slowly rode.\\nXXX\\nFitz Eustace followed him\\nabroad, 570\\nAnd marked him pace the village\\nroad,\\nAnd listened to his horse s\\ntramp,\\nTill, by the lessening sound,\\nHe judged that of the Pictish\\ncamp\\nLord Marmion sought the\\nround.\\nWonder it seemed, in the squire s\\neyes,\\nThat one, so wary held and\\nwise,\\nOf whom t was said, he scarce re-\\nceived", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0164.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH\\nH3\\nFor gospel what the Church be-\\nlieved,\\nShould, stirred by idle tale, 580\\nRide forth in silence of the night,\\nAs hoping half to meet a sprite,\\nArrayed in plate and mail.\\nFor little did Fitz-Eustace know\\nThat passions in contending flow\\nUnfix the strongest mind\\nWearied from doubt to doubt to\\nflee,\\nWe welcome fond credulity,\\nGuide confident, though blind.\\nXXXI\\nLittle for this Fitz-Eustace cared,\\nBut patient waited till he heard\\nAt distance, pricked to utmost\\nspeed,\\nThe foot-tramp of a flying steed\\nCome townward rushing on\\nFirst, dead, as if on turf it trode,\\nThen, clattering on the village\\nroad,\\nIn other pace than forth he yode,\\nReturned Lord Marmion.\\nDown hastily he sprung from selle,\\nAnd in his haste wellnigh he\\nfell 600\\nTo the squire s hand the rein he\\nthrew,\\nAnd spoke no word as he with-\\ndrew:\\nBut yet the moonlight did betray\\nThe falcon-crest was soiled with\\nclay;\\nAnd plainly might Fitz-Eustace\\nsee,\\nBy stains upon the charger s knee\\nAnd his left side, that on the moor\\nHe had not kept his footing sure.\\nLong musing on these wondrous\\nsigns,\\nAt length to rest the squire re-\\nclines, 610\\nBroken and short for still be-\\ntween\\nWould dreams of terror intervene\\nEustace did ne er so blithely mark\\nThe first notes of the morning\\nlark.\\nINTRODUCTION TO CANTO\\nFOURTH\\nTO JAMES SKENE, ESQ.\\nAshestiel, Ettrick Forest\\nAn ancient Minstrel sagely said,\\n4 Where is the life which late we\\nled?\\nThat motley clown in Arden wood,\\nWhom humorous Jaques with\\nenvy viewed,\\nNot even that clown could amplify\\nOn this trite text so long as I.\\nEleven years we now may tell\\nSince we have known each other\\nwell,\\nSince, riding side by side, our hand\\nFirst drew the voluntary brand 10\\nAnd sure, through many a varied\\nscene,\\nUnkindness never came between.\\nAway these winged years have\\nflown,\\nTo join the mass of ages gone\\nAnd though deep marked, like all\\nbelow,\\nWith checkered shades of joy and\\nwoe,\\nThough thou o er realms and seas\\nhast ranged,\\nMarked cities lost and empires\\nchanged,\\nWhile here at home my narrower\\nken\\nSomewhat of manners saw and\\nmen; 20\\nThough varying wishes, hopes,\\nand fears\\nFevered the progress of these\\nyears,\\nYet now, days, weeks, and months\\nbut seem\\nThe recollection of a dream,\\nSo still we glide down to the sea\\nOf fathomless eternity.\\nEven now it scarcely seems a\\nday\\nSince first I tuned this idle lay\\nA task so often thrown aside,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0165.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "144\\nMARMION\\nWhen leisure graver eares de-\\nnied, 30\\nThat now November s dreary gale,\\nWhose voice inspired my opening\\ntale,\\nThat same November gale once\\nmore\\nWhirls the dry leaves on Yarrow\\nshore.\\nTheir vexed boughs streaming to\\nthe sky,\\nOnce more our naked birches sigh,\\nAnd Blackhouse heights and Et-\\ntrick Pen\\nHave donned their wintry shrouds\\nagain,\\nAnd mountain dark and flooded\\nmead\\nBid us forsake the banks of\\nTweed. 40\\nEarlier than wont along the sky,\\nMixed with the rack, the snow\\nmists fly\\nThe shepherd who, in summer\\nsun,\\nHad something of our envy won,\\nAs thou with pencil, I with pen,\\nThe features traced of hill and\\nglen,\\nHe who, outstretched the livelong\\nday,\\nAt ease among the heath-flowers\\nlay,\\nViewed the light clouds with va-\\ncant look,\\nOr slumbered o er his tattered\\nbook, 50\\nOr idly busied him to guide\\nHis angle o er the lessened tide,\\nAt midnight now the snowy plain\\nFinds sterner labor for the swain.\\nWhen red hath set the beamless\\nsun\\nThrough heavy vapors dank and\\ndun,\\nWhen the tired ploughman, dry\\nand warm,\\nHears, half asleep, the rising\\nstorm\\nHurling the hail and sleeted rain\\nAgainst the casement s tinkling\\npane 60\\nThe sounds that drive wild deer\\nand fox\\nTo shelter in the brake and rocks\\nAre warnings which the shepherd\\nask\\nTo dismal and to dangerous task.\\nOft he looks forth, a r \u00c2\u00bbd hopes, in\\nvain,\\nThe blast may sink in mellowing\\nrain\\nTill, dark above and white below,\\nDecided drives the flaky snow,\\nAnd forth the hardy swain must go.\\nLong, with dejected look and\\nwhine, 70\\nTo leave the hearth his dogs re-\\npine\\nWhistling and cheering them to\\naid,\\nAround his back he wreathes the\\nplaid:\\nHis flock he gathers and he guides\\nTo open downs and mountain-\\nsides,\\nWhere fiercest though the tem-\\npest blow,\\nLeast deeply lies the drift below.\\nThe blast that whistles o er the\\nfells\\nStiffens his locks to icicles\\nOft he looks back while, stream-\\ning far, 80\\nHis cottage window seems a\\nstar,\\nLoses its feeble gleam, and then\\nTurns patient to the blast again,\\nAnd, facing to the tempest s\\nsweep,\\nDrives through the gloom his lag-\\nging sheep.\\nIf fails his heart, if his limbs fail,\\nBenumbing death is in the gale\\nHis paths, his landmarks, all un-\\nknown,\\nClose to the hut, no more his own,\\nClose to the aid he sought in\\nvain, 90\\nThe morn may find the stiffened\\nswain", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0166.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH\\nMS\\nThe widow sees, at dawning pale,\\nHis orphans raise their feeble\\nwail;\\nAnd, close beside him in the snow,\\nPoor Yarrow, partner of their\\nwoe,\\nCouches upon his master s breast,\\nAnd licks his cheek to break his\\nrest.\\nWho envies now the shepherd s\\nlot,\\nHis healthy fare, his rural cot,\\nHis summer couch by greenwood\\ntree, 100\\nHis rustic kirn s loud revelry,\\nHis native hill -notes tuned on\\nhigh\\nTo Marmion of the blithesome eye,\\nHis crook, his scrip, his oaten\\nreed,\\nAnd all Arcadia s golden creed\\nChanges not so with us, my\\nSkene,\\nOf human life the varying scene\\nOur youthful summer oft we see\\nDance by on wings of game and\\nglee,\\nWhile the dark storm reserves its\\nrage 1 10\\nAgainst the winter of our age\\nAs he, the ancient chief of Troy,\\nHis manhood spent in peace and\\njoy,\\nBut Grecian fires and loud alarms\\nCalled ancient Priam forth to\\narms.\\nThen happy those, since each\\nmust drain\\nHis share of pleasure, share of\\npain,\\nThen happy those, beloved of\\nHeaven,\\nTo whom the mingled cup is given\\nWhose lenient sorrows find re-\\nlief, 120\\nWhose joys are chastened by their\\ngrief.\\nAnd such a lot, my Skene, was\\nthine,\\nWhen thou of late wert doomed to\\ntwine\\nJust when thy bridal hour was\\nby-\\nThe cypress with the myrtle tie.\\nJust on thy bride her sire had\\nsmiled,\\nAnd blessed the union of his child,\\nWhen love must change its joyous\\ncheer,\\nAnd wipe affection s filial tear.\\nNor did the actions next his end\\nSpeak more the father than the\\nfriend: 131\\nScarce had lamented Forbes paid\\nThe tribute to his minstrel s\\nshade,\\nThe tale of friendship scarce was\\ntold,\\nEre the narrator s heart was\\ncold\\nFar may we search before we find\\nA heart so manly and so kind\\nBut not around his honored urn\\nShall friends alone and kindred\\nmourn\\nThe thousand eyes his care had\\ndried 140\\nPour at his name a bitter tide,\\nAnd frequent falls the grateful\\ndew\\nFor benefits the world ne er knew.\\nIf mortal charity dare claim\\nThe Almighty s attributed name,\\nInscribe above his mouldering\\nclay,\\n1 The widow s shield, the orphan s\\nstay.\\nNor, though it wake thy sorrow,\\ndeem\\nMy verse intrudes on this sad\\ntheme,\\nFor sacred was the pen that\\nwrote, 150\\nThy father s friend forget thou\\nnot;\\nAnd grateful title may I plead,\\nFor many a kindly word and deed,\\nTo bring my tribute to his\\ngrave\\nT is little but t is all I have.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0167.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "146\\nMARMION\\nTo thee, perchance, this ram-\\nbling strain\\nRecalls our summer walks again\\nWhen, doing nought, and, to\\nspeak true,\\nNot anxious to find aught to do,\\nThe wild unbounded hills we\\nranged, 160\\nWhile oft our talk its topic\\nchanged,\\nAnd, desultory as our way,\\nRanged unconfined from grave to\\ngay.\\nEven when it flagged, as oft will\\nchance,\\nNo effort made to break its trance,\\nWe could right pleasantly pur-\\nsue\\nOur sports in social silence too\\nThou gravely laboring to por-\\ntray\\nThe blighted oak s fantastic spray,\\nI spelling o er with much de-\\nlight\\nThe legend of that antique\\nknight, 171\\nTirante by name, ycleped the\\nWhite.\\nAt either s feet a trusty squire,\\nPandour and Camp, with eyes of\\nfire,\\nJealous each other s motions\\nviewed,\\nAnd scarce suppressed their an-\\ncient feud.\\nThe laverock whistled from the\\ncloud\\nThe stream was lively, but not\\nloud\\nFrom the white thorn the May-\\nflower shed\\nIts dewy fragrance round our\\nhead 180\\nNot Ariel lived more merrily\\nUnder the blossomed bough than\\nwe.\\nAnd blithesome nights, too, have\\nbeen ours,\\nWhen Winter stript the Summer s\\nbowers.\\nCareless we heard, what now I\\nhear,\\nThe wild blast sighing deep and\\ndrear,\\nWhen fires were bright and lamps\\nbeamed gay,\\nAnd ladies tuned t^e lovely lay,\\nAnd he was held a laggard soul\\nWho shunned to quaff the spar-\\nkling bowl. 190\\nThen he whose absence we de-\\nplore,\\nWho breathes the gales of Devon s\\nshore,\\nThe longer missed, bewailed the\\nmore,\\nAnd thou, and I, and dear-loved\\nRae,\\nAnd one whose name I may not\\nsay,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFor not mimosa s tender tree\\nShrinks sooner from the touch\\nthan he,\\nIn merry chorus well combined,\\nWith laughter drowned the whis-\\ntling wind.\\nMirth was within, and Care with-\\nout 200\\nMight gnaw her nails to hear our\\nshout.\\nNot but amid the buxom scene\\nSome grave discourse might inter-\\nvene\\nOf the good horse that bore him\\nbest,\\nHis shoulder, hoof, and arching\\ncrest\\nFor, like mad Tom s, our chiefest\\ncare\\nWas horse to ride and weapon\\nwear.\\nSuch nights we ve had and,\\nthough the game\\nOf manhood be more sober tame,\\nAnd though the field-day or the\\ndrill 210\\nSeem less important now, yet\\nstill\\nSuch may we hope to share again.\\nThe sprightly thought inspires my\\nstrain", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0168.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n147\\nAnd mark how, like a horseman\\ntrue,\\nLord Marmion s march I thus re-\\nnew.\\nCANTO FOURTH\\nTHE CA3IP\\nEustace, I said, did blithely mark\\nThe first notes of the merry lark.\\nThe lark sang shrill, the cock he\\ncrew,\\nAnd loudly Marmion s bugles blew,\\nAnd with their light and lively call\\nOf the good steed he loves so\\nwell\\nGaping for fear and ruth, they\\nsaw\\nThe charger panting on his straw\\nI Till one, who would seem wisest,\\ncried,\\nWhat else but evil could betide,\\nWith that cursed Palmer for our\\nguide\\nBetter we had through mire and\\nbush 3\u00c2\u00b0\\nBeen lantern-led by Friar Rush. 5\\n11\\nFitz-Eustace, who the cause but\\nguessed,\\nBrought groom and yeoman to the j Xor wholly understood,\\nstall-\\nWhistling they came and free of\\nheart,\\nHis comrades clamorous plaints\\nsuppressed\\nHe knew Lord Marmion s mood.\\nBut soon their mood was j Him, ere he issued forth, he\\nchanged sought,\\nComplaint was heard on every And found deep plunged in gloomy\\npart\\nOf something disarranged. 10\\nSome clamored loud for armor\\nlost;\\nSome brawled and wrangled with\\nthe host\\n1 By Becket s bones, cried one, I\\nfear\\nThat some false Scot has stolen\\nmy spear\\nYoung Blount, Lord Marmion s\\nsecond squire,\\nFound his steed wet with sweat\\nand mire,\\nAlthough the rated horseboy\\nsware\\nLast night he dressed him sleek\\nand fair.\\nWhile chafed the impatient squire\\nlike thunder,\\nthought,\\nAnd did his tale display\\nSimply, as if he knew of nought\\nTo cause such disarray. 40\\nLord Marmion gave attention cold.\\nNor marvelled at the wonders\\ntold,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nPassed them as accidents of\\ncourse,\\nAnd bade his clarions sound to\\nhorse.\\nin\\nYoung Henry Blount, meanwhile,\\nthe cost\\nHad reckoned with their Scottish\\nhost;\\nAnd, as the charge he cast and\\npaid,\\nI 111 thou deserv st thy hire, he\\nOld Hubert shouts in fear and said;\\nwonder, 20 Dost see, thou knave, my horse s\\nHelp, gentle Blount! help, com- plight?\\nrades all Fairies have ridden him all the\\nBevis lies dying in his stall night, 50\\nTo Marmion who the plight dare j And left him in a foam\\ntell i I trust that soon a conjuring band,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0169.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "148\\nMARMION\\nWith English cross and blazing\\nbrand,\\nShall drive the devils from this\\nland\\nTo their infernal home\\nFor in this haunted den, I trow,\\nAll night they trampled to and fro.\\nThe laughing host looked on the\\nhire\\n1 Gramercy, gentle southern squire,\\nAnd if thou com st among the\\nrest, 60\\nWith Scottish broadsword to be\\nblest,\\nSharp be the brand, and sure the\\nblow,\\nAnd short the pang to undergo.\\nHere stayed their talk, for Mar-\\nmion\\nGave now the signal to set on.\\nThe Palmer showing forth the\\nway,\\nThey journeyed all the morning-\\nday.\\nrv\\nThe greensward way was smooth\\nand good,\\nThrough Humbie s and through\\nSaltoun s wood\\nA forest glade, which, varying\\nstill, 7\u00c2\u00b0\\nHere gave a view of dale and hill,\\nThere narrower closed till over-\\nhead\\nA vaulted screen the branches\\nmade.\\nA pleasant path, Fitz-Eustace\\nsaid;\\nSuch as where errant knights\\nmight see\\nAdventures of high chivalry.\\nMight meet some damsel flying\\nfast,\\nWith hair unbound and looks\\naghast\\nAnd smooth and level course were\\nhere, 79\\nIn her defence to break a spear.\\nHere, too, are twilight nooks and\\ndells\\nAnd oft in such, the story tells,\\nThe damsel kind, from danger\\nfreed,\\nDid grateful pay her champion s\\nmeed.\\nHe spoke to cheer Lord Marmion s\\nmind,\\nPerchance to show his lore de-\\nsigned\\nFor Eustace much had pored\\nUpon a huge romantic tome,\\nIn the hall-window of his home,\\nImprinted at the antique dome 90\\nOf Caxton or de Worde.\\nTherefore he spoke, but spoke\\nin vain,\\nFor Marmion answered nought\\nagain.\\nNow sudden, distant trumpets\\nshrill,\\nIn notes prolonged by wood and\\nhill,\\nWere heard to echo far\\nEach ready archer grasped his\\nbow,\\nBut by the flourish soon they\\nknow\\nThey breathed no point of war.\\nYet cautious, as in foeman s\\nland, 100\\nLord Marmion s order speeds the\\nband\\nSome opener ground to gain\\nAnd scarce a furlong had they\\nrode,\\nWhen thinner trees receding\\nshowed\\nA little woodland plain.\\nJust in that advantageous glade\\nThe halting troop a line had made,\\nAs forth from the opposing shade\\nIssued a gallant train.\\nVI\\nFirst came the trumpets, at whose\\nclang no\\nSo late the forest echoes rang;\\nOn prancing steeds they forward\\npressed,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0170.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n149\\nWith scarlet mantle, azure vest\\nEach at his trump a banner wore,\\nWhich Scotland s royal scutcheon\\nbore\\nHeralds and pursuivants, by name\\nBute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay,\\ncame,\\nIn painted tabards, proudly show-\\ning\\nGules, argent, or, and azure glow-\\ning,\\nAttendant on a king-at-arms, 120\\nWhose hand the armorial trun-\\ncheon held\\nThat feudal strife had often\\nquelled\\nWhen wildest its alarms.\\nVII\\nHe was a man of middle age,\\nIn aspect manly, grave, and sage,\\nAs on king s errand come\\nBut in the glances of his eye\\nA penetrating, keen, and sly\\nExpression found its home\\nThe flash of that satiric rage 130\\nWhich, bursting on the early\\nstage,\\nBranded the vices of the age,\\nAnd broke the keys of Rome.\\nOn milk-white palfrey forth he\\npaced;\\nHis cap of maintenance was graced\\nWith the proud heron-plume.\\nFrom his steed s shoulder, loin,\\nand breast,\\nSilk housings swept the ground,\\nWith Scotland s arms, device, and\\ncrest, 139\\nEmbroidered round and round.\\nThe double tressure might you see,\\nFirst by Achaius borne,\\nThe thistle and the fleur-de-lis,\\nAnd gallant unicorn.\\nSo bright the king s armorial coat\\nThat scarce the dazzled eye could\\nnote t\\nId living colors blazoned brave,\\nThe Lion, which his title gave\\nA train, which well beseemed his\\nstate,\\nBut all unarmed, around him\\nwait. 150\\nStill is thy name in high account,\\nAnd still thy verse has charms,\\nSir David Lindesay of the Mount,\\nLord Lion King-at-arms\\nVIII\\nDown from his horse did Marmion\\nspring\\nSoon as he saw the Lion- King\\nFor well the stately baron knew\\nTo him such courtesy was due\\nWhom royal James himself had\\ncrowned,\\nAnd on his temples placed the\\nround 160\\nOf Scotland s ancient diadem,\\nAnd wet his brow with hallowed\\nwine,\\nAnd on his finger given to shine\\nThe emblematic gem.\\nTheir mutual greetings duly made,\\nThe Lion thus his message said\\nThough Scotland s King hath\\ndeeply swore\\nNe er to knit faith with Henry\\nmore,\\nAnd strictly hath forbid resort\\nFrom England to his royal\\ncourt, 170\\nYet, for he knows Lord Marmion s\\nname\\nAnd honors much his warlike\\nfame,\\nMy liege hath deemed it shame\\nand lack\\nOf courtesy to turn him back\\nAnd by his order I, your guide,\\nMust lodging fit and fair provide\\nTill finds King James meet time\\nto see\\nThe flower of English chivalry.\\nIX\\nThough inly chafed at this delay,\\nLord Marmion bears it as he\\nmay. 180\\nThe Palmer, his mysterious guide,\\nBeholding thus his place supplied,\\nSought to take leave in vain", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0171.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "150\\nMARMION\\nStrict was the Lion-King s com-\\nmand\\nThat none who rode in Marmion s\\nband\\nShould sever from the train.\\n4 England has here enow of spies\\nIn Lady Heron s witching eyes\\nTo Marchmount thus apart he\\nsaid,\\nBut fair pretext to Marmion\\nmade. 190\\nThe right-hand path they now de-\\ncline,\\nAnd trace against the stream the\\nTyne.\\nAt length up that wild dale they\\nwind,\\nWhere Crichtoun Castle crowns\\nthe bank\\nFor there the Lion s care assigned\\nA lodgiug meet for Marmion s\\nrank.\\nThat castle rises on the steep\\nOf the green vale of Tyne\\nAnd far beneath, where slow they\\ncreep\\nFrom pool to eddy, dark and\\ndeep, 200\\nWhere alders moist and willows\\nweep,\\nYou hear her streams repine.\\nThe towers in different ages rose,\\nTheir various architecture shows\\nThe builders various hands\\nA mighty mass, that could oppose,\\nWhen deadliest hatred fired its\\nfoes,\\nThe vengeful Douglas bands.\\nXI\\nCrichtoun though now thy miry\\ncourt\\nBut pens the lazy steer and\\nsheep, 210\\nThy turrets rude and tottered\\nkeep\\nHave been the minstrel s loved\\nresort\\nOft have I traced, within thy fort,\\nOf mouldering shields the mys-\\ntic sense,\\nScutcheons of honor or pretence,\\nQuartered in old armorial sort,\\nRemains of rude magnificence.\\nNor wholly yet lu th time defaced\\nThy lordly gallery fair, 219\\nNor yet the stony cord unbraced\\nWhose twisted knots, with roses\\nlaced,\\nAdorn thy ruined stair.\\nStill rises unimpaired below\\nThe courtyard s graceful portico\\nAbove its cornice, row and row\\nOf fair hewn facets richly show\\nTheir pointed diamond form,\\nThough there but houseless cattle\\ngo,\\nTo shield them from the storm.\\nAnd, shuddering, still may we ex-\\nplore, 230\\nWhere oft whilom were captives\\npent,\\nThe darkness of thy Massy More,\\nOr, from thy grass-grown battle-\\nment,\\nMay trace in undulating line\\nThe sluggish mazes of the Tyne.\\nXII\\nAnother aspect Crichtoun showed\\nAs through its portal Marmion\\nrode\\nBut yet t was melancholy state\\nReceived him at the outer gate,\\nFor none were in the castle then\\nBut women, boys, or aged men. 24 1\\nWith eyes scarce dried, the sor-\\nrowing dame\\nTo welcome noble Marmion came\\nHer son, a stripling twelve years\\nold,\\nProffered the baron s rein to hold\\nFor each man that could draw a\\nsword\\nHad marched that morning with\\ntheir lord,\\nEarl Adam Hepburn, he who\\ndied\\nOn Flodden by his sovereign s\\nside.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0172.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\nW\\nLong may his lady look in vain 250\\nShe ne er shall see his gallant\\ntrain\\nCome sweeping back through\\nCrichtoun-Dean.\\nT was a brave race before the\\nname\\nOf hated Bothwell stained their\\nfame.\\nXIII\\nAnd here two days did Marmion\\nrest,\\nWith every right that honor\\nclaims,\\nAttended as the king s own\\nguest\\nSuch the command of Royal\\nJames,\\nWho marshalled then his land s\\narray, 259\\nUpon the Borough-moor that lay.\\nPerchance he would not foeman s\\neye\\nUpon his gathering host should pry,\\nTill full prepared was every band\\nTo march against the English\\nland.\\nHere while they dwelt, did Linde-\\nsay s wit\\nOft cheer the baron s moodier fit;\\nAnd, in his turn, he knew to prize\\nLord Marmion s powerful mind\\nand wise,\\nTrained in the lore of Rome and\\nGreece,\\nAnd policies of war and peace. 270\\nxrv\\nIt chanced, as fell the second night,\\nThat on the battlements they\\nwalked,\\nAnd by the slowly fading light\\nOf varying topics talked\\nAnd, unaware, the herald-bard\\nSaid Marmion might his toil have\\nspared\\nIn travelling so far,\\nFor that a messenger from heaven\\nIn vain to James had counsel\\ngiven\\nAgainst the English war 280\\nAnd, closer questioned, thus he\\ntold\\nA tale which chronicles of old\\nIn Scottish story have enrolled\\nxv\\nSIR DAVID LINDESAVS TALE\\nOf all the palaces so fair,\\nBuilt for the royal dwelling\\nIn Scotland, far beyond compare\\nLinlithgow is excelling\\nAnd in its park, in jovial June,\\nHow sweet the merry linnet s tune.\\nHow blithe the blackbird s\\nlay 290\\nThe wild buck bells from ferny\\nbrake,\\nThe coot dives merry on the lake,\\nThe saddest heart might pleasure\\ntake\\nTo see all nature gay.\\nBut June is to our sovereign dear\\nThe heaviest month in all the\\nyear?\\nToo well his cause of grief you\\nknow,\\nJune saw his father s overthrow.\\nWoe to the traitors who could\\nbring 299\\nThe princely boy against his king\\nStill in his conscience burns the\\nsting.\\nIn offices as strict as Lent\\nKing James s June is ever spent.\\nXVI\\nW T hen last this ruthful month was\\ncome.\\nAnd in Linlithgow s holy dome\\nThe king, as wont, was pray-\\ning;\\nWhile for his royal father s soul\\nThe chanters sung, the bells did\\ntoll,\\nThe bishop mass was saying\\nFor now the year brought round\\nagain 310\\nThe day the luckless king was\\nslain", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0173.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "152\\nMARMION\\nIn Catherine s aisle the monarch\\nknelt,\\nWith sackcloth shirt and iron belt,\\nAnd eyes with sorrow stream-\\ning;\\nAround him in their stalls of state\\nThe Thistle s Knight-Companions\\nsate,\\nTheir banners o er them beam-\\ning.\\nI too was there, and, sooth to tell,\\nBedeafened with the jangling\\nknell,\\nWas watching where the sun-\\nbeams fell, 320\\nThrough the stained casement\\ngleaming;\\nBut while I marked what next be-\\nfell\\nIt seemed as I were dreaming.\\nStepped from the crowd a ghostly\\nwight,\\nIn azure gown, with cincture\\nwhite\\nHis forehead bald, his head was\\nbare,\\nDown hung at length his yellow\\nhair.\\nNow, mock me not when, good my\\nlord,\\nI pledge to you my knightly word\\nThat when I saw his placid\\ngrace, 330\\nHis simple majesty of face,\\nHis solemn bearing, and his pace\\nSo stately gliding on,\\nSeemed to me ne er did limner\\npaint\\nSo just an image of the saint\\nWho propped the Virgin in her\\nfaint,\\nThe loved Apostle John\\nXVII\\nHe stepped before the monarch s\\nchair,\\nAnd stood with rustic plainness\\nthere,\\nAnd little reverence made 340\\nNor head, nor body, bowed, nor\\nbent,\\nBut on the desk his arm he leant,\\nAnd words like these he said,\\nIn a low voice, but never tone\\nSo thrilled through vein, and nerve,\\nand bone\\nMy mother sen 4- me from afar,\\nSir King, to warn thee not to\\nwar,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWoe waits on thine array\\nIf war thou wilt, of woman fair,\\nHer witching wiles and wanton\\nsnare, 350\\nJames Stuart, doubly warned, be-\\nware\\nGod keep thee as he may\\nThe wondering monarch seemed\\nto seek\\nFor answer, and found none\\nAnd when he raised his head to\\nspeak,\\nThe monitor was gone.\\nThe marshal and myself had\\ncast\\nTo stop him as he outward passed\\nBut, lighter than the whirlwind s\\nblast,\\nHe vanished from our eyes, 360\\nLike sunbeam on the billow cast,\\nThat glances but, and dies.\\nXVIII\\nWhile Lindesay told his marvel\\nstrange\\nThe twilight was so pale,\\nHe marked not Marmion s color\\nchange\\nWhile listening to the tale\\nBut, after a suspended pause,\\nThe baron spoke Of Nature s\\nlaws\\nSo strong I held the force,\\nThat never superhuman cause 370\\nCould e er control their course,\\nAnd, three days since, had judged\\nyour aim\\nWas but to make your guest your\\ngame;\\nBut I have seen, since past the\\nTweed,\\nWhat much has changed my scep-\\ntic creed,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0174.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n153\\nAnd made me credit aught. He\\nstayed,\\nAnd seemed to wish his words un-\\nsaid,\\nBut, by that strong emotion\\npressed\\nWhich prompts us to unload our\\nbreast\\nEven when discovery s pain, 380\\nTo Lindesay did at length unfold\\nThe tale his village host had told,\\nAt Gifford, to his train.\\nNought of the Palmer says he\\nthere,\\nAnd nought of Constance or of\\nClare\\nThe thoughts which broke his sleep\\nhe seems\\nTo mention but as feverish\\ndreams.\\nXIX\\n4 In vain, said he, to rest I spread\\nMy burning limbs, and couched\\nmy head\\nFantastic thoughts returned, 390\\nAnd, by their wild dominion led,\\nMy heart within me burned.\\nSo sore was the delirious goad,\\nI took my steed and forth I rode,\\nAnd, as the moon shone bright and\\ncold,\\nSoon reached the camp upon the\\nwold.\\nThe southern entrance I passed\\nthrough,\\nAnd halted, and my bugle blew.\\nMethought an answer met my\\near,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nYet was the blast so low and\\ndrear, 400\\nSo hollow, and so faintly blown,\\nIt might be echo of my own.\\nxx\\nThus judging, for a little space\\nI listened ere I left the place,\\nBut scarce could trust my eyes,\\nNor yet can think they serve me\\ntrue,\\nWhen sudden in the ring I view,\\nIn form distinct of shape and\\nhue,\\nA mounted champion rise.\\nI ve fought, Lord-Lion, many a\\nday, 410\\nIn single fight and mixed affray,\\nj And ever, I myself may say,\\nHave borne me as a knight\\nBut when this unexpected foe\\nSeemed starting from the gulf be-\\nlow,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI care not though the truth I\\nshow,\\nI trembled with affright\\nAnd as I placed in rest my spear,\\nMy hand so shook for very fear,\\nI scarce could couch it right. 420\\nXXI\\nWhy need my tongue the issue\\ntell?\\nWe ran our course, my charger\\nfell;\\nWhat could he gainst the shock\\nof hell\\nI rolled upon the plain.\\nHigh o er my head with threaten-\\ning hand\\nThe spectre shook his naked\\nbrand,\\nYet did the worst remain\\nMy dazzled eyes I upward cast,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNot opening hell itself could blast\\nTheir sight like what I saw 430\\nFull on his face the moonbeam\\nstrook\\nA face could never be mistook\\nI knew the stern vindictive look,\\nAnd held my breath for awe.\\nI saw the face of one who, fled\\nj To foreign climes, has long been\\ndead,\\nI well believe the last\\nFor ne er from visor raised did\\nstare\\nA human warrior with a glare\\nSo grimly and so ghast. 440\\nThrice o er my head he shook the\\nblade\\nBut when to good Saint George I\\nprayed,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0175.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "*54\\nMARMION\\nThe first time e er I asked his\\naid,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nHe plunged it in the sheath,\\nAnd, on his courser mountain light,\\nHe seemed to vanish from my\\nsight\\nThe moonbeam drooped, and deep-\\nest night\\nSunk down upon the heath.\\nT were long to tell what cause I\\nhave\\nTo know his face that met me\\nthere, 450\\nCalled by his hatred from the\\ngrave\\nTo cumber upper air\\nDead or alive, good cause had he\\nTo be my mortal enemy.\\nXXII\\nMarvelled Sir David of the Mount\\nThen, learned in story, gan re-\\ncount\\nSuch chance had happed of old,\\nWhen once, near Norham, there\\ndid fight\\nA spectre fell of fiendish might,\\nIn likeness of a Scottish knight, 460\\nWith Brian Bulmer bold,\\nAnd trained him nigh to disallow\\nThe aid of his baptismal vow.\\n1 And such a phantom, too, t is\\nsaid,\\nWith Highland broadsword, targe,\\nand plaid,\\nAnd fingers red with gore,\\nIs seen in Rothiemureus glade,\\nOr where the sable pine-trees\\nshade\\nDark Tomantoul, and Auchnas-\\nlaid,\\nDromouchty, or Glenmore. 470\\nAnd yet, whate er such legends\\nsay\\nOf warlike demon, ghost, or fay,\\nOn mountain, moor, or plain,\\nSpotless in faith, in bosom bold,\\nTrue son of chivalry should hold\\nThese midnight terrors vain\\nFor seldom have such spirits\\npower\\nTo harm, save in the evil hour\\nWhen guilt we meditate within\\nOr harbor unrepented sin. 480\\nLord Marmion turned him half\\naside,\\nAnd twice to clear his voice he\\ntried,\\nThen pressed Sir David s hand,\\nBut nought, at length, in answer\\nsaid;\\nAnd here their further converse\\nstayed,\\nEach ordering that his band\\nShould bowne them with the ris-\\ning day,\\nTo Scotland s camp to take their\\nway,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSuch was the king s command.\\nXXIII\\nEarly they took Dun-Edin s road,\\nAnd I could trace each step they\\ntrode 491\\nHill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor\\nstone,\\nLies on the path to me unknown.\\nMuch might it boast of storied\\nlore;\\nBut, passing such digression o er,\\nSuffice it that their route was\\nlaid\\nAcross the furzy hills of Braid.\\nThey passed the glen and scanty\\nrill,\\nAnd climbed the opposing hank,\\nuntil\\nThey gained the top of Blackford\\nHill. 500\\nXXIV\\nBlackford on whose uncultured\\nbreast,\\nAmong the broom and thorn and\\nwhin,\\nA truant-boy, I sought the nest,\\nOr listed, as I lay at rest,\\nWhile rose on breezes thin\\nThe murmur of the city crowd,\\nAnd, from his steeple jangling loud.\\nSaint Giles s mingling din.\\nNow, from the summit to the plain,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0176.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\niS5\\nWaves all the kill with yellow\\ngrain; 510\\nAnd o er the landscape as I\\nlook,\\nNought do I see unchanged re-\\nmain,\\nSave the rude cliffs and chiming\\nbrook.\\nTo me they make a heavy moan\\nOf early friendships past and gone.\\nXXV\\nBut different far the change has\\nbeen,\\nSince Marmion from the crown\\nOf Blackford saw that martial\\nscene\\nUpon the bent so brown\\nThousand pavilions, white as\\nsnow, 520\\nSpread all the Borough-moor be-\\nlow,\\nUpland, and dale, and down.\\nA thousand did I say I ween,\\nThousands on thousands there\\nwere seen,\\nThat checkered all the heath be-\\ntween\\nThe streamlet and the town,\\nIn crossing ranks extending far,\\nForming a camp irregular\\nOft giving way where still there\\nstood\\nSome relics of the old oak\\nwood, 530\\nThat darkly huge did intervene\\nAnd tamed the glaring white with\\ngreen\\nIn these extended lines there lay\\nA martial kingdom s vast array.\\nXXTI\\nFor from Hebudes, dark with rain,\\nTo eastern Lodon s fertile plain,\\nAnd from the southern Redswire\\nedge\\nTo furthest Rosse s rocky ledge,\\nFrom west to east, from south to\\nnorth,\\nScotland sent all her warriors\\nforth. 540\\nMarmion might hear the mingled\\nhum\\nOf myriads up the mountain\\ncome,\\nThe horses tramp and tinkling\\nclank,\\nWhere chiefs reviewed their vassal\\nrank,\\nAnd charger s shrilling neigh,\\nAnd see the shifting lines advance,\\nWhile frequent flashed from shield\\nand lance\\nThe sun s reflected ray.\\nXXVII\\nThin curling in the morning air,\\nThe w r reaths of failing smoke de-\\nclare 550\\nTo embers now the brands decayed,\\nWhere the night-watch their fires\\nhad made.\\nThey saw, slow rolling on the\\nplain,\\nFull many a baggage-cart and wain,\\nAnd dire artillery s clumsy car,\\nBy sluggish oxen tugged to war;\\nAnd there w T ere Borthwick s Sis-\\nters Seven,\\nAnd culverins which France had\\ngiven.\\nIll-omened gift the guns remain\\nThe conqueror s spoil on Flodden\\nplain. 560\\nXXVIII\\nNor marked they less where in the\\nair\\nA thousand streamers flaunted\\nfair\\nVarious in shape, device, and\\nhue,\\nGreen, sanguine, purple, red, and\\nblue,\\nBroad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and\\nsquare,\\nScroll, pennon, pencil, bandrol,\\nthere\\nO er the pavilions flew.\\nHighest and midmost, was de-\\nscried\\nThe royal banner floating wide", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0177.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "IS6\\nMARMION\\nThe staff, a pine-tree, strong and\\nstraight, 570\\nPitched deeply in a massive\\nstone,\\nWhich still in memory is\\nshown,\\nYet bent beneath the standard s\\nweight,\\nWhene er the western wind\\nunrolled\\nWith toil the huge and cum-\\nbrous fold,\\nAnd gave to view the dazzling\\nfield,\\nWhere in proud Scotland s royal\\nshield\\nThe ruddy lion ramped in gold.\\nXXIX\\nLord Marmion viewed the land-\\nscape bright, 579\\nHe viewed it with a chief s delight,\\nUntil within him burned his\\nheart,\\nAnd lightning from his eye did\\npart,\\nAs on the battle-day\\nSuch glance did falcon never\\ndart\\nWhen stooping on his prey.\\nOh! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou\\nsaid,\\nThy king from warfare to dissuade\\nWere but a vain essay\\nFor, by Saint George, were that\\nhost mine,\\nNot power infernal nor divine 590\\nShould once to peace my soul in-\\ncline,\\nTill I had dimmed their armor s\\nshine\\nIn glorious battle-fray\\nAnswered the bard, of milder\\nmood:\\n4 Fair is the sight, and yet t were\\ngood\\nThat kings would think withal,\\nWhen peace and wealth their land\\nhas blessed,\\nT is better to sit still at rest\\nThan rise, perchance to fall.\\nXXX\\nStill on the spot Lord Marmion\\nstayed, 600\\nFor fairer scene he ne er surveyed.\\nWhen sated with the martial show\\nThat peopled all the plain below,\\nThe wandering eye could o er it go,\\nAnd mark the distant city glow\\nWith gloomy splendor red\\nFor on the smoke-wreaths, huge\\nand slow,\\nThat round her sable turrets flow,\\nThe morning beams were shed,\\nAnd tinged them with a lustre\\nproud, 610\\nLike that which streaks a thunder-\\ncloud.\\nSuch dusky grandeur clothed the\\nheight\\nWliere the huge castle holds its\\nstate,\\nAnd all the steep slope down,\\nWhose ridgy back heaves to the\\nsky,\\nPiled deep and massy, close and\\nhigh,\\nMine own romantic town\\nBut northward far, with purer\\nblaze,\\nOn Ochil mountains fell the rays,\\nAnd as each heathy top they\\nkissed, 620\\nIt gleamed a purple amethyst.\\nYonder the shores of Fife you\\nsaw,\\nHere Preston-Bay and Berwick-\\nLaw;\\nAnd, broad between them rolled,\\nThe gallant Firth the eye might\\nnote,\\nj Whose islands on its bosom float,\\nLike emeralds chased in gold.\\nFitz-Eustace heart felt closely\\npent\\nAs if to give his rapture vent, 629\\nThe spur he to his charger lent,\\nAnd raised his bridle hand,\\nAnd making demi-volt in air,\\nCried, Where s the coward that\\nwould not dare\\nTo fight for such a land t", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0178.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH\\n157\\nThe Lindesay smiled his joy to\\nsee,\\nNor Marmion s frown repressed\\nhis glee.\\nXXXI\\nThus while they looked, a flourish\\nproud,\\nWhere mingled trump, and clarion\\nloud,\\nAnd fife, and kettle-drum, 639\\nAnd sackbut deep, and psaltery,\\nAnd war-pipe with discordant cry,\\nAnd cymbal clattering to the sky,\\nMaking wild music bold and high,\\nDid up the mountain come\\nThe whilst the bells with distant\\nchime\\nMerrily tolled the hour of prime,\\nAnd thus the Lindesay spoke\\nThus clamor still the war-notes\\nwhen\\nThe king to mass his way has\\nta en, 649\\nOr to Saint Catherine s of Sienne,\\nOr Chapel of Saint Rocque.\\nTo you they speak of martial fame,\\nBut me remind of peaceful game,\\nWhen blither was their cheer,\\nThrilling in Falkland-woods the\\nair,\\nIn signal none his steed should\\nspare,\\nBut strive which foremost might\\nrepair\\nTo the downfall of the deer.\\nXXXII\\nNor less, he said, when looking\\nforth 659\\nI view yon Empress of the North\\nSit on her hilly throne,\\nHer palace s imperial bowers,\\nHer castle, proof to hostile powers,\\nHer stately halls and holy tow-\\ners\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNor less, he said, I moan\\nTo think what woe mischance may\\nbring,\\nAnd how these merry bells may\\nring\\nThe death-dirge of our gallant\\nking,\\nOr with their larum call\\nThe burghers forth to watch and\\nward, 670\\nGainst Southern sack and fires to\\nguard\\nDun-Edin s leaguered wall.\\nBut not for my presaging thought,\\nDream conquest sure or cheaply\\nbought\\nLord Marmion, I say nay\\nGod is the guider of the field,\\nHe breaks the champion s spear\\nand shield\\nBut thou thyself shalt say,\\nWhen joins yon host in deadly\\nstowre,\\nThat England s dames must weep\\nin bower, 680\\nHer monks the death-mass sing\\nFor never saw st thou such a power\\nLed on by such a king.\\nAnd now, down winding to the\\nplain,\\nThe barriers of the camp they\\ngain,\\nAnd there they made a stay.\\nThere stays the Minstrel, till he\\nfling\\nHis band o er every Border string,\\nAnd fit his harp the pomp to sing\\nOf Scotland s ancient court and\\nking, 69c\\nIn the succeeding lay.\\nINTRODUCTION TO CANTO\\nFIFTH\\nTO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ.\\nEdinburgh\\nWhen dark December glooms the\\nday,\\nAnd takes our autumn joys away\\nWhen short and scant the sun-\\nbeam throws\\nUpon the weary waste of snows\\nA cold and profitless regard,\\nLike patron on a needy bard", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0179.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "i S 8\\nMARMION\\nWhen sylvan occupation s done.\\nAnd o er the chimney rests the\\ngun,\\nAnd hang in idle trophy near,\\nThe game-pouch, fishing-rod, and\\nspear; 10\\nWhen wiry terrier, rough and\\ngrim\\nAnd greyhound, with his length\\nof limb,\\nAnd pointer, now employed no\\nmore,\\nCumber our parlor s narrow floor\\nWhen in his stall the impatient\\nsteed\\nIs long condemned to rest and\\nfeed;\\nWhen from our snow encircled\\nhome\\nScarce cares the hardiest step to\\nroam,\\nSince path is none, save that to\\nbring\\nThe needful water from the spring\\nWhen wrinkled news-page, thrice\\nconned o er, 21\\nBeguiles the dreary hour no more,\\nAnd darkling politician, crossed,\\nInveighs against the lingering\\npost,\\nAnd answering housewife sore\\ncomplains\\nOf carriers snow impeded\\nwains;\\nWhen such the country-cheer, I\\ncome\\nWell pleased to seek our city\\nhome;\\nFor converse and for books to\\nchange\\nThe Forest s melancholy range, 30\\nAnd welcome with renewed de-\\nlight\\nThe busy day and social night.\\nNot here need my desponding\\nrhyme\\nLament the ravages of time,\\nAs erst by Newark s riven towers,\\nAnd Ettrick stripped of forest\\nbowers.\\nTrue, Caledonia s Queen is\\nchanged\\nSince on her dusky summit ranged,\\nWithin its steepy limits pent\\nBy bulwark, line, and battlement,\\nAnd flanking towers, and laky\\nflood, 41\\nGuarded and garrisoned she\\nstood,\\nDenying entrance or resort\\nSave at each tall embattled port,\\nAbove whose arch, suspended,\\nhung\\nPortcullis spiked with iron prong.\\nThat long is gone,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but not so\\nlong\\nSince, early closed and opening\\nlate,\\nJealous revolved the studded gate,\\nWhose task, from eve to morning\\ntide, 50\\nA wicket churlishly supplied.\\nStern then and steel-girt was thy\\nbrow,\\nDun-Edin Oh, how altered now,\\nWhen safe amid thy mountain\\ncourt\\nThou sitt st, like empress at her\\nsport,\\nAnd liberal, unconfined, and free,\\nFlinging thy white arms to the\\nsea,\\nFor thy dark cloud, with umbered\\nlower,\\nThat hung o er cliff and lake and\\ntower,\\nThou gleam st against the western\\nray 60\\nTen thousand lines of brighter\\nday!\\nNot she, the championess of old,\\nIn Spenser s magic tale enrolled,\\nShe for the charmed spear re-\\nnowned,\\nWhich forced each knight to kiss\\nthe ground,\\nNot she more changed, when,\\nplaced at rest,\\nWhat time she was Malbecco s\\nguest,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0180.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH\\n159\\nShe gave to flow her maiden vest\\nWhen, from the corselet s grasp\\nrelieved,\\nFree to the sight her bosom\\nheaved 7\u00c2\u00b0\\nSweet was her blue eye s modest\\nsmile,\\nErst hidden by the aventayle,\\nAnd down her shoulders graceful\\nrolled\\nHer locks profuse of paly gold.\\nThey who whilom in midnight\\nfight\\nHad marvelled at her matchless\\nmight,\\nNo less her maiden charms ap-\\nproved,\\nBut looking liked, and liking loved.\\nThe sight could jealous pangs be-\\nguile,\\nAnd charm Malbecco s cares\\nawhile 80\\nAnd he, the wandering Squire of\\nDames\\nForgot his Columbella s claims,\\nAnd passion, erst unknown, could\\ngain\\nThe breast of blunt Sir Satyrane\\nNor durst light Paridell advance,\\nBold as he was, a looser glance.\\nShe charmed, at once, and tamed\\nthe heart,\\nIncomparable Britomart\\nSo thou, fair City disarrayed\\nOf battled wall and rampart s aid,\\nAs stately seem st, but lovelier\\nfar 91\\nThan in that panoply of war.\\nNor deem that from thy fenceless\\nthrone\\nStrength and security are flown\\nStill as of yore, Queen of the\\nNorth\\nStill canst thou send thy children\\nforth.\\nNe er readier at alarm-bell s call\\nThy burghers rose to man thy\\nwall\\nThan now, in danger, shall be\\nthine,\\nThy dauntless voluntary line 100\\nFor fosse and turret proud to\\nstand,\\nTheir breasts the bulwarks of the\\nland.\\nThy thousands, trained to martial\\ntoil,\\nFull red would stain their native\\nsoil,\\nEre from thy mural crown there\\nfell\\nThe slightest knosp fcpinnacle.\\nAnd if it come, as coBe it may,\\nDun-Edin that eventful day,\\nRenowned for hospitable deed,\\nThat virtue much with Heaven\\nmay plead, no\\nIn patriarchal times whose care\\nDescending angels deigned to\\nshare\\nThat claim may wrestle blessings\\ndown\\nOn those who fight for the Good\\nTown,\\nDestined in every age to be\\nRefuge of injured royalty\\nSince first, when conquering York\\narose,\\nTo Henry meek she gave repose,\\nTill late, with wonder, grief, and\\nawe,\\nGreat Bourbon s relics sad she\\nsaw. 120\\nTruce to these thoughts for,\\nas they rise,\\nHow gladly I avert mine eyes,\\nBodings, or true or false, to change\\nFor Fiction s fair romantic range,\\nOr for tradition s dubious light,\\nThat hovers twixt the day and\\nnight\\nDazzling alternately and dim,\\nHer wavering lamp I d rather\\ntrim,\\nKnights, squires, and lovely dames\\nto see,\\nCreation of my fantasy, 130\\nThan gaze abroad on reeky fen,\\nAnd make of mists invading\\nmen.\u00e2\u0080\u0094", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0181.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "t6o\\nMARMION\\nWho loves not more the night of\\nJune\\nThan dull December s gloomy\\nnoon?\\nThe moonlight than the fog of\\nfrost?\\nAnd can we say which cheats the\\nmost\\nBut who shall teach my harp to\\ngain\\nA sound of the romantic strain\\nWhose Anglo-Norman tones whil-\\nere\\nCould win the royal Henry s ear,\\nFamed Beauclerk called, for that\\nhe loved 141\\nThe minstrel and his lay approved\\nWho shall these lingering notes re-\\ndeem,\\nDecaying on Oblivion s stream\\nSuch notes as from the Breton\\ntongue\\nMarie translated, Blondel sung?\\nOh born Time s ravage to repair,\\nAnd make the dying Muse thy\\ncare;\\nWho, when his scythe her hoary\\nfoe\\nWas poising for the final blow, 150\\nThe weapon from his hand could\\nwring,\\nAnd break his glass and shear his\\nwing,\\nAnd bid, reviving in his strain,\\nThe gentle poet live again\\nThou, who canst give to lightest\\nlay\\nAn unpedantic moral gay,\\nNor less the dullest theme bid flit\\nOn wings of unexpected wit\\nIn letters as in life approved, 159\\nExample honored and beloved,\\nDear Ellis to the bard impart\\nA lesson of thy magic art,\\nTo win at once the head and\\nheart,\\nAt once to charm, instruct, and\\nmend,\\nMy guide, my pattern, and my\\nfriend\\nSuch minstrel lesson to bestow\\nBe long thy pleasing task, but\\noh!\\nNo more by thy example teach\\nWhat few can practise, all can\\npreach,\\nWith even patience to endure 170\\nLingering disease and painful cure,\\nAnd boast affliction s pangs sub-\\ndued\\nBy mild and manly fortitude.\\nEnough, the lesson has been given\\nForbid the repetition, Heaven\\nCome listen, then for thou hast\\nknown\\nAnd loved the Minstrel s varying\\ntone,\\nWho, like his Border sires of old,\\nWaked a wild measure rude and\\nbold,\\nTill Windsor s oaks and Ascot\\nplain 180\\nWith wonder heard the Northern\\nstrain.\\nCome listen bold in thy applause,\\nThe bard shall scorn pedantic\\nlaws;\\nAnd, as the ancient art could stain\\nAchievements on the storied pane,\\nIrregularly traced and planned,\\nBut yet so glowing and so grand,\\nSo shall he strive, in changeful\\nhue,\\nField, feast, and combat to renew,\\nAnd loves, and arms, and harpers\\nglee, 190\\nAnd all the pomp of chivalry.\\nCANTO FIFTH\\nTHE COURT\\nI\\nThe train has left the hills of\\nBraid\\nThe barrier guard have open\\nmade\\nSo Lindesay bade the palisade\\nThat closed the tented ground", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0182.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n161\\nTheir men the warders backward\\ndrew,\\nAnd carried pikes as they rode\\nthrough\\nInto its ample bound.\\nFast ran the Scottish warriors\\nthere,\\nUpon the Southern band to stare,\\nAnd envy with their wonder rose,\\nTo see such well-appointed foes\\nSuch length of shafts, such mighty\\nbows,\\nSo huge that many simply thought\\nBut for a vaunt such weapons\\nwrought,\\nAnd little deemed their force to\\nfeel\\nThrough links of mail and plates\\nof steel\\nWhen, rattling uponFlodden vale,\\nThe cloth-yard arrows flew like\\nhail.\\nn\\nNor less did Marmion s skilful\\nview\\nGlance every line and squadron\\nthrough, 20\\nAnd much he marvelled one small\\nland\\nCould marshal forth such various\\nband;\\nFor men-at-arms were here,\\nHeavily sheathed in mail and plate.\\nLike iron towers for strength and\\nweight,\\nOn Flemish steeds of bone and\\nheight,\\nWith battle-axe and spear.\\nYoung knights and squires, a\\nlighter train,\\nPractised their chargers on the\\nplain,\\nBy aid of leg, of hand, and rein, 30\\nEach warlike feat to show,\\nTo pass, to wheel, the croupe to\\ngain,\\nAnd high curvet, that not in vain\\nThe sword-sway might descend\\namain\\nOn foeman s casque below.\\nHe saw the hardy burghers there\\nMarch armed on foot with faces\\nbare,\\nFor visor they wore none.\\nNor waving plume, nor crest of\\nknight\\nBut burnished were their corse-\\nlets bright, 40\\nTheir brigantines and gorgets\\nlight\\nLike very silver shone.\\nLong pikes they had for standing\\nfight,\\nTwo-handed swords they wore,\\nAnd many wielded mace of weight,\\nAnd bucklers bright they bore.\\nin\\nOn foot the yeoman too, but\\ndressed\\nIn his steel-jack, a swarthy vest,\\nWith iron quilted w T ell\\nEach at his back a slender\\nstore 50\\nHis forty days provision bore,\\nAs feudal statutes tell.\\nHis arms were halbert, axe, or\\nspear,\\nA crossbow there, a hagbut here,\\nA dagger-knife, and brand,\\nSober he seemed and sad of cheer,\\nAs loath to leave his cottage dear\\nAnd march to foreign strand,\\nOr musing who would guide his\\nsteer\\nTo till the fallow land. 60\\nYet deem not in his thoughtful\\neye\\nDid aught of dastard terror lie\\nMore dreadful far his ire\\nThan theirs who, scorning dan-\\nger s name,\\nIn eager mood to battle came,\\nTheir valor like light straw on\\nflame,\\nA fierce but fading fire.\\nIV\\nBorderer\\nNot so the\\nwar,\\nHe knew the battle s din afar,\\nbred to", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0183.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "1 62\\nMARMION\\nAnd joyed to hear it swell. 70\\nHis peaceful day was slothful\\nease;\\nNor harp nor pipe his ear could\\nplease\\nLike the loud slogan yell.\\nOn active steed, with lance and\\nblade,\\nThe light-armed pricker plied his\\ntrade,\\nLet nobles fight for fame\\nLet vassals follow where they\\nlead,\\nBurghers, to guard their townships,\\nbleed,\\nBut war s the Borderers game.\\nTheir gain, their glory, their de-\\nlight, 80\\nTo sleep the day, maraud the\\nnight,\\nO er mountain, moss, and moor\\nJoyful to fight they took their\\nway,\\nScarce caring who might win the\\nday,\\nTheir booty was secure.\\nThese, as Lord Marmion s train\\npassed by,\\nLooked on at first with careless\\neye,\\nNor marvelled aught, well taught\\nto know\\nThe form and force of English\\nbow,\\nBut when they saw the lord ar-\\nrayed 90\\nIn splendid arms and rich bro-\\ncade,\\nEach Borderer to his kinsman\\nsaid,\\n4 Hist, Eingan seest thou there?\\nCanst guess which road they 11\\nhomeward ride\\nOh! could we but on Border\\nside,\\nBy Eusedale glen, or Liddell s tide,\\nBeset a prize so fair\\nThat fangless Lion, too, their\\nguide,\\nMight chance to lose his glistering\\nhide\\nBrown Maudlin of that doublet\\npied 100\\nCould make a kirtle rare.\\nNext, Marmion marked the Celtic\\nrace,\\nOf different language, form, and\\nface,\\nA various race of man\\nJust then the chiefs their tribes\\narrayed,\\nAnd wild and garish semblance\\nmade\\nThe checkered trews and belted\\nplaid,\\nAnd varying notes the war-pipes\\nbrayed\\nTo every varying clan.\\nWild through their red or sable\\nhair no\\nLooked out their eyes with savage\\nstare\\nOn Marmion as he passed\\nTheir legs above the knee were\\nbare\\nTheir frame was sinewy, short,\\nand spare,\\nAnd hardened to the blast\\nOf taller race, the chiefs they own\\nWere by the eagle s plumage\\nknown.\\nThe hunted red-deer s undressed\\nhide\\nTheir hairy buskins well supplied\\nThe graceful bonnet decked their\\nhead; 120\\nBack from their shoulders hung\\nthe plaid\\nA broadsword of unwieldy length,\\nA dagger proved for edge and\\nstrength,\\nA studded targe they wore,\\nAnd quivers, bows, and shafts,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nbut, oh\\nShort was the shaft and weak the\\nbow\\nTo that which England bore.\\nThe Isles -men carried at their\\nbacks\\nThe ancient Danish battle-axe.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0184.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n163\\nThey raised a wild and wondering\\ncry, 130\\nAs with his guide rode Marmion by.\\nLoud were their clamoring tongues,\\nas when\\nThe clanging sea-fowl leave the\\nfen,\\nAnd, with their cries discordant\\nmixed,\\nGrumbled and yelled the pipes be-\\ntwixt.\\nVI\\nThus through the Scottish camp\\nthey passed,\\nAnd reached the city gate at last,\\nWhere all around, a wakeful\\nguard,\\nArmed burghers kept their w r atch\\nand ward.\\nWell had they cause of jealous\\nfear, 140\\nWhen lay encamped In field so\\nnear\\nThe Borderer and the Mountain-\\neer.\\nAs through the bustling streets\\nthey go,\\nAll was alive with martial show\\nAt every turn with dinning clang\\nThe armorer s anvil clashed and\\nrang,\\nOr toiled the swarthy smith to\\nwheel\\nThe bar that arms the charger s\\nheel,\\nOr axe or falchion to the side\\nOf jarring grindstone was ap-\\nplied. 150\\nPage, groom, and squire, with\\nhurrying pace,\\nThrough street and lane and mar-\\nket-place,\\nBore lance or casque or sword\\nWhile burghers, with important\\nface,\\nDescribed each new-come lord,\\nDiscussed his lineage, told his\\nname,\\nHis following, and his warlike\\nfame.\\nThe Lion led to lodging meet,\\nWhich high o erlooked the crowd-\\ned street\\nThere must the baron rest 160\\nTill past the hour of vesper tide,\\nAnd then to Holy-Rood must\\nride,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSuch was the king s behest.\\nMeanwhile the Lion s care as-\\nsigns\\nA banquet rich and costly wines\\nTo Marmion and his train\\nAnd when the appointed hour\\nsucceeds,\\nThe baron dons his peaceful\\nweeds,\\nAnd following Lindesay as he\\nleads,\\nThe palace halls they gain. 170\\nVII\\nOld Holy-Rood rung merrily\\nThat night with wassail, mirth, and\\nglee:\\nKing James within her princely\\nbower\\nFeasted the chiefs of Scotland s\\npower,\\nSummoned to spend the parting\\nhour\\nFor he had charged that his array\\nShould southward march by break\\nof day.\\nWell loved that splendid monarch\\naye\\nThe banquet and the song,\\nBy day the tourney, and by\\nnight 180\\nThe merry dance, traced fast and\\nlight,\\nThe maskers quaint, the pageant\\nbright,\\nThe revel loud and long.\\nThis feast outshone his banquets\\npast;\\nIt was his blithest and his last.\\nThe dazzling lamps from gallery\\ngay\\nCast on the court a dancing ray\\nHere to the harp did minstrels\\nsing,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0185.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "1 64\\nMARMION\\nThere ladies touched a softer\\nstring\\nWith long-eared cap and motley\\nvest, 190\\nThe licensed fool retailed his jest\\nHis magic tricks the juggler plied;\\nAt dice and draughts the gallants\\nvied\\nWhile some, in close recess apart,\\nCourted the ladies of their heart,\\nNor courted them in vain\\nFor often in the parting hour\\nVictorious Love asserts his power\\nO er coldness and disdain\\nAnd flinty is her heart can view 200\\nTo battle march a lover true\\nCan hear, perchance, his last adieu,\\nNor own her share of pain.\\nVIII\\nThrough this mixed crowd of glee\\nand game\\nThe king to greet Lord Marmion\\ncame,\\nWhile, reverent, all made room.\\nAn easy task it was, I trow,\\nKing James s manly form to know,\\nAlthough, his courtesy to show,\\nHe doffed to Marmion bending\\nlow 210\\nHis broidered cap and plume.\\nFor royal were his garb and mien\\nHis cloak of crimson velvet\\npiled,\\nTrimmed with the fur of marten\\nwild,\\nHis vest of changeful satin sheen,\\nThe dazzled eye beguiled\\nHis gorgeous collar hung adown,\\nWrought with the badge of Scot-\\nland s crown,\\nThe thistle brave of old renown\\nHis trusty blade, Toledo right, 220\\nDescended from a baldric bright\\nWhite were his buskins, on the heel\\nHis spurs inlaid of gold and steel\\nHis bonnet, all of crimson fair,\\nWas buttoned with a ruby rare\\nAnd Marmion deemed he ne er\\nhad seen\\nA prince of such a noble mien.\\nIX\\nThe monarch s form was middle\\nsize,\\nFor feat of strength or exercise\\nShaped in proportion fair 230\\nAnd hazel was his eagle eye,\\nAnd auburn of the darkest dye\\nHis short curled beard and hair.\\nLight was his footstep in the\\ndance,\\nAnd Arm his stirrup in the lists\\nAnd, oh! he had that merry\\nglance\\nThat seldom lady s heart re-\\nsists.\\nLightly from fair to fair he flew,\\nAnd loved to plead, lament, and\\nsue,\\nSuit lightly won and short-lived\\npain, 240\\nFor monarchs seldom sigh in\\nvain.\\nI said he joyed in banquet\\nbower;\\nBut, mid his mirth, t was often\\nstrange\\nHow suddenly his cheer would\\nchange,\\nHis look o ercast and lower,\\nIf in a sudden turn he felt\\nThe pressure of his iron belt,\\nThat bound his breast in penance\\npain,\\nIn memory of his father slain.\\nEven so t was strange how ever-\\nmore, 250\\nSoon as the passing pang was\\no er,\\nForward he rushed with double\\nglee\\nInto the stream of revelry.\\nThus dim-seen object of affright\\nStartles the courser in his flight,\\nAnd half he halts, half springs\\naside,\\nBut feels the quickening spur ap-\\nplied,\\nAnd, straining on the tightened\\nrein,\\nScours doubly swift o er hill and\\nplain.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0186.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n165\\nX\\nO er James s heart, the courtiers\\nsay, 260\\nSir Hugh the Heron s wife held\\nsway\\nTo Scotland s court she came\\nTo be a hostage for her lord,\\nWho Cessford s gallant heart had\\ngored,\\nAnd with the king to make accord\\nHad sent his lovely dame.\\nNor to that lady free alone\\nDid the gay king allegiance own\\nFor the fair Queen of France\\nSent him a turquoise ring and\\nglove, 270\\nAnd charged him, as her knight\\nand love,\\nFor her to break a lance,\\nAnd strike three strokes with\\nScottish brand,\\nAnd march three miles on South-\\nron land,\\nAnd bid the banners of his band\\nIn English breezes dance.\\nAnd thus for France s queen he\\ndrest\\nHis manly limbs in mailed vest,\\nAnd thus admitted English fair\\nHis inmost councils still to\\nshare, 280\\nAnd thus for both he madly\\nplanned\\nThe ruin of himself and land\\nAnd yet, the sooth to tell,\\nXor England s fair nor France s\\nqueen\\nWere worth one pearl-drop, bright\\nand sheen,\\nFrom Margaret s eyes that fell,\\nHis own Queen Margaret, who in\\nLithgow s bower\\nAll lonely sat and wept the weary\\nhour.\\nXI\\nThe queen sits lone in Lithgow\\npile,\\nAnd weeps the weary day 290\\nThe war against her native soil,\\nHer monarch s risk in battle\\nbroil,\\nAnd in gay Holy-Rood the while\\nDame Heron rises with a smile\\nUpon the harp to play.\\nFair was her rounded arm, as o er\\nThe strings her fingers flew\\nAnd as she touched and tuned\\nthem all,\\nEver her bosom s rise and fall\\nWas plainer given to view 300\\nFor, all for heat, was laid aside\\nHer wimple, and her hood untied.\\nAnd first she pitched her voice to\\nsing,\\nThen glanced her dark eye on the\\nking,\\nAnd then around the silent ring,\\nAnd laughed, and blushed, and oft\\ndid say\\nHer pretty oath, by yea and nay,\\nShe could not, would not, durst\\nnot play\\nAt length, upon the harp, with\\nglee,\\nMingled with arch simplicity, 3 10\\nA soft yet lively air she rung,\\nWhile thus the wily lady sung\\nXII\\nLOCHINVAR\\nLADY HEEOX S SOXG\\nOh young Lochinvar is come out\\nof the west,\\nThrough all the wide Border his\\nsteed was the best\\nAnd save his good broadsword he\\nweapons had none,\\nHe rode all unarmed and he rode\\nall alone.\\nSo faithful in love and so daunt-\\nless in war,\\nThere never was knight like the\\nyoung Lochinvar.\\nHe stayed not for brake and lie\\nstopped not for stone,\\nHe swam the Eske river where\\nford there was none 320\\nBut ere he alighted at Netherby\\ngate", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0187.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "1 66\\nMARMION\\nThe bride had consented, the gal-\\nlant came late\\nFor a laggard in love and a das-\\ntard in war\\nWas to wed the fair Ellen of brave\\nLochinvar.\\nSo boldly he entered the Netherby\\nHall,\\nAmong bridesmen, and kinsmen,\\nand brothers, and all\\nThen spoke the bride s father, his\\nhand on his sword,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFor the poor craven bridegroom\\nsaid never a word,\\nI Oh come ye in peace here, or\\ncome ye in war,\\nOr to dance at our bridal, young\\nLord Lochinvar 330\\nI I long wooed your daughter, my\\nsuit you denied\\nLove swells like the Solway, but\\nebbs like its title\\nAnd now am I come, with this lost\\nlove of mine,\\nTo lead but one measure, drink\\none cup of wine.\\nThere are maidens in Scotland\\nmore lovely by far,\\nThat would gladly be bride to the\\nyoung Lochinvar.\\nThe bride kissed the goblet; the\\nknight took it up,\\nHe quaffed off the wine, and he\\nthrew down the cup.\\nShe looked down to blush, and she\\nlooked up to sigh,\\nWith a smile on her lips and a tear\\nin her eye. 340\\nHe took her soft hand ere her\\nmother could bar,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNow tread we a measure said\\nyoung Lochinvar.\\nSo stately his form, and so lovely\\nher face,\\nThat never a hall such a galliard\\ndid grace\\nWhile her mother did fret, and her\\nfather did fume,\\nAnd the bridegroom stood dan-\\ngling his bonnet and plume\\nAnd the bride-maidens whispered,\\nT were better by far\\nTo have matched our fair cousin\\nwith young Lochinvar.\\nOne touch to her hand and one\\nword in her ear, 349\\nWhen they reached the hall-door,\\nand the charger stood near;\\nSo light to the croupe the fair lady\\nhe swung,\\nSo light to the saddle before her\\nhe sprung!\\n1 She is won we are gone, over\\nbank, bush, and scaur;\\nThey 11 have fleet steeds that fol-\\nlow, quoth young Lochinvar.\\nThere was mounting mong Grae-\\nmes of the Netherby clan\\nForsters, Fenwicks, and Mus-\\ngraves, they rode and they\\nran:\\nThere was racing and chasing on\\nCannobie Lee,\\nBut the lost bride of Netherby\\nne er did they see.\\nSo daring in love and so dauntless\\nin war,\\nHave ye e er heard of gallant like\\nyoung Lochinvar 360\\nXIII\\nThe monarch o er the siren hung,\\nAnd beat the measure as she\\nsung\\nAnd, pressing closer and more\\nnear,\\nHe whispered praises in her ear.\\nIn loud applause the courtiers\\nvied,\\nAnd ladies winked and spoke\\naside.\\nThe witching dame to Marrnion\\nthrew\\nA glance, where seemed to\\nreign", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0188.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n167\\nThe pride that claims applauses\\ndue, 369\\nAnd of her royal conquest too\\nA real or feigned disdain\\nFamiliar was the look, and told\\nMarmion and she were friends of\\nold.\\nThe king observed their meeting\\neyes\\nWith something like displeased\\nsurprise\\nFor monarchs ill can rivals brook,\\nEven in a word, or smile, or look.\\nStraight took he forth the parch-\\nment broad\\nWhich Marmion s high commis-\\nsion showed\\nOur Borders sacked by many a\\nraid, 380\\nOur peaceful liege-men robbed, he\\nsaid,\\nOn day of truce our warden slain,\\nStout Barton killed, his vessels\\nta en\\nUnworthy were we here to reign,\\nShould these for vengeance cry in\\nvain;\\nOur full defiance, hate, and scorn,\\nOur herald has to Henry borne.\\nXIV\\nHe paused, and led where Douglas\\nstood\\nAnd with stern eye the pageant\\nviewed 389\\nI mean that Douglas, sixth of yore,\\nWho coronet of Angus bore,\\nAnd, when his blood and heart\\nwere high,\\nDid the third James in camp defy,\\nAnd all his minions led to die\\nOn Lauder s dreary flat.\\nPrinces and favorites long grew\\ntame,\\nAnd trembled at the homely name\\nOf Archibald Bell-the-Cat\\nThe same who left the dusky vale\\nOf Hermitage in Liddisdale, 400\\nIts dungeons and its towers,\\nWhere Bothwell s turrets brave\\nthe air,\\nAnd Bothwell bank is blooming\\nfair,\\nTo fix his princely bowers.\\nThough now in age he had laid\\ndown\\nHis armor for the peaceful gown,\\nAnd for a staff his brand,\\nYet often would flash forth the fire\\nThat could in youth a monarch s\\nire 409\\nAnd minion s pride withstand;\\nAnd even that day at council\\nboard,\\nUnapt to soothe his sovereign s\\nmood,\\nAgainst the war had Angus\\nstood,\\nAnd chafed his royal lord.\\nxv\\nHis giant-form, like ruined tower,\\nThough fallen its muscles brawny\\nvaunt,\\nHuge-boned, and tall, and grim.\\nand gaunt,\\nSeemed o er the gaudy scene to\\nlower;\\nHis locks and beard in silver grew.\\nHis eyebrows kept their sable\\nhue.\\nNear Douglas when the monarch\\nstood, 421\\nHis bitter speech he thus pursued\\n4 Lord Marmion, since these letters\\nsay\\nThat in the North you needs must\\nstay\\nWhile slightest hopes of peace\\nremain,\\nUncourteous speech it were and\\nstern\\nTo say Return to Lindisfarne,\\nUntil my herald come again.\\nThen rest you in Tantallon hold\\nYour host shall be the Douglas\\nbold,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 430\\nA chief unlike his sires of old.\\nHe wears their motto on his blade,\\nTheir blazon o er his towers dis-\\nplayed,\\nYet loves his sovereign to oppose", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0189.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "1 68\\nMARMION\\nMore than to face his country s\\nfoes.\\nAnd, I bethink me, by Saint\\nStephen,\\nBut e en this morn to me was\\ngiven\\nA prize, the first fruits of the war,\\nTa en by a galley from Dunbar,\\nA bevy of the maids of heaven.\\nUnder your guard these holy\\nmaids 441\\nShall safe return to cloister shades,\\nAnd, while they at Tantallon stay,\\nRequiem for Cochran s soul may\\nsay.\\nAnd with the slaughtered favorite s\\nname\\nAcross the monarch s brow there\\ncame\\nA cloud of ire, remorse, and shame.\\nXVI\\nIn answer nought could Angus\\nspeak,\\nHis proud heart swelled well-nigh\\nto break\\nHe turned aside, and down his\\ncheek 450\\nA burning tear there stole.\\nHis hand the monarch sudden took,\\nThat sight his kind heart could\\nnot brook\\nNow, by the Bruce s soul,\\nAngus, my hasty speech forgive\\nFor sure as doth his spirit live,\\nAs he said of the Douglas old,\\nI well may say of you,\\nThat never king did subject hold,\\nIn speech more free, in war more\\nbold, 460\\nMore tender and more true\\nForgive me, Douglas, once\\nagain.\\nAnd, while the king his hand did\\nstrain,\\nThe old man s tears fell down like\\nrain.\\nTo seize the moment Marmion\\ntried,\\nAnd whispered to the king aside\\nOh let such tears unwonted plead\\nFor respite short from dubious\\ndeed!\\nA child will weep a bramble s\\nsmart, 469\\nA maid to see her sparrow part,\\nA stripling for a woman s heart\\nBut woe awaits a country when\\nShe sees the tears of bearded men.\\nThen, oh what omen, dark and\\nhigh,\\nWhen Douglas wets his manly\\neye!\\nXVII\\nDispleased was James that stran\\nger viewed\\nAnd tampered with his changing\\nmood.\\n1 Laugh those that can, weep those\\nthat may,\\nThus did the fiery monarch say,\\nSouthward I march by break of\\nday 480\\nAnd if within Tantallon strong\\nThe good Lord Marmion tarries\\nlong,\\nPerchance our meeting next may\\nfall\\nAt Tamworth in his castle-hall.\\nThe haughty Marmion felt the\\ntaunt,\\nAnd answered grave the royal\\nvaunt\\nMuch honored were my humble\\nhome,\\nIf in its halls King James should\\ncome;\\nBut Nottingham has archers good.\\nAnd Yorkshire men are stern of\\nmood, 490\\nNorthumbrian prickers wild and\\nrude.\\nOn Derby Hills the paths are steep,\\nIn Ouse and Tyne the fords are\\ndeep;\\nAnd many a banner will be torn.\\nAnd many a knight to earth be\\nborne,\\nAnd many a sheaf of arrows spent,\\nEre Scotland s king shall cross the\\nTrent:", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0190.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\ni6g\\nYet pause, brave prince, while yet\\nyou may\\nThe monarch lightly turned away,\\nAnd to his nobles loud did call,\\n1 Lords, to the dance, a hall a\\nhall! 501\\nHimself his cloak and sword flung\\nby,\\nAnd led Dame Heron gallantly\\nAnd minstrels, at the royal order,\\nRung out Blue Bonnets o er the\\nBorder.\\nXVIII\\nLeave we these revels now to tell\\nWhat to Saint Hilda s maids befell,\\nWhose galley, as they sailed again\\nTo Whitby, by a Scot was ta en.\\nNow at Dun-Edin did they bide\\nTill James should of their fate de-\\ncide, 511\\nAnd soon by his command\\nWere gently summoned to prepare\\nTo journey under Marmion s care,\\nAs escort honored, safe, and fair,\\nAgain to English land.\\nThe abbess told her chaplet o er.\\nNor knew which Saint she should\\nimplore\\nFor, when she thought of Con-\\nstance, sore\\nShe feared Lord Marmion s\\nmood. 520\\nAnd judge what Clara must have\\nfelt!\\nThe sword that hung in Marmion s\\nbelt\\nHad drunk De Wilton s blood.\\nUnwittingly King James had\\ngiven,\\nAs guard to Whitby s shades,\\nThe man most dreaded under\\nheaven\\nBy these defenceless maids\\nYet what petition could avail,\\nOr who would listen to the tale\\nOf woman, prisoner, and nun, 530\\nMid bustle of a war begun?\\nThey deemed it hopeless to avoid\\nThe convoy of their dangerous\\nguide.\\nXIX\\nTheir lodging, so the king assigned,\\nTo Marmion s, as their guardian,\\njoined\\nAnd thus it fell that, passing nigh,\\nThe Palmer caught the abbess\\neye,\\nWho warned him by a scroll\\nShe had a secret to reveal\\nThat much concerned the Church s\\nweal 540\\nAnd health of sinner s soul;\\nAnd, with deep charge of secrecy,\\nShe named a place to meet\\nWithin an open balcony,\\nThat hung from dizzy pitch and\\nhigh\\nAbove the stately street,\\nTo which, as common to each\\nhome,\\nAt night they might in secret come.\\nxx\\nAt night in secret there they came,\\nThe Palmer and the holy dame.\\nThe moon among the clouds rode\\nhigh, 551\\nAnd all the city hum was by.\\nUpon the street, where late be-\\nfore\\nDid din of war and warriors roar,\\nYou might have heard a pebble\\nfall,\\nA beetle hum, a cricket sing,\\nAn owlet flap his boding wing\\nOn Giles s steeple tall.\\nThe antique buildings, climbing\\nhigh,\\nWhose Gothic frontlets sought the\\nsky, 560\\nWere here wrapt deep in shade\\nThere on their brows the moon-\\nbeam broke,\\nThrough the faint w r reaths of sil-\\nvery smoke,\\nAnd on the casements played.\\nAnd other light was none to see,\\nSave torches gliding far,\\nBefore some chieftain of degree\\nWho left the royal revelry\\nTo bowne him for the war.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0191.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "170\\nMARMION\\nA solemn scene the abbess chose,\\nA solemn hour, her secret to dis-\\nclose. 571\\nXXI\\n1 holy Palmer she began,\\nFor sure he must be sainted man,\\nWhose blessed feet have trod the\\nground\\nWhere the Redeemer s tomb is\\nfound,\\nFor his dear Church s sake, my\\ntale\\nAttend, nor deem of light avail,\\nThough I must speak of worldly\\nlove,\\nHow vain to those who wed\\nabove\\nDe Wilton and Lord Marmion\\nwooed 580\\nClara de Clare, of Gloster s\\nblood\\nIdle it were of Whitby s dame\\nTo say of that same blood I\\ncame\\nAnd once, when jealous rage was\\nhigh,\\nLord Marmion said despiteously,\\nWilton was traitor in his heart,\\nAnd had made league with Martin\\nSwart\\nWhen he came here on Simnel s\\npart,\\nAnd only cowardice did restrain\\nHis rebel aid on Stokefield s\\nplain,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 590\\nAnd down he threw his glove.\\nThe thing\\nWas tried, as wont, before the\\nking;\\nWhere frankly did De Wilton own\\nThat Swart in Guelders he had\\nknown,\\nAnd that between them then there\\nwent\\nSome scroll of courteous compli-\\nment.\\nFor this he to his castle sent\\nBut when his messenger returned,\\nJudge how De Wilton s fury\\nburned\\nFor in his packet there were laid\\nLetters that claimed disloyal aid\\nAnd proved King Henry s cause\\nbetrayed. 602\\nHis fame, thus blighted, in the\\nfield\\nHe strove to clear by spear and\\nshield\\nTo clear his fame in vain he strove,\\nFor wondrous are His ways above\\nPerchance some form was unob-\\nserved,\\nPerchance in prayer or faith he\\nswerved,\\nElse how could guiltless champion\\nquail,\\nOr how the blessed ordeal fail\\nXXII\\nHis squire, who now De Wilton\\nsaw 6n\\nAs recreant doomed to suffer law,\\nRepentant, owned in vain\\nThat while he had the scrolls in\\ncare\\nA stranger maiden, passing fair,\\nHad drenched him with a bever-\\nage rare\\nHis words no faith could gain.\\nWith Clare alone he credence won.\\nWho, rather than wed Marmion,\\nDid to Saint Hilda s shrine re-\\npair, 620\\nTo give our house her livings fair\\nAnd die a vestal votaress there.\\nThe impulse from the earth was\\ngiven,\\nBut bent her to the paths of hea-\\nven.\\nA purer heart, a lovelier maid,\\nNe er sheltered her in Whitby s\\nshade,\\nNo, not since Saxon Edelfled\\nOnly one trace of earthly stain,\\nThat for her lover s loss\\nShe cherishes a sorrow vain, 630\\nAnd murmurs at the cross.\\nAnd then her heritage it goes\\nAlong the banks of Tame\\nDeep fields of grain the reaper\\nmows,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0192.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n171\\nIn meadows rich the heifer lows,\\nThe falconer and huntsman knows\\nIts woodlands for the game.\\nShame were it to Saint Hilda dear,\\nAnd I, her humble votaress here,\\nShould do a deadly sin, 640\\nHer temple spoiled before mine\\neyes,\\nIf this false Marmion such a prize\\nBy my consent should win;\\nYet hath our boisterous monarch\\nsworn\\nThat Clare shall from our house\\nbe torn,\\nAnd grievous cause have I to\\nfear\\nSuch mandate doth Lord Marmion\\nbear.\\nXXIII\\nNow, prisoner, helpless, and be-\\ntrayed\\nTo evil power, I claim thine aid,\\nBy every step that thou hast\\ntrod 650\\nTo holy shrine and grotto dim,\\nBy every martyr s tortured limb,\\nBy angel, saint, and seraphim,\\nAnd by the Church of God\\nFor mark when Wilton was be-\\ntrayed,\\nAnd with his squire forged letters\\nlaid,\\nShe was, alas that sinful maid\\nBy whom the deed was done,\\nOh shame and horror to be said\\nShe was a perjured nun 660\\nNo clerk in all the land like her\\nTraced quaint and varying char-\\nacter.\\nPerchance you may a marvel\\ndeem,\\nThat Marmion s paramour\\nFor such vile thing she was\\nshould scheme\\nHer lover s nuptial hour;\\nBut o er him thus she hoped to\\ngain,\\nAs privy to his honor s stain,\\nIllimitable power.\\nFor this she secretly retained 670\\nEach proof that might the plot\\nreveal,\\nInstructions with his hand and\\nseal;\\nAnd thus Saint Hilda deigned,\\nThrough sinners perfidy im-\\npure,\\nHer house s glory to secure\\nAnd Clare s immortal weal.\\nXXIV\\nT were long and needless here\\nto tell\\nHow to my hand these papers fell\\nWith me they must not stay.\\nSaint Hilda keep her abbess true\\nWho knows what outrage he might\\ndo 68\\nWhile journeying by the way\\nblessed Saint, if e er again\\n1 venturous leave thy calm do-\\nmain,\\nTo travel or by land or main,\\nDeep penance may I pay\\nNow, saintly Palmer, mark my\\nprayer\\nI give this packet to thy care,\\nFor thee to stop they will not\\ndare\\nAnd oh with cautious speed\\nTo Wolsey s hand the papers\\nbring, 691\\nThat he may show them to the\\nking:\\nAnd for thy well-earned meed,\\nThou holy man, at Whitby s\\nshrine\\nA weekly mass shall still be thine\\nWhile priests can sing and\\nread.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhat ail st thou Speak For\\nas he took\\nThe charge a strong emotion\\nshook\\nHis frame, and ere reply\\nThey heard a faint yet shrilly\\ntone, 70\u00c2\u00b0\\nLike distant clarion feebly blown,\\nThat on the breeze did die\\nAnd loud the abbess shrieked in\\nfear,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0193.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "172\\nMARMION\\nSaint Withold, save us What\\nis here\\nLook at yon City Cross\\nSee on its battled tower appear\\nPhantoms, that scutcheons seem\\nto rear\\nAnd blazoned banners toss\\nXXV\\nDun-Edin s Cross, a pillared stone,\\nRose on a turret octagon 710\\nBut now is razed that monument,\\nWhence royal edict rang,\\nAnd voice of Scotland s law was\\nsent\\nIn glorious trumpet-clang.\\nOh be his tomb as lead to lead\\nUpon its dull destroyer s head\\nA minstrel s malison is said.\\nThen on its battlements they saw\\nA vision, passing Nature s law,\\nStrange, wild, and dimly seen\\nFigures that seemed to rise and\\ndie, 721\\nGibber and sign, advance and fly,\\nWhile nought confirmed could ear\\nor eye\\nDiscern of sound or mien.\\nYet darkly did it seem as there\\nHeralds and pursuivants prepare,\\nWith trumpet sound and blazon\\nfair,\\nA summons to proclaim\\nBut indistinct the pageant proud,\\nAs fancy forms of midnight cloud\\nWhen flings the moon upon her\\nshroud 73 1\\nA wavering tinge of flame\\nIt flits, expands, and shifts, till\\nloud,\\nFrom midmost of the spectre\\ncrowd,\\nThis awful summons came\\nxxvi\\n4 Prince, prelate, potentate, and\\npeer,\\nWhose names I now shall call,\\nScottish or foreigner, give ear\\nSubjects of him who sent me\\nhere,\\nAt his tribunal to appear 740\\nI summon one and all\\nI cite you by each deadly sin\\nThat e er hath soiled your hearts\\nwithin\\nI cite you by each brutal lust\\nThat e er defiled your earthly\\ndust,\\nBy wrath, by pride, by fear,\\nBy each o ermastering passion s\\ntone,\\nBy the dark grave and dying\\ngroan\\nWhen forty days are passed and\\ngone,\\nI cite you, at your monarch s\\nthrone 7 50\\nTo answer and appear.\\nThen thundered forth a roll of\\nnames\\nThe first was thine, unhappy\\nJames\\nThen all thy nobles came\\nCrawford, Glencairn, Montrose,\\nArgyle,\\nRoss, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox,\\nLyle,\\nWhy should I tell their separate\\nstyle\\nEach chief of birth and fame,\\nOf Lowland, Highland, Border,\\nIsle,\\nForedoomed to Flodden s carnage\\npile, 760\\nWas cited there by name\\nAnd Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye,\\nOf Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye\\nDe Wilton, erst of Aberley,\\nThe self-same thundering voice\\ndid say.\\nBut then another spoke\\nThy fatal summons I deny\\nAnd thine infernal lord defy,\\nAppealing me to Him on high\\nWho burst the sinner s yoke. 770\\nAt that dread accent, with a\\nscream,\\nParted the pageant like a dream,\\nThe summoner was gone.\\nProne on her face the abbess\\nfell,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0194.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n173\\nAnd fast, and fast, her beads did\\ntell;\\nHer nuns came, startled by the\\nyell,\\nAnd found her there alone.\\nShe marked not, at the scene\\naghast,\\nWhat time or how the Palmer\\npassed.\\nXXVII\\nShift we the scene. The camp\\ndoth move 780\\nDun-Edin s streets are empty\\nnow,\\nSave when, for weal of those they\\nlove\\nTo pray the prayer and vow the\\nvow,\\nThe tottering child, the anxious\\nfair,\\nThe gray-haired sire, with pious\\ncare,\\nTo chapels and to shrines repair.\\nWhere is the Palmer now? and\\nwhere\\nThe abbess, Marmion, and\\nClare?\\nBold Douglas to Tantallon fair\\nThey journey in thy charge 790\\nLord Marmion rode on his right\\nhand,\\nThe Palmer still was with the\\nband;\\nAngus, like Lindesay, did com-\\nmand\\nThat none should roam at large.\\nBut in that Palmer s altered mien\\nA wondrous change might now be\\nseen;\\nFreely he spoke of war,\\nOf marvels wrought by single hand\\nWhen lifted for a native land,\\nAnd still looked high, as if he\\nplanned 800\\nSome desperate deed afar.\\nHis courser would he feed and\\nstroke,\\nAnd, tucking up his sable frock,\\nWould first his mettle bold pro-\\nvoke,\\nThen soothe or quell his pride.\\nOld Hubert said that never one\\nHe saw, except Lord Marmion,\\nA steed so fairly ride.\\nXXVIII\\nSome half-hour s march behind\\nthere came,\\nBy Eustace governed fair, 810\\nA troop escorting Hilda s dame,\\nWith all her nuns and Clare.\\nNo audience had Lord Marmion\\nsought\\nEver he feared to aggravate\\nClara de Clare s suspicious hate\\nAnd safer t was, he thought,\\nTo wait till, from the nuns re-\\nmoved,\\nThe influence of kinsmen loved,\\nAnd suit by Henry s self ap-\\nproved,\\nHer slow consent had wrought. 820\\nHis was no flickering flame, that\\ndies,\\nUnless when fanned by looks\\nand sighs\\nAnd lighted oft at lady s eyes\\nHe longed to stretch his wide\\ncommand\\nO er luckless Clara s ample land\\nBesides, when Wilton with him\\nvied,\\nAlthough the pang of humbled\\npride\\nThe place of jealousy supplied,\\nYet conquest, by that meanness\\nwon\\nHe almost loathed to think upon,\\nLed him, at times, to hate the\\ncause 83 r\\nWhich made him burst through\\nhonor s laws.\\nIf e er he loved, t was her alone\\nWho died within that vault of\\nstone.\\nXXIX\\nAnd now, when close at hand they\\nsaw\\nXorth Berwick s town and lofty\\nLaw,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0195.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "174\\nMARMION\\nFitz- Eustace bade them pause\\nawhile\\nBefore a venerable pile\\nWhose turrets viewed afar 839\\nThe lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,\\nThe ocean s peace or war.\\nAt tolling of a bell, forth came\\nThe convent s venerable dame,\\nAnd prayed Saint Hilda s abbess\\nrest\\nWith her, a loved and honored\\nguest,\\nTill Douglas should a bark pre-\\npare\\nTo waft her back to Whitby fair.\\nGlad was the abbess, you may\\nguess,\\nAnd thanked the Scottish prioress\\nAnd tedious were to tell, I ween,\\nThe courteous speech that passed\\nbetween. 851\\nO erjoyed the nuns their palfreys\\nleave\\nBut when fair Clara did intend,\\nLike tb A m, from horseback to de-\\nscend,\\nFitz-Eustace said I grieve,\\nFair lady, grieve e en from my\\nheart,\\nSuch gentle company to part\\nThink not discourtesy,\\nBut lords commands must be\\nobeyed,\\nAnd Marmion and the Douglas\\nsaid 860\\nThat you must wend with me.\\nLord Marmion hath a letter broad,\\nWhich to the Scottish earl he\\nshowed,\\nCommanding that beneath his care\\nWithout delay you shall repair\\nTo your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-\\nClare.\\nXXX\\nThe startled abbess loud ex-\\nclaimed\\nBut she at whom the blow was\\naimed\\nGrew pale as death and cold as\\nlead,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nShe deemed she heard her death-\\ndoom read. 870\\n1 Cheer thee, my child the abbess\\nsaid,\\n1 They dare not tear thee from my\\nhand,\\nTo ride alone with armed band.\\n4 Nay, holy mother, nay,\\nFitz Eustace said, the lovely\\nClare\\nWill be in Lady Angus care,\\nIn Scotland while we stay;\\nAnd when we move an easy ride\\nWill bring us to the English\\nside,\\nFemale attendance to provide 880\\nBefitting Gloster s heir;\\nNor thinks nor dreams my noble\\nlord,\\nBy slightest look, or act, or word,\\nTo harass Lady Clare.\\nHer faithful guardian he will be,\\nNor sue for slightest courtesy\\nThat e en to stranger falls,\\nTill he shall place her safe and\\nfree\\nWithin her kinsman s halls.\\nHe spoke, and blushed with ear-\\nnest grace; 890\\nHis faith was painted on his\\nface,\\nAnd Clare s worst fear relieved.\\nThe Lady Abbess loud exclaimed\\nOn Henry, and the Douglas\\nblamed,\\nEntreated, threatened, grieved,\\nTo martyr, saint, and prophet\\nprayed,\\nAgainst Lord Marmion inveighed,\\nAnd called the prioress to aid,\\nTo curse with candle, bell, and\\nbook.\\nHer head the grave Cistertian\\nshook 900\\nThe Douglas and the king, she\\nsaid,\\n1 In their commands will be\\nobeyed\\nGrieve not, nor dream that harm\\ncan fall\\nThe maiden in Tantallon Hall.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0196.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n*75\\nXXXI\\nThe abbess, seeing strife was\\nvain,\\nAssumed her wonted state\\nagain,\\nFor much of state she had,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nComposed her veil, and raised her\\nhead,\\nAnd Bid, in solemn voice she\\nsaid,\\n1 Thy master, bold and bad, 91c\\nThe records of his house turn\\no er,\\nAnd, when he shall there written\\nsee\\nThat one of his own ancestry\\nDrove the monks forth of Coven-\\ntry,\\nBid him his fate explore\\nPrancing in pride of earthly\\ntrust,\\nHis charger hurled him to the\\ndust,\\nAnd, by a base plebeian thrust,\\nHe died his band before.\\nGod judge twixt Marmion and\\nme 920\\nHe is a chief of high degree,\\nAnd I a poor recluse.\\nYet oft in holy writ we see\\nEven such weak minister as me\\nMay the oppressor bruise\\nFor thus, inspired, did Judith\\nslay\\nThe mighty in his sin,\\nAnd Jael thus, and Deborah\\nHere hasty Blount broke in\\nFitz-Eustace, we must march our\\nband; 930\\nSaint Anton fire thee wilt thou\\nstand\\nAll day, with bonnet in thy hand,\\nTo hear the lady preach?\\nBy this good light if thus we\\nstay,\\nLord Marmion for our fond delay\\nWill sharper sermon teach.\\nCome, don thy cap and mount thy\\nhorse\\nThe dame must patience take per-\\nforce.\\nXXXII\\nSubmit we then to force, said\\nClare,\\n1 But let this barbarous lord de-\\nspair 940\\nHis purposed aim to win\\nLet him take living, land, and\\nlife,\\nBut to be Marmion s wedded wife\\nIn me were deadly sin\\nAnd if it be the king s decree\\nThat I must find no sanctuary\\nIn that inviolable dome\\nWhere even a homicide might\\ncome\\nAnd safely rest his head,\\nThough at its open portals stood\\nThirsting to pour forth blood for\\nblood, 951\\nThe kinsmen of the dead,\\nYet one asylum is my own\\nAgainst the dreaded hour,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nA low, a silent, and a lone,\\nW r here kings have little power,\\nOne victim is before me there.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMother, your blessing, and in\\nprayer\\nRemember your unhappy Clare\\nLoud weeps the abbess, and be.\\nStOWS 960\\nKind blessings many a one\\nWeeping and wailing loud arose,\\nRound patient Clare, the clamor-\\nous woes\\nOf every simple nun.\\nHis eyes the gentle Eustace dried,\\nAnd scarce rude Blount the sight\\ncould bide.\\nThen took the squire her rein,\\nAnd gently led away her steed,\\nAnd by each courteous word and\\ndeed\\nTo cheer her strove in vain. 970\\nXXXIII\\nBut scant three miles the band\\nhad rode,\\nWhen o er a height they passed,\\nAnd, sudden, close before them\\nshowed\\nHis towers Tantallon vast,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0197.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "176\\nMARMION\\nBroad, massive, high, and stretch-\\ning far,\\nAnd held impregnable in war.\\nOn a projecting rock they rose,\\nAnd round three sides the ocean\\nflows,\\nThe fourth did battled walls en-\\nclose 979\\nAnd double mound and fosse.\\nBy narrow drawbridge, outworks\\nstrong,\\nThrough studded gates, an en-\\ntrance long,\\nTo the main court they cross.\\nIt was a wide and stately square\\nAround were lodgings fit and fair,\\nAnd towers of various form,\\nWhich on the court projected far\\nAnd broke its lines quadrangular.\\nHere was square keep, there tur-\\nret high, 989\\nOr pinnacle that sought the sky,\\nWhence oft the warder could de-\\nscry\\nThe gathering ocean-storm.\\nxxxiv\\nHere did they rest. The princely\\ncare\\nOf Douglas why should I declare,\\nOr say they met reception fair\\nOr why the tidings say,\\nWhich varying to Tantallon came,\\nBy hurrying posts or fleeter fame,\\nWith every varying day\\nAnd, first, they heard King James\\nhad won 1000\\nEtall, and Wark, and Ford and\\nthen,\\nThat Norham Castle strong was\\nta en.\\nAt that sore marvelled Marmion,\\nAnd Douglas hoped his monarch s\\nhand\\nWould soon subdue Northumber-\\nland\\nBut whispered news there came,\\nThat while his host inactive lay,\\nAnd melted by degrees away,\\nKing James was dallying off the\\nday\\nWith Heron s wily dame. ioro\\nSuch acts to chronicles I yield\\nGo seek them there and see\\nMine is a tale of Flodden Field,\\nAnd not a history.\\nAt length they heard the Scottish\\nhost\\nOn that high ridge had made their\\npost\\nWhich frowns o er Millfield\\nPlain\\nAnd that brave Surrey many a\\nband\\nHad gathered in the Southern\\nland,\\nAnd marched into Northumber-\\nland, 1020\\nAnd camp at Wooler ta en.\\nMarmion, like charger in the stall,\\nThat hears, without, the trumpet-\\ncall,\\nBegan to chafe and swear\\n4 A sorry thing to hide my head\\nIn castle, like a fearful maid,\\nWhen such a field is near.\\nNeeds must I see this battle-day\\nDeath to my fame if such a fray\\nWere fought, and Marmion away\\nThe Douglas, too, I w 7 ot not\\nwhy, 103 1\\nHath bated of his courtesy\\nNo longer in his halls I 11 stay\\nThen bade his band they should\\narray\\nFor march against the dawning\\nday.\\nINTRODUCTION TO CANTO\\nSIXTH\\nTO RICHARD HEBER, ESQ.\\nMertoim House, Christrtms\\nHeap on more wood the wind\\nis chill\\nBut let it whistle as it will,\\nWe 11 keep our Christmas merry\\nstill.\\nEach age has deemed the new-\\nborn year", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0198.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH\\n177\\nThe fittest time for festal cheer\\nEven, heathen yet, the savage\\nDane\\nAt Iol more deep the mead did\\ndrain,\\nHigh on the beach his galleys\\ndrew,\\nAnd feasted all his pirate crew\\nThen in his low and pine-built\\nhall, 10\\nWhere shields and axes decked\\nthe wall,\\nThey gorged upon the half-dressed\\nsteer,\\nCaroused in seas of sable beer,\\nWhile round in brutal jest were\\nthrown\\nThe half-gnawed rib and marrow-\\nbone,\\nOr listened all in grim delight\\nWhile scalds yelled out the joys of\\nfight.\\nThen forth in frenzy would they\\nhie,\\nWhile wildly loose their red locks\\nfly,\\nAnd dancing round the blazing\\npile, 20\\nThey make such barbarous mirth\\nthe while\\nAs best might to the mind recall\\nThe boisterous joys of Octon s hall.\\nAnd well our Christian sires of\\nold\\nLoved when the year its course\\nhad rolled,\\nAnd brought blithe Christmas\\nback again\\nWith all his hospitable train.\\nDomestic and religious rite\\nGave honor to the holy night\\nOn Christmas eve the bells were\\nrung, 30\\nOn Christmas eve the mass was\\nsung:\\nThat only night in all the year\\nSaw the stoled priest the chalice\\nrear.\\nThe damsel donned her kirtle\\nsheen\\nThe hall was dressed with holly\\ngreen\\nForth to the wood did merrymen\\ngo,\\nTo gather in the mistletoe.\\nThen opened wide the baron s\\nhall\\nTo vassal, tenant, serf, and all\\nPower laid his rod of rule aside, 40\\nAnd Ceremony doffed his pride.\\nThe heir, with roses in his shoes,\\nThat night might village partner\\nchoose\\nThe lord, underogating, share\\nThe vulgar game of post and\\npair.\\nAll hailed, with uncontrolled de-\\nlight\\nAnd general voice, the happy night\\nThat to the cottage, as the crown,\\nBrought tidings of salvation down.\\nThe fire, with well -dried logs\\nsupplied, 50\\nWent roaring up the chimney\\nwide;\\nThe huge hall-table s oaken face,\\nScrubbed till it shone, the day to\\ngrace,\\nBore then upon its massive board\\nNo mark to part the squire and\\nlord.\\nThen was brought in the lusty\\nbrawn\\nBy old blue-coated serving-man\\nThen the grim boar s-head frowned\\non high,\\nCrested with bays and rosemary.\\nWell can the green-garbed ranger\\ntell 60\\nHow, when, and where, the mon-\\nster fell,\\nWhat dogs before his death he\\ntore,\\nAnd all the baiting of the boar.\\nThe wassail round, in good brown\\nbowls\\nGarnished with ribbons, blithely\\ntrowls.\\nThere the huge sirloin reeked;\\nhard by", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0199.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "178\\nMARMION\\nPlum-porridge stood and Christ-\\nmas pie\\nNor failed old Scotland to pro-\\nduce\\nAt such high tide her savory\\ngoose. 69\\nThen came the merry maskers in,\\nAnd carols roared with blithesome\\ndin;\\nIf unmelodious was the song,\\nIt was a hearty note and strong.\\nWho lists may in their mumming\\nsee\\nTraces of ancient mystery\\nWhite shirts supplied the masquer-\\nade,\\nAnd smutted cheeks the visors\\nmade;\\nBut oh! what maskers, richly\\ndight,\\nCan boast of bosoms half so light\\nEngland was merry England when\\nOld Christmas brought his sports\\nagain. 81\\nTwas Christmas broached the\\nmightiest ale,\\nT was Christmas told the merriest\\ntale;\\nA Christmas gambol oft could\\ncheer\\nThe poor man s heart through half\\nthe year.\\nStill linger in our northern clime\\nSome remnants of the good old\\ntime,\\nAnd still within our valleys here\\nWe hold the kindred title dear,\\nEven when, perchance, its far-\\nfetched claim 90\\nTo Southron ear sounds empty\\nname\\nFor course of blood, our proverbs\\ndeem,\\nIs warmer than the mountain-\\nstream.\\nAnd thus my Christmas still I hold\\nWhere my great-graudsire came\\nof old,\\nWith amber beard and flaxen hair\\nAnd reverend apostolic air.\\nThe feast and holy-tide to share,\\nAnd mix sobriety with wine,\\nAnd honest mirth with thoughts\\ndivine 100\\nSmall thought was his, in after\\ntime\\nE er to be hitched into a rhyme.\\nThe simple sire could only boast\\nThat he was loyal to his cost,\\nThe banished race of kings re-\\nvered,\\nAnd lost his land, \u00e2\u0080\u0094but kept his\\nbeard.\\nIn these dear halls, where wel-\\ncome kind\\nIs with fair liberty combined,\\nWhere cordial friendship gives the\\nhand,\\nAnd flies constraint the magic\\nwand no\\nOf the fair dame that rules the\\nland,\\nLittle we heed the tempest drear,\\nWhile music, mirth, and social\\ncheer\\nSpeed on their wings the passing\\nyear.\\nAnd Mertoun s halls are fair e en\\nnow,\\nWhen not a leaf is on the bough.\\nTweed loves them well, and turns\\nagain,\\nAs loath to leave the sweet do-\\nmain,\\nAnd holds his mirror to her face,\\nAnd clips her with a close em-\\nbrace: 120\\nGladly as he we seek the dome,\\nAnd as reluctant turn us home.\\nHow just that at this time of\\nglee\\nMy thoughts should, Heber, turn\\nto thee\\nFor many a merry hour we ve\\nknown,\\nAnd heard the chimes of mid-\\nnight s tone,\\nCease, then, my friend 1 a moment\\ncease,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0200.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH\\n179\\nAnd leave these classic tomes in\\npeace\\nOf Roman and of Grecian lore\\nSure mortal brain can hold no\\nmore. 130\\n\u00e2\u0099\u00a6These ancients, as Noll Bluff\\nmight say,\\n1 Were pretty fellows in their day,\\nBut time and tide o er all pre-\\nvail\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nOn Christmas eve a Christmas\\ntale\\nOf wonder and of war 4 Profane\\nWhat! leave the lofty Latian\\nstrain,\\nHer stately prose, her verse s\\ncharms,\\nTo hear the clash of rusty arms\\nIn Fairy-land or Limbo lost,\\nTo jostle conjurer and ghost, 140\\nGoblin and witch! Nay, Heber\\ndear,\\nBefore you touch my charter, hear\\nThough Leyden aids, alas! no\\nmore,\\nMy cause with many-languaged\\nlore,\\nThis may I say in realms of\\ndeath\\nUlysses meets Alcides wraith,\\niEneas upon Thracia s shore\\nThe ghost of murdered Polydore\\nFor omens, we in Livy cross\\nAt every turn locutus Bos. 150\\nAs grave and duly speaks that ox\\nAs if he told the price of stocks,\\nOr held in Rome republican\\nThe place of Common-councilman.\\nAll nations have their omens\\ndrear,\\nTheir legends wild of woe and\\nfear.\\nTo Cambria look\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the peasant see\\nBethink him of Glendowerdy\\nAnd shun the Spirit s Blasted\\nTree.\\nThe Highlander, whose red clay-\\nmore 160\\nThe battle turned on Maida s\\nshore,\\nWill on a Friday morn look pale,\\nIf asked to tell a fairy tale\\nHe fears the vengeful Elfin King,\\nWho leaves that day his grassy\\nring\\nInvisible to human ken,\\nHe walks among the sons of men.\\nDidst e er, dear Heber, pass\\nalong\\nBeneath the towers of Franche*-\\nmont, 169\\nWhich, like an eagle s nest in air,\\nHang o er the stream -and hamlet\\nfair?\\nDeep in their vaults, the peasants\\nsay,\\nA mighty treasure buried lay,\\nAmassed through rapine and\\nthrough wrong\\nBy the last Lord of FranchSniont.\\nThe iron chest is bolted hard,\\nA huntsman sits its constant\\nguard\\nAround his neck his horn is hung,\\nHis hanger in his belt is slung\\nBefore his feet his bloodhounds\\nlie 180\\nAn t were not for his gloomy eye,\\nWhose withering glance no heart\\ncan brook,\\nAs true a huntsman doth he look\\nAs bugle e er in brake did sound,\\nOr ever hallooed to a hound.\\nTo chase the fiend and win the\\nprize\\nIn that same dungeon ever tries\\nAn aged necromantic priest\\nIt is an hundred years at least\\nSince twixt them first the strife\\nbegun, 190\\nAnd neither yet has lost nor won.\\n1 And oft the conjurer s words will\\nmake\\nThe stubborn demon groan and\\nquake\\nAnd oft the bands of iron break,\\nOr bursts one lock that still amain\\nFast as t is opened, shuts again.\\nThat magic strife within the tomb\\nMay last until the day of doom.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0201.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "i8o\\nMARMION\\nUnless the adept shall learn to\\ntell\\nThe very word that clenched the\\nspell 200\\nWhen Franch mont locked the\\ntreasure cell.\\nAn hundred years are passed and\\ngone,\\nAnd scarce three letters has he\\nwon.\\nSuch general superstition may\\nExcuse for old Pitscottie say,\\nWhose gossip history has given\\nMy song the messenger from\\nheaven\\nThat warned, in Lithgow, Scot-\\nland s king,\\nNor less the infernal summoning\\nMay pass the Monk of Durham s\\ntale, 210\\nWhose demon fought in Gothic\\nmail\\nMay pardon plead for Fordun\\ngrave,\\nWho told of Gifford s Goblin-Cave.\\nBut why such instances to you,\\nWho in an instant can renew\\nYour treasured hoards of various\\nlore,\\nAnd furnish twenty thousand\\nmore?\\nHoards, not like theirs whose vol-\\numes rest\\nLike treasures in the Franch mont\\nchest, 219\\nWhile gripple owners still refuse\\nTo others what they cannot use\\nGive them the priest s whole cen-\\ntury,\\nThey shall not spell you letters\\nthree,\\nTheir pleasure in the books the\\nsame\\nThe magpie takes in pilfered\\ngem.\\nThy volumes, open as thy heart,\\nDelight, amusement, science, art,\\nTo every ear and eye impart\\nYet who, of all who thus employ\\nthem,\\nCan like the owner s self enjoy\\nthem?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 230\\nBut, hark! I hear the distant\\ndrum\\nThe day of Flodden Field is\\ncome,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAdieu, dear Heber! life and\\nhealth,\\nAnd store of literary wealth.\\nCANTO SIXTH\\nTHE BATTLE\\nWhile great events were on the\\ngale,\\nAnd each hour brought a varying\\ntale,\\nAnd the demeanor, changed and\\ncold,\\nOf Douglas fretted Marmion bold,\\nAnd, like the impatient steed of\\nwar,\\nHe snuffed the battle from afar,\\nAnd hopes were none that back\\nagain\\nHerald should come from Terou-\\nenne,\\nWhere England s king in leaguer\\nlay,\\nBefore decisive battle-day, 10\\nWhile these things were, the\\nmournful Clare\\nDid in the dame s devotions share\\nFor the good countess ceaseless\\nprayed\\nTo Heaven and saints her sons to\\naid,\\nAnd with short interval did pass\\nFrom prayer to book, from book\\nto mass,\\nAnd all in high baronial pride,\\nA life both dull and dignified\\nYet, as Lord Marmion nothing\\npressed\\nUpon her intervals of rest, 20\\nDejected Clara well could bear\\nThe formal state, the lengthened\\nprayer,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0202.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n81\\nThough dearest to her wounded\\nheart\\nThe hours that she might spend\\napart.\\nii\\nI said Tantallon s dizzy steep\\nHung o er the margin of the deep.\\nMany a rude tower and rampart\\nthere\\nRepelled the insult of the air,\\nWhich, when the tempest vexed\\nthe sky,\\nHalf breeze, half spray, came\\nwhistling by. 30\\nAbove the rest a turret square\\nDid o er its Gothic entrance bear,\\nOf sculpture rude, a stony shield\\nThe Bloody Heart was in the field,\\nAnd in the chief three mullets\\nstood,\\nThe cognizance of Douglas blood.\\nThe turret held a narrow stair,\\nWhich, mounted, gave you access\\nwhere\\nA parapet s embattled row 39\\nDid seaward round the castle go.\\nSometimes in dizzy steps descend-\\ning,\\nSometimes in narrow circuit bend-\\ning,\\nSometimes in .platform broad ex-\\ntending,\\nIts varying circle did combine\\nBulwark, and bartizan, and line,\\nAnd bastion, tower, and vantage-\\ncoign.\\nAbove the booming ocean leant\\nThe far-projecting battlement\\nThe billows burst in ceaseless\\nflow\\nUpon the precipice below. 50\\nWhere er Tantallon faced the land,\\nGate-works and walls were strong-\\nly manned\\nNo need upon the sea-girt side\\nThe steepy rock and frantic tide\\nApproach of human step denied,\\nAnd thus these lines and ramparts\\nrude\\nWere left in deepest solitude.\\nin\\nAnd, for they were so lonely, Clare\\nWould to these battlements re-\\npair, 59\\nAnd muse upon her sorrows there,\\nAnd list the sea-bird s cry,\\nOr slow, like noontide ghost, would\\nglide\\nAlong the dark -gray bulwarks\\nside,\\nAnd ever on the heaving tide\\nLook down with weary eye.\\nOft did the cliff and swelling\\nmain\\nRecall the thoughts of Whitby s\\nfane,\\nA home she ne er might see again\\nFor she had laid adown,\\nSo Douglas bade, the hood and\\nveil, 70\\nAnd frontlet of the cloister pale,\\nAnd Benedictine gown\\nIt were unseemly sight, he said,\\nA novice out of convent shade.\\nNow her bright locks with sunny\\nglow\\nAgain adorned her brow of snow\\nHer mantle rich, whose borders\\nround\\nA deep and fretted broidery\\nbound,\\nIn golden foldings sought the\\nground\\nOf holy ornament, alone 80\\nRemained a cross with ruby stone\\nAnd often did she look\\nOn that which in her hand she\\nbore,\\nWith velvet bound and broidered\\no er,\\nHer breviary book.\\nIn such a place, so lone, so grim,\\nAt dawning pale or twilight dim,\\nIt fearful would have been\\nTo meet a form so richly dressed,\\nWith book in hand, and cross on\\nbreast, 90\\nAnd such a woful mien.\\nFitz-Eustace, loitering with his\\nbow,\\nTo practise on the gull and crow,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0203.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "182\\nMARMION\\nSaw her at distance gliding slow,\\nAnd did by Mary swear\\nSome lovelorn fay she might have\\nbeen,\\nOr in romance some spell-bound\\nqueen,\\nFor ne er in work-day world was\\nseen\\nA form so witching fair. 99\\nIV\\nOnce walking thus at evening tide\\nIt chanced a gliding sail she spied,\\nAnd sighing thought\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The abbess\\nthere\\nPerchance does to her home re-\\npair;\\nHer peaceful rule, where Duty\\nfree\\nWalks hand in hand with Charity,\\nWhere oft Devotion s tranced glow\\nCan such a glimpse of heaven be-\\nstow\\nThat the enraptured sisters see\\nHigh vision and deep mystery,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe very form of Hilda fair, no\\nHovering upon the sunny air\\nAnd smiling on her votaries\\nprayer.\\nOh wherefore to my duller eye\\nDid still the Saint her form deny\\nWas it that, seared by sinful scorn,\\nMy heart could neither melt nor\\nburn?\\nOr lie my warm affections low\\nWith him that taught them first to\\nglow?\\nYet, gentle abbess, well I knew\\nTo pay thy kindness grateful due,\\nAnd well could brook the mild\\ncommand 121\\nThat ruled thy simple maiden\\nband.\\nHow different now, condemned to\\nbide\\nMy doom from this dark tyrant s\\npride\\nBut Marmion has to learn ere long\\nThat constant mind and hate of\\nwrong\\nDescended to a feeble girl\\nFrom Red de Clare, stout Gloster s\\nEarl:\\nOf such a stem a sapling weak,\\nHe ne er shall bend, although he\\nbreak. no\\nBut see what makes this armor\\nhere\\nFor in her path there lay\\nTarge, corselet, helm she viewed\\nthem near.\\n1 The breastplate pierced Ay,\\nmuch 1 fear,\\nWeak fence wert thou gainst foe-\\nman s spear,\\nThat hath made fatal entrance\\nhere,\\nAs these dark blood-gouts say.\\nThus Wilton Oh not corselet s\\nward,\\nNot truth, as diamond pure and\\nhard, 139\\nCould be thy manly bosom s guard\\nOn yon disastrous day\\nShe raised her eyes in mournful\\nmood,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWilton himself before her stood\\nIt might have seemed his passing\\nghost,\\nFor every youthful grace was lost,\\nAnd joy unwonted and surprise\\nGave their strange wildness to his\\neyes.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nExpect not, noble dames and lords,\\nThat I can tell such scene in\\nwords\\nWhat skilful limner e er would\\nchoose 150\\nTo paint the rainbow s varying\\nhues,\\nUnless to mortal it were given\\nTo dip his brush in dyes of heaven\\nFar less can my weak line declare\\nEach changing passion s shade\\nBrightening to rapture from de-\\nspair,\\nSorrow, surprise, and pity there,\\nAnd joy with her angelic air,\\nAnd hope that paints the future\\nfan-, 159", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0204.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n83\\nTheir varying hues displayed\\nEach o er its rival s ground extend-\\ning,\\nAlternate conquering, shifting,\\nblending,\\nTill all fatigued the conflict yield,\\nAnd mighty love retains the field.\\nShortly I tell what then he said,\\nBy many a tender word delayed,\\nAnd modest blush, and bursting\\nsigh,\\nAnd question kind, and fond\\nreply\\nVI\\nDE WILTON S HISTORY\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2Forget we that disastrous day\\nWhen senseless in the lists I lay.\\nThence dragged, \u00e2\u0080\u0094but how I\\ncannot know, 171\\nFor sense and recollection\\nfled,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI found me on a pallet low\\nWithin my ancient beadsman s\\nshed.\\nAustin,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 remember st thou, my\\nClare,\\nHow thou didst blush when the old\\nman,\\nWhen first our infant love began,\\nSaid we would make a matchless\\npair?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMenials and friends and kinsmen\\nfled 179\\nFrom the degraded traitor s bed,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nHe only held my burning head,\\nAnd tended me for many a day\\nWhile wounds and fever held their\\nsway.\\nBut far more needful was his care\\nWhen sense returned to wake de-\\nspair\\nFor I did tear the closing wound,\\nAnd dash me frantic on the\\nground,\\nIf e er I heard the name of Clare.\\nAt length, to calmer reason\\nbrought,\\nMuch by his kind attendance\\nwrought, 190\\nWith him I left my native\\nstrand,\\nAnd, in a palmer s weeds arrayed,\\nMy hated name and form to shade,\\nI journeyed many a land,\\nNo more a lord of rank and birth,\\nBut mingled with the dregs of\\nearth.\\nOft Austin for my reason feared,\\nWhen I would sit, and deeply\\nbrood\\nOn dark revenge and deeds .of\\nblood,\\nOr wild mad schemes upreared.\\nMy friend at length fell sick, and\\nsaid 201\\nGod would remove him soon\\nAnd while upon his dying bed\\nHe begged of me a boon\\nIf e er my deadliest enemy\\nBeneath my brand should con-\\nquered lie,\\nEven then my mercy should awake\\nAnd spare his life for Austin s\\nsake.\\nVII\\nStill restless as a second Cain,\\nTo Scotland next my route was\\nta en, 210\\nFull well the paths I knew.\\nFame of my fate made various\\nsound,\\nThat death in pilgrimage I found.\\nThat I had perished of my\\nwound,\\nXone cared which tale was true\\nAnd living eye could never guess\\nDe Wilton in his palmer s dress,\\nj For now that sable slough is shed.\\nAnd trimmed my shaggy beard and\\nhead,\\nI I scarcely know me in the glass.\\nA chance most wondrous did pro-\\nvide 221\\nThat I should be that baron s\\nguide\\nI will not name his name\\nVengeance to God alone belongs\\nBut, when I think on all my\\nwrongs.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0205.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "184\\nMARMION\\nMy blood is liquid flame\\nAnd ne er the time shall I forget\\nWhen, in a Scottish hostel set,\\nDark looks we did exchange\\nWhat were his thoughts I cannot\\ntell, 230\\nBut in my bosom mustered Hell\\nIts plans of dark revenge.\\nVIII\\nA word of vulgar augury\\nThat broke from me, I scarce knew\\nwhy,\\nBrought on a village tale,\\nWhich wrought upon his moody\\nsprite,\\nAnd sent him armed forth by\\nnight.\\nI borrowed steed and mail\\nAnd weapons from his sleeping\\nband;\\nAnd, passing from a postern\\ndoor, 240\\nWe met and countered, hand to\\nhand,\\nHe fell on Gifford-moor.\\nFor the death-stroke my brand I\\ndrew,\\nOh then my helmed head he\\nknew,\\nThe palmer s cowl was gone,\\nThen had three inches of my blade\\nThe heavy debt of vengeance\\npaid,\\nMy hand the thought of Austin\\nstayed\\nI left him there alone.\\ngood old man even from the\\ngrave 250\\nThy spirit could thy master save\\nIf I had slain my foeman, ne er\\nHad Whitby s abbess in her fear\\nGiven to my hand this packet dear,\\nOf power to clear my injured fame\\nAnd vindicate De Wilton s\\nname.\\nPerchance you heard the abbess\\ntell\\nOf the strange pageantry of hell\\nThat broke our secret speech\\nIt rose from the infernal shade, 260\\nOr featly was some juggle played,\\nA tale of peace to teach.\\nAppeal to Heaven I judged was\\nbest\\nWhen my name came among the\\nrest.\\nIX\\n4 Now here within Tantallon hold\\nTo Douglas late my tale I told,\\nTo whom my house was known of\\nold.\\nWon by my proofs, his falchion\\nbright\\nThis eve anew shall dub me knight.\\nThese were the arms that once did\\nturn 270\\nThe tide of fight on Otterburne,\\nAnd Harry Hotspur forced to yield\\nWhen the Dead Douglas won the\\nfield.\\nThese Angus gave \u00e2\u0080\u0094his armorer s\\ncare\\nEre morn shall every breach re-\\npair\\nFor nought, he said, was in his\\nhalls\\nBut ancient armor on the walls,\\nAnd aged chargers in the stalls,\\nAnd women, priests, and gray-\\nhaired men\\nThe rest were all in Twisel glen. 280\\nAnd now I watch my armor here,\\nBy law of arms, till midnight s\\nnear\\nThen, once again a belted knight,\\nSeek Surrey s camp with dawn of\\nlight.\\nThere soon again we meet, my\\nClare\\nThis baron means to guide thee\\nthere\\nDouglas reveres his king s com-\\nmand,\\nElse would he take thee from his\\nband. 288\\nAnd there thy kinsman Surrey, too,\\nWill give De Wilton justice due.\\nNow meeter far for martial broil,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0206.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n*\u00c2\u00abS\\nFirmer my limbs and strung by\\ntoil,\\nOnce more O Wilton must we\\nthen\\nRisk new-found happiness again,\\nTrust fate of arms once more\\nAnd is there not an humble glen\\nWhere we, content and poor,\\nMight build a cottage in the shade,\\nA shepherd thou, and I to aid\\nThy task on dale and moor?\\nThat reddening brow too well I\\nknow 301\\nNot even thy Clare can peace be-\\nstow\\nWhile falsehood stains thy\\nname:\\nGo then to fight Clare bids thee\\ngo!\\nClare can a warrior s feelings know\\nAnd weep a warrior s shame,\\nCan Red Earl Gilbert s spirit feel,\\nBuckle the spurs upon thy heel\\nAnd belt thee with thy brand of\\nsfceel,\\nAnd send thee forth to fame 3 10\\nXI\\nThat night upon the rocks and bay\\nThe midnight moonbeam slumber-\\ning lay,\\nAnd poured its silver light and\\npure\\nThrough loophole and through\\nembrasure\\nUpon Tantallon tower and hall\\nBut chief where arched windows\\nwide\\nIlluminate the chapel s pride\\nThe sober glances fall.\\nMuch was there need; though\\nseamed with scars,\\nTwo veterans of the Douglas\\nwars, 320\\nThough two gray priests were\\nthere,\\nAnd each a blazing torch held\\nhigh,\\nYou could not by their blaze de-\\nscry\\nThe chapel s carving fair.\\nAmid that dim and smoky light,\\nCheckering the silvery moonshine\\nbright,\\nA bishop by the altar stood,\\nA noble lord of Douglas blood,\\nWith mitre sheen and rochet\\nwhite.\\nYet showed his meek and thought-\\nful eye 330\\nBut little pride of prelacy\\nMore pleased that in a barbarous\\nage\\nHe gave rude Scotland Virgil s\\npage\\nThan that beneath his rule he\\nheld\\nThe bishopric of fair Dunkeld.\\nBeside him ancient Angus stood,\\nDoffed his furred gown and sable\\nhood;\\nO er his huge form and visage pale\\nHe wore a cap and shirt of mail,\\nAnd leaned his large and wrinkled\\nhand 340\\nUpon the huge and sweeping\\nbrand\\nWhich wont of yore in battle fray\\nHis foeman s limbs to shred away,\\nAs wood-knife lops the sapling\\nspray.\\nHe seemed as, from the tombs\\naround\\nRising at judgment-day,\\nSome giant Douglas may be\\nfound\\nIn all his old array 348\\nSo pale his face, so huge his limb,\\nSo old his arms, his look so grim.\\nXII\\nThen at the altar Wilton kneels,\\nAnd Clare the spurs bound on his\\nheels\\nAnd think what next he must have\\nfelt\\nAt buckling of the falchion belt\\nAnd judge how Clara changed\\nher hue\\nWhile fastening to her lover s side\\nA friend, which, though in danger\\ntried,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0207.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "i86\\nMARMION\\nHe once had found untrue\\nThen Douglas struck him with his\\nblade\\n1 Saint Michael and Saint Andrew\\naid, 360\\nI dub thee knight.\\nArise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton s heir\\nFor king, for church, for lady fair,\\nSee that thou fight*\\nAnd Bishop Gawain, as he rose,\\nSaid k Wilton grieve not for thy\\nwoes,\\nDisgrace, and trouble\\nFor He who honor best bestows\\nMay give thee double.\\nDe Wilton sobbed, for sob he\\nmust: 370\\n1 Where er I meet a Douglas, trust\\nThat Douglas is my brother\\nNay, nay, old Angus said, not\\nso;\\nTo Surrey s camp thou now must\\ngo,\\nThy wrongs no longer smother.\\nI have two sons in yonder field\\nAnd, if thou meet st them under\\nshield,\\nUpon them bravely do thy worst,\\nAnd foul fall him that blenches\\nfirst\\nXIII\\nNot far advanced was morning\\nday 380\\nWhen Marmion did his troop ar-\\nray\\nTo Surrey s camp to ride 5\\nHe had safe-conduct for his band\\nBeneath the royal seal and hand,\\nAnd Douglas gave a guide.\\nThe ancient earl with stately grace\\nWould Clara on her palfrey place,\\nAnd whispered in an undertone,\\n1 Let the hawk stoop, his prey is\\nflown.\\nThe train from out the castle\\ndrew, 390\\nBut Marmion stopped to bid adieu\\nThough something I might\\nplain, he said,\\nOf cold respect to stranger guest,\\nSent hither by your king s behest,\\nWhile in Tantallon s towers I\\nstayed,\\nPart we in friendship from your\\nland,\\nAnd, noble earl, receive my\\nhand.\\nBut Douglas round him drew his\\ncloak,\\nFolded his arms, and thus he\\nspoke:\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMy manors, halls, and bowers\\nshall still 400\\nBe open at my sovereign s will\\nTo each one whom he lists, bow-\\ne er\\nUnmeet to be the owner s peer.\\nMy castles are my king s alone,\\nFrom turret to foundation-stone\\nThe hand of Douglas is his own,\\nAnd never shall in friendly grasp\\nThe hand of such as Marmion\\nclasp.\\nXIV\\nBurned Marmion s swarthy cheek\\nlike fire 409\\nAnd shook his very frame for ire,\\nAnd This to me he said,\\nAn t were not for thy hoary\\nbeard,\\nSuch hand as Marmion s had not\\nspared\\nTo cleave the Douglas head\\nAnd first I tell thee, haughty peer,\\nHe who does England s message\\nhere,\\nAlthough the meanest in her state,\\nMay well, proud Angus, be thy\\nmate;\\nAnd, Douglas, more I tell thee\\nhere,\\nEven in thy pitch of pride, 420\\nHere in thy hold, thy vassals\\nnear,\\nNay, never look upon your lord,\\nAnd lay your hands upon your\\nsword,\\nI tell thee, thou rt defied\\nAnd if thou saidst I am not peer\\nTo any lord in Scotland here,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0208.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n187\\nLowland or Highland, far or near,\\nLord Angus, thou hast lied\\nOn the earl s cheek the flush of\\nrage\\nO ercame the ashen hue of age\\nFierce he broke forth, And dar- j\\nest thou then 431\\nTo beard the lion in his den,\\nThe Douglas in his hall?\\nAnd hopest thou hence unscathed\\nto go.?\\nNo, by Saint Bride of Bothwell,\\nno!\\nUp drawbridge, grooms what,\\nwarder, ho\\nLet the portcullis fall.\\nLord Marmion turned, well was\\nhis need,\\nAnd dashed the rowels in his\\nsteed,\\nLike arrow through the archway\\nsprung, 440\\nThe ponderous grate behind him\\nrung\\nTo pass there was such scanty\\nroom,\\nThe bars descending razed his\\nplume.\\nxv\\nThe steed along the drawbridge\\nflies\\nJust as it trembled on the rise\\nNot lighter does the swallow skim\\nAlong the smooth lake s level\\nbrim\\nAnd when Lord Marmion reached\\nhis band,\\nHe halts, and turns with clenched\\nhand,\\nAnd shout of loud defiance pours,\\nAnd shook his gauntlet at the\\ntowers. 451\\nHorse horse the Douglas\\ncried, and chase\\nBut soon he reined his fury s pace\\n4 A royal messenger he came,\\nThough most unworthy of the\\nname.\\nA letter forged! Saint Jude to\\nspeed\\nDid ever knight so foul a deed\\nAt first in heart it liked me ill\\nWhen the king praised his clerkly\\nskill.\\nThanks to Saint Bothan, son of\\nmine, 460\\nSave Gawain, ne er could pen a\\nline;\\nSo swore I, and I swear it still,\\nLet my boy-bishop fret his fill.\\nSaint Mary mend my fiery mood\\nOld age ne er cools the Douglas\\nblood,\\nI thought to slay him where he\\nstood.\\nT is pity of him too, he cried\\n4 Bold can he speak and fairly ride,\\nI warrant him a warrior tried.\\nWith this his mandate he re-\\ncalls, 470\\nAnd slowly seeks his castle halls.\\nXVI\\nThe day in Marmion s journey\\nwore\\nYet, ere his passion s gust was\\no er,\\nThey crossed the heights of Stan-\\nrig-moor.\\nHis troop more closely there he\\nscanned,\\nAnd missed the Palmer from the\\nband.\\n1 Palmer or not, young Blount did\\nsay,\\n1 He parted at the peep of day\\nGood sooth, it was in strange ar-\\nray.\\n1 In what array said Marmion\\nquick. 480\\nMy lord, I ill can spell the trick\\nBut all night long with clink and\\nbang\\nClose to my couch did hammers\\nclang;\\nAt dawn the falling drawbridge\\nrang,\\nAnd from a loophole while I peep.\\nOld Bell-the-Cat came from the\\nkeep,\\nWrapped in a gown of sables fair.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0209.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "1 88\\nMARMION\\nAs fearful of the morning air\\nBeneath, when that was blown\\naside,\\nA rusty shirt of mail I spied. 49 o\\nBy Archibald won in bloody work\\nAgainst the Saracen and Turk\\nLast night it hung not in the hall\\nI thought some marvel would be-\\nfall.\\nAnd next I saw them saddled lead\\nOld Cheviot forth, the earl s best\\nsteed,\\nA matchless horse, though some-\\nthing old,\\nPrompt in his paces, cool and\\nbold.\\nI heard the Sheriff Sholto say\\nThe earl did much the Master\\npray 5\u00c2\u00b0\u00c2\u00b0\\nTo use him on the battle-day,\\nBut he preferred 4 Nay, Henry,\\ncease\\nThou sworn horse-courser, hold\\nthy peace.\\nEustace, thou bear st a brain I\\npray,\\nWhat did Blount see at break of\\nday?\\nXVII\\nIn brief, my lord, we both de-\\nscried\\nFor then I stood by Henry s side\\nThe Palmer mount and outwards\\nride\\nUpon the earl s own favorite\\nsteed.\\nAll sheathed he was in armor\\nbright, 510\\nAnd much resembled that same\\nknight\\nSubdued by you in Cotswold fight\\nLord Angus wished him\\nspeed.\\nThe instant that Fitz- Eustace\\nspoke,\\nA sudden light on Marmion\\nbroke\\n4 Ah dastard fool, to reason lost\\nHe muttered Twas nor fay nor\\nghost\\nI met upon the moonlight wold,\\nBut living.man of earthly mould.\\nO dotage blind and gross 520\\nHad I but fought as wont, one\\nthrust\\nHad laid De Wilton in the dust,\\nMy path no more to cross.\\nHow stand we now he told his\\ntale\\nTo Douglas, and with some avail\\nT was therefore gloomed his\\nrugged brow.\\nWill Surrey dare to entertain\\nGainst Marmion charge disproved\\nand vain\\nSmall risk of that, I trow.\\nYet Clare s sharp questions must I\\nshun, 530\\nMust separate Constance from the\\nnun\\nOh what a tangled web we weave\\nWhen first we practise to deceive\\nA Palmer too no wonder why\\nI felt rebuked beneath his eye\\nI might have known there was\\nbut one\\nWhose look could quell Lord Mar-\\nmion.\\nXVIII\\nStung with these thoughts, he\\nurged to speed\\nHis troop, and reached at eve the\\nTweed,\\nWhere Lennel s convent closed\\ntheir march. 540\\nThere now is left but one frail arch,\\nYet mourn thou not its cells;\\nOur time a fair exchange has\\nmade:\\nHard by, in hospitable shade,\\nA reverend pilgrim dwells,\\nWell worth the whole Bernardine\\nbrood\\nThat e er wore sandal, frock, or\\nhood.\\nYet did Saint Bernard s abbot\\nthere\\nGive Marmion entertainment fair,\\nAnd lodging for his train and\\nClare. 55\u00c2\u00b0", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0210.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n189\\nNext morn the baron climbed the\\ntower,\\nTo view afar the Scottish power,\\nEncamped on Flodden edge\\nThe white pavilions made a show\\nLike remnants of the winter snow\\nAlong the dusky ridge.\\nLong Marmion looked at length\\nhis eye\\nUnusual movement might descry\\nAmid the shifting lines\\nThe Scottish host drawn out ap-\\npears, 560\\nFor, flashing on the hedge of\\nspears,\\nThe eastern sunbeam shines.\\nTheir front now deepening, now\\nextending,\\nTheir flank inclining, wheeling,\\nbending,\\nNow drawing back, and now de-\\nscending,\\nThe skilful Marmion well could\\nknow\\nThey watched the motions of some\\nfoe\\nWho traversed on the plain below.\\nXIX\\nEven so it was. From Flodden\\nridge\\nThe Scots beheld the English\\nhost 570\\nLeave Barmore-wood, their even-\\ning post.\\nAnd heedful watched them as\\nthey crossed\\nThe Till by Twisel Bridge.\\nHigh sight it is and haughty,\\nwhile\\nThey dive into the deep defile\\nBeneath the caverned cliff they\\nfall,\\nBeneath the castle s airy wall.\\nBy rock, by oak, by hawthorn-\\ntree,\\nTroop after troop are disappear-\\ning;\\nTroop after troop their banners\\nrearing 580\\nUpon the eastern bank you see\\nStill pouring down the rocky den\\nWhere flows the sullen Till,\\nAnd rising from the dim-wood\\nglen,\\nStandards on standards, men on\\nmen,\\nIn slow succession still,\\nAnd sweeping o er the Gothic arch,\\nAnd pressing on, in ceaseless\\nmarch,\\nTo gain the opposing hill.\\nThat morn, to many a trumpet\\nclang, 590\\nTwisel thy rock s deep echo rang\\nAnd many a chief of birth and\\nrank,\\nSaint Helen at thy fountain drank.\\nThy hawthorn glade, which now\\nwe see\\nIn spring-tide bloom so lavishly,\\nHad then from many an axe its\\ndoom,\\nTo give the marching columns\\nroom.\\nxx\\nAnd why stands Scotland idly now,\\nDark Flodden on thy airy brow,\\nSince England gains the pass the\\nwhile, 600\\nAnd struggles through the deep\\ndefile\\nW T hat checks the fiery soul of\\nJames\\nWhy sits that champion of the\\ndames\\nInactive on his steed,\\nAnd sees, between him and his\\nland,\\nBetween him and Tweed s south-\\nern strand,\\nHis host Lord Surrey lead?\\nWhat vails the vain knight-er rant s\\nbrand\\nDouglas, for thy leading wand\\nFierce Randolph, for thy speed\\nOh for one hour of Wallace wight,\\nOr well-skilled Bruce, to rule the\\nfight 612\\nAnd cry, Saint Andrew and our\\nright", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0211.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "190\\nMARMION\\nAnother sight had seen that mora,\\nFrom Fate s dark book a leaf been\\ntorn,\\nAnd Flodden had been Bannock-\\nbourne\\nThe precious hour has passed in\\nvain,\\nAnd England s host has gained the\\nplain.\\nWheeling their march and circling\\nstill 619\\nAround the base of Flodden hill.\\nXXI\\nEre yet the bands met Marmion s\\neye,\\nFitz-Eustace shouted loud and\\nhigh,\\nHark hark my lord, an English\\ndrum\\nAnd see ascending squadrons\\ncome\\nBetween Tweed s river and the\\nhill,\\nFoot, horse, and cannon Hap\\nwhat hap,\\nMy basnet to a prentice cap,\\nLord Surrey s o er the Till\\nYet more yet more how fair\\narrayed\\nThey file from out the hawthorn\\nshade, 630\\nAnd sweep so gallant by\\nWith all their banners bravely\\nspread,\\nAnd all their armor flashing high,\\nSaint George might waken from\\nthe dead,\\nTo see fair England s standards\\nfly.\\nStint in thy prate, quoth Blount,\\nthou dst best,\\nAnd listen to our lord s behest.\\nWith kindling brow Lord Marmion\\nsaid,\\nThis instant be our band arrayed\\nThe river must be quickly crossed,\\nThat we may join Lord Surrey s\\nhost. 641\\nIf fight King James, \u00e2\u0080\u0094as well I\\ntrust\\nThat fight he will, and fight he\\nmust,\\nThe Lady Clare behind our lines\\nShall tarry while the battle joins.\\nXXII\\nHimself he swift on horseback\\nthrew,\\nScarce to the abbot bade adieu,\\nFar less would listen to his prayer\\nTo leave behind the helpless Clare.\\nDown to the Tweed his band he\\ndrew, 650\\nAnd muttered as the flood they\\nview,\\n1 The pheasant in the falcon s claw,\\nHe scarce will yield to please a\\ndaw;\\nLord Angus may the abbot awe,\\nSo Clare shall bide with me.\\nThen on that dangerous ford and\\ndeep\\nWhere to the Tweed Leafs eddies\\ncreep\\nHe ventured desperately\\nAnd not a moment will he bide\\nTill squire or groom before him\\nride 660\\nHeadmost of all he stems the tide,\\nAnd stems it gallantly.\\nEustace held Clare upon her horse,\\nOld Hubert led her rein,\\nStoutly they braved the current s\\ncourse,\\nAnd, though far downward driven\\nperforce,\\nThe southern bank they gain.\\nBehind them straggling came to\\nshore,\\nAs best they might, the train\\nEach o er his head his yew-bow\\nbore, 670\\nA caution not in vain\\nDeep need that day that every\\nstring,\\nBy wet unharmed, should sharply\\nring.\\nA moment then Lord Marmion\\nstayed,\\nAnd breathed his steed, his men\\narrayed,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0212.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n191\\nThen forward moved his band,\\nUntil, Lord Surrey s rear-guard\\nwon,\\nHe halted by a cross of stone,\\nThat on a hillock standing lone\\nDid all the field command. 680\\nXXIII\\nHence might they see the full ar-\\nray\\nOf either host for deadly fray j\\nTheir marshalled lines stretched\\neast and west,\\nAnd fronted north and south,\\nAnd distant salutation passed\\nFrom the loud cannon mouth\\nNot in the close successive rattle\\nThat breathes the voice of modern\\nbattle,\\nBut slow and far between.\\nThe hillock gained, Lord Marmion\\nstayed 690\\nHere, by this cross, he gently\\nsaid,\\n1 You well may view the scene.\\nHere shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare\\nOh! think of Marmion in thy\\nprayer\\nThou wilt not? well, no less my\\ncare\\nShall, watchful, for thy weal pre-\\npare.\\nYou, Blount and Eustace, are her\\nguard,\\nWith ten picked archers of my\\ntrain\\nWith England if the day go hard,\\nTo Berwick speed amain. 700\\nBut if we conquer, cruel maid,\\nMy spoils shall at your feet be\\nlaid,\\nWhen here we meet again.\\nHe waited not for answer there,\\nAnd would not mark the maid s\\ndespair,\\nNor heed the discontented look\\nFrom either squire, but spurred\\namain,\\nAnd, dashing through the battle-\\nplain,\\nHis way to Surrey took.\\nxxrv\\nThe good Lord Marmion, by my\\nlife! 710\\nWelcome to danger s hour!\\nShort greeting serves in time of\\nstrife.\\nThus have I ranged my power:\\nMyself will rule this central host,\\nStout Stanley fronts their right,\\nMy sons command the vaward\\npost,\\nWith Brian Tunstall, stainless\\nknight;\\nLord Dacre, with his horsemen\\nlight,\\nShall be in rearward of the fight,\\nAnd succor those that need it\\nmost. 720\\nNow, gallant Marmion, well I\\nknow,\\nWould gladly to the vanguard\\ngo;\\nEdmund, the Admiral, Tunstall\\nthere,\\nWith thee their charge will blithe-\\nly share\\nThere fight thine own retainers\\ntoo\\nBeneath De Burg, thy steward\\ntrue.\\n4 Thanks, noble Surrey Marmion\\nsaid,\\nNor further greeting there he paid,\\nBut, parting like a thunderbolt,\\nFirst in the vanguard made a\\nhalt, 730\\nWhere such a shout there rose\\nOf Marmion Marmion that the\\ncry,\\nUp Flodden mountain shrilling\\nhigh,\\nStartled the Scottish foes.\\nXXV\\nBlount and Fitz-Eustace rested\\nstill\\nWith Lady Clare upon the hill,\\nOn which for far the day was\\nspent\\nThe western sunbeams now were\\nbent;", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0213.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "192\\nMARMION\\nThe cry they heard, its meaning\\nknew,\\nCould plain their distant comrades\\nview 740\\nSadly to Blount did Eustace say,\\nUnworthy office here to stay\\nNo hope of gilded spurs to-day.\\nBut see look up on Flodden bent\\nThe Scottish foe has fired his tent.\\nAnd sudden, as he spoke,\\nFrom the sharp ridges of the hill,\\nAll downward to the banks of Till,\\nWas wreathed in sable smoke.\\nVolumed and vast, and rolling far,\\nThe cloud enveloped Scotland s\\nwar 751\\nAs down the hill they broke\\nNor martial shout, nor minstrel\\ntone,\\nAnnounced their march their\\ntread alone,\\nAt times one warning trumpet\\nblown,\\nAt times a stifled hum,\\nTold England, from his mountain-\\nthrone\\nKing James did rushing come.\\nScarce could they hear or see their\\nfoes 759\\nUntil at weapon-point they close.\\nThey close in clouds of smoke and\\ndust,\\nWith sword-sway and with lance s\\nthrust\\nAnd such a yell was there,\\nOf sudden and portentous birth,\\nAs if men fought upon the earth,\\nAnd fiends in upper air;\\nOh! life and death were in the\\nshout,\\nRecoil and rally, charge and rout,\\nAnd triumph and despair.\\nLong looked the anxious squires\\ntheir eye 770\\nCould in the darkness nought de-\\nscry.\\nXXVI\\nAt length the freshening western\\nblast\\nAside the shroud of battle cast\\nAnd first the ridge of mingled\\nspears\\nAbove the brightening cloud ap-\\npears,\\nAnd in the smoke the pennons\\nflew,\\nAs in the storm the white sea-\\nmew.\\nThen marked they, dashing broad\\nand far,\\nThe broken billows of the war,\\nAnd plumed crests of chieftains\\nbrave 780\\nFloating like foam upon the wave\\nBut nought distinct they see\\nWide raged the battle on the\\nplain\\nSpears shook and falchions flashed\\namain\\nFell England s arrow-flight like\\nrain;\\nCrests rose, and stooped, and rose\\nagain,\\nWild and disorderly.\\nAmid the scene of tumult, high\\nThey saw Lord Marmion s falcon\\nfly;\\nAnd stainless TunstalPs banner\\nwhite, 790\\nAnd Edmund Howard s lion bright,\\nStill bear them bravely in the fight,\\nAlthough against them come\\nOf gallant Gordons many a one,\\nAnd many a stubborn Badenoch-\\nman,\\nAnd many a rugged Border clan,\\nWith Huntly and with Home.\\nXXVII\\nFar on the left, unseen the while,\\nStanley broke Lennox and Ar-\\ngyle,\\nThough there the western moun-\\ntaineer 800\\nRushed with bare bosom on the\\nspear,\\nAnd flung the feeble targe aside,\\nAnd with both hands the broad,\\nsword plied.\\nT was vain. But Fortune, on the\\nright,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0214.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n193\\nWith fickle smile cheered Scot-\\nland s fight.\\nThen fell that spotless banner\\nwhite,\\nThe Howard s lion fell\\nYet still Lord Marinion s falcon\\nflew\\nWith wavering flight, while fiercer\\ngrew\\nAround the battle-yell. 810\\nThe Border slogan rent the sky\\nA Home a Gordon was the cry\\nLoud were the clanging blows\\nAdvanced, forced back, now\\nlow, now high,\\nThe pennon sunk and rose\\nAs bends the bark s-mast in the\\ngale,\\nWhen rent are rigging, shrouds,\\nand sail,\\nIt wavered mid the foes.\\nNo longer Blount the view could\\nbear:\\n1 By heaven and all its saints I\\nswear 820\\nI will not see it lost\\nFitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare\\nMay bid your beads and patter\\nprayer,\\nI gallop to the host.\\nAnd to the fray he rode amain,\\nFollowed by all the archer train.\\nThe fiery youth, with desperate\\ncharge,\\nMade for a space an opening\\nlarge,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe rescued banner rose, 829\\nBut darkly closed the war around,\\nLike pine-tree rooted from the\\nground\\nIt sank among the foes.\\nThen Eustace mounted too, yet\\nstayed,\\nAs loath to leave the helpless\\nmaid,\\nWhen, fast as shaft can fly,\\nBloodshot his eyes, his nostrils\\nspread,\\nThe loose rein dangling from his\\nhead,\\nHousing and saddle bloody red,\\nLord Marmion s steed rushed\\nby;\\nAnd Eustace, maddening at the\\nsight, 840\\nA look and sign to Clara cast\\nTo mark he would return in\\nhaste,\\nThen plunged into the fight.\\nXXYIII\\nAsk me not what the maiden feels,\\nLeft in that dreadful hour alone\\nPerchance her reason stoops or\\nreels\\nPerchance a courage, not her\\nown,\\nBraces her mind to desperate\\ntone.\\nThe scattered van of England\\nwheels\\nShe only said, as loud in air 850\\nThe tumult roared, Is Wilton\\nthere\\nThey fly, or, maddened by de-\\nspair,\\nFight but to die, Is Wilton\\nthere\\nWith that, straight up the hill\\nthere rode\\nTwo horsemen drenched with\\ngore,\\nAnd in their arms, a helpless load,\\nAVounded knight they bore.\\nHis hand still strained the broken\\nbrand\\nHis arms were smeared with blood\\nand sand.\\nDragged from among the horses\\nfeet, 860\\nWith dinted shield and helmet\\nbeat,\\nThe falcon crest and plumage\\ngone,\\nCan that be haughty Marmion\\nYoung Blount his armor did un-\\nlace,\\nAnd, gazing on his ghastly face,\\nSaid, By Saint George, he s\\ngone\\nThat spear-wound has our master\\nsped,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0215.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "194\\nMARMION\\nAnd see the deep cut on his head\\nGood-night to Marmion.\\n4 Unnurtured Blount thy brawling\\ncease 870\\nHe opes his eyes, said Eustace;\\n4 peace\\nXXIX\\nWhen, doffed his casque, he felt\\nfree air,\\nAround gan Marmion wildly stare\\nWhere s Harry Blount? Fitz-\\nEustace where\\nLinger ye here, ye hearts of hare\\nRedeem my pennon, charge\\nagain\\nCry, Marmion to the rescue\\nVain!\\nLast of my race, on battle-plain\\nThat shout shall ne er be heard\\nagain\\nYet my last thought is England s\\nfly, 880\\nTo Dacre bear my signet-ring\\nTell him his squadrons up to\\nbring.\\nFitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie\\nTunstall lies dead upon the field,\\nHis lifeblood stains the spotless\\nshield\\nEdmund is down my life is reft\\nThe Admiral alone is left.\\nLet Stanley charge with spur of\\nfire,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWith Chester charge, and Lanca-\\nshire,\\nFull upon Scotland s central host,\\nOr victory and England s lost.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 8qi\\nMust I bid twice hence, var-\\nlets fly\\nLeave Marmion here alone to\\ndie.\\nThey parted, and alone he lay\\nClare drew her from the sight\\naway,\\nTill pain wrung forth a lowlymoan,\\nAnd half he murmured, Is there\\nnone\\nOf all my halls have nurst,\\nPage, squire, or groom, one cup to\\nbring\\nOf blessed water from the spring,\\nTo slake my dying thirst 901\\nXXX\\nO Woman in our hours of ease\\nUncertain, coy, and hard to please,\\nAnd variable as the shade\\nBy the light quivering aspen made\\nWhen pain and anguish wring the\\nbrow,\\nA ministering angel thou\\nScarce were the piteous accents\\nsaid,\\nWhen with the baron s casque the\\nmaid\\nTo the nigh streamlet ran: 910\\nForgot were hatred, wrongs, and\\nfears\\nThe plaintive voice alone she\\nhears,\\nSees but the dying man.\\nShe stooped her by the runnel s\\nside,\\nBut in abhorrence backward\\ndrew;\\nFor, oozing from the mountain s\\nside\\nWhere raged the war, a dark-red\\ntide\\nWas curdling in the streamlet\\nblue.\\nWhere shall she turn?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 behold\\nher mark\\nA little fountain cell, 920\\nWhere water, clear as diamond-\\nspark,\\nIn a stone basin fell.\\nAbove, some half-worn letters say,\\nBrink, foears. pilgrim. Drink, ano,\\npran.\\njfor. tfjc. Stnti. fcoul. of. .StopL (Srrg.\\nraf)o- outlt. tf)ts. cross, ano. torll..\\nShe filled the helm and back she\\nhied,\\nAnd with surprise and joy espied\\nA monk supporting Marmion s\\nhead 929\\nA pious man, whom duty brought\\nTo dubious verge of battle fought,\\nTo shrieve the dying, bless the\\ndead.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0216.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n195\\nXXXI\\nDeep drank Lord Marmion of the\\nwave,\\nAnd, as she stooped his brow to\\nlave\\nIs it the hand of Clare, he said,\\n4 Or injured Constance, bathes my\\nhead\\nThen, as remembrance rose,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSpeak not to me of shrift or\\nprayer\\nI must redress her woes.\\nShort space, few words, are mine\\nto spare 940\\nForgive and listen, gentle\\nClare\\n4 Alas she said, the while,\\nOh think of your immortal weal\\nIn vain for Constance is your\\nzeal;\\nShe died at Holy Isle.\\nLord Marmion started from the\\nground\\nAs light as if he felt no wound,\\nThough in the action burst the\\ntide\\nIn torrents from his wounded\\nside.\\n4 Then it was truth, he said I\\nknew 950\\nThat the dark presage must be\\ntrue.\\nI would the Fiend, to whom be-\\nlongs\\nThe vengeance due to all her\\nwrongs,\\nWould spare me but a day\\nFor wasting fire, and dying groan,\\nAnd priests slain on the altar\\nstone,\\nMight bribe him for delay.\\nIt may not be this dizzy\\ntrance\\nCurse on yon base marauder s\\nlance,\\nAnd doubly cursed my failing\\nbrand I 960\\nA sinful heart makes feeble hand.\\nThen fainting down on earth he\\nsunk,\\nSupported by the trembling monk.\\nXXXII\\nWith fruitless labor Clara bound\\nAnd strove to stanch the gushing\\nwound\\nThe monk with unavailing cares\\nExhausted all the Church s\\nprayers.\\nEver, he said, that, close and near,\\nA lady s voice was in his ear,\\nAnd that the priest he could not\\nhear 970\\nFor that she ever sung,\\n4 In the lost battle, borne down by\\nthe flying,\\nWhere mingles war s rattle with\\ngroans of the dying\\nSo the notes rung.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n4 Avoid thee, Fiend! with cruel\\nhand\\nShake not the dying sinner s\\nsand!\\nOh look, my son, upon yon sign\\nOf the Redeemer s grace divine\\nOh think on faith and bliss\\nBy many a death-bed I have been,\\nAnd many a sinner s parting\\nseen, 981\\nBut never aught like this.\\nThe war, that for a space did fail,\\nNow trebly thundering swelled\\nthe gale,\\nAnd 4 Stanley was the cry.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nA light on Marmion s visage\\nspread,\\nAnd fired his glazing eye\\nWith dying hand above his head\\nHe shook the fragment of his\\nblade,\\nAnd shouted 4 Victory 990\\nCharge, Chester, charge! On,\\nStanley, on\\nWere the last words of Marmion.\\nXXXIII\\nBy this, though deep the evening\\nfell,\\nStill rose the battle s deadly swell,\\nFor still the Scots around their\\nking,\\nUnbroken, fought in desperate\\nring.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0217.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "196\\nMARMION\\nWhere s now their victor vaward\\nwing,\\nWhere Hnntly, and where\\nHome?\\nOh for a blast of that dread horn,\\nOn Fontarabian echoes borne, 1000\\nThat to King Charles did come,\\nWhen Rowland brave, and Olivier,\\nAnd every paladin and peer,\\nOn Roncesvalles died\\nSuch blasts might warn them, not\\nin vain,\\nTo quit the plunder of the slain\\nAnd turn the doubtful day again,\\nWhile yet on Flodden side\\nAfar the Royal Standard flies,\\nAnd round it toils and bleeds and\\ndies 1010\\nOur Caledonian pride\\nIn vain the wish for far away,\\nWhile spoil and havoc mark their\\nway,\\nNear Sibyl s Cross the plunderers\\nstray.\\n1 lady, cried the monk, 6 away\\nAnd placed her on her steed,\\nAnd led her to the chapel fair\\nOf Tilmouth upon Tweed.\\nThere all the night they spent in\\nprayer,\\nAnd at the dawn of morning there\\nShe met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-\\nClare. 102 1\\nXXXIV\\nBut as they left the darkening\\nheath\\nMore desperate grew the strife of\\ndeath.\\nThe English shafts in volleys\\nhailed,\\nIn headlong charge their horse as-\\nsailed\\nFront, flank, and rear, the squad-\\nrons sweep\\nTo break the Scottish circle deep\\nThat fought around their king.\\nBut yet, though thick the shafts as\\nsnow,\\nThough charging knights like\\nwhirlwinds go, 1030\\nThough billmen ply the ghastly\\nblow,\\nUnbroken was the ring\\nThe stubborn spearmen still made\\ngood\\nTheir dark impenetrable wood,\\nEach stepping where his comrade\\nstood\\nThe instant that he fell.\\nNo thought was there of dastard\\nflight;\\nLinked in the serried phalanx\\ntight,\\nGroom fought like noble, squire\\nlike knight,\\nAs fearlessly and well, 1040\\nTill utter darkness closed her wing\\nO er their thin host and wounded\\nking.\\nThen skilful Surrey s sage com-\\nmands\\nLed back from strife his shattered\\nbands\\nAnd from the charge they drew,\\nAs mountain-waves from wasted\\nlands\\nSweep back to ocean blue.\\nThen did their loss his foemen\\nknow\\nTheir king, their lords, their might-\\niest low,\\nThey melted from the field, as\\nsnow, 1050\\nWhen streams are swoln and\\nsouth winds blow,\\nDissolves in silent dew.\\nTweed s echoes heard the cease-\\nless plash,\\nWhile many a broken band\\nDisordered through her currents\\ndash,\\nTo gain the Scottish land\\nTo town and tower, to down and\\ndale,\\nTo tell red Flodden s dismal tale,\\nAnd raise the universal wail.\\nTradition, legend, tune, and song\\nShall many an age that wail pro-\\nlong; 106 1\\nStill from the sire the son shall\\nhear", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0218.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n197\\nOf the stern strife and carnage\\ndrear\\nOf Flodden s fatal field,\\nWhere shivered was fair Scotland s\\nspear\\nAnd broken was her shield\\nXXXV\\nDay dawns upon the mountain s\\nside.\\nThere, Scotland! lay thy bravest\\npride,\\nChiefs, knights, and nobles, many\\na one\\nThe sad survivors all are\\ngone. 1070\\nView not that corpse mistrustfully,\\nDefaced and mangled though it\\nbe;\\nNor to yon Border castle high\\nLook northward with upbraiding\\neye;\\nNor cherish hope in vain\\nThat, journeying far on foreign\\nstrand,\\nThe Royal Pilgrim to his land\\nMay yet return again.\\nHe saw the wreck his rashness\\nwrought\\nReckless of life, he desperate\\nfought, 1080\\nAnd fell on Flodden plain\\nAnd well in death his trusty\\nbrand,\\nFirm clenched within his manly\\nhand,\\nBeseemed the monarch slain.\\nBut oh! how changed since yon\\nblithe night\\nGladly I turn me from the sight\\nUnto my tale again.\\nXXXVI\\nShort is my tale Fitz-Eustace\\ncare\\nA pierced and mangled body bare\\nTo moated Lichfield s lofty\\npile 1090\\nAnd there, beneath the southern\\naisle,\\nA tomb with Gothic sculpture\\nfair\\nDid long Lord Marmion s image\\nbear.\\nNow vainly for its site you look\\nT was levelled when fanatic\\nBrook\\nThe fair cathedral stormed and\\ntook,\\nBut, thanks to Heaven and good\\nSaint Chad,\\nA guerdon meet the spoiler\\nhad\\nThere erst was martial Marmion\\nfound,\\nHis feet upon a couchant\\nhound, 1 100\\nHis hands to heaven upraised\\nAnd all around, on scutcheon rich,\\nAnd tablet carved, and fretted\\nniche,\\nHis arms and feats were\\nblazed.\\nAnd yet, though all was carved so\\nfair,\\nAnd priest for Marmion breathed\\nthe prayer,\\nThe last Lord Marmion lay not\\nthere.\\nFrom Ettrick woods a peasant\\nswain\\nFollowed his lord to Flodden\\nplain,\\nOne of those flowers whom plain-\\ntive lay 1 1 10\\nIn Scotland mourns as wede\\naway\\nSore wounded, Sibyl s Cross he\\nspied,\\nAnd dragged him to its foot, and\\ndied\\nClose by the noble Marmion s\\nside.\\nThe spoilers stripped and gashed\\nthe slain,\\nAnd thus their corpses were mis-\\nta en\\nAnd thus in the proud baron s\\ntomb\\nThe lowly woodsman took the\\nroom.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0219.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "198\\nMARMION\\nXXXVII\\nLess easy task it were to show\\nLord Marmion s nameless grave\\nand low. 1120\\nThey dug his grave e en where he\\nlay,\\nBut every mark is gone\\nTime s wasting hand has done\\naway\\nThe simple Cross of Sibyl Grey,\\nAnd broke her font of stone\\nBut yet from out the little hill\\nOozes the slender springlet still.\\nOft halts the stranger there,\\nFor thence may best his curious\\neye\\nThe memorable field descry 1130\\nAnd shepherd boys repair\\nTo seek the water-flag and rush,\\nAnd rest them by the hazel bush,\\nAnd plait their garlands fair,\\nNor dream they sit upon the grave\\nThat holds the bones of Marmion\\nbrave.\\nWhen thou shalt find the little hill,\\nWith thy heart commune and be\\nstill.\\nIf ever in temptation strong\\nThou left st the right path for the\\nwrong, 1 140\\nIf every devious step thus trod\\nStill led thee further from the\\nroad,\\nDreatf thou to speak presumptu-\\nous doom\\nOn noble Marmion s lowly tomb\\nBut say, 4 He died a gallant\\nknight,\\nWith sword in hand, for England s\\nright\\nXXXVIII\\nI do not rhyme to that dull elf\\nWho cannot image to himself\\nThat all through Flodden s dismal\\nnight\\nWilton was foremost in the\\nfight, 1 150\\nThat when brave Surrey s steed\\nwas slain\\nT was Wilton mounted him again\\nT was Wilton s brand that deep-\\nest hewed\\nAmid the spearmen s stubborn\\nwood\\nUnnamed by Holinshed or Hall,\\nHe was the living soul of all;\\nThat, after fight, his faith made\\nplain,\\nHe won his rank and lands again,\\nAnd charged his old paternal\\nshield\\nWith bearings won on Flodden\\nField. 1 1 60\\nNor sing I to that simple maid\\nTo whom it must in terms be said\\nThat king and kinsmen did agree\\nTo bless fair Clara s constancy;\\nWho cannot, unless I relate,\\nPaint to her mind the bridal s\\nstate,\\nThat Wolsey s voice the blessing\\nspoke,\\nMore, Sands, and Denny, passed\\nthe joke\\nThat bluff King Hal the curtain\\ndrew,\\nAnd Katherine s hand the stocking\\nthrew; 1170\\nAnd afterwards, for many a day,\\nThat it was held enough to say,\\nIn blessing to a wedded pair,\\n1 Love they like Wilton and like\\nClare\\nL ENVOY\\nTO THE READER\\nWhy then a final note prolong,\\nOr lengthen out a closing song,\\nUnless to bid the gentles speed,\\nWho long have listed to my rede?\\nTo statesmen grave, if such may\\ndeign\\nTo read the minstrel s idle strain,\\nSound head, clean hand, and pier-\\ncing wit,\\nAnd patriotic heart as Pitt\\nA garland for the hero s crest,\\nAnd twined by her he loves the\\nbest!", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0220.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE\\n199\\nTo every lovely lady bright,\\nWhat can I wish but faithful\\nknight?\\nTo every faithful lover too,\\nWhat can I wish but lady true\\nAnd knowledge to the studious\\nsage,\\nAnd pillow soft to head of age\\nTo thee, dear school-boy, whom\\nmy lay\\nHas cheated of thy hour of play,\\nLight task and merry holiday\\nTo all, to each, a fair good-\\nnight,\\nAnd pleasing dreams, and slum-\\nbers light\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nTO\\nTHE MOST NOBLE\\nJOHN JAMES, MARQUIS OF ABERCORN,\\nc, c, c,\\nTHIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY\\nTHE AUTHOR\\nARGUMENT\\nThe scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch Katrine,\\nin the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The time of Action includes Six Days,\\nand the transactions of each Day occupy a Canto.\\nCANTO FIRST\\nTHE CHASE\\nHarp of the North that moulder-\\ning long hast hung\\nOn the witch-elm that shades\\nSaint Fillan s spring,\\nAnd down the fitful breeze thy\\nnumbers flung,\\nTill envious ivy did around thee\\ncling,\\nMuffling with verdant ringlet every\\nstring,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMinstrel Harp, still must thine\\naccents sleep\\nMid rustling leaves and fountains\\nmurmuring,\\nStill must thy sweeter sounds\\ntheir silence keep,\\nNor bid a warrior smile, nor teach\\na maid to weep\\nNot thus, in ancient days of Cale-\\ndon, 10\\nWas thy voice mute amid the\\nfestal crowd,\\nWhen lay of hopeless love, or glory\\nwon,\\nAroused the fearful or subdued\\nthe proud.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0221.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "200\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nAt each according pause was\\nheard aloud\\nThine ardent symphony sublime\\nand high\\nFair dames and crested chiefs at-\\ntention bowed\\nFor still the burden of thy min-\\nstrelsy\\nWas Knighthood s dauntless deed,\\nand Beauty s matchless eye.\\nO, wake once more how rude\\nsoe er the hand\\nThat ventures o er thy magic\\nmaze to stray 20\\nO, wake once more though scarce\\nmy skill command\\nSome feeble echoing of thine\\nearlier lay\\nThough harsh and faint, and soon\\nto die away,\\nAnd all unworthy of thy nobler\\nstrain,\\nYet if one heart throb higher at its\\nsway,\\nThe wizard note has not been\\ntouched in vain.\\nThen silent be no more Enchant-\\nress, wake again\\nThe stag at eve had drunk his fill,\\nWhere danced the moon on Mo-\\nnan s rill,\\nAnd deep his midnight lair had\\nmade 30\\nIn lone Glenartney s hazel shade\\nBut when the sun his beacon red\\nHad kindled on Benvoirlich shead,\\nThe deep-mouthed bloodhound s\\nheavy bay\\nResounded up the rocky way,\\nAnd faint, from farther distance\\nborne,\\nWere heard the clanging hoof and\\nhorn.\\n11\\nAs Chief, who hears his warder\\ncall,\\n4 To arms the foemen storm the\\nwall,\\nThe antlered monarch of the\\nwaste 40\\nSprung from his heathery couch\\nin haste.\\nBut ere his fleet career he took,\\nThe dew-drops from his flanks he\\nshook\\nLike crested leader proud and\\nhigh\\nTossed his beamed frontlet to the\\nsky;\\nA moment gazed adown the dale,\\nA moment snuffed the tainted\\ngale,\\nA moment listened to the cry,\\nThat thickened as the chase drew\\nnigh;\\nThen, as the headmost foes ap-\\npeared, 50\\nWith one brave bound the copse\\nhe cleared,\\nAnd, stretching forward free and\\nfar,\\nSought the wild heaths of Uam-\\nYar.\\n111\\nYelled on the view the opening\\npack;\\nRock, glen, and cavern paid them\\nback;\\nTo many a mingled sound at once\\nThe awakened mountain gave re-\\nsponse.\\nA hundred dogs bayed deep and\\nstrong,\\nClattered a hundred steeds along,\\nTheir peal the merry horns rung\\nout, 60\\nA hundred voices joined the shout\\nWith hark and whoop and wild\\nhalloo,\\nNo rest Benvoirlich s echoes knew.\\nFar from the tumult fled the roe,\\nClose in her covert cowered the\\ndoe,\\nThe falcon, from her cairn on high,\\nCast on the rout a wondering eye,\\nTill far beyond her piercing ken\\nThe hurricane had swept the glen.\\nFaint, and more faint, its failing\\ndin 70", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0222.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE\\n201\\nReturned from cavern, cliff, and\\nlinn,\\nAnd silence settled, wide and still,\\nOn the lone wood and mighty hill.\\nIV\\nLess loud the sounds of sylvan war\\nDisturbed the heights of Uam- Var,\\nAnd roused the cavern where, t is\\ntold,\\nA giant made his den of old\\nFor ere that steep ascent was won,\\nHigh in his pathway hung the sun,\\nAnd many a gallant, stayed per-\\nforce, 80\\nWas fain to breathe his faltering\\nhorse,\\nAnd of the trackers of the deer\\nScarce half the lessening pack was\\nnear;\\nSo shrewdly on the mountain-side\\nHad the bold burst their mettle\\ntried.\\nThe noble stag was pausing now\\nUpon the mountain s southern\\nbrow,\\nWhere broad extended, far be-\\nneath,\\nThe varied realms of fairMenteith.\\nWith anxious eye he wandered\\no er 90\\nMountain and meadow, moss and\\nmoor,\\nAnd pondered refuge from his toil,\\nBy far Lochard or Aberfoyle.\\nBut nearer was the copsewood\\ngray\\nThat waved and wept on Loch\\nAchray,\\nAnd mingled with the pine-trees\\nblue\\nOn the bold cliffs of Benvenue.\\nFresh vigor with the hope re-\\nturned,\\nWith flying foot the heath he\\nspurned,\\nHeld westward with unw r earied\\nrace, 100\\nAnd left behind the panting chase.\\nVI\\nTwere long to tell what steeds\\ngave o er,\\nAs swept the hunt through Cam-\\nbusmore\\nWhat reins were tightened in de-\\nspair,\\nWhen rose Benledi s ridge in air\\nWho flagged upon Bochastle s\\nheath,\\nWho shunned to stem the flooded\\nTeith,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFor twice that day, from shore to\\nshore,\\nThe gallant stag swam stoutly\\no er.\\nFew were the stragglers, following\\nfar, no\\nThat reached the lake of Venna-\\nchar;\\nAnd when the Brigg of Turk was\\nwon,\\nThe headmost horseman rode\\nalone.\\nVII\\nAlone, but with unbated zeal,\\nThat horseman plied the scourge\\nand steel\\nFor jaded now, and spent with toil,\\nEmbossed with foam, and dark\\nwith soil,\\nWhile every gasp with sobs he\\ndrew,\\nThe laboring stag strained full in\\nview.\\nTwo dogs of black Saint Hubert s\\nbreed, 120\\nUnmatched for courage, breath,\\nand speed,\\nFast on his flying traces came,\\nAnd all but won that desperate\\ngame\\nFor, scarce a spear s length from\\nhis haunch,\\nVindictive toiled the bloodhounds\\nstanch\\nNor nearer might the dogs attain,\\nNor farther might the quarry\\nstrain.\\nThus up the margin of the lake,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0223.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "202\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nBetween the precipice and brake,\\nO er stock and rock their race they\\ntake. 130\\nVIII\\nThe Hunter marked that moun-\\ntain high,\\nThe lone lake s western bound-\\nary,\\nAnd deemed the stag must turn to\\nbay,\\nWhere that huge rampart barred\\nthe way\\nAlready glorying in the prize,\\nMeasured his antlers with his eyes\\nFor the death-wound and death-\\nhalloo\\nMustered his breath, his whinyard\\ndrew\\nBut thundering as he came pre-\\npared,\\nWith ready arm and weapon\\nbared, 140\\nThe wily quarry shunned the\\nshock,\\nAnd turned him from the opposing\\nrock;\\nThen, dashing down a darksome\\nglen,\\nSoon lost to hound and Hunter s\\nken,\\nIn the deep Trosachs wildest\\nnook\\nHis solitary refuge took.\\nThere, while close couched the\\nthicket shed\\nCold dews and wild flowers on his\\nhead.\\nHe heard the baffled dogs in vain\\nRave through the hollow pass\\namain, 150\\nChiding the rocks that yelled\\nagain.\\nIX\\nClose on the hounds the Hunter\\ncame,\\nTo cheer them on the vanished\\ngame;\\nBut, stumbling in the rugged dell,\\nThe gallant horse exhausted fell.\\nThe impatient rider strove in vain\\nTo rouse him with the spur and\\nrein,\\nFor the good steed, his labors\\no er,\\nStretched his stiff limbs, to rise no\\nmore;\\nThen, touched with pity and re.\\nmorse, 160\\nHe sorrowed o er the expiring\\nhorse.\\n1 1 little thought, when first thy\\nrein\\nI slacked upon the banks of Seine,\\nThat Highland eagle e er should\\nfeed\\nOn thy fleet limbs, my matchless\\nsteed\\nWoe worth the chase, woe worth\\nthe day,\\nThat costs thy life, my gallant\\ngray\\nThen through the dell his horn\\nresounds,\\nFrom vain pursuit to call the\\nhounds.\\nBack limped, with slow and crip-\\npled pace, 170\\nThe sulky leaders of the chase\\nClose to their master s side they\\npressed,\\nWith drooping tail and humbled\\ncrest\\nBnt still the dingle s hollow throat\\nProlonged the swelling bugle-note.\\nThe owlets started from their\\ndream,\\nThe eagles answered with their\\nscream,\\nRound and around the sounds\\nwere cast,\\nTill echo seemed an answering\\nblast; 179\\nAnd on the Hunter hied his way,\\nTo join some comrades of the day,\\nYet often paused, so strange the\\nroad,\\nSo wondrous were the scenes it\\nshowed.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0224.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE\\n203\\nXI\\nThe western waves of ebbing day\\nRolled o er the glen their level\\nway\\nEach purple peak, each flinty\\nspire,\\nWas bathed in floods of lft ing\\nfire.\\nBut not a setting beam could glow\\nWithin the dark ravines below,\\nWhere twined the path in shadow\\nhid, 190\\nRound many a rocky pyramid,\\nShooting abruptly from the dell\\nIts thunder-splintered pinnacle\\nRound many an insulated mass,\\nThe native bulwarks of the pass,\\nHuge as the tower which builders\\nvain\\nPresumptuous piled on Shinar s\\nplain.\\nThe rocky summits, split and rent,\\nFormed turret, dome, or battle-\\nment,\\nOr seemed fantastically set 200\\nWith cupola or minaret,\\nW r ild crests as pagod ever decked,\\nOr mosque of Eastern architect.\\nNor were these earth-born castles\\nbare,\\nNor lacked they many a banner\\nfair;\\nFor, from their shivered brows\\ndisplayed,\\nFar o er the unfathomable glade,\\nAll twinkling with the dewdrop\\nsheen,\\nThe brier-rose fell in streamers\\ngreen,\\nAnd creeping shrubs of thousand\\ndyes 210\\nWaved in the west-wind s summer\\nsighs.\\nXII\\nBoon nature scattered, free and\\nwild,\\nEach plant or flower, the moun-\\ntain s child.\\nHere eglantine embalmed the air,\\nHawthorn and hazel mingled\\nthere\\nThe primrose pale and violet\\nflower\\nFound in each clift a narrow\\nbower;\\nFoxglove and nightshade, side by\\nside,\\nEmblems of punishment and pride,\\nGrouped their dark hues with\\nevery stain 220\\nThe weather-beaten crags retain.\\nW 7 ith boughs that quaked at every\\nbreath,\\nGray birch and aspen wept be-\\nneath\\nAloft, the ash and warrior oak\\nCast anchor in the rifted rock\\nAnd, higher yet, the pine-tree hung\\nHis shattered trunk, and frequent\\nflung,\\nWhere seemed the cliffs to meet on\\nhigh,\\nHis boughs athwart the narrowed\\nsky.\\nHighest of all, where white peaks\\nglanced, 230\\nWhere glistening streamers waved\\nand danced,\\nThe wanderer s eye could barely\\nview\\nThe summer heaven s delicious\\nblue;\\nSo wondrous wild, the whole might\\nseem\\nThe scenery of a fairy dream.\\nxiir\\nOnward, amid the copse gan peep\\nA narrow inlet, still and deep,\\nAffording scarce such breadth of\\nbrim\\nAs served the wild duck s brood\\nto swim.\\nLost for a space, through thickets\\nveering, 240\\nBut broader when again appear-\\ning,\\nTall rocks and tufted knolls their\\nface\\nCould on the dark-blue mirror\\ntrace\\nAnd farther as the Hunter strayed,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0225.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "204\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nStill broader sweep its channels\\nmade.\\nThe shaggy mounds no longer\\nstood,\\nEmerging from entangled wood,\\nBut, wave-encircled, seemed to\\nfloat,\\nLike castle girdled with its moat\\nYet broader floods extending still\\nDivide them from their parent\\nhill, 251\\nTill each, retiring, claims to be\\nAn islet in an inland sea.\\nXIV\\nAnd now, to issue from the glen,\\nNo pathway meets the wanderer s\\nken,\\nUnless he climb with footing nice\\nA far-projecting precipice.\\nThe broom s tough roots his ladder\\nmade,\\nThe hazel saplings lent their aid\\nAnd thus an airy point he won,\\nWhere, gleaming with the setting\\nsun, 261\\nOne burnished sheet of living\\ngold,\\nLoch Katrine lay beneath him\\nrolled,\\nIn all her length far winding\\nlay,\\nWith promontory, creek, and bay,\\nAnd islands that, empurpled\\nbright,\\nFloated amid the livelier light,\\nAnd mountains that like giants\\nstand\\nTo sentinel enchanted land.\\nHigh on the south, huge Benve-\\nnue 270\\nDown to the lake in masses threw\\nCrags, knolls, and mounds, con-\\nfusedly hurled,\\nThe fragments of an earlier world\\nA wildering forest feathered o er\\nHis ruined sides and summit hoar,\\nWhile on the north, through mid-\\ndle air,\\nBen-an heaved high his forehead\\nbare.\\nxv\\nFrom the steep promontory gazed\\nThe stranger, raptured and\\namazed,\\nAnd, What a scene were here,\\nhe cried, 280\\n1 For princely pomp or church-\\nman s pride\\nOn this bold brow, a lordly tower\\nIn that soft vale, a lady s bower\\nOn yonder meadow far away,\\nThe turrets of a cloister gray\\nHow blithely might the bugle-horn\\nChide on the lake the lingering\\nmorn\\nHow sweet at eve the lover s lute\\nChime when the groves were still\\nand mute\\nAnd when the midnight moon\\nshould lave 290\\nHer forehead in the silver wave,\\nHow solemn on the ear would\\ncome\\nThe holy matins distant hum,\\nWhile the deep peal s commanding\\ntone\\nShould wake, in yonder islet lone,\\nA sainted hermit from his cell,\\nTo drop a bead with every knell\\nAnd bugle, lute, and bell, and\\n\u00c2\u00bball,\\nShould each bewildered stranger\\ncall 299\\nTo friendly feast and lighted hall.\\nxvi\\n4 Blithe were it then to wander\\nhere!\\nBut now beshrew yon nimble\\ndeer\\nLike that same hermit s, thin and\\nspare,\\nThe copse must give my evening\\nfare\\nSome mossy bank my couch must\\nbe,\\nSome rustling oak my canopy.\\nYet pass we that the war and\\nchase\\nGive little choice of resting-\\nplace", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0226.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST THE CHASE\\n205\\nA summer night in greenwood\\nspent 309\\nWere but to-morrow s merriment\\nBut hosts may in these wilds\\nabound,\\nSuch as are better missed than\\nfound\\nTo meet with Highland plunderers\\nhere\\nWere worse than loss of steed or\\ndeer.\\nI am alone my bugle-strain\\nMay call some straggler of the\\ntrain\\nOr, fall the worst that may be-\\ntide,\\nEre now this falchion has been\\ntried.\\nXVII\\nBut scarce again his horn he\\nwound,\\nWhen lo! forth starting at the\\nsound, 320\\nFrom underneath an aged oak\\nThat slanted from the islet rock,\\nA damsel guider of its way,\\nA little skiff shot to the bay,\\nThat round the promontory steep\\nLed its deep line in graceful sweep,\\nEddying, in almost viewless wave,\\nThe weeping willow twig to lave,\\nAnd kiss, with whispering sound\\nand slow,\\nThe beach of pebbles bright as\\nsnow. 330\\nThe boat had touched this silver\\nstrand\\nJust as the Hunter left his stand,\\nAnd stood concealed amid the\\nbrake,\\nTo view this Lady of the Lake.\\nThe maiden paused, as if again\\nShe thought to catch the distant\\nstrain.\\nWith head upraised, and look in-\\ntent,\\nAnd eye and ear attentive bent,\\nAnd locks flung back, and lips\\napart, 339\\nLike monument of Grecian art,\\nIn listening mood, she seemed to\\nstand,\\nThe guardian Naiad of the strand.\\nXVIII\\nAnd ne er did Grecian chisel trace\\nA Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace,\\nOf finer form or lovelier face\\nWhat though the sun, with ardent\\nfrown,\\nHad slightly tinged her cheek with\\nbrown,\\nThe sportive toil, which, short and\\nlight,\\nHad dyed her glowing hue so\\nbright,\\nServed too in hastier swell to\\nshow 350\\nShort glimpses of a breast of\\nsnow\\nWhat though no rule of courtly\\ngrace\\nTo measured mood had trained\\nher pace,\\nA foot more light, a step more\\ntrue,\\nNe er from the heath-flower dashed\\nthe dew\\nE en the slight harebell raised its\\nhead,\\nElastic from her airy tread\\nWhat though upon her speech\\nthere hung\\nThe accents of the mountain\\ntongue,\\nThose silver sounds, so soft, so\\ndear, 360\\nThe listener held his breath to\\nhear\\nXIX\\nA chieftain s daughter seemed the\\nmaid;\\nHer satin snood, her silken plaid,\\nHer golden brooch, such birth be-\\ntrayed.\\nAnd seldom was a snood amid\\nSuch wild luxuriant ringlets hid.\\nWhose glossy black to shame\\nmight bring\\nThe plumage of the raven s wing", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0227.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "206\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nAnd seldom o er a breast so fair\\nMantled a plaid with modest care,\\nAnd never brooch the folds com-\\nbined 371\\nAbove a heart more good and\\nkind.\\nHer kindness and her worth to\\nspy,\\nYou need but gaze on Ellen s eye\\nNot Katrine in her mirror blue\\nGives back the shaggy banks\\nmore true,\\nThan every free-born glance con-\\nfessed\\nThe guileless movements of her\\nbreast\\nWhether joy danced in her dark\\neye,\\nOr woe or pity claimed a sigh, 380\\nOr filial love was glowing there,\\nOr meek devotion poured a prayer,\\nOr tale of injury called forth\\nThe indignant spirit of the North.\\nOne only passion unrevealed\\nWith maiden pride the maid con-\\ncealed,\\nYet not less purely felt the\\nflame\\nO, need I tell that passion s name\\nxx\\nImpatient of the silent horn,\\nNow on the gale her voice was\\nborne:\u00e2\u0080\u0094 390\\nFather she cried the rocks\\naround\\nLoved to prolong the gentle sound.\\nAwhile she paused, no answer\\ncame\\nMalcolm, was thine the blast\\nthe name\\nLess resolutely uttered fell,\\nThe echoes could not catch the\\nswell.\\n4 A stranger I, the Huntsman said,\\nAdvancing from the hazel shade.\\nTke maid, alarmed, with hasty oar\\nPushed her light shallop from the\\nshore, 400\\nAnd when a space was gained be-\\ntween,\\nCloser she drew her bosom s\\nscreen\\nSo forth the startled swan would\\nswing,\\nSo turn to prune his ruffled wing.\\nThen safe, though fluttered and\\namazed,\\nShe paused, and on the stranger\\ngazed.\\nNot his the form, nor his the eye,\\nThat youthful maidens wont to\\nfly.\\nXXI\\nOn his bold visage middle age\\nHad slightly pressed its signet\\nsage, 410\\nYet had not quenched the open\\ntruth\\nAnd fiery vehemence of youth\\nForward and frolic glee was there,\\nThe will to do, the soul to dare,\\nThe sparkling glance, soon blown\\nto fire,\\nOf hasty love or headlong ire.\\nHis limbs were cast in manly\\nmould\\nFor hardy sports or contest bold\\nAnd though in peaceful garb ar-\\nrayed, 419\\nAnd weaponless except his blade,\\nHis stately mien as well implied\\nA high-born heart, a martial pride,\\nAs if a baron s crest he wore,\\nAnd sheathed in armor trode the\\nshore.\\nSlighting the petty need he\\nshowed,\\nHe told of his benighted road\\nHis ready speech flowed fair and\\nfree,\\nIn phrase of gentlest courtesy,\\nYet seemed that tone and gesture\\nbland\\nLess used to sue than to com-\\nmand. 430\\nXXII\\nAwhile the maid the stranger\\neyed,\\nAnd, reassured, at length replied,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0228.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE\\n207\\nThat Highland halls were open\\nstill\\nTo wildered wanderers of the hill.\\nNor think you unexpected come\\nTo yon lone isle, our desert home\\nBefore the heath had lost the dew\\nThis morn, a couch was pulled for\\nyou;\\nOn yonder mountain s purple head\\nHave ptarmigan and heath-cock\\nhied, 440\\nAnd our broad nets have swept\\nthe mere,\\nTo furnish forth your evening\\ncheer.\\nNow, by the rood, my lovely maid,\\nYour courtesy has erred, he said\\n4 No right have I to claim, mis-\\nplaced,\\nThe welcome of expected guest.\\nA wanderer, here by fortune tost,\\nMy way, my friends, my courser\\nlost,\\nI ne er before, believe me, fair,\\nHave ever drawn your mountain\\nair, 450\\nTill on this lake s romantic strand\\nI found a fay in fairy land\\nXXIII\\n4 1 well believe, the maid replied,\\nAs her light skiff approached the\\nside,\\nI I well believe, that ne er before\\nYour foot has trod Loch Katrine s\\nshore\\nBut yet, as far as yesternight,\\nOld Allan bane foretold your\\nplight,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nA gray-haired sire, whose eye in-\\ntent 459\\nWas on the visioned future bent.\\nHe saw your steed, a dappled gray,\\nLie dead beneath the birchen way\\nPainted exact your form and mien,\\nYour hunting-suit of Lincoln green,\\nThat tasselled horn so gayly gilt,\\nThat falchion s crooked blade and\\nhilt,\\nThat cap with heron plumage\\ntrim.\\nAnd yon two hounds so dark and\\ngrim.\\nHe bade that all should ready be\\nTo grace a guest of fair degree\\nBut light I held his prophecy, 471\\nAnd deemed it was my father s\\nhorn\\nWhose echoes o er the lake were\\nborne.\\nXXIV\\nThe stranger smiled Since to\\nyour home\\nA destined errant-knight I come,\\nAnnounced by prophet sooth and\\nold,\\nDoomed, doubtless, for achieve-\\nment bold,\\nI 11 lightly front each high emprise\\nFor one kind glance of those bright\\neyes. 479\\nPermit me first the task to guide\\nYour fairy frigate o er the tide.\\nThe maid, with smile suppressed\\nand sly,\\nThe toil unwonted saw him try,\\nFor seldom, sure, if e er before,\\nHis noble hand had grasped an\\noar:\\nYet with main strength his strokes\\nhe drew,\\nAnd o er the lake the shallop flew\\nWith heads erect and whimpering\\ncry,\\nThe hounds behind their passage\\nply.\\nNor frequent does the bright oar\\nbreak 490\\nThe darkening mirror of the lake,\\nUntil the rocky isle they reach,\\nAnd moor their shallop on the\\nbeach.\\nXXV\\nThe stranger viewed the shore\\naround\\nT was all so close with copsewood\\nbound,\\nNor track nor pathway might de-\\nclare\\nThat human foot frequented there,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0229.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "208\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nUntil the mountain maiden showed\\nA clambering unsuspected road,\\nThat winded through the tangled\\nscreen, 5 oo\\nAnd opened on a narrow green,\\nWhere weeping birch and willow\\nround\\nWith their long fibres swept the\\nground.\\nHere, for retreat in dangerous\\nhour,\\nSome chief had framed a rustic\\nbower.\\nxxvi\\nIt was a lodge of ample size,\\nBut strange of structure and de-\\nvice;\\nOf such materials as around\\nThe workman s hand had readiest\\nfound.\\nLopped of their boughs, their hoar\\ntrunks bared, 510\\nAnd by the hatchet rudely squared.\\nTo give the walls their destined\\nheight,\\nThe sturdy oak and ash unite\\nWhile moss and clay and leaves\\ncombined\\nTo fence each crevice from the\\nwind.\\nThe lighter pine-trees overhead\\nTheir slender length for rafters\\nspread,\\nAnd withered heath and rushes\\ndry\\nSupplied a russet canopy.\\nDue westward, fronting to the\\ngreen, 520\\nA rural portico was seen,\\nAloft on native pillars borne,\\nOf mountain fir with bark unshorn,\\nWhere Ellen s hand had taught to\\ntwine\\nThe ivy and Idaean vine,\\nThe clematis, the favored flower\\nWhich boasts the name of virgin-\\nbower,\\nAnd every hardy plant could bear\\nLoch Katrine s keen and search-\\ning air.\\nAn\\ninstant in this porch she\\nstayed, 530\\nAnd gayly to the stranger said\\n1 On heaven and on thy lady call,\\nAnd enter the enchanted hall\\nXXVII\\nMy hope, my heaven, my trust\\nmust be,\\nMy gentle guide, in following\\nthee!\\nHe crossed the threshold, and a\\nclang\\nOf angry steel that instant rang.\\nTo his bold brow his spirit rushed,\\nBut soon for vain alarm he blushed,\\nWhen on the floor he saw dis-\\nplayed, 540\\nCause of the din, a naked blade\\nDropped from the sheath, that\\ncareless flung\\nUpon a stag s huge antlers swung;\\nFor all around, the walls to grace,\\nHung trophies of the fight or\\nchase\\nA target there, a bugle here,\\nA battle-axe, a hunting-spear,\\nAnd broadswords, bows, and ar-\\nrows store,\\nWith the tusked trophies of the\\nboar.\\nHere grins the wolf as when he\\ndied, 550\\nAnd there the wild-cat s brindled\\nhide\\nThe frontlet of the elk adorns,\\nOr mantles o er the bison s horns\\nPennons and flags defaced and\\nstained,\\nThat blackening streaks of blood\\nretained,\\nAnd deer-skins, dappled, dun, and\\nwhite,\\nWith otter s fur and seal s unite,\\nIn rude and uncouth tapestry all,\\nTo garnish forth the sylvan hall.\\nXXVIII\\nThe wondering stranger round him\\ngazed, 560", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0230.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE\\n209\\nAnd next the fallen weapon\\nraised\\nFew were the arms whose sinewy\\nstrength\\nSufficed to stretch it forth at\\nlength.\\nAnd as the brand he poised and\\nswayed,\\nI never knew but one, be said,\\nWhose stalwart arm might brook\\nto wield\\nA blade like this in battle-field.\\nShe sighed, then smiled and took\\nthe word\\nYou see the guardian champion s\\nsword 569\\nAs light it trembles in his hand\\nAs in my grasp a hazel wand\\nMy sire s tall form might grace the\\npart\\nOf Ferragus or Ascabart,\\nBut in the absent giant s hold\\nAre women now, and menials old.\\nXXIX\\nThe mistress of the mansion came,\\nMature of age, a graceful dame,\\nWhose easy step and stately port\\nHad well become a princely court,\\nTo whom, though more than kin-\\ndred knew, 580\\nYoung Ellen gave a mother s\\ndue.\\nMeet welcome to her guest she\\nmade,\\nAnd every courteous rite was paid,\\nThat hospitality could claim,\\nThough all unasked his birth and\\nname.\\nSuch then the reverence to a guest,\\nThat fellest foe might join the\\nfeast,\\nAnd from his deadliest foeman s\\ndoor\\nUnquestioned turn, the banquet\\no er.\\nAt length his rank the stranger\\nnames, 590\\n1 The Knight of Snowdoun, James\\nFitz-James\\nLord of a barren heritage,\\nWhich his brave sires, from age to\\nage,\\nBy their good swords had held with\\ntoil;\\nHis sire had fallen in such tur-\\nmoil,\\nAnd he, God wot, was forced to\\nstand\\nOft for his right with blade in\\nhand.\\nThis morning with Lord Moray s\\ntrain\\nHe chased a stalwart stag in vain,\\nOutstripped his comrades, missed\\nthe deer, 600\\nLost his good steed, and wandered\\nhere.\\nXXX\\nFain would the Knight in turn re-\\nquire\\nThe name and state of Ellen s\\nsire.\\nWell showed the elder lady s mien\\nThat courts and cities she had\\nseen;\\nEllen, though more her looks dis-\\nplayed\\nThe simple grace of sylvan maid,\\nIn speech and gesture, form and\\nface,\\nShowed she was come of gentle\\nrace.\\nT were strange in ruder rank to\\nfind 610\\nSuch looks, such manners, and\\nsuch mind.\\nEach hint the Knight of Snowdoun\\ngave,\\nDame Margaret heard with silence\\ngrave\\nOr Ellen, innocently gay,\\nTurned all inquiry light away\\n1 Weird women we by dale and\\ndown\\nWe dwell, afar from tower and\\ntown.\\nWe stem the flood, we ride the\\nblast,\\nOn wandering knights our spells\\nwe cast", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0231.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "210\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nWhile viewless minstrels touch\\nthe string, 620\\nT is thus our charmed rhymes we\\nsing.\\nShe sung, and still a harp unseen\\nFilled up the symphony between.\\nXXXI\\nSONG\\nSoldier, rest thy warfare o er,\\nSleep the sleep that knows not\\nbreaking\\nDream of battled fields no more,\\nDays of danger, nights of wak-\\ning.\\nIn our isle s enchanted hall,\\nHands unseen thy couch are\\nstrewing,\\nFairy strains of music fall, 630\\nEvery sense in slumber dewing.\\nSoldier, rest thy warfare o er,\\nDream of fighting fields no more\\nSleep the sleep that knows not\\nbreaking,\\nMorn of toil, nor night of waking.\\nNo rude sound shall reach thine\\near,\\nArmor s clang of war -steed\\nchamping,\\nTrump nor pibroch summon here\\nMustering clan or squadron\\ntramping.\\nYet the lark s shrill fife may\\ncome 640\\nAt the daybreak from the fallow,\\nAnd the bittern sound his drum,\\nBooming from the sedgy shallow.\\nRuder sounds shall none be near,\\nGuards nor warders challenge\\nhere,\\nHere s no war-steed s neigh and\\nchamping,\\nShouting clans or squadrons\\nstamping.\\nXXXII\\nShe paused, then, blushing, led\\nthe lay,\\nTo grace the stranger of the day.\\nHer mellow notes awhile pro-\\nlong 650\\nThe cadence of the flowing song,\\nTill to her lips in measured frame\\nThe minstrel verse spontaneous\\ncame.\\nSONG CONTINUED\\nHuntsman, rest! thy chase is\\ndone\\nWhile our slumbrous spells as-\\nsail ye,\\nDream not, with the rising sun,\\nBugles here shall sound reveille*.\\nSleep the deer is in his den j\\nSleep thy hounds are by thee ly-\\ning; 659\\nSleep nor dream in yonder glen\\nHow thy gallant steed lay dy-\\ning.\\nHuntsman, rest! thy chase is\\ndone;\\nThink not of the rising sun,\\nFor at dawning to assail ye\\nHere no bugles sound reveille.\\nXXXIII\\nThe hall was cleared, the stran-\\nger s bed\\nWas there of mountain heather\\nspread.\\nWhere oft a hundred guests had\\nlain,\\nAnd dreamed their forest sports\\nagain.\\nBut vainly did the heath-flower\\nshed 670\\nIts moorland fragrance round his\\nhead;\\nNot Ellen s spell had lulled to\\nrest\\nThe fever of his troubled breast.\\nIn broken dreams the image rose\\nOf varied perils, pains, and woes\\nHis steed now flounders in the\\nbrake,\\nNow sinks his barge upon the\\nlake;\\nNow leader of a broken host,\\nHis standard falls, his honor s\\nlost.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0232.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST: THE CHASE\\n211\\nThen, from my couch may hea-\\nvenly might 680\\nChase that worst phantom of the\\nnight!\\nAgain returned the scenes of j\\nyouth,\\nOf confident, undoubting truth\\nAgain his soul he interchanged\\nWith friends whose hearts were\\nlong estranged.\\nThey come, in dim procession led,\\nThe cold, the faithless, and the\\ndead;\\nAs warm each hand, each brow\\nas gay,\\nAs if they parted yesterday.\\nAnd doubt distracts him at the\\nview, 690\\nO were his senses false or true\\nDreamed he of death or broken\\nvow,\\nOr is it all a vision now\\nXXXIV\\nAt length, with Ellen in a grove\\nHe seemed to walk and speak of\\nlove;\\nShe listened with a blush and I\\nsigh,\\nHis suit was warm, his hopes were\\nhigh.\\nHe sought her yielded hand to\\nclasp,\\nAnd a cold gauntlet met his grasp\\nThe phantom s sex was changed\\nand gone, 700\\nUpon its head a helmet shone\\nSlowly enlarged to giant size,\\nWith darkened cheek and threat-\\nening eyes,\\nThe grisly visage, stern and hoar,\\nTo Ellen still a likeness bore.\\nHe woke, and, panting with af-\\nfright.\\nRecalled the vision of the night.\\nThe hearth s decaying brands\\nwere red,\\nAnd deep and dusky lustre shed,\\nHalf showing, half concealing,\\nall 710\\nThe uncouth trophies of the hall.\\nMid those the stranger fixed his\\neye\\nWhere that huge falchion hung on\\nhigh,\\nAnd thoughts on thoughts, a\\ncountless throng,\\nRushed, chasing countless\\nthoughts along,\\nUntil, the giddy whirl to cure,\\nHe rose and sought the moonshine\\npure.\\nXXXV\\nThe wild rose, eglantine, and\\nbroom\\nWasted around their rich per-\\nfume\\nThe birch-trees wept in fragrant\\nbalm; 720\\nThe aspens slept beneath the\\ncalm\\nThe silver light, with quivering\\nglance,\\nPlayed on the water s still ex-\\npanse,\\nWild were the heart whose pas-\\nsion s sway\\nCould rage beneath the sober ray\\nHe felt its calm, that warrior\\nguest,\\nW T hile thus he communed with his\\nbreast\\nWhy is it, at each turn I trace\\nSome memory of that exiled race\\nCan I not mountain maiden\\nspy, 730\\nBut she must bear the Douglas\\neye?\\nCan I not view a Highland brand,\\nBut it must match the Douglas\\nhand\\nCan I not frame a fevered dream,\\nBut still the Douglas is the theme\\nI ll dream no more, by manly\\nmind\\nNot even in sleep is will resigned.\\nMy midnight orisons said o er,\\n1 11 turn to rest, and dream no\\nmore.\\nHis midnight orisons he told, 740\\nA prayer with every bead of gold,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0233.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "2t\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nConsigned to heaven his cares and\\nwoes,\\nAnd sunk in undisturbed repose,\\nUntil the heath-cock shrilly crew,\\nAnd morning dawned on Benvenue.\\nCANTO SECOND\\nTHE ISLAND\\nAt morn the black-cock trims his\\njetty wing,\\nTis morning prompts the lin-\\nnet s blithest lay,\\nAll Nature s children feel the\\nmatin spring\\nOf life reviving, with reviving\\nday;\\nAnd while yon little bark glides\\ndown the bay,\\nWafting the stranger on his way\\nagain,\\nMorn s genial influence roused a\\nminstrel gray,\\nAnd sweetly o er the lake was\\nheard thy strain,\\nMixed with the sounding harp,\\nwhite-haired Allan-bane\\nii\\nSONG\\nNot faster yonder rowers\\nmight 10\\nFlings from their oars the spray,\\nNot faster yonder rippling bright,\\nThat tracks the shallop s course\\nin light,\\nMelts in the lake away,\\nThan men from memory erase\\nThe benefits of former days\\nThen, stranger, go! good speed\\nthe while,\\nNor think again of the lonely isle.\\nHigh place to thee in royal court,\\nHigh place in battled line, 20\\nGood hawk and hound for sylvan\\nsport\\nWhere beauty sees the brave re-\\nsort,\\nThe honored meed be thine\\nTrue be thy sword, thy friend sin-\\ncere,\\nThy lady constant, kind, and dear,\\nAnd lost in love s and friendship s\\nsmile\\nBe memory of the lonely isle\\nin\\nSONG CONTINUED\\nBut if beneath yon southern sky\\nA plaided stranger roam,\\nWhose drooping crest and stifled\\nsigh, 30\\nAnd sunken cheek and heavy eye,\\nPine for his Highland home\\nThen, warrior, then be thine to\\nshow\\nThe care that soothes a wanderer s\\nwoe;\\nRemember then thy hap ere while,\\nA stranger in the lonely isle.\\nOr if on life s uncertain main\\nMishap shall mar thy sail\\nIf faithful, wise, and brave in vain,\\nWoe, want, and exile thou sustain\\nBeneath the fickle gale 41\\nWaste not a sigh on fortune\\nchanged,\\nOn thankless courts, or friends es-\\ntranged,\\nBut come where kindred worth\\nshall smile,\\nTo greet thee in the lonely isle.\\nIV\\nAs died the sounds upon the tide,\\nThe shallop reached the mainland\\nside,\\nAnd ere his onward way he took,\\nThe stranger cast a lingering look,\\nWhere easily his eye might reach\\nThe Harper on the islet beach, 51\\nReclined against a blighted tree,\\nAs wasted, gray, and worn as he.\\nTo minstrel meditation given,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0234.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND\\n2I 3\\nHis reverend brow was raised to\\nheaven,\\nAs from the rising sun to claim\\nA sparkle of inspiring flame.\\nHis hand, reclined upon the wire,\\nSeemed watching the awakening\\nfire;\\nSo still he sat as those who wait\\nTill judgment speak the doom of\\nfate 6 1\\nSo still, as if no breeze might dare\\nTo lift one lock of hoary hair\\nSo still, as life itself were fled\\nIn the last sound his harp had\\nsped.\\nUpon a rock with lichens wild,\\nBeside him Ellen sat and smiled.\\nSmiled she to see the stately drake\\nLead forth his fleet upon the lake,\\nWhile her vexed spaniel from the\\nbeach 70\\nBayed at the prize beyond his\\nreach?\\nYet tell me, then, the maid who\\nknows,\\nWhy deepened on her cheek the\\nrose\\nForgive, forgive, Fidelity\\nPerchance the maiden smiled to\\nsee\\nYon parting lingerer wave adieu,\\nAnd stop and turn to wave anew\\nAnd, lovely ladies, ere your ire\\nCondemn the heroine of my lyre,\\nShow me the fair would scorn to\\nspy 80\\nAnd prize such conquest of her\\neye!\\nVI\\nWhile yet he loitered on the spot,\\nIt seemed as Ellen marked him\\nnot;\\nBut when he turned him to the\\nglade,\\nOne courteous parting sign she\\nmade;\\nAnd after, oft the knight would\\nsay,\\nThat not when prize of festal day\\nWas dealt him by the brightest\\nfair\\nWho e er wore jewel in her hair,\\nSo highly did his bosom swell 90\\nAs at that simple mute farewell.\\nNow with a trusty mountain-guide,\\nAnd his dark stag-hounds by his\\nside,\\nHe parts, the maid, unconscious\\nstill,\\nWatched him wind slowly round\\nthe hill;\\nBut when his stately form was hid,\\nThe guardian in her bosom chid,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThy Malcolm vain and selfish\\nmaid\\nT was thus upbraiding conscience\\nsaid,\\nNot so had Malcolm idly hung 100\\nOn the smooth phrase of Southern\\ntongue\\nNot so had Malcolm strained his\\neye\\nAnother step than thine to spy.\\n1 Wake, Allan bane, aloud she\\ncried\\nTo the old minstrel by her side,\\nArouse thee from thy moody\\ndream\\nI 11 give thy harp heroic theme,\\nAnd warm thee with a noble\\nname;\\nPour forth the glory of the\\nGraeme\\nScarce from her lip the word had\\nrushed, no\\nWhen deep the conscious maiden\\nblushed\\nFor of his clan, in hall and bower,\\nYoung Malcolm Graeme was held\\nthe flower.\\nYII\\nThe minstrel waked his harp,\\nthree times\\nArose the well known martial\\nchimes,\\nAnd thrice their high heroic pride\\nIn melancholy murmurs died.\\n1 Vainly thou bidst, noble maid,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0235.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "2\u00c2\u00ab4\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nClasping his withered hands, he\\nsaid,\\nVainly thou bidst me wake the\\nstrain, 120\\nThough all unwont to hid in vain.\\nAlas than mine a mightier hand\\nHas tuned my harp, my strings\\nhas spanned\\nI touch the chords of joy, but low\\nAnd mournful answer notes of\\nwoe;\\nAnd the proud march which vic-\\ntors tread\\nSinks in the wailing for the dead.\\nO, well for me, if mine alone\\nThat dirge s deep prophetic tone\\nIf, as my tuneful fathers said, 130\\nThis harp, which erst Saint Modan\\nswayed,\\nCan thus its master s fate foretell,\\nThen welcome be the minstrel s\\nknell\\nVIII\\nBut ah dear lady, thus it sighed,\\nThe eve thy sainted mother died\\nAnd such the sounds which, while\\nI strove\\nTo wake a lay of war or love,\\nCame marring all the festal mirth,\\nAppalling me who gave them birth.\\nAnd, disobedient to my call, 140\\nWailed loud through BothwelPs\\nbannered hall,\\nEre Douglases, to ruin driven,\\nWere exiled from their native\\nheaven.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nO if yet; worse mishap and woe\\nMy master s house must undergo,\\nOr aught but weal to Ellen fair\\nBrood in these accents of despair,\\nNo future bard, sad Harp shall\\nfling\\nTriumph or rapture from thy\\nstring\\nOne short, one final strain shall\\nflow, 150\\nFraught with unutterable woe,\\nThen shivered shall thy fragments\\nlie,\\nThy master cast him down and\\ndie!\\nIX\\nSoothing she answered him As-\\nsuage,\\nMine honored friend, the fears of\\nage;\\nAll melodies to thee are known\\nThat harp has rung or pipe has\\nblown,\\nIn Low 7 land vale or Highland glen,\\nFrom Tweed to Spey what mar-\\nvel, then,\\nAt times unbidden notes should\\nrise, 160\\nConfusedly bound in memory s\\nties,\\nEntangling, as they rush along,\\nThe war-march with the funeral\\nsong?\u00e2\u0080\u0094-\\nSmall ground is now for boding\\nfear;\\nObscure, but safe, we rest us\\nhere.\\nMy sire, in native virtue great,\\nResigning lordship, lands, and\\nstate,\\nNot then to fortune more resigned\\nThan yonder oak might give the\\nwind\\nThe graceful foliage storms may\\nreave, 170\\nThe noble stem they cannot grieve.\\nFor me she stooped, and, look-\\ning round,\\nPlucked a blue harebell from the\\nground,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFor me, whose memory scarce\\nconveys\\nAn image of more splendid days,\\nThis little flower that loves the\\nlea\\nMay well my simple emblem be\\nIt drinks heaven s dew as blithe\\nas rose\\nThat in the King s own garden\\ngrows\\nAnd when I place it in my hair, 180\\nAllan, a bard is bound to swear\\nHe ne er saw coronet so fair*\\nThen playfully the chaplet wild\\nShe wreathed in her dark locks,\\nand smiled.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0236.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND\\n215\\nHer smile, her speech, with win-\\nning sway,\\nWiled the old Harper s mood away.\\nWith such a look as hermits throw,\\nWhen angels stoop to soothe their\\nwoe,\\nHe gazed, till fond regret and\\npride\\nThrilled to a tear, then thus re-\\nplied 190\\n4 Loveliest and best thou little\\nknow st\\nThe rank, the honors, thou hast\\nlost!\\nO, might I live to see thee grace,\\nIn Scotland s court, thy birthright\\nplace,\\nTo see my favorite s step advance\\nThe lightest in the courtly dance,\\nThe cause of every gallant s sigh,\\nAnd leading star of every eye,\\nAnd theme of every minstrel s\\nart,\\nThe Lady of the Bleeding Heart\\nXI\\nFair dreams are these, the maiden\\ncried, 201\\nLight was her accent, yet she\\nsighed,\\n1 Yet is this mossy rock to me\\nWorth splendid chair and canopy\\nNor would my footstep spring\\nmore gay\\nIn courtly dance than blithe strath-\\nspey,\\nNor half so pleased mine ear in-\\ncline\\nTo royal minstrel s lay as thine.\\nAnd then for suitors proud and\\nhigh,\\nTo bend before my conquering\\neye,\u00e2\u0080\u0094- 210\\nThou, flattering bard thyself wilt\\nsay,\\nThat grim Sir Roderick owns its\\nsway.\\nThe Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine s\\npride,\\nThe terror of Loch Lomond s side,\\nWould, at my suit, thou know st,\\ndelay\\nA Lennox foray for a day.\\nXII\\nThe ancient bard her glee re-\\npressed\\n111 hast thou chosen theme for\\njest!\\nFor who, through all this western\\nwild,\\nNamed Black Sir Roderick e er,\\nand smiled? 220\\nIn Holy-Rood a knight he slew\\nI saw, when back the dirk he\\ndrew,\\nCourtiers give place before the\\nstride\\nOf the undaunted homicide\\nAnd since, though outlawed, hath\\nhis hand\\nFull sternly kept his mountain land.\\nWho else dared give ah! woe\\nthe day,\\nThat I such hated truth should\\nsay!\\nThe Douglas, like a stricken deer.\\nDisowned by every noble peer, 230\\nEven the rude refuge we have\\nhere?\\nAlas, this wild marauding Chief\\nAlone might hazard our relief,\\nAnd now thy maiden charms ex-\\npand,\\nLooks for his guerdon in thy hand\\nFull soon may dispensation\\nsought,\\nTo back his suit, from Rome be\\nbrought.\\nThen, though an exile on the hill,\\nThy father, as the Douglas, still\\nBe held in reverence and fear; 240\\nAnd though to Roderick thou rt\\nso dear\\nThat thou mightst guide with\\nsilken thread,\\nSlave of thy will, this chieftaiu\\ndread,\\nYet, O loved maid, thy mirth re-\\nfrain\\nThv hand is on a lion s mane.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0237.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "2l6\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nXIII\\nMinstrel, the maid replied, and\\nhigh\\nHer father s soul glanced from her\\neye,\\nMy debts to Roderick s house I\\nknow 248\\nAll that a mother could bestow\\nTo Lady Margaret s care I owe,\\nSince first an orphan in the wild\\nShe sorrowed o er her sister s\\nchild\\nTo her brave chieftain son, from ire\\nOf Scotland s king who shrouds\\nmy sire,\\nA deeper, holier debt is owed\\nAnd, could I pay it with my blood,\\nAllan! Sir Roderick should com-\\nmand\\nMy blood, my life, but not my\\nhand.\\nRather will Ellen Douglas dwell\\nA votaress in Maronnan s cell 260\\nRather through realms beyond the\\nsea,\\nSeeking the world s cold charity,\\nWhere ne er was spoke a Scottish\\nword,\\nAnd ne er the name of Douglas\\nheard,\\nAn outcast pilgrim will she rove,\\nThan wed the man she cannot love.\\nXIV\\nThou shak st, good friend, thy\\ntresses gray,\\nThat pleading look, what can it\\nsay\\nBut what I own?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I grant him\\nbrave,\\nBut wild as Bracklinn s thundering\\nwave 270\\nAnd generous, save vindictive\\nmood\\nOr jealous transport chafe his\\nblood\\nI grant him true to friendly band,\\nAs his claymore is to his hand\\nBut O that very blade of steel\\nMore mercy for a foe would feel\\nI grant him liberal, .to fling\\nAmong his clan the wealth they\\nbring,\\nWhen back by lake and glen they\\nwind,\\n279\\nAnd in the Lowland leave behind,\\nWhere once some pleasant hamlet\\nstood,\\nA mass of ashes slaked with blood.\\nThe hand that for my father\\nfought\\nI honor, as his daughter ought\\nBut can I clasp it reeking red\\nFrom peasants slaughtered in their\\nshed?\\nNo wildly while his virtues gleam,\\nThey make his passions darker\\nseem,\\nAnd flash along his spirit high,\\nLike lightning o er the midnight\\nsky. 290\\nWhile yet a child, and children\\nknow,\\nInstinctive taught, the friend and\\nfoe,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI shuddered at his brow of gloom,\\nHis shadowy plaid and sable\\nplume\\nA maiden grown, I ill could bear\\nHis haughty mien and lordly air\\nBut, if thou join st a suitor s claim,\\nIn serious mood, to Roderick s\\nname,\\nI thrill with anguish or, if e er\\nA Douglas knew the word, with\\nfear. 300\\nTo change such odious theme were\\nbest,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhat think st thou of our stranger\\nguest?\\nxv\\n1 What think I of him? woe the\\nwhile\\nThat brought such wanderer to\\nour isle\\nThy father s battle-brand, of yore\\nFor Tine-man forged by fairy lore,\\nWhat time he leagued, no longer\\nfoes,\\nHis Border spears with Hotspur s\\nbows,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0238.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND\\n217\\nDid, self-unscabbarded, foreshow\\nTbe footstep of a secret foe. 3 10\\nIf courtly spy hath harbored here,\\nWhat may we for the Douglas\\nfear?\\nWhat for this island, deemed of\\nold\\nClan- Alpine s last and surest hold\\nIf neither spy nor foe, I pray\\nWhat yet may jealous Roderick\\nsay?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNay, wave not thy disdainful\\nhead!\\nBethink thee of the discord dread\\nThat kindled when at Beltane\\ngame\\nThou led st the dance with Mal-\\ncolm Graeme; 320\\nStill, though thy sire the peace re-\\nnewed,\\nSmoulders in Roderick s breast\\nthe feud\\nBeware But hark what sounds\\nare these\\nMy dull ears catch no faltering\\nbreeze,\\nNo weeping birch nor aspens wake,\\nNor breath is dimpling in the lake\\nStill is the canna s hoary beard,\\nYet, by my minstrel faith, I heard\\nAnd hark again some pipe of war\\nSends the bold pibroch from afar.\\nXVI\\nFar up the lengthened lake were\\nspied 331\\nFour darkening specks upon the\\ntide,\\nThat, slow enlarging on the view,\\nFour manned and masted barges\\ngrew,\\nAnd, bearing downwards from\\nGlengyle,\\nSteered full upon the lonely isle\\nThe point of Brianchoil they\\npassed,\\nAnd, to the windward as they cast,\\nAgainst the sun they gave to shine\\nThe bold Sir Roderick s bannered\\nPine. 340\\nNearer and nearer as they bear,\\nSpears, pikes, and axes flash in\\nair.\\nNow might you see the tartans\\nbrave,\\nAnd plaids and plumage dance and\\nwave:\\nNow see the bonnets sink and\\nrise,\\nAs his tough oar the rower plies;\\nSee, flashing at each sturdy stroke,\\nThe wave ascending into smoke\\nSee the proud pipers on the bow,\\nAnd mark the gaudy streamers\\nflOW 350\\nFrom their loud chanters down,\\nand sweep\\nThe furrowed bosom of the deep,\\nAs, rushing through the lake\\namain.\\nThey plied the ancient Highland\\nstrain.\\nXVII\\nEver, as on they bore, more loud\\nAnd louder rung the pibroch proud.\\nAt first the sounds, by distance\\ntame,\\nMellowed along the waters came,\\nAnd, lingering long by cape and\\nbay, 359\\nWailed every harsher note away,\\nThen bursting bolder on the ear,\\nThe clan s shrill Gathering they\\ncould hear,\\nThose thrilling sounds that call\\nthe might\\nOf old Clan-Alpine to the fight.\\nThick beat the rapid notes, as\\nwhen\\nThe mustering hundreds shake the\\nglen,\\nAnd hurrying at the signal dread,\\nThe battered earth returns their\\ntread.\\nThen prelude light, of livelier tone,\\nExpressed their merry marching\\non, 370\\nEre peal of closing battle rose,\\nWith mingled outcry, shrieks, and\\nblows\\nAnd mimic din of stroke and ward,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0239.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "2l8\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nAs broadsword upon target jarred\\nAnd groaning pause, ere yet again,\\nCondensed, the battle yelled\\namain\\nThe rapid charge, the rallying\\nshout,\\nRetreat borne headlong into rout,\\nAnd bursts of triumph, to declare\\nClan-Alpine s conquest all were\\nthere. 380\\nNor ended thus the strain, but\\nslow\\nSunk in a moan prolonged and low,\\nAnd changed the conquering clar-\\nion swell\\nFor wild lament o er those that\\nfell.\\nXVIII\\nThe war-pipes ceased, but lake and\\nhill\\nWere busy with their echoes still\\nAnd, when they slept, a vocal\\nstrain\\nBade their hoarse chorus wake\\nagain,\\nWhile loud a hundred clansmen\\nraise\\nTheir voices in their Chieftain s\\npraise. 390\\nEach boatman, bending to his oar,\\nWith measured sweep the burden\\nbore,\\nIn such wild cadence as the breeze\\nMakes through December s leaf-\\nless trees.\\nThe chorus first could Allan know,\\nRoderick Vich Alpine, ho iroe\\nAnd near, and nearer as they\\nrowed,\\nDistinct the martial ditty flowed.\\nXIX\\nBOAT SONG\\nHail to the Chief who in triumph\\nadvances\\nHonored and blessed be the\\never-green Pine 400\\nLong may the tree, in his banner\\nthat glances,\\nFlourish, the shelter and grace\\nof our line\\nHeaven send it happy dew,\\nEarth lend it sap anew,\\nGayly to bourgeon and broadly\\nto grow,\\nWhile every Highland glen\\nSends our shout back again,\\nRoderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho\\nieroe\\nOurs is no sapling, chance-sown\\nby the fountain,\\nBlooming at Beltane, in winter\\nto fade; 410\\nWhen the whirlwind has stripped\\nevery leaf on the mountain,\\nThe more shall Clan-Alpine ex-\\nult In her shade.\\nMoored in the rifted rock,\\nProof to the tempest s shock,\\nFirmer he roots him the ruder it\\nblow;\\nMenteith and Breadalbane,\\nthen,\\nEcho his praise again,\\n1 Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho\\nieroe\\nxx\\nProudly our pibroch has thrilled\\nin Glen Fruin,\\nAnd Bannochar s groans to our\\nslogan replied 420\\nGlen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are\\nsmoking in ruin,\\nAnd the best of Loch Lomond\\nlie dead on her side.\\nWidow and Saxon maid\\nLong shall lament our raid,\\nThink of Clan-Alpine with fear\\nand with woe;\\nLennox and Leven-glen\\nShake when they hear again,\\nRoderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho\\nieroe\\nRow, vassals, row, for the pride of\\nthe Highlands\\nStretch to your oars for the ever-\\ngreen Pine 430", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0240.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND THE ISLAND\\n219\\nthat the rosebud that graces\\nyon islands\\nWere wreathed in a garland\\naround him to twine\\nO that some seedling gem,\\nWorthy such noble stem,\\nHonored and blessed in their\\nshadow might grow\\nLoud should Clan-Alpine then\\nRing from her deepmost glen,\\nRoderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho\\nieroe\\nXXI\\nWith all her joyful female band\\nHad Lady Margaret sought the\\nstrand. 440\\nLoose on the breeze their tresses\\nflew,\\nAnd high their snowy arms they\\nthrew,\\nAs echoing back with shrill ac-\\nclaim,\\nAnd chorus wild, the Chieftain s\\nname;\\nWhile, prompt to please, with mo-\\nther s art,\\nThe darling passion of his heart,\\nThe Dame called Ellen to the\\nstrand,\\nTo greet her kinsman ere he land\\nCome, loiterer, come a Douglas\\nthou,\\nAnd shun to wreathe a victor s\\nbrow? 450\\nReluctantly and slow, the maid\\nThe unwelcome summoning\\nobeyed,\\nAnd when a distant bugle rung,\\nIn the mid path aside she\\nsprung\\nList, Allan-bane From main-\\nland cast\\n1 hear my father s signal blast.\\nBe ours, she cried, the skiff to\\nguide,\\nAnd waft him from the mountain-\\nside.\\nThen, like a sunbeam, swift and\\nbright,\\nShe darted to her shallop light 460\\nAnd, eagerly while Roderick\\nscanned,\\nFor her dear form, his mother s\\nband,\\nThe islet far behind her lay,\\nAnd she had landed in the bay.\\nXXII\\nSome feelings are to mortals given\\nWith less of earth in them than\\nheaven\\nAnd if there be a human tear\\nFrom passion s dross refined and\\nclear,\\nA tear so limpid and so meek\\nIt would not stain an angel s\\ncheek, 470\\nT is that which pious fathers\\nshed\\nUpon a duteous daughter s head\\nAnd as the Douglas to his breast\\nHis darling Ellen closely pressed,\\nSuch holy drops her tresses\\nsteeped,\\nThough t was an hero s eye that\\nweeped.\\nNor while on Ellen s faltering\\ntongue\\nHer filial welcomes crowded hung,\\nMarked she that fear affection s\\nproof 479\\nStill held a graceful youth aloof\\nNo! not till Douglas named his\\nname,\\nAlthough the youth was Malcolm\\nGraeme.\\nXXIII\\nAllan, with wistful look the while\\nMarked Roderick landing on the\\nisle;\\nHis master piteously he eyed,\\nThen gazed upon the Chieftain s\\npride,\\nThen dashed with hasty hand\\naway\\nFrom his dimmed eye the gather-\\ning spray\\nAnd Douglas, as his hand he laid\\nOn Malcolm s shoulder, kindly\\nsaid 4Q0", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0241.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "220\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\n1 Canst thou, young friend, no\\nmeaning spy\\nIn my poor follower s glistening\\neye?\\nI 11 tell thee he recalls the day\\nWhen in my praise he led the lay\\nO er the arched gate of Bothwell\\nproud,\\nWhile many a minstrel answered\\nloud,\\nWhen Percy s Norman pennon,\\nwon\\nIn bloody field, before me shone,\\nAnd twice ten knights, the least a\\nname 499\\nAs mighty as yon Chief may claim.\\nGracing my pomp, behind me earned\\nYet trust me, Malcolm, not so\\nproud\\nWas I of all that marshalled\\ncrowd,\\nThough the waned crescent owned\\nmy might,\\nAnd in my train trooped lord and\\nknight,\\nThough Blantyre hymned her holi-\\nest lays,\\nAnd Bothwell s bards flung back\\nmy praise,\\nAs when this old man s silent tear,\\nAnd this poor maid s affection\\ndear,\\nA welcome give more kind and\\ntrue 510\\nThan aught my better fortunes\\nknew.\\nForgive, my friend, a father s\\nboast,\\nO, it out-beggars all I lost!\\nXXIV\\nDelightful praise like summer\\nrose,\\nThat brighter in the dew-drop\\nglows,\\nThe bashful maiden s cheek ap-\\npeared,\\nFor Douglas spoke, and Malcolm\\nheard.\\nThe flush of shame-faced joy to\\nhide,\\nThe hounds, the hawk, her cares\\ndivide\\nThe loved caresses of the maid\\nThe dogs with crouch and whim-\\nper paid; 521\\nAnd, at her whistle, on her hand\\nThe falcon took his favorite stand,\\nClosed his dark wing, relaxed his\\neye,\\nNor, though unhooded, sought to\\nfly.\\nAnd, trust, while in such guise she\\nstood,\\nLike fabled Goddess of the wood,\\nThat if a father s partial thought\\nO er weighed her worth and beauty\\naught,\\nWell might the lover s judgment\\nfail 530\\nTo balance with a juster scale\\nFor with each secret glance he\\nstole,\\nThe fond enthusiast sent his soul.\\nXXV\\nOf stature fair, and slender frame,\\nBut firmly knit, was Malcolm\\nGraeme.\\nThe belted plaid and tartan hose\\nDid ne er more graceful limbs dis-\\nclose\\nHis flaxen hair, of sunny hue,\\nCurled closely round his bonnet\\nblue.\\nTrained to the chase, his eagle\\neye 540\\nThe ptarmigan in snow could spy\\nEach pass, by mountain, lake, and\\nheath,\\nHe knew, through Lennox and\\nMenteith\\nYain w r as the bound of dark-brown\\ndoe\\nWhen Malcolm bent his sounding\\nbow,\\nAnd scarce that doe, though winged\\nwith fear,\\nOutstripped in speed the moun-\\ntaineer\\nRight up Ben Lomond could he\\npress, 548", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0242.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND\\n221\\nAnd not a sob his toil confess.\\nHis form accorded with a mind\\nLively and ardent, frank and kind\\nA blither heart, till Ellen came,\\nDid never love nor sorrow tame\\nIt danced as lightsome in his\\nbreast\\nAs played the feather on his crest.\\nYet friends, who nearest knew the\\nyouth,\\nHis scorn of wrong, his zeal for\\ntruth,\\nAnd bards, who saw his features\\nbold\\nWhen kindled by the tales of\\nold,\\nSaid, were that youth to manhood\\ngrown, 560\\nNot long should Roderick Dhu s\\nrenown\\nBe foremost voiced by mountain\\nfame,\\nBut quail to that of Malcolm\\nGraeme.\\nXXVI\\nNow back they wend their watery\\nway,\\nAnd, O my sire did Ellen say,\\n1 Why urge thy chase so far astray\\nAnd why so late returned And\\nwhy\\nThe rest was in her speaking eye.\\nMy child, the chase I follow far,\\nT is mimicry of noble war 570\\nAnd with that gallant pastime reft\\nWere all of Douglas I have left.\\nI met young Malcolm as I strayed\\nFar eastward, in G-lenfinlas shade\\nNor strayed I safe, for all around\\nHunters and horsemen scoured the\\nground.\\nThis youth, though still a royal\\nward,\\nRisked life and land to be my\\nguard,\\nAnd through the passes of the\\nwood\\nGuided my steps, not unpursued\\nAnd Roderick shall his welcome\\nmake, 581\\nDespite old spleen, for Douglas\\nsake.\\nThen must he seek Strath-Endrick\\nglen,\\nNor peril aught for me again.\\nXXVII\\nSir Roderick, who to meet them\\ncame,\\nReddened at sight of Malcolm\\nGraeme,\\nYet, not in action, word, or eye,\\nFailed aught in hospitality.\\nIn talk and sport they whiled\\naway 589\\nThe morning of that summer day\\nBut at high noon a courier light\\nHeld secret parley with the knight,\\nWhose moody aspect soon de-\\nclared\\nThat evil were the news he heard.\\nDeep thought seemed toiling in his\\nhead;\\nl et was the evening banquet made\\nEre he assembled round the flame\\nHis mother, Douglas, and the\\nGraeme,\\nAnd Ellen too then cast around\\nHis eyes, then fixed them on the\\nground, 600\\nAs studying phrase that might\\navail\\nBest to convey unpleasant tale.\\nLong with his dagger s hilt he\\nplayed,\\nThen raised his haughty brow,\\nand said\\nXXVIII\\nShort be my speech;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -nor time\\naffords,\\nNor my plain temper, glozing\\nwords.\\nKinsman and father, if such\\nname\\nDouglas vouchsafe to Roderick s\\nclaim\\nMine honored mother Ellen,\\nwhy,\\nMy cousin, turn away thine\\neye?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 610", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0243.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "22\\\\\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nAnd Graeme, in whom I hope to\\nknow\\nFull soon a noble friend or foe,\\nWhen age shall give thee thy com-\\nmand,\\nAnd leading in thy native land,\\nList all The King s vindictive\\npride\\nBoasts to have tamed the Border-\\nside,\\nWhere chiefs, with hound and\\nhawk who came\\nTo share their monarch s sylvan\\ngame,\\nThemselves in bloody toils were\\nsnared,\\nAnd when the banquet they pre-\\npared, 620\\nAnd wide their loyal portals flung\\nO er their own gateway struggling\\nhung.\\nLoud cries their blood from Meg-\\ngat s mead,\\nFrom Yarrow braes and banks of\\nTweed,\\nWhere the lone streams of Ettrick\\nglide,\\nAnd from the silver Teviot s side\\nThe dales, where martial clans\\ndid ride,\\nAre now one sheep-walk, waste\\nand wide.\\nThis tyrant of the Scottish throne.\\nSo faithless and so ruthless\\nknown, 630\\nNow hither comes his end the\\nsame,\\nThe same pretext of sylvan game.\\nWhat grace for Highland Chiefs,\\njudge ye\\nBy fate of Border chivalry.\\nYet more amid Glenfinlas green,\\nDouglas, thy stately form was\\nseen.\\nThis by espial sure I know\\nYour counsel in the streight I\\nshow.\\nXXIX\\nEllen and Margaret fearfully\\nSought comfort in each other s\\neye, 640\\nThen turned their ghastly look,\\neach one,\\nThis to her sire, that to her son.\\nThe hasty color went and came\\nIn the bold cheek of Malcolm\\nGraeme,\\nBut from his glance it well ap-\\npeared\\nT was but for Ellen that he\\nfeared\\nWhile, sorrowful, but undismayed\\nThe Douglas thus his counsel said\\n1 Brave Roderick, though the tem-\\npest roar,\\nIt may but thunder and pass\\no er 650\\nNor will I here remain an hour,\\nTo draw the lightning on thy\\nbower\\nFor well thou know st, at this gray\\nhead\\nThe royal bolt were fiercest sped.\\nFor thee, who, at thy King s com-\\nmand,\\nCanst aid him with a gallant band,\\nSubmission, homage, humbled\\npride,\\nShall turn the Monarch s wrath\\naside.\\nPoor remnants of the Bleeding\\nHeart,\\nEllen and I will seek apart 660\\nThe refuge of some forest cell,\\nThere, like the hunted quarry,\\ndwell,\\nTill on the mountain and the moor\\nThe stern pursuit be passed and\\no er.\\nXXX\\nNo, by mine honor, Roderick\\nsaid,\\n1 So help me Heaven, and my good\\nblade\\nNo, never Blasted be yon Pine,\\nMy father s ancient crest and mine,\\nIf from its shade in danger part\\nThe lineage of the Bleeding\\nHeart 670\\nHear my blunt speech: grant me\\nthis maid\\nTo wife, thy counsel to mine aid;", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0244.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND\\n223\\nTo Douglas, leagued with Roder-\\nick Dim,\\nWill friends and allies flock enow\\nLike cause of doubt, distrust, and\\ngrief,\\nWill bind to us each Western\\nChief.\\nWhen the loud pipes my bridal\\ntell,\\nThe Links of Forth shall hear the\\nknell,\\nThe guards shall start in Stirling s\\nporch\\nAnd when I light the nuptial\\ntorch, 680\\nA thousand villages in flames\\nShall scare the slumbers of King\\nJames\\nNay, Ellen, blench not thus away,\\nAnd, mother, cease these signs, I\\npray;\\nI meant not all my heat might\\nsay.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSmall need of inroad or of fight,\\nWhen the sage Douglas may\\nunite\\nEach mountain clan in friendly\\nband,\\nTo guard the passes of their land,\\nTill the foiled King from pathless\\nglen 690\\nShall bootless turn him home\\nagain.\\nXXXI\\nThere are who have, at midnight\\nhour,\\nIn slumber scaled a dizzy tower,\\nAnd, on the verge that beetled\\no er\\nThe ocean tide s incessant roar,\\nDreamed calmly out their danger.\\nous dream,\\nTill wakened by the morning\\nbeam;\\nWhen, dazzled by the eastern\\nglow,\\nSuch startler cast his glance be-\\nlow,\\nAnd saw unmeasured depth\\naround, 7 oo\\nAnd heard unintermitted sound,\\nAnd thought the battled fence so\\nfrail,\\nIt waved like cobweb in the gale\\nAmid his senses giddy wheel,\\nDid he not desperate impulse feel\\nHeadlong to plunge himself be-\\nlow,\\nAnd meet the worst his fears fore-\\nshow\\nThus Ellen, dizzy and astound,\\nAs sudden ruin yawned around,\\nBy crossing terrors wildly tossed,\\nStill for the Douglas fearing most,\\nCould scarce the desperate thought\\nwithstand, 712\\nTo buy his safety with her hand.\\nXXXII\\nSuch purpose dread could Mal-\\ncolm spy\\nIn Ellen s quivering lip and eye,\\nAnd eager rose to speak, but ere\\nHis tongue could hurry forth his\\nfear,\\nHad Douglas marked the hectic\\nstrife,\\nWhere death seemed combating\\nwith life\\nFor to her cheek, in feverish flood,\\nOne instant rushed the throbbing\\nblood, 721\\nThen ebbing back, with sudden\\nsway,\\nLeft its domain as wan as clay.\\n4 Roderick, enough enough he\\ncried,\\nMy daughter cannot be thy bride\\nNot that the blush to wooer dear,\\nNor paleness that of maiden fear.\\nIt may not be, forgive her, Chief,\\nNor hazard aught for our relief.\\nAgainst his sovereign, Douglas\\nne er 730\\nWill level a rebellious spear.\\nT was I that taught his youthful\\nhand\\nTo rein a steed and wield a brand\\nI see him yet, the princely boy\\nNot Ellen more my pride and\\njoy;", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0245.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": ":24\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nI love him still, despite my wrongs\\nBy hasty wrath and slanderous\\ntongues.\\nO, seek the grace you well may\\nfind,\\nWithout a cause to mine com-\\nbined\\nXXXIII\\nTwice through the hall the Chief-\\ntain strode 740\\nThe waving of his tartans broad,\\nAnd darkened brow, where\\nwounded pride\\nWith ire and disappointment vied,\\nSeemed, by the torch s gloomy\\nlight,\\nLike the ill Demon of the night,\\nStooping his pinions shadowy\\nsway\\nUpon the nighted pilgrim s way\\nBut, unrequited Love thy dart\\nPlunged deepest its envenomed\\nsmart,\\nAnd Roderick, with thine anguish\\nstung, 750\\nAt length the hand of Douglas\\nwrung,\\nWhile eyes that mocked at tears\\nbefore\\nWith bitter drops were running\\no er.\\nThe death-pangs of long-cherished\\nhope\\nScarce in that ample breast had\\nscope,\\nBut, struggling with his spirit\\nproud,\\nConvulsive heaved its checkered\\nshroud,\\nWhile every sob so mute were\\nall\\nWas heard distinctly through the\\nhall.\\nThe son s despair, the mother s\\nlook, 760\\n111 might the gentle Ellen brook\\nShe rose, and to her side there\\ncame,\\nTo aid her parting steps, the\\nGraeme.\\nxxxiv\\nThen Eoderick from the Douglas\\nbroke\\nAs flashes flame through sable\\nsmoke,\\nKindling its wreaths, long, dark,\\nand low,\\nTo one broad blaze of ruddy glow,\\nSo the deep anguish of despair\\nBurst, in fierce jealousy, to air.\\nWith stalwart grasp his hand he\\nlaid 770\\nOn Malcolm s breast and belted\\nplaid\\n4 Back, beardless boy he sternly\\nsaid,\\nBack, minion! holdst thou thus\\nat naught\\nThe lesson I so lately taught?\\nThis roof, the Douglas, and that\\nmaid,\\nThank thou for punishment de-\\nlayed.\\nEager as greyhound on his game,\\nFiercely with Roderick grappled\\nGraeme.\\nPerish my name, if aught afford\\nIts Chieftain safety save his\\nsword 780\\nThus as they strove their despe-\\nrate hand\\nGriped to the dagger or the brand,\\nAnd death had been\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but Doug-\\nlas rose,\\nAnd thrust between the struggling\\nfoes\\nHis giant strength 4 Chieftains,\\nforego\\nI hold the first who strikes my\\nfoe.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMadmen, forbear your frantic jar\\nWhat is the Douglas fallen so far,\\nHis daughter s hand is deemed the\\nspoil\\nOf such dishonorable broil 790\\nSullen and slowly they unclasp,\\nAs struck with shame, their de-\\nsperate grasp,\\nAnd each upon his rival glared,\\nWith foot advanced and blade half\\nbared.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0246.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND: THE ISLAND\\n225\\nXXXV\\nEre yet the brands aloft were\\nflung,\\nMargaret on Roderick s mantle\\nhung,\\nAnd Malcolm heard his Ellen s\\nscream,\\nAs faltered through terrific dream.\\nThen Roderick plunged in sheath\\nhis sword,\\nAnd veiled his wrath in scornful\\nword 800\\n4 Rest safe till morning; pity t\\nwere\\nSuch cheek should feel the mid-\\nnight air\\nThen mayst thou to James Stuart\\ntell,\\nRoderick will keep the lake and\\nfell,\\nNor lackey with his freeborn clan\\nThe pageant pomp of earthly man.\\nMore would he of Clan-Alpine\\nknow,\\nThou canst our strength and\\npasses show.\\nMalise, what ho his henchman\\ncame\\nGive our safe-conduct to the\\nGraeme/ 810\\nYoung Malcolm answered, calm\\nand bold\\nFear nothing for thy favorite\\nhold;\\nThe spot an angel deigned to\\ngrace\\nIs blessed, though robbers haunt\\nthe place.\\nThy churlish courtesy for those\\nReserve, who fear to be thy foes.\\nAs safe to me the mountain way\\nAt midnight as in blaze of day,\\nThough with his boldest at his\\nback\\nEven Roderick Dhu beset the\\ntrack. 820\\nBrave Douglas,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 lovely Ellen,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nnay,\\nNaught here of parting will I say.\\nEarth does not hold a lonesome\\nglen\\nSo secret but we meet again.\\nChieftain we too shall find an\\nhour,\\nHe said, and left the sylvan bower.\\nXXXVI\\nOld Allan followed to the strand\\nSuch was the Douglas s com-\\nmand\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd anxious told, how, on the\\nmorn,\\nThe stern Sir Roderick deep had\\nsworn, 830\\nThe Fiery Cross should circle o er\\nDale, glen, and valley, down and\\nmoor.\\nMuch were the peril to the Graeme\\nFrom those who to the signal\\ncame;\\nFar up the lake t were safest land,\\nHimself would row him to the\\nstrand.\\nHe gave his counsel to the wind,\\nWhile Malcolm did, unheeding,\\nbind,\\nRound dirk and pouch and broad-\\nsword rolled,\\nHis ample plaid in tightened\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2fold, 840\\nAnd stripped his limbs to such ar-\\nray\\nAs best might suit the watery\\nway,\\nXXXVII\\nThen spoke abrupt Farewell to\\nthee,\\nPattern of old fidelity\\nThe Minstrel s hand he kindly\\npressed,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nO, could I point a place of rest!\\nMy sovereign holds in ward my\\nland,\\nMy uncle leads my vassal band\\nTo tame his foes, his friends to\\naid,\\nPoor Malcolm has but heart and\\nblade. 850\\nYet, if there be one faithful Graeme\\nWho loves the chieftain of his\\nname,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0247.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "226\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nNot long shall honored Douglas\\ndwell\\nLike hunted stag in mountain\\ncell;\\nNor, ere yon pride-swollen robber\\ndare,\\nI may not give the rest to air\\nTell Roderick Dhu I owed him\\nnaught,\\nNot the poor service of a boat,\\nTo waft me to yon mountain-side.\\nThen plunged he in the flashing\\ntide. 860\\nBold o er the flood his head he\\nbore,\\nAnd stoutly steered him from the\\nshore\\nAnd Allan strained his anxious\\neye,\\nFar mid the lake his form to spy,\\nDarkening across each puny\\nwave,\\nTo which the moon her silver\\ngave.\\nFast as the cormorant could skim,\\nThe swimmer plied each active\\nlimb;\\nThen landing in the moonlight\\ndell,\\nLoud shouted of his weal to\\ntell. 870\\nThe Minstrel heard the far halloo,\\nAnd joyful from the shore with-\\ndrew.\\nCANTO THIRD\\nTHE GATHERING\\nTime rolls his ceaseless course.\\nThe race of yore,\\nWho danced our infancy upon\\ntheir knee,\\nAnd told our marvelling boyhood\\nlegends store\\nOf their strange ventures happed\\nby land or sea,\\nHow are they blotted from the\\nthings that be\\nHow few, all weak and withered\\nof their force,\\nWait on the verge of dark eter-\\nnity,\\nLike stranded wrecks, the tide\\nreturning hoarse,\\nTo sweep them from our sight;\\nTime rolls his ceaseless\\ncourse.\\nYet live there still w r ho can re-\\nmember well, 10\\nHow, when a mountain chief his\\nbugle blew,\\nBoth field and forest, dingle, cliff,\\nand dell,\\nAnd solitary heath, the signal\\nknew\\nAnd fast the faithful clan around\\nhim drew,\\nWhat time the warning note was\\nkeenly wound,\\nWhat time aloft their kindred ban-\\nner flew,\\nWhile clamorous w T ar-pipes\\nyelled the gathering sound,\\nAnd while the Fiery Cross glanced,\\nlike a meteor, round.\\n11\\nThe Summer dawn s reflected\\nv hue\\nTo purple changed Loch Katrine\\nblue 20\\nMildly and soft the western breeze\\nJust kissed the lake, just stirred\\nthe trees,\\nAnd the pleased lake, like maiden\\ncoy,\\nTrembled but dimpled not for joy\\nThe mountain -shadows on her\\nbreast\\nWere neither broken nor at rest\\nIn bright uncertainty they lie,\\nLike future joys to Fancy s eye.\\nThe water-lily to the light\\nHer chalice reared of silver\\nbright; 30\\nThe doe awoke, and to the lawn,\\nBegemmed with dew-drops, led\\nher fawn", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0248.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING\\n227\\nThe gray mist left the mountain-\\nside,\\nThe torrent showed its glistening\\npride\\nInvisible in flecked sky\\nThe lark sent down her revelry\\nThe blackbird and the speckled\\nthrush\\nGood-morrow gave from brake and\\nbush\\nIn answer cooed the cushat dove\\nHer notes of peace and rest and\\nlove. 40\\nin\\nNo thought of peace, no thought\\nof rest,\\nAssuaged the storm in Roderick s\\nbreast.\\nWith sheathed broadsword in his\\nhand,\\nAbrupt he paced the islet strand,\\nAnd eyed the rising sun, and laid\\nHis hand on his impatient blade.\\nBeneath a rock, his vassal s care\\nWas prompt the ritual to prepare,\\nWith deep and deathful meaning\\nfraught\\nFor such Antiquity had taught 50\\nWas preface meet, ere yet abroad\\nThe Cross of F ire should take its\\nroad.\\nThe shrinking band stood oft\\naghast\\nAt the impatient glance he cast\\nSuch glance the mountain eagle\\nthrew,\\nAs, from the cliffs of Benvenue,\\nShe spread her dark sails on the I\\nwind,\\nAnd, high in middle heaven re- j\\nclined,\\nWith her broad shadow on the\\nlake,\\nSilenced the warblers of the\\nbrake. 60\\nIV\\nA heap of withered boughs was\\npiled,\\nOf juniper and rowan wild,\\nMingled with shivers from the\\noak,\\nRent by the lightning s recent\\nstroke.\\nBrian the Hermit by it stood,\\nBarefooted, in his frock and hood.\\nHis grizzled beard and matted\\nhair\\nObscured a visage of despair;\\nHis naked arms and legs, seamed\\no er,\\nThe scars of frantic penance\\nbore. 70\\nThat monk, of savage form and\\nface,\\nThe impending danger of his race\\nHad drawn from deepest solitude,\\nFar in Benharrow s bosom rude.\\nNot his the mien of Christian\\npriest,\\nBut Druid s, from the grave re-\\nleased,\\nWhose hardened heart and eye\\nmight brook\\nOn human sacrifice to look\\nAnd much, t was said, of heathen\\nlore\\nMixed in the charms he muttered\\no er. 80\\nThe hallowed creed gave only\\nworse\\nAnd deadlier emphasis of curse.\\nNo peasant sought that Hermit s\\nprayer,\\nHis cave the pilgrim shunned with\\ncare\\nThe eager huntsman knew his\\nbound,\\nAnd in mid chase called off his\\nhound\\nOr if, in lonely glen or strath,\\nThe desert-dweller met his path,\\nHe prayed, and signed the cross\\nbetween, 89\\nWhile terror took devotion s mien.\\nOf Brian s birth strange tales were\\ntold.\\nHis mother watched a midnight\\nfold,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0249.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "228\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nBuilt deep within, a dreary glen,\\nWhere scattered lay the bones of\\nmen\\nIn some forgotten battle slain,\\nAnd bleached by drifting wind and\\nrain.\\nIt might have tamed a warrior s\\nheart\\nTo view such mockery of his art\\nThe knot-grass fettered there the\\nhand\\nWhich once could burst an iron\\nband ioo\\nBeneath the broad and ample\\nbone,\\nThat bucklered heart to fear un-\\nknown,\\nA feeble and a timorous guest,\\nThe fieldfare framed her lowly\\nnest;\\nThere the slow blind worm left his\\nslime\\nOn the fleet limbs that mocked at\\ntime\\nAnd there, too, lay the leader s\\nskull,\\nStill wreathed with chaplet, flushed\\nand full,\\nFor heath-bell with her purple\\nbloom\\nSupplied the bonnet and the\\nplume. no\\nAll night, in this sad glen, the\\nmaid\\nSat shrouded in her mantle s\\nshade\\nShe said no shepherd sought her\\nside,\\nNo hunter s hand her snood un-\\ntied,\\nYet ne er again to braid her hair\\nThe virgin snood did Alice wear\\nGone was her maiden glee and\\nsport,\\nHer maiden girdle all too short,\\nNor sought she, from that fatal\\nnight,\\nOr holy church or blessed rite, 120\\nBut locked her secret in her\\nbreast,\\nAnd died in travail, unconfessed.\\nVI\\nAlone, among his young compeers,\\nWas Brian from his infant years\\nA moody and heart-broken boy,\\nEstranged from sympathy and joy,\\nBearing each taunt which careless\\ntongue\\nOn his mysterious lineage flung.\\nWhole nights he spent by moon-\\nlight pale,\\nTo wood and stream his hap to\\nwail, 130\\nTill, frantic, he as truth received\\nWhat of his birth the crowd be-\\nlieved,\\nAnd sought, in mist and meteor\\nfire,\\nTo meet and know his Phantom\\nSire\\nIn vain, to soothe his wayward\\nfate,\\nThe cloister oped her pitying gate\\nIn vain the learning of the age\\nUnclasped the sable-lettered page\\nEven in its treasures he could find\\nFood for the fever of his mind. 140\\nEager he read whatever tells\\nOf magic, cabala, and spells,\\nAnd every dark pursuit allied\\nTo curious and presumptuous\\npride\\nTill with fired brain and nerves\\no erstrung,\\nAnd heart with mystic horrors\\nwrung,\\nDesperate he sought Benharrow s\\nden,\\nAnd hid him from the haunts of\\nmen.\\nVII\\nThe desert gave him visions wild,\\nSuch as might suit the spectre s\\nchild. 150\\nWhere with black cliffs the tor-\\nrents toil,\\nHe watched the wheeling eddies\\nboil,\\nTill from their foam his dazzled\\neyes\\nBeheld the River Demon rise", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0250.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING\\n229\\nThe mountain mist took form and\\nlimb\\nOf noontide hag or goblin grim\\nThe midnight wind came wild and\\ndread,\\nSwelled with the voices of the\\ndead;\\nFar on the future battle-heath 159\\nHis eye beheld the ranks of death\\nThus the lone Seer, from mankind\\nhurled,\\nShaped forth a disembodied world.\\nOne lingering sympathy of mind\\nStill bound him to the mortal kind\\nThe only parent he could claim\\nOf ancient Alpine s lineage came.\\nLate had he heard, in prophet s\\ndream,\\nThe fatal Ben-Shie s boding\\nscream\\nSounds, too, had come in midnight\\nblast 169\\nOf charging steeds, careering fast\\nAlong Benhar row s shingly side,\\nWhere mortal horseman ne er\\nmight ride\\nThe thunderbolt had split the\\npine,\\nAll augured ill to Alpine s line.\\nHe girt his loins, and came to\\nshow\\nThe signals of impending woe,\\nAnd now stood prompt to bless or\\nban,\\nAs bade the Chieftain of his clan.\\nVIII\\nT was all prepared and from\\nthe rock 179\\nA goat, the patriarch of the flock,\\nBefore the kindling pile was laid,\\nAnd pierced by Roderick s ready\\nblade.\\nPatient the sickening victim eyed\\nThe life-blood ebb in crimson tide\\nDown his clogged beard and\\nshaggy limb,\\nTill darkness glazed his eyeballs\\ndim.\\nThe grisly priest, with murmuring\\nprayer,\\nA slender crosslet framed with\\ncare,\\nA cubit s length in measure due\\nThe shaft and limbs were rods of\\nyew, 190\\nWhose parents in Inch Cailliach\\nwave\\nTheir shadows o er Clan-Alpine s\\ngrave,\\nAnd, answering Lomond s breezes\\ndeep,\\nSoothe many a chieftain s endless\\nsleep.\\nThe Cross thus formed he held on\\nhigh,\\nWith wasted hand and haggard\\neye,\\nAnd strange and mingled feelings\\nwoke,\\nWhile his anathema he spoke\\nIX\\nWoe to the clansman who shall\\nview\\nThis symbol of sepulchral yew, 200\\nForgetful that its branches grew\\nWhere weep the heavens their\\nholiest dew\\nOn Alpine s dwelling low\\nDeserter of his Chieftain s trust,\\nHe ne er shall mingle with their\\ndust,\\nBut, from his sires and kindred\\nthrust,\\nEach clansman s execration just\\nShall doom him wrath and woe.\\nHe paused the word the vassals\\ntook,\\nWith forward step and fiery look,\\nOn high their naked brands they\\nshook, 211\\nTheir clattering targets wildly\\nstrook\\nAnd first in murmur low,\\nThen, like the billow in his course,\\nThat far to seaward finds his\\nsource,\\nAnd flings to shore his mustered\\nforce,\\nBurst with loud roar their answer\\nhoarse,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0251.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "230\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nWoe to the traitor, woe\\nBen-an s gray scalp the accents\\nknew,\\nThe joyous wolf from covert drew,\\nThe exulting eagle screamed\\nafar,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 221\\nThey knew the voice of Alpine s\\nwar.\\nThe shout was hushed on lake and\\nfell,\\nThe Monk resumed his muttered\\nspell\\nDismal and low its accents came,\\nThe while he scathed the Cross\\nwith flame\\nAnd the few words that reached\\nthe air,\\nAlthough the holiest name was\\nthere,\\nHad more of blasphemy than\\nprayer.\\nBut when he shook above the\\ncrowd 230\\nIts kindled points, he spoke\\naloud\\n1 Woe to the wretch who fails to\\nrear\\nAt this dread sign the ready spear\\nFor, as the flames this symbol sear,\\nHis home, the refuge of his fear,\\nA kindred fate shall know\\nFar o er its roof the volumed flame\\nClan-Alpine s vengeance shall pro-\\nclaim,\\nWhile maids and matrons on his\\nname\\nShall call down wretchedness and\\nshame, 240\\nAnd infamy and woe.\\nThen rose the cry of females, shrill\\nAs goshawk s whistle on the hill,\\nDenouncing misery and ill,\\nMingled with childhood s babbling\\ntrill\\nOf curses stammered slow\\nAnswering with imprecation\\ndread,\\nSunk be his home in embers red\\nAnd cursed be the meanest shed\\nThat e er shall hide the houseless\\nhead 250\\nWe doom to want and woe\\nA sharp and shrieking echo gave,\\nCoir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave\\nAnd the gray pass where birches\\nwave\\nOn Beala-nam-bo.\\nXI\\nThen deeper paused the priest\\nanew,\\nAnd hard his laboring breath he\\ndrew,\\nWhile, with set teeth and clenched\\nhand,\\nAnd eyes that glowed like fiery\\nbrand,\\nHe meditated curse more dread,\\nAnd deadlier, on the clansman s\\nhead 261\\nWho, summoned to his chieftain s\\naid,\\nThe signal saw and disobeyed.\\nThe crosslet s points of sparkling\\nwood\\nHe quenched among the bubbling\\nblood,\\nAnd, as again the sign he reared,\\nHollow and hoarse his voice was\\nheard\\nWhen flits this Cross from man\\nto man,\\nVich-Alpine s summons to his clan,\\nBurst be the ear that fails to heed\\nPalsied the foot that shuns to\\nspeed! 271\\nMay ravens tear the careless eyes,\\nWolves make the coward heart\\ntheir prize!\\nAs sinks that blood-stream in the\\nearth,\\nSo may his heart s-blood drench\\nhis hearth\\nAs dies in hissing gore the spark,\\nQuench thou his light, Destruction\\ndark\\nAnd be the grace to him denied,\\nBought by this sign to all beside\\nHe ceased; no echo gave again 280\\nThe murmur of the deep Amen.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0252.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING\\n2M\\nXII\\nThen Roderick with impatient\\nlook\\nFrom Brian s hand the symbol\\ntook:\\nSpeed, Malise, speed he said,\\nand gave\\nThe crosslet to his henchman\\nbrave.\\nThe muster-place be Lanrick\\nmead\\nInstant the time speed, Malise,\\nspeed\\nLike heath-bird, when the hawks\\npursue,\\nA barge across Loch Katrine flew\\nHigh stood the henchman on the\\nprow 290\\nSo rapidly the barge-men row,\\nThe bubbles, where they launched\\nthe boat,\\nWere all unbroken and afloat,\\nDancing in foam and ripple still,\\nWhen it had neared the mainland\\nhill;\\nAnd from the silver beach s side\\nStill was the prow three fathom\\nwide,\\nWhen lightly bounded to the land\\nThe messenger of blood and brand.\\nXIII\\nSpeed, Malise, speed! the dun\\ndeer s hide 300\\nOn fleeter foot was never tied.\\nSpeed, Malise, speed! such cause\\nof haste\\nThine active sinews never braced.\\nBend gainst the steepy hill thy\\nbreast,\\nBurst down like torrent from its\\ncrest;\\nWith short and springing footstep\\npass\\nThe trembling bog and false mo-\\nrass\\nAcross the brook like roebuck\\nbound,\\nAnd thread the brake like quest-\\ning hound 309\\nThe crag is high, the scaur is deep,\\nYet shrink not from the desperate\\nleap:\\nParched are thy burning lips and\\nbrow,\\nYet by the fountain pause not now\\nHerald of battle, fate, and fear,\\nStretch onward in thy fleet career l\\nThe wounded hind thou track st\\nnot now,\\nPursuest not maid through green-\\nwood bough,\\nNor pliest thou now thy flying\\npace\\nWith rivals in the mountain race\\nBut danger, death, and w r arrior\\ndeed 320\\nAre in thy course speed, Malise,\\nspeed\\nXIV\\nFast as the fatal symbol flies,\\nIn arms the huts and hamlets rise\\nFrom winding glen, from upland\\nbrown,\\nThey poured each hardy tenant\\ndown.\\nNor slacked the messenger his\\npace:\\nHe show r ed the sign, he named the\\nplace,\\nAnd, pressing forward like the\\nw T ind,\\nLeft clamor and surprise behind.\\nThe fisherman forsook the strand,\\nThe swarthy smith took dirk and\\nbrand; 331\\nWith changed cheer, the mower\\nblithe\\nLeft in the half-cut swath his\\nscythe\\nThe herds without a keeper\\nstrayed,\\nThe plough was in mid-furrow\\nstayed,\\nThe falconer tossed his hawk\\naway,\\nThe hunter left the stag at bay\\nPrompt at the signal of alarms,\\nEach son of Alpine rushed to arms\\nSo swept the tumult and affray 340\\nAlong the margin of Achray.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0253.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "2 3 2\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nAlas, thou lovely lake that e er\\nThy banks should echo sounds of\\nfear\\nThe rocks, the bosky thickets,\\nsleep\\nSo stilly on thy bosom deep,\\nThe lark s blithe carol from the\\ncloud\\nSeems for the scene too gayly\\nloud.\\nxv\\nSpeed, Malise, speed! The lake\\nis past,\\nDuncraggan s huts appear at last,\\nAnd peep, like moss-grown rocks,\\nhalf seen, 350\\nHalf hidden in the copse so green\\nThere mayst thou rest, thy labor\\ndone,\\nTheir lord shall speed the signal\\non.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAs stoops the hawk upon his prey,\\nThe henchman shot him down the\\nway.\\nWhat wof ul accents load the gale\\nThe funeral yell, the female wail\\nA gallant hunter s sport is o er,\\nA valiant warrior fights no more.\\nWho, in the battle or the chase,\\nAt Roderick s side shall fill his\\nplace 361\\nWithin the hall, where torch s ray\\nSupplies the excluded beams of\\nday,\\nLies Duncan on his lowly bier,\\nAnd o er him streams his widow s\\ntear.\\nHis stripling son stands mournful\\nby,\\nHis youngest weeps, but knows\\nnot why\\nThe village maids and matrons\\nround\\nThe dismal coronach resound.\\nXVI\\nCORONACH\\nHe is gone on the mountain,\\nHe is lost to the forest,\\n370\\nLike a summer-dried fountain,\\nWhen our need was the sorest.\\nThe font, reappearing,\\nFrom the rain-drops shall bor-\\nrow,\\nBut to us comes no cheering,\\nTo Duncan no morrow\\nThe hand of the reaper\\nTakes the ears that are hoary,\\nBut the voice of the weeper 380\\nWails manhood in glory.\\nThe autumn winds rushing\\nWaft the leaves that are searest,\\nBut our flower was in flushing,\\nWhen blighting was nearest.\\nFleet foot on the correi,\\nSage counsel in cumber,\\nRed hand in the foray,\\nHow sound is thy slumber\\nLike the dew on the mountain, 390\\nLike the foam on the river,\\nLike the bubble on the fountain,\\nThou art gone, and forever\\nXVII\\nSee Stumah, who, the bier beside,\\nHis master s corpse with wonder\\neyed,\\nPoor Stumah! whom his least\\nhalloo\\nCould send like lightning o er the\\ndew,\\nBristles his crest, and points his\\nears,\\nAs if some stranger step he hears,\\nT is not a mourner s mufiled tread,\\nWho comes to sorrow o er the\\ndead, 401\\nBut headlong haste or deadly fear\\nUrge the precipitate career.\\nAll stand aghast: unheeding all,\\nThe henchman bursts into the hall\\nBefore the dead man s bier he stood\\nHeld forth the Cross besmeared\\nwith blood\\n1 The muster-place is Lanrick\\nmead\\nSpeed forth the signal clansmen,\\nspeed", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0254.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD: THE GATHERING\\n233\\nXVIII\\nAngus, the heir of Duncan s line,\\nSprung forth and seized the fatal\\nsign. 411\\nIn haste the stripling to his side\\nHis father s dirk and broadsword\\ntied;\\nBut when he saw his mother s\\neye\\nWatch him in speechless agony,\\nBack to her opened arms he flew,\\nPressed on her lips a fond adieu,\\n4 Alas she sobbed, and yet be\\ngone,\\nAnd speed thee forth, like Dun-\\ncan s son! 419\\nOne look he cast upon the bier,\\nDashed from his eye the gathering\\ntear,\\nBreathed deep to clear his labor-\\ning breast,\\nAnd tossed aloft his bonnet crest,\\nThen, like the high-bred colt when,\\nfreed,\\nFirst he essays his fire and speed,\\nHe vanished, and o er moor and\\nmoss\\nSped forward with the Fiery Cross.\\nSuspended was the widow s tear\\nWhile yet his footsteps she could\\nhear;\\nAnd when she marked the hench-\\nman s eye 430\\nWet with unwonted sympathy,\\nKinsman, she said, his race is\\nrun\\nThat should have sped thine er-\\nrand on\\nThe oak has fallen, the sapling\\nbough\\nIs all Duncraggan s shelter now.\\nYet trust I well, his duty done,\\nThe orphan s God will guard my\\nson.\\nAnd you in many a danger true,\\nAt Duncan s hest your blades that\\ndrew,\\nTo arms, and guard that orphan s\\nhead 440\\nLet babes and women wail the\\ndead.\\nThen weapon-clang and martial\\ncall\\nResounded through the funeral\\nhall,\\nWhile from the walls the attend-\\nant band\\nSnatched sword and targe with\\nhurried hand\\nAnd short and flitting energy\\nGlanced from the mourner s sunk-\\nen eye,\\nAs if the sounds to warrior dear\\nMight rouse her Duncan from his\\nbier.\\nBut faded soon that borrowed\\nforce 450\\nGrief claimed his right, and tears\\ntheir course.\\nXIX\\nBenledi saw the Cross of Fire,\\nIt glanced like lightning up Strath-\\nIre.\\ner dale and hill the summons\\nflew,\\nXor rest nor pause young Angus\\nknew\\nThe tear that gathered in his\\neye\\nHe left the mountain-breeze to\\ndry;\\nUntil, where Teith s young waters\\nroll\\nBetwixt him and a wooded knoll\\nThat graced the sable strath with\\ngreen, 460\\nThe chapel of Saint Bride was\\nseen.\\nSwoln was the stream, remote the\\nbridge,\\nBut Angus paused not on the\\nedge;\\nThough the dark waves danced\\ndizzily,\\nThough reeled his sympathetic\\neye,\\nHe dashed amid the torrent s roar\\nHis right hand high the crosslet\\nbore,\\nHis left the pole-axe grasped, to\\nguide", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0255.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "2 34\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nAnd stay his footing in the tide.\\nHe stumbled twice, the foam\\nsplashed high, 470\\nWith hoarser swell the stream\\nraced by\\nAnd had he fallen, forever\\nthere,\\nFarewell Duncraggan s orphan\\nheir\\nBut still, as if in parting life,\\nFirmer he grasped the Cross of\\nstrife,\\nUntil the opposing bank he gained,\\nAnd up the chapel pathway\\nstrained.\\nxx\\nA blithesome rout that morning-\\ntide\\nHad sought the chapel of Saint\\nBride. 479\\nHer troth Tombea s Mary gave\\nTo Norman, heir of Armandave,\\nAnd, issuing from the Gothic arch,\\nThe bridal now resumed their\\nmarch.\\nIn rude but glad procession came\\nBonneted sire and coif-clad dame\\nAnd plaided youth, with jest and\\njeer,\\nWhich snooded maiden would not\\nhear\\nAnd children, that, unwitting why,\\nLent the gay shout their shrilly\\ncry;\\nAnd minstrels, that in measures\\nvied 490\\nBefore the young and bonny bride,\\nWhose downcast eye and cheek\\ndisclose\\nThe tear and blush of morning\\nrose.\\nWith virgin step and bashful hand\\nShe held the kerchief s snowy\\nband,\\nThe gallant bridegroom by her side\\nBeheld his prize with victor s\\npride,\\nAnd the glad mother in her ear\\nWas closely whispering word of\\ncheer.\\nXXI\\nWho meets them at the church-\\nyard gate? 500\\nThe messenger of fear and fate\\nHaste in his hurried accent lies, 1\\nAnd grief is swimming in his eyes,\\nAll dripping from the recent flood.\\nPanting and travel-soiled he stood,\\nThe fatal sign of fire and sword\\nHeld forth, and spoke the ap-\\npointed word\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2The muster-place is Lanrick\\nmead;\\nSpeed forth the signal Norman,\\nspeed\\nAnd must he change so soon the\\nhand 510\\nJust linked to his by holy band,\\nFor the fell Cross of blood and\\nbrand\\nAnd must the day so blithe that\\nrose,\\nAnd promised rapture in the close,\\nBefore its setting hour, divide\\nThe bridegroom from the plighted\\nbride\\nfatal doom it must it must\\nClan- Alpine s cause, her Chief-\\ntain s trust,\\nHer summons dread, brook no de-\\nlay; 519\\nStretch to the race,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 away away\\nXXII\\nYet slow he laid his plaid aside,\\nAnd lingering eyed his lovely\\nbride,\\nUntil he saw the starting tear\\nSpeak woe he might not stop to\\ncheer\\nThen, trusting not a second look,\\nIn haste he sped him up the brook,\\nNor backward glanced till on the\\nheath\\nWhere Lubnaig s lake supplies the\\nTeith.\\nWhat in the racer s bosom stirred?\\nThe sickening pang of hope de-\\nferred, 530\\nAnd memory with a torturing\\ntrain", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0256.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD THE GATHERING\\n235\\nOf all his morning visions vain.\\nMingled with love s impatience,\\ncame\\nThe manly thirst for martial fame\\nThe stormy joy of mountaineers\\nEre yet they rush upon the spears\\nAnd zeal for Clan and Chieftain\\nburning,\\nAnd hope, from well-fought field\\nreturning,\\nWith war s red honors on his\\ncrest, 539\\nTo clasp his Mary to his breast.\\nStung by such thoughts, o er bank\\nand brae,\\nLike fire from flint he glanced\\naway,\\nWhile high resolve and feeling\\nstrong\\nBurst into voluntary song.\\nXXIII\\nSOXG\\nThe heath this night must be my\\nbed,\\nThe bracken curtain for my head,\\nMy lullaby the warder s tread,\\nFar, far, from love and thee,\\nMary\\nTo-morrow eve, more stilly laid,\\nMy couch may be my bloody plaid,\\nMy vesper song thy wail, sweet\\nmaid! 551\\nIt will not waken me, Mary\\nI may not, dare not, fancy now\\nThe grief that clouds thy lovely\\nbrow,\\nI dare not think upon thy vow,\\nAnd all it promised me, Mary.\\nNo fond regret must Norman\\nknow\\nWhen bursts Clan-Alpine on the\\nfoe,\\nHis heart must be like bended\\nhow, 559\\nHis foot like arrow free, Mary.\\nA time will come with feeling\\nfraught,\\nFor, if I fall in battle fought,\\nThy hapless lover s dying thought\\nShall be a thought on thee,\\nMary.\\nAnd if returned from conquered\\nfoes,\\nHow blithely will the evening\\nclose,\\nHow sw 7 eet the linnet sing repose,\\nTo my young bride and me,\\nMary!\\nXXIV\\nNot faster o er thy heathery braes,\\nBalquidder, speeds the midnight\\nblaze, 570\\nRushing in conflagration strong\\nThy deep ravines and dells along,\\nWrapping thy cliffs in purple glow,\\nAnd reddening the dark lakes be-\\nlow;\\nNor faster speeds it, nor so far,\\nAs o er thy heaths the voice of\\nwar.\\nThe signal roused to martial coil\\nThe sullen margin of Loch Voil,\\nWaked still Loch Doine, and to\\nthe source\\nAlarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy\\ncourse 580\\nThence southward turned its rapid\\nroad\\nAdown Strath Gartney s valley\\nbroad,\\nTill rose in arms each man might\\nclaim\\nA portion in Clan- Alpine s name,\\nFrom the gray sire, whose trem-\\nbling hand\\nCould hardly buckle on his brand,\\nTo the raw boy, whose shaft and\\nbow\\nWere yet scarce terror to the crow.\\nEach valley, each sequestered\\nglen,\\nMustered its little horde of men, 590\\nThat met as torrents from the\\nheight\\nIn highland dales their streams\\nunite,\\nStill gathering, as they pour along,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0257.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "236\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nA voice more loud, a tide more\\nstrong,\\nTill at the rendezvous they stood\\nBy hundreds prompt for blows\\nand blood,\\nEach trained to arms since life be-\\ngan,\\nOwning no tie but to his clan,\\nNo oath but by his chieftain s\\nhand,\\nNo law but Roderick Dhu s com-\\nmand. 600\\nXXV\\nThat summer morn had Roderick\\nDhu\\nSurveyed the skirts of Benvenue,\\nAnd sent his scouts o er hill and\\nheath,\\nTo view the frontiers of Menteith.\\nAll backward came with news of\\ntruce\\nStill lay each martial Graeme and\\nBruce,\\nIn Rednock courts no horsemen\\nwait,\\nNo banner waved on Cardross\\ngate,\\nOn Duchray s towers no beacon\\nshone,\\nNor scared the herons from Loch\\nCon; 610\\nAll seemed at peace. Now wot\\nye why\\nThe Chieftain with such anxious\\neye,\\nEre to the muster he repair,\\nThis western frontier scanned\\nwith care\\nIn Benvenue s most darksome\\ncleft,\\nA fair though cruel pledge was\\nleft;\\nFor Douglas, to his promise true,\\nThat morning from the isle with-\\ndrew,\\nAnd in a deep sequestered dell\\nHad sought a low and lonely\\ncell. 620\\nBy many a bard in Celtic tongue\\nHas Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung\\nA softer name the Saxons gave,\\nAnd called the grot the Goblin\\nCave.\\nxxvi\\nIt was a wild and strange retreat,\\nAs e er was trod by outlaw s feet.\\nThe dell, upon the mountain s\\ncrest,\\nYawned like a gash on warrior s\\nbreast\\nIts trench had stayed full many a\\nrock,\\nHurled by primeval earthquake\\nshock 630\\nFrom Benvenue s gray summit\\nwild,\\nAnd here, in random ruin piled,\\nThey frowned incumbent o er the\\nspot,\\nAnd formed the rugged sylvan\\ngrot.\\nThe oak and birch with mingled\\nshade\\nAt noontide there a twilight made,\\nUnless when short and sudden\\nshone\\nSome straggling beam on cliff or\\nstone,\\nWith such a glimpse as prophet s\\neye\\nGains on thy- depth, Futurity. 640\\nNo murmur waked the solemn\\nstill,\\nSave tinkling of a fountain rill\\nBut when the wind chafed with\\nthe lake,\\nA sullen sound would upward\\nbreak,\\nWith dashing hollow voice, that\\nspoke\\nThe incessant war of wave and\\nrock.\\nSuspended cliffs with hideous sway\\nSeemed nodding o er the cavern\\ngray.\\nFrom such a den the wolf had\\nsprung,\\nIn such the wild-cat leaves her\\nyoung 650\\nYet Douglas and his daughter fair", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0258.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD THE GATHERING\\nm\\nSought for a space their safety\\nthere.\\nGray Superstition s whisper dread\\nDebarred the spot to vulgar tread\\nFor there, she said, did fays re-\\nsort,\\nAnd satyrs hold their sylvan court,\\nBy moonlight tread their mystic\\nmaze,\\nAnd blast the rash beholder s gaze.\\nXXVII\\nNow eve, with western shadows\\nlong,\\nFloated on Katrine bright and\\nstrong, 660\\nWhen Roderick with a chosen few\\nRepassed the heights of Benvenue.\\nAbove the Goblin Cave they go,\\nThrough the wild pass of Beal-\\nnam-bo\\nThe prompt retainers speed be-\\nfore,\\nTo launch the shallop from the\\nshore,\\nFor cross Loch Katrine lies his\\nway\\nTo view the passes of Achray,\\nAnd place his clansmen in array.\\nYet lags the Chief in musing\\nmind, 670\\nUnwonted sight, his men behind.\\nA single page, to bear his sword,\\nAlone attended on his lord\\nThe rest their way through thick-\\nets break,\\nAnd soon await him by the lake.\\nIt was a fair and gallant sight,\\nTo view them from the neighbor-\\ning height,\\nBy the low levelled sunbeam s\\nlight!\\nFor strength and stature, from the\\nclan 679\\nEach warrior was a chosen man,\\nAs even afar might well be seen,\\nBy their proud step and martial\\nmien.\\nTheir feathers dance, their tartans\\nfloat,\\nTheir targets gleam, as by the boat\\nA wild and warlike group they\\nstand,\\nThat well became such mountain-\\nstrand.\\nXXVIII\\nTheir Chief with step reluctant still\\nWas lingering on the craggy hill,\\nHard by where turned apart the\\nroad\\nTo Douglas s obscure abode, 690\\nIt was but with that dawning\\nmorn\\nThat Roderick Dhu had proudly\\nsworn\\nTo drown his love in war s wild\\nroar,\\nNor think of Ellen Douglas more\\nBut he who stems a stream with\\nsand,\\nAnd fetters flame with flaxen band,\\nHas yet a harder task to prove,\\nBy firm resolve to conquer love\\nEve finds the Chief, like restless\\nghost,\\nStill hovering near his treasure\\nlost 700\\nFor though his haughty heart deny\\nA parting meeting to his eye,\\nStill fondly strains his anxious ear\\nThe accents of her voice to hear,\\nAnd inly did he curse the breeze\\nThat waked to sound the rustling\\ntrees.\\nBut hark! what mingles in the\\nstrain\\nIt is the harp of Allan-bane,\\nThat wakes its measure slow and\\nhigh,\\nAttuned to sacred minstrelsy. 710\\nWhat melting voice attends the\\nstrings\\nT is Ellen, or an angel, sings.\\nXXIX\\nHYMN TO THE VIRGIN\\nAve Maria maiden mild\\nListen to a maiden s prayer\\nThou canst hear though from the\\nwild,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0259.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "THE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nThou canst save amid despair.\\nSafe may we sleep beneath thy\\ncare,\\nThough banished, outcast, and\\nreviled\\nMaiden hear a maiden s prayer;\\nMother, hear a suppliant child\\nAve Maria\\nAve Maria undented 721\\nThe flinty couch we now must\\nshare\\nShall seem with down of eider\\npiled,\\nIf thy protection hover there.\\nThe murky cavern s heavy air\\nShall breathe of balm if thou\\nhast smiled\\nThen, Maiden! hear a maiden s\\nprayer,\\nMother, list a suppliant child\\nAve Maria\\nAve Maria stainless styled\\nFoul demons of the earth and\\nair, 730\\nFrom this their wonted haunt\\nexiled,\\nShall flee before thy presence\\nfair.\\nWe bow us to our lot of care,\\nBeneath thy guidance recon-\\nciled\\nHear for a maid a maiden s prayer,\\nAnd for a father hear a child\\nAve Maria\\nXXX\\nDied on the harp the closing\\nhymn,\\nUnmoved in attitude and limb,\\nAs listening still, Clan-Alpine s\\nlord 739\\nStood leaning on his heavy sword,\\nUntil the page with humble sign\\nTwice pointed to the sun s decline.\\nThen while his plaid he round him\\ncast,\\n1 It is the last time t is the last,\\nHe muttered thrice, the last\\ntime e er\\nThat angel-voice shall Roderick\\nhear\\nIt was a goading thought, his\\nstride\\nHied hastier down the mountain-\\nside;\\nSullen he flung him in the boat,\\nAn instant cross the lake it shot.\\nThey landed in that silvery bay,\\nAnd eastward held their hasty\\nway, 752\\nTill, with the latest beams of light,\\nThe band arrived on Lanrick\\nheight,\\nWhere mustered in the vale be-\\nlow\\nClan- Alpine s men in martial show.\\nXXXI\\nA various scene the clansmen\\nmade:\\nSome sat, some stood, some slowly\\nstrayed\\nBut most, with mantles folded\\nround,\\nWere, couched to rest upon the\\nground, 760\\nScarce to be known by curious\\neye\\nFrom the deep heather where they\\nlie,\\nSo well was matched the tartan\\nscreen\\nWith heath-bell dark and brackens\\ngreen\\nUnless where, here and there, a\\nblade\\nOr lance s point a glimmer made,\\nLike glow-worm twinkling through\\nthe shade.\\nBut when, advancing through the\\ngloom,\\nThey saw the Chieftain s eagle\\nplume,\\nTheir shout of welcome, shrill and\\nwide, 770\\nShook the steep mountain s steady\\nside.\\nThrice it arose, and lake and fell\\nThree times returned the martial\\nyell;\\nIt died upon Bochastle s plain,\\nAud Silence claimed her evening\\nreign.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0260.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH THE PROPHECY\\n239\\nCANTO FOURTH\\nTHE PROPHECY\\nThe rose is fairest when t is\\nbudding new,\\nAnd hope is brightest when it\\ndawns from fears\\nThe rose is sweetest washed with\\nmorning dew,\\nAnd love is loveliest when em-\\nbalmed in tears.\\nO wilding rose, w 7 hom fancy thus\\nendears,\\nI bid your blossoms in my bon-\\nnet wave,\\nEmblem of hope and love through\\nfuture years\\nThus spoke young Norman, heir\\nof Armandave,\\nWhat time the sun arose on Ven-\\nnachar s broad wave.\\n11\\nSuch fond conceit, half said, half\\nsung, 10\\nLove prompted to the bridegroom s\\ntongue.\\nAll while he stripped the wild-rose\\nspray,\\nHis axe and bow beside him lay,\\nFor on a pass twixt lake and\\nwood\\nA wakeful sentinel he stood.\\nHark! on the rock a footstep\\nrung,\\nAnd instant to his arms he sprung.\\nStand, or thou diest What,\\nMalise soon\\nArt thou returned from Braes of\\nDoune.\\nBy thy keen step and glance I\\nknow, 20\\nThou bring st us tidings of the\\nfoe.\\nFor while the Fiery Cross hied on,\\nOn distant scout had Malise\\ngone.\\nWhere sleeps the Chief? the\\nhenchman said.\\nApart, in yonder misty glade\\nTo his lone couch I 11 be your\\nguide.\\nThen called a slumberer by his\\nside,\\nAnd stirred him with his slackened\\nbow,\\n1 Up, up, Glentarkin rouse thee,\\nho!\\nWe seek the Chieftain; on the\\ntrack 30\\nKeep eagle watch till I come\\nback.\\nin\\nTogether up the pass they sped\\nWhat of the foeman Norman\\nsaid.\\nVarying reports from near and\\nfar;\\nThis certain, that a band of\\nwar\\nHas for two days been ready\\nboune,\\nAt prompt command to march\\nfrom Doune\\nKing James the while, with\\nprincely powers,\\nHolds revelry in Stirling towers.\\nSoon will this dark and gathering\\ncloud 40\\nSpeak on our glens in thunder\\nloud.\\nInured to bide such bitter bout,\\nThe warrior s plaid may bear it\\nout;\\nBut, Norman, how wilt thou pro-\\nvide\\nA shelter for thy bonny bride\\nWhat know ye not that Roder-\\nick s care\\nTo the lone isle hath caused re-\\npair\\nEach maid and matron of the clan,\\nAnd every child and aged man\\nUnfit for arms and given his\\ncharge, 50\\nNor skiff nor shallop, boat nor\\nbarge,\\nUpon these lakes shall float at\\nlarge,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0261.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "240\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nBut all beside the islet moor,\\nThat such dear pledge may rest\\nsecure\\nIV\\n\u00c2\u00b0T is well advised, the Chief-\\ntain s plan\\nBespeaks the father of his clan.\\nBut wherefore sleeps Sir Rod-\\nerick Dhu\\nApart from all his followers true\\nIt is because last evening-tide\\nBrian an augury hath tried, 60\\nOf that dread kind which must not\\nbe\\nUnless in dread extremity,\\nThe Taghairm called by which,\\nafar,\\nOur sires foresaw the events of\\nwar.\\nDuncraggan s milk-white bull they\\nslew.\\nMALISE\\ne Ah! well the gallant brute I\\nknew!\\nThe choicest of the prey we had\\nWhen swept our merrymen Gal-\\nlangad.\\nHis hide was snow, his horns were\\ndark,\\nHis red eye glowed like fiery\\nspark 7\u00c2\u00b0\\nSo fierce, so tameless, and so fleet,\\nSore did he cumber our retreat,\\nAnd kept our stoutest kerns in\\nawe,\\nEven at the pass of Beal maha.\\nBut steep and flinty was the road,\\nAnd sharp the hurrying pikeman s\\ngoad,\\nAnd when we came to Dennan s\\nRow\\nA child might scathless stroke his\\nbrow.\\nv\\nNORMAN\\n1 That bull was slain his reeking\\nhide\\nThey stretched the cataract be-\\nside, 80\\nWhose waters their wild tumult\\ntoss\\nAdown the black and craggy\\nboss\\nOf that huge cliff whose ample\\nverge\\nTradition calls the Hero s Targe.\\nCouched on a shelf beneath its\\nbrink,\\nClose where the thundering tor-\\nrents sink,\\nRocking beneath their headlong\\nsway,\\nAnd drizzled by the ceaseless\\nspray,\\nMidst groan of rock and roar of\\nstream, 89\\nThe wizard waits prophetic dream.\\nNor distant rests the Chief but\\nhush!\\nSee, gliding slow through mist and\\nbush,\\nThe hermit gains yon rock, and\\nstands\\nTo gaze upon our slumbering\\nbands.\\nSeems he not, Malise, like a\\nghost,\\nThat hovers o er a slaughtered\\nhost\\nOr raven on the blasted oak,\\nThat, watching while the deer is\\nbroke,\\nHis morsel claims with sullen\\ncroak\\nMALISE\\nPeace peace 1 to other than to\\nme 100\\nThy words were evil augury\\nBut still I hold Sir Roderick s\\nblade\\nClan-Alpine s omen and her aid,\\nNot aught that, gleaned from hea-\\nven or hell,\\nYon fiend-begotten Monk can tell.\\nThe Chieftain joins him, see and\\nnow\\nTogether they descend the brow.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0262.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH THE PROPHECY\\n241\\nVI\\nAnd, as they came, with Alpine s\\nLord\\nThe Hermit Monk held solemn\\nword 109\\nRoderick it is a fearful strife,\\nFor man endowed with mortal\\nlife,\\nWhose shroud of sentient clay can\\nstill\\nFeel feverish pang and fainting\\nchill,\\nWhose eye can stare in stony\\ntrance,\\nWhose hair can rouse like war-\\nrior s lance,\\nT is hard for such to view, un-\\nfurled,\\nThe curtain of the future world.\\nYet, witness every quaking limb,\\nMy sunken pulse, mine eyeballs\\ndim,\\nMy soul with harrowing anguish\\ntorn, 120\\nThis for my Chieftain have I\\nborne\\nThe shapes that sought my fearful\\ncouch\\nA human tongue may ne er\\navouch\\nNo mortal man save he, who,\\nbred\\nBetween the living and the dead,\\nIs gifted beyond nature s law\\nHad e er survived to say he\\nsaw.\\nAt length the fateful answer came\\nIn characters of living flame\\nNot spoke in word, nor blazed in\\nscroll, 130\\nBut borne and branded on my\\nsoul:\\nWhich spills the foremost\\nfobman s life,\\nThat party conquers in the\\nSTRIFE.\\nVII\\nThanks, Brian, for thy zeal and\\ncare\\nGood is thine augury, and fair.\\nClan-Alpine ne er in battle stood\\nBut first our broadswords tasted\\nblood.\\nA surer victim still I know,\\nSelf -off ered to the auspicious blow\\nA spy has sought my land this\\nmorn, 140\\nNo eve shall witness his return\\nMy followers guard each pass s\\nmouth,\\nTo east, to westward, and to\\nsouth\\nRed Murdoch, bribed to be his\\nguide,\\nHas charge to lead his step3 aside,\\nTill in deep path or dingle brown\\nHe light on those shall bring him\\ndown.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nBut see, who comes his news to\\nshow!\\nMalise what tidings of the foe\\nVIII\\nAt Doune, o er many a spear and\\nglaive 150\\nTwo Barons proud their banners\\nwave.\\nI saw the Moray s silver star,\\nAnd marked the sable pale of\\nMar.\\n1 By Alpine s soul, high tidings\\nthose\\nI love to hear of worthy foes.\\nWhen move they on? To-mor-\\nrow s noon\\nWill see them here for battle\\nboune.\\n1 Then shall it see a meeting stern\\nBut, for the place,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 say, couldst\\nthou learn\\nNought of the friendly clans of\\nEarn 160\\nStrengthened by them, we well\\nmight bide\\nThe battle on Benledi s side.\\nThou couldst not? well! Clan-\\nAlpine s men\\nShall man the Trosachs shaggy\\nglen;\\nWithin Loch Katrine s gorge we 11\\nfight,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0263.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "242\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nAll in our maids and matrons\\nsight.\\nEach for his hearth and household\\nfire,\\nFather for child, and son for sire,\\nLover for maid beloved! But\\nwhy\\nIs it the breeze affects mine eye?\\nOr dost thou come, ill-omened tear\\nA messenger of doubt or fear? 172\\nNo sooner may the Saxon lance\\nUnfix Benledi from his stance,\\nThan doubt or terror can pierce\\nthrough\\nThe unyielding heart of Roderick\\nDhu\\n5 T is stubborn as his trusty targe.\\nEach to his post all know their\\ncharge.\\nThe pibroch sounds, the bands ad-\\nvance,\\nThe broadswords gleam, the ban-\\nners dance, 180\\nObedient to the Chieftains\\nglance.\\nI turn me from the martial roar.\\nAnd seek Coir-Uriskin once more.\\nIX\\nWhere is the Douglas? he is\\ngone\\nAnd Ellen sits on the gray stone\\nFast by the cave, and makes her\\nmoan,\\nWhile vainly Allan s words of\\ncheer\\nAre poured on her unheeding ear.\\n4 He will return dear lady,\\ntrust\\nWith joy return he will he\\nmust. 190\\nWell was it time to seek afar\\nSome refuge from impending war,\\nWhen e en Clan-Alpine s rugged\\nswarm\\nAre cowed by the approaching\\nstorm.\\nI saw their boats with many a\\nlight,\\nFloating the livelong yesternight,\\nShifting like flashes darted forth\\nBy the red streamers of the north\\nI marked at morn how close they\\nride,\\nThick moored by the lone islet s\\nside, 200\\nLike wild ducks couching in the\\nfen\\nWhen stoops the hawk upon the\\nglen.\\nSince this rude race dare not abide\\nThe peril on the mainland side,\\nShall not thy noble father s care\\nSome safe retreat for thee pre-\\npare\\nx\\nELLEN\\nNo, Allan, no Pretext so kind\\nMy wakeful terrors could not\\nblind.\\nWhen in such tender tone, yet\\ngrave,\\nDouglas a parting blessing gave,\\nThe tear that glistened in his eye\\nDrowned not his purpose fixed\\nand high. 212\\nMy soul, though feminine and\\nweak,\\nCan image his e en as the lake,\\nItself disturbed by slightest\\nstroke,\\nReflects the invulnerable rock.\\nHe hears report of battle rife,\\nHe deems himself the cause of\\nstrife.\\nI saw him redden when the theme\\nTurned, Allan, on thine idle dream\\nOf Malcolm Graeme in fetters\\nbound, 221\\nWhich I, thou saidst, about him\\nwound.\\nThink st thou he trowed thine\\nomen aught\\nno t was apprehensive thought\\nFor the kind youth,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 for Roderick\\ntoo\\nLet me be just that friend so\\ntrue;\\nIn danger both, and in our cause\\nMinstrel, the Douglas dare not\\npause.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0264.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH THE PROPHECY\\n243\\nWhy else that solemn warning\\ngiven,\\nIf not on earth, we meet in hea-\\nven\\n23c\\nWhy else, to Cambus-kenneth s\\nfane,\\nIf eve return him not again,\\nAm I to hie and make me known?\\nAlas, he goes to Scotland s throne,\\nBuys his friends safety with his\\nown;\\nHe goes to do\u00e2\u0080\u0094 what I had done,\\nHad Douglas daughter been his\\nson!\\nXI\\nNay, lovely Ellen dearest, nay\\nIf aught should his return delay,\\nHe only named yon holy fane 240\\nAs fitting place to meet again.\\nBe sure he s safe; and for the\\nGraeme,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nHeaven s blessing on his gallant\\nname\\nMy visioned sight may yet prove\\ntrue,\\nNor bode of ill to him or you.\\nWhen did my gifted dream be-\\nguile\\nThink of the stranger at the isle,\\nAnd think upon the harpings\\nslow\\nThat presaged this approaching\\nwoe 249\\nSooth was my prophecy of fear\\nBelieve it when it augurs cheer.\\nWould we had left this dismal\\nspot\\nIll luck still haunts a fairy grot.\\nOf such a wondrous tale I know\\nDear lady, change that look of\\nwoe,\\nMy harp was wont thy grief to\\ncheer.\\nELLEN\\n4 Well, be it as thou wilt I hear,\\nBut cannot stop the bursting tear.\\nThe Minstrel tried his simple art,\\nBut distant far was Ellen s heart.\\nXII\\nBALLAD\\nALICE BRAND\\nMerry it is in the good greenwood.\\nWhen the mavis and merle are\\nsinging, 262\\nWhen the deer sweeps by, and the\\nhounds are in cry.\\nAnd the hunter s horn is ringing.\\n1 Alice Brand, my native land\\nIs lost for love of you\\nAnd we must hold by wood and\\nwold,\\nAs outlaws wont to do.\\nAlice, t was all for thy locks so\\nbright,\\nAnd t was all for thine eyes so\\nblue, 270\\nThat on the night of our luckless\\nflight\\nThy brother bold I slew.\\nNow must I teach to hew the\\nbeech\\nThe hand that held the glaive,\\nFor leaves to spread our lowly\\nbed,\\nAnd stakes to fence our cave.\\nAnd for vest of pall, thy fingers\\nsmall,\\nThat wont on harp to stray,\\nA cloak must shear from the\\nslaughtered deer,\\nTo keep the cold away. 280\\nRichard if my brother died,\\nT was but a fatal chance\\nFor darkling was the battle tried,\\nAnd fortune sped the lance.\\nIf pall and vair no more I wear,\\nNor thou the crimson sheen,\\nAs warm, we 11 say, is the russet\\ngray,\\nAs gay the forest-green.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0265.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "244\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nAnd, Richard, if our lot be hard,\\nAnd lost thy native land, 290\\nStill Alice has her own Richard,\\nAnd he his Alice Brand.\\nXIII\\nBALLAD CONTINUED\\nT is merry, t is merry, in good\\ngreenwood\\nSo blithe Lady Alice is singing\\nOn the beech s pride, and oak s\\nbrown side,\\nLord Richard s axe is ringing.\\nUp spoke the moody Elfin King,\\nWho woned within the hill,\\nLike wind in the porch of a ruined\\nchurch,\\nHis voice was ghostly shrill. 300\\nWhy sounds yon stroke on beech\\nand oak,\\nOur moonlight circle s screen\\nOr who comes here to chase the\\ndeer,\\nBeloved of our Elfin Queen\\nOr who may dare on wold to wear\\nThe fairies fatal green\\n4 Up, Urgan, up to yon mortal hie,\\nFor thou wert christened man\\nFor cross or sign thou wilt not fly,\\nFor muttered word or ban. 3 10\\nLay on him the curse of the\\nwithered heart,\\nThe curse of the sleepless eye\\nTill he wish and pray that his life\\nwould part,\\nNor yet find leave to die.\\nXIV\\nBALLAD CONTINUED\\nT is merry, t is merry, in good\\ngreenwood,\\nThough the birds have stilled\\ntheir singing\\nThe evening blaze doth Alice raise,\\nAnd Richard is fagots bringing.\\nUp Urgan starts, that hideous\\ndwarf,\\nBefore Lord Richard stands, 320\\nAnd, as he crossed and blessed\\nhimself,\\n1 1 fear not sign, quoth the grisly\\nelf,\\n4 That is made with bloody\\nhands.\\nBut out then spoke she, Alice\\nBrand,\\nThat woman void of fear,\\nAnd if there s blood upon his\\nhand,\\nT is but the blood of deer.\\n4 Now loud thou liest, thou bold of\\nmood!\\nIt cleaves unto his hand,\\nThe stain of thine own kindly\\nblood, 330\\nThe blood of Ethert Brand.\\nThen forward stepped she, Alice\\nBrand,\\nAnd made the holy sign,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n4 And if there s blood on Richard s\\nhand,\\nA spotless hand is mine.\\n4 And I conjure thee, demon elf,\\nBy Him whom demons fear,\\nTo show us whence thou art thy-\\nself,\\nAnd what thine errand here\\nxv\\nBALLAD CONTINUED\\n4 Tis merry, tis merry, in Fairy-\\nland, 340\\nWhen fairy birds are singing,\\nWhen the court doth ride by their\\nmonarch s side.\\nWith bit and bridle ringing\\n4 And gayly shines the Fairy-\\nland\\nBut all is glistening show,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0266.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH THE PROPHECY\\n245\\nLike the idle gleam that Decem-\\nber s beam\\nCan dart on ice and snow.\\nAnd fading, like that varied\\ngleam,\\nIs our inconstant shape,\\nWho now like knight and lady\\nseem, 350\\nAnd now like dwarf and ape.\\nIt was between the night and\\nday,\\nWhen the Fairy King has power,\\nThat I sunk down in a sinful fray.\\nAnd twixt life and death was\\nsnatched away\\nTo the joyless Elfin bower.\\n1 But wist I of a woman bold,\\nWho thrice my brow durst sign,\\nI might regain my mortal mould,\\nAs fair a form as thine. 360\\nShe crossed him once she\\ncrossed him twice\\nThat lady was so brave\\nThe fouler grew his goblin hue,\\nThe darker grew the cave.\\nShe crossed him thrice, that lady\\nbold;\\nHe rose beneath her hand\\nThe fairest knight on Scottish\\nmould,\\nHer brother, Ethert Brand\\nMerry it is in good greenwood,\\nWhen the mavis and merle were\\nsinging, 370\\nBut merrier were they in Dun-\\nfermline gray,\\nWhen all the bells were ringing.\\nXVI\\nJust as the minstrel sounds were\\nstayed,\\nA stranger climbed the steepy\\nglade\\nHis martial step, his stately mien,\\nHis hunting-suit of Lincoln green,\\nHis eagle glance, remembrance\\nclaims\\nT is Snowdoun s Knight, tis\\nJames Fitz-James.\\nEllen beheld as in a dream,\\nThen, starting, scarce suppressed\\na scream 380\\nO stranger! in such hour of fear\\nWhat evil hap has brought thee\\nhere\\nAn evil hap how can it be\\nThat bids me look again on thee\\nBy promise bound, my former\\nguide\\nMet me betimes this morning-tide,\\nAnd marshalled over bank and\\nbourne\\nThe happy path of my return.\\n1 The happy path what said he\\nnaught\\nOf war, of battle to be fought, 390\\nOf guarded pass? No, by my\\nfaith\\nNor saw I aught could augur\\nscathe.\\nhaste thee, Allan, to the kern\\nYonder his tartans I discern\\nLearn thou his purpose, and con-\\njure\\nThat he will guide the stranger\\nsure\\nWhat prompted thee, unhappy\\nman?\\nThe meanest serf in Roderick s\\nclan\\nHad not been bribed, by love or\\nfear,\\nUnknown to him to guide thee\\nhere. 400\\nXVII\\nSweet Ellen, dear my life must\\nbe,\\nSince it is worthy care from thee\\nYet life I hold but idle breath\\nWhen love or honor s weighed\\nwith death.\\nThen let me profit by my chance,\\nAnd speak my purpose bold at\\nonce.\\n1 come to bear thee from a wild", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0267.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "246\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nWhere ne er before such blossom\\nsmiled,\\nBy this soft hand to lead thee far\\nFrom frantic scenes of feud and\\nwar. 410\\nNear Bochastle my horses wait\\nThey bear us soon to Stirling gate.\\nI 11 place thee in a lovely bower,\\nI ll guard thee like a tender\\nflower\\n*0 hush, Sir Knight! t were fe-\\nmale art,\\nTo say I do not read thy heart\\nToo much, before, my selfish ear\\nWas idly soothed my praise to\\nhear.\\nThat fatal bait hath lured thee\\nback,\\nIn deathful hour, o er dangerous\\ntrack 420\\nAnd how, O how, can I atone\\nThe wreck my vanity brought on\\nOne way remains I 11 tell him\\nall\\nYes! struggling bosom, forth it\\nshall\\nThou, whose light folly bears the\\nblame,\\nBuy thine own pardon with thy\\nshame\\nBut first my father is a man\\nOutlawed and exiled, under ban\\nThe price of blood is on his head,\\nWith me t were infamy to wed.\\nStill wouldst thou speak?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 then\\nhear the truth! 431\\nFitz- James, there is a noble youth\\nIf yet he is exposed for me\\nAnd mine to dread extremity\\nThou hast the secret of my heart\\nForgive, be generous, and depart\\nXVIII\\nFitz-James knew every wily train\\nA lady s fickle heart to gain,\\nBut here he knew and felt them\\nvain.\\nThere shot no glance from Ellen s\\neye, 440\\nTo give her steadfast speech the\\nlie;\\nIn maiden confidence she stood,\\nThough mantled in her cheek the\\nblood,\\nAnd told her love with such a sigh\\nOf deep and hopeless agony,\\nAs death had sealed her Malcolm s\\ndoom\\nAnd she sat sorrowing on his\\ntomb.\\nHope vanished from Fitz-James s\\neye,\\nBut not with hope fled sympathy.\\nHe proffered to attend her\\nside, 450\\nAs brother would a sister guide.\\nO little know st thou Roderick s\\nheart\\nSafer for both we go apart.\\nhaste thee, and from Allan learn\\nIf thou mayst trust yon wily kern.\\nWith hand upon his forehead laid,\\nThe conflict of his mind to shade,\\nA parting step or two he made\\nThen, as some thought had crossed\\nhis brain,\\nHe paused, and turned, and came\\nagain. 460\\nXIX\\n4 Hear, lady, yet a parting word\\nIt chanced in fight that my poor\\nsword\\nPreserved the life of Scotland s\\nlord.\\nThis ring the grateful Monarch\\ngave,\\nAnd bade, when I had boon to\\ncrave,\\nTo bring it back, and boldly claim\\nThe recompense that I would\\nname.\\nEllen, I am no courtly lord,\\nBut one who lives by lance and\\nsword,\\nWhose castle is his helm and\\nshield, 470\\nHis lordship the embattled field.\\nWhat from a prince can I demand,\\nWho neither reck of state nor\\nland?\\nEllen, thy hand the ring is thine", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0268.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH THE PROPHECY\\n247\\nEach guard and usher knows the\\nsign.\\nSeek thou the King without delay\\nThis signet shall secure thy way\\nAnd claim thy suit, what er it be,\\nAs ransom of his pledge to me.\\nHe placed the golden circlet on,\\nPaused kissed her hand and\\nthen was gone. 481\\nThe aged Minstrel stood aghast,\\nSo hastily Fitz-James shot past.\\njle joined his guide, and wending\\ndown\\nThe ridges of the mountain brown,\\nAcross the stream they took their\\nway\\nThat joins Loch Katrine to Ach-\\nray.\\nxx\\nAll in the Trosachs glen was still,\\nNoontide was sleeping on the hill\\nSudden his guide whooped loud\\nand high 490\\nMurdoch was that a signal\\ncry\\nHe stammered forth, I shout to\\nscare\\nYon raven from his dainty fare.\\nHe looked he knew the raven s\\nprey,\\nHis own brave steed: Ah! gal-\\nlant gray\\nFor thee for me, perchance\\nt were well\\nWe ne er had seen the Trosachs\\ndell.\\nMurdoch, move first but silently\\nWhistle or whoop, and thou shalt\\ndie!\\nJealous and sullen on they\\nfared, 500\\nEach silent, each upon his guard.\\nXXI\\nNow wound the path its dizzy\\nledge\\nAround a precipice s edge,\\nWhen lo a wasted female form,\\nBlighted by wrath of sun and\\nstorm,\\nIn tattered weeds and wild array,\\nStood on a cliff beside the way,\\nAnd glancing round her restless\\neye,\\nUpon the wood, the rock, the\\nsky,\\nSeemed naught to mark, yet all to\\nspy. 510\\nHer brow was wreathed with\\ngaudy broom\\nWith gesture wild she waved a\\nplume\\nOf feathers, which the eagles fling\\nTo crag and cliff from dusky wing;\\nSuch spoils her desperate step had\\nsought,\\nWhere scarce was footing for the\\ngoat.\\nThe tartan plaid she first descried,\\nAnd shrieked till all the rocks re.\\nplied\\nAs loud she laughed when near\\nthey drew,\\nFor then the Lowland garb she\\nknew 520\\nAnd then her hands she wildly\\nwrung,\\nAnd then she wept, and then she\\nsung\\nShe sung the voice, in better\\ntime,\\nPerchance to harp or lute might\\nchime\\nAnd now, though strained and\\nroughened, still\\nRung wildly sweet to dale and\\nhill.\\nXXII\\nSONG\\nThey bid me sleep, they bid me\\npray,\\nThey say my brain is warped\\nand wrung\\nI cannot sleep on Highland brae,\\nI cannot pray in Highland\\ntongue. 530\\nBut were I now where Allan\\nglides,\\nOr heard my native Devan s tides,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0269.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "248\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nSo sweetly would I rest, and pray\\nThat Heaven would close my win-\\ntry day\\nT was thus my hair they bade me\\nbraid,\\nThey made me to the church re-\\npair;\\nIt was my bridal morn they said,\\nAnd my true love would meet\\nme there.\\nBut woe betide the cruel guile\\nThat drowned in blood the morn-\\ning smile 540\\nAnd woe betide the fairy dream\\nI only waked to sob and scream.\\nXXIII\\nWho is this maid what means\\nher lay\\nShe hovers o er the hollow way,\\nAnd flutters wide her mantle gray,\\nAs the lone heron spreads his\\nwing,\\nBy twilight, o er a haunted spring.\\nT is Blanche of Devan, Murdoch\\nsaid,\\n*A crazed and captive Lowland\\nmaid,\\nTa en on the morn she was a\\nbride, 550\\nWhen Roderick forayed Devan-\\nside.\\nThe gay bridegroom resistance\\nmade,\\nAnd felt our Chief s unconquered\\nblade.\\nI marvel she is now at large,\\nBut oft she scapes from Maudlin s\\ncharge.\\nHence, brain sick fool He\\nraised his bow\\nNow, if thou strik st her but one\\nblow,\\nI 11 pitch thee from the cliff as\\nfar\\nAs ever peasant pitched a bar\\n4 Thanks, champion, thanks the\\nManiac cried. 560\\nAnd pressed her to Fitz-James s\\nside.\\n1 See the gray pennons I prepare,\\nTo seek my true love through the\\nair!\\nI will not lend that savage groom,\\nTo break his fall, one downy\\nplume\\nNo deep amid disjointed stones,\\nThe wolves shall batten on his\\nbones,\\nAnd then shall his detested plaid,\\nBy bush and brier in mid -air\\nstayed,\\nWave forth a banner fair and\\nfree, 570\\nMeet signal for their revelry.\\nXXIV\\nHush thee, poor maiden, and be\\nstill\\n0! thou look st kindly, and I\\nwill.\\nMine eye has dried and wasted\\nbeen,\\nBut still it loves the Lincoln green\\nAnd, though mine ear is all un-\\nstrung,\\nStill, still it loves the Lowland\\ntongue.\\n1 For O my sweet William was\\nforester true,\\nHe stole poor Blanche s heart\\naway!\\nHis coat it was all of the green-\\nwood hue, 580\\nAnd so blithely he trilled the\\nLowland lay\\n1 It was not that I meant to\\ntell\\nBut thou art wise and guessest\\nwell.\\nThen, in a low and broken tone,\\nAnd hurried note, the song went\\non.\\nStill on the Clansman fearfully\\nShe fixed her apprehensive eye,\\nThen turned it on the Knight, and\\nthen\\nHer look glanced wildly o er the\\nglen.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0270.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH THE PROPHECY\\n249\\nXXV\\nThe toils are pitched, and the\\nstakes are set, 590\\nEver sing merrily, merrily\\nThe bows they bend, and the\\nknives they whet,\\nHunters live so cheerily.\\n1 It was a stag, a stag of ten,\\nBearing its branches sturdily\\nHe came stately down the glen,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nEver sing hardily, hardily.\\n1 It was there he met with a\\nwounded doe,\\nShe was bleeding deathfully;\\nShe warned him of the toils below,\\nO, so faithfully, faithfully 601\\n1 He had an eye, and he could\\nheed,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nEver sing warily, warily\\nHe had a foot, and he could\\nspeed,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nHunters watch so narrowly.\\nXXVI\\nFitz-James s mind was passion-\\ntossed,\\nWhen Ellen s hints and fears were\\nlost;\\nBut Murdoch s shout suspicion\\nwrought,\\nAnd Blanche s song conviction\\nbrought.\\nXot like a stag that spies the\\nsnare, 610\\nBut lion of the hunt aware,\\nHe waved at once his blade on\\nhigh,\\n1 Disclose thy treachery, or die\\nForth at full speed the Clansman\\nflew,\\nBut in his race his bow he drew.\\nThe shaft just grazed Fitz-James s\\ncrest,\\nAnd thrilled in Blanche s faded\\nbreast.\\nMurdoch of Alpine prove thy\\nspeed,\\nFor ne er had Alpine s son such\\nneed;\\nWith heart of fire, and foot of\\nwind, 620\\nThe fierce avenger is behind\\nFate judges of the rapid strife\\nThe forfeit death the prize is\\nlife;\\nThy kindred ambush lies before,\\nClose couched upon the heathery\\nmoor;\\nThem couldst thou reach it may\\nnot be\\nThine ambushed kin thou ne er\\nshalt see,\\nThe fiery Saxon gains on thee\\nResistless speeds the deadly\\nthrust,\\nAs lightning strikes the pine to\\ndust 630\\nWith foot and hand Fitz-James\\nmust strain\\nEre he can win his blade again.\\nBent o er the fallen with falcon\\neye,\\nHe grimly smiled to see him die,\\nThen slower wended back his way,\\nWhere the poor maiden bleeding\\nlay.\\nXXVII\\nShe sat beneath the birchen tree,\\nHer elbow resting on her knee\\nShe had withdrawn the fatal shaft,\\nAnd gazed on it, and feebly-\\nlaughed 640\\nHer wreath of broom and feathers\\ngray,\\nDaggled with blood, beside her\\nlay.\\nThe Knight to stanch the life-\\nstream tried,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nStranger, it is in vain she cried.\\nThis hour of death has given me\\nmore\\nOf reason s power than years be-\\nfore;\\nFor, as these ebbing veins decay,\\nMy frenzied visions fade away.\\nA helpless injured wretch I die,\\nAnd something tells me in thine\\neye 650\\nThat thou wert mine avenger\\nborn.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0271.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "250\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nSeest thou this tress 0 still I ve\\nworn\\nThis little tress of yellow hair,\\nThrough danger, frenzy, and de-\\nspair\\nIt once was bright and clear as\\nthine,\\nBut blood and tears have dimmed\\nits shine.\\nI will not tell thee when twas\\nshred,\\nNor from what guiltless victim s\\nhead,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMy brain would turn but it shall\\nwave 659\\nLike plumage on thy helmet brave,\\nTill sun and wind shall bleach the\\nstain,\\nAnd thou wilt bring it me again.\\nI waver still. God more\\nbright\\nLet reason beam her parting\\nlight l\\nO, by thy knighthood s honored\\nsign,\\nAnd for thy life preserved by\\nmine,\\nWhen thou shalt see a darksome\\nman,\\nWho boasts him Chief of Alpine s\\nClan,\\nWith tartans broad and shadowy\\nplume,\\nAnd hand of blood, and brow of\\ngloom, 670\\nBe thy heart bold, thy weapon\\nstrong,\\nAnd wreak poor Blanche of De-\\nvan s wrong\\nThey watch for thee by pass and\\nfell\\nAvoid the path O God!\\nfarewell\\nXXXIII\\nA kindly heart had brave Fitz-\\nJames\\nFast poured his eyes at pity s\\nclaims\\nAnd now, with mingled grief and\\nire,\\nHe saw the murdered maid expire.\\n4 God, in my need, be my relief, 679\\nAs I wreak this on yonder Chief\\nA lock from Blanche s tresses fair\\nHe blended with her bridegroom s\\nhair;\\nThe mingled braid in blood he\\ndyed,\\nAnd placed it on his bonnet-side\\nBy Him whose word is truth, I\\nswear,\\nNo other favor will I wear,\\nTill this sad token I imbrue\\nIn the best blood of Roderick\\nDhu\\nBut hark! what means yon faint\\nhalloo\\nThe chase is up, but they shall\\nknow, 690\\nThe stag at bay s a dangerous\\nfoe.\\nBarred from the known but guarded\\nway,\\nThrough copse and cliffs Fitz-\\nJames must stray,\\nAnd oft must change his desperate\\ntrack,\\nBy stream and precipice turned\\nback.\\nHeartless, fatigued, and faint, at\\nlength,\\nFrom lack of food and loss of\\nstrength,\\nHe couched him in a thicket hoar,\\nAnd thought his toils and perils\\no er 699\\nOf all my rash adventures past,\\nThis frantic feat must prove the\\nlast!\\nWho e er so mad but might have\\nguessed\\nThat all this Highland hornet s\\nnest\\nWould muster up in swarms so\\nsoon\\nAs e er they heard of bands at\\nDoune\\nLike bloodhounds now they search\\nme out,\\nHark, to the whistle and the\\nshout", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0272.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH THE PROPHECY\\n251\\nIf farther through the wilds I go,\\nI only fall upon the foe\\nI 11 couch me here till evening\\ngray, 710\\nThen darkling try my dangerous\\nway.\\nXXIX\\nThe shades of eve come slowly\\ndown,\\nThe woods are wrapt in deeper\\nbrown,\\nThe owl awakens from her dell,\\nThe fox is heard upon the fell\\nEnough remains of glimmering\\nlight\\nTo guide the wanderer s steps\\naright,\\nYet not enough from far to show\\nHis figure to the watchful foe. 719 I\\nWith cautious step and ear awake,\\nHe climbs the crag and threads\\nthe brake\\nAnd not the summer solstice there\\nTempered the midnight mountain\\nair,\\nBut every breeze that swept the\\nwold\\nBenumbed his drenched limbs\\nwith cold.\\nIn dread, in danger, and alone,\\nFamished and chilled, through\\nways unknown,\\nTangled and steep, he journeyed\\non;\\nTill, as a rock s huge point he\\nturned,\\nA watch-fire close before him\\nburned. 730\\nXXX\\nBeside its embers red and clear,\\nBasked in his plaid a mountaineer\\nAnd up he sprung with sword in\\nhand,\\nThy name and purpose Saxon,\\nstand\\nA stranger. What dost thou re-\\nquire\\nRest and a guide, and food and\\nfire.\\nMy life s beset, my path is lost,\\nThe gale has chilled my limbs with\\nfrost.\\nArt thou a friend to Roderick\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2No.\\nThou dar st not call thyself a\\nfoe? 740\\nI dare to him and all the band\\nHe brings to aid his murderous\\nhand.\\n1 Bold words but, though the\\nbeast of game\\nThe privilege of chase may claim.\\nThough space and law the stag\\nwe lend,\\nEre hound we slip or bow we\\nbend,\\nWho ever recked, where, how, or\\nwhen,\\nThe prowling fox was trapped or\\nslain\\nThus treacherous scouts,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 yet\\nsure they lie,\\nWho say thou cam st a secret\\nspy 750\\n1 They do, by heaven come Rod-\\nerick Dhu,\\nAnd of his clan the boldest two,\\nAnd let me but till morning rest,\\nI write the falsehood on their\\ncrest.\\nIf by the blaze I mark aright,\\nThou bear st the belt and spur of\\nKnight.\\nThen by these tokens mayst\\nthou know\\nEach proud oppressor s mortal\\nfoe.\\n1 Enough, enough sit down and\\nshare 759\\nA soldier s couch, a soldier s fare.\\nXXXI\\nHe gave him of his Highland\\ncheer,\\nThe hardened flesh of mountain\\ndeer\\nDry fuel on the fire he laid,\\nAnd bade the Saxon share his\\nplaid.\\nHe tended him like welcome guest,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0273.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "252\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nThen thus his further speech ad-\\ndressed:\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n4 Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu\\nA clansman born, a kinsman true\\nEach word against his honor\\nspoke 769\\nDemands of me avenging stroke\\nYet more, upon thy fate, t is\\nsaid,\\nA mighty augury is laid.\\nIt rests with me to wind my\\nhorn,\\nThou art with numbers overborne\\nIt rests with me, here, brand to\\nbrand,\\nWorn as thou art, to bid thee\\nstand\\nBut, not for clan, nor kindred s\\ncause,\\nWill I depart from honor s laws\\nTo assail a wearied man were\\nshame,\\nAnd stranger is a holy name 780\\nGuidance and rest, and food and\\nfire,\\nIn vain he never must require.\\nThen rest thee here till dawn of\\nday;\\nMyself will guide thee on the way\\nO er stock and stone, through\\nwatch and ward,\\nTill past Clan-Alpine 1 s outmost\\nguard,\\nAs far as Coilantogle s ford\\nFrom thence thy warrant is thy\\nsword.\\n1 1 take thy courtesy, by heaven,\\nAs freely as t is nobly given 790\\nWell, rest thee for the bittern s\\ncry\\nSings us the lake s wild lullaby.\\nWith that he shook the gathered\\nheath,\\nAnd spread his plaid upon the\\nwreath\\nAnd the brave foemen, side by\\nside,\\nLay peaceful down like brothers\\ntried,\\nAnd slept until the dawning beam\\nPurpled the mountain and the\\nstream.\\nCANTO FIFTH\\nTHE COMBAT\\nFair as the earliest beam of east-\\nern light,\\nWhen first, by the bewildered\\npilgrim spied,\\nIt smiles upon the dreary brow of\\nnight,\\nAnd silvers o er the torrent s\\nfoaming tide,\\nAnd lights the fearful path on\\nmountain-side,\\nFair as that beam, although the\\nfairest far,\\nGiving to horror grace, to danger\\npride,\\nShine martial Faith, and Cour-\\ntesy s bright star,\\nThrough all the wreckful storms\\nthat cloud the brow of War.\\nn\\nThat early beam, so fair and\\nsheen, 10\\nWas twinkling through the hazel\\nscreen,\\nWhen, rousing at its glimmer red,\\nThe warriors left their lowly bed,\\nLooked out upon the dappled sky,\\nMuttered their soldier matins by,\\nAnd then awaked their fire, to\\nsteal,\\nAs short and rude, their soldier\\nmeal.\\nThat o er, the Gael around him\\nthrew\\nHis graceful plaid of varied hue,\\nAnd, true to promise, led the way,\\nBy thicket green and mountain\\ngray. 21\\nA wildering path! they winded\\nnow\\nAlong the precipice s brow,\\nCommanding the rich scenes be-\\nneath,\\nThe windings of the Forth and\\nTeith,\\nAnd all the vales between that\\nlie,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0274.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH THE COMBAT\\n253\\nTill Stirling s turrets melt in sky;\\nThen, sunk in copse, their farthest\\nglance\\nGained not the length of horse-\\nman s lance.\\nT was oft so steep, the foot was\\nfain 30\\nAssistance from the hand to gain\\nSo tangled oft that, bursting\\nthrough,\\nEach hawthorn shed her showers\\nof dew,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThat diamond dew, so pure and\\nclear,\\nIt rivals all but Beauty s tear\\n111\\nAt length they came where, stern\\nand steep,\\nThe hill sinks down upon the deep.\\nHere Vennachar in silver flows,\\nThere, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose\\nEver the hollow path twined on, 40\\nBeneath steep bank and threaten-\\ning stone\\nA hundred men might hold the\\npost\\nWith hardihood against a host.\\nThe rugged mountain s scanty\\ncloak\\nWas dwarfish shrubs of birch and\\noak,\\nWith shingles bare, and cliffs be-\\ntween,\\nAnd patches bright of bracken\\ngreen,\\nAnd heather black, that waved so\\nhigh,\\nIt held the copse in rivalry.\\nBut where the lake slept deep and\\nstill, 50\\nDank osiers fringed the swamp\\nand hill\\nAnd oft both path and hill were\\ntorn,\\nWhere wintry torrent down had\\nborne,\\nAnd heaped upon the cumbered\\nland\\nIts wreck of gravel, rocks, and\\nsand.\\nSo toilsome was the road to trace,\\nThe guide, abating of his pace,\\nLed slowly through the pass s\\njaws,\\nAnd asked Fitz-James by what\\nstrange cause\\nHe sought these wilds, traversed\\nby few, 60\\nWithout a pass from Roderick\\nDhu.\\nIV\\n1 Brave Gael, my pass, in danger\\ntried,\\nHangs in my belt and by my side,\\nYet, sooth to tell, the Saxon said,\\nI dreamt not now to claim its aid.\\nWhen here, but three days since,\\nI came,\\nBewildered in pursuit of game,\\nAll seemed as peaceful and as still\\nAs the mist slumbering on yon hill\\nThy dangerous Chief was then\\nafar, 70\\nXor soon expected back from war.\\nThus said, at least, my mountain-\\nguide,\\nThough deep perchance the villain\\nlied.\\n1 Yet why a second venture try\\nA warrior thou, and ask me\\nwhy\\nMoves our free course by such\\nfixed cause\\nAs gives the poor mechanic laws?\\nEnough, I sought to drive away\\nThe lazy hours of peaceful day;\\nSlight cause will then suffice to\\nguide 80\\nA Knight s free footsteps far and\\nwide,\\nA falcon flown, a greyhound\\nstrayed,\\nThe merry glance of mountain\\nmaid;\\nOr, if a path be dangerous known,\\nThe danger s self is lure alone.\\nThy secret keep,\\nnot;\\nI urge thee", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0275.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "254\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nYet, ere again ye sought this spot,\\nSay, heard ye naught of Lowland\\nwar,\\nAgainst Clan-Alpine, raised by\\nMar?*\\n1 No, by my word of bands pre-\\npared 90\\nTo guard King James s sports I\\nheard\\nNor doubt I aught, but, when they\\nhear\\nThis muster of the mountaineer,\\nTheir pennons will abroad be flung,\\nWhich else in Doune had peaceful\\nhung.\\n1 Free be they flung for we were\\nloath\\nTheir silken folds should feast the\\nmoth.\\nFree be they flung as free shall\\nwave\\nClan-Alpine s pine in banner brave.\\nBut, stranger, peaceful since you\\ncame, 100\\nBewildered in the mountain-game,\\nWhence the bold boast by which\\nyou show\\nVich-Alpine s vowed and mortal\\nfoe?\\nWarrior, but yester-morn I knew\\nNaught of thy Chieftain, Koderick\\nDhu,\\nSave as an outlawed desperate\\nman,\\nThe chief of a rebellious clan,\\nWho, in the Regent s court and\\nsight,\\nWith ruffian dagger stabbed a\\nknight; 109\\nYet this alone might from his part\\nSever each true and loyal heart\\nVI\\nWrathful at such arraignment\\nfoul,\\nDark lowered the clansman s sa-\\nble scowl.\\nA space he paused, then sternly\\nsaid,\\nAnd heardst thou why he drew\\nhis blade\\nHeardst thou that shameful word\\nand blow\\nBrought Roderick s vengeance on\\nhis foe?\\nWhat recked the Chieftain if he\\nstood\\nOn Highland heath or Holy-Rood\\nHe rights such wrong where it is\\ngiven, 120\\nIf it were in the court of heaven.\\n4 Still was it outrage yet, t is\\ntrue,\\nNot then claimed sovereignty his\\ndue;\\nWhile Albany with feeble hand\\nHeld borrowed truncheon of com-\\nmand,\\nThe young King, mewed in Stir-\\nling tower,\\nWas stranger to respect and\\npower.\\nBut then, thy Chieftain s robber\\nlife\\nWinning mean prey by causeless\\nstrife,\\nWrenching from ruined Lowland\\nswain 130\\nHis herds and harvest reared in\\nvain,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMethinks a soul like thine should\\nscorn\\nThe spoils from such foul foray\\nborne.\\nVII\\nThe Gael beheld him grim the\\nwhile,\\nAnd answered with disdainful\\nsmile\\n1 Saxon, from yonder mountain\\nhigh,\\nI marked thee send delighted eye\\nFar to the south and east, where\\nlay,\\nExtended in succession gay,\\nDeep waving fields and pastures\\ngreen, 140\\nWith gentle slopes and groves be-\\ntween\\nThese fertile plains, that softened\\nvale,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0276.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH THE COMBAT\\n255\\nWere once the birthright of the\\nGael;\\nThe stranger came with iron hand,\\nAnd from our fathers reft the land.\\nWhere dwell we now See, rudely\\nswell\\nCrag over crag, and fell o er fell.\\nAsk we this savage hill we tread\\nFor fattened steer or household\\nbread,\\nAsk we for flocks these shingles\\ndry, 150\\nAnd well the mountain might re-\\nply,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTo you, as to your sires of yore,\\nBelong the target and claymore\\nI give you shelter in my breast,\\nYour own good blades must win\\nthe rest.\\nPent in this fortress of the Xorth,\\nThink st thou we will not sally\\nforth,\\nTo spoil the spoiler as we may,\\nAnd from the robber rend the\\nprey?\\nAy, by my soul While on yon\\nplain 160\\nThe Saxon rears one shock of\\ngrain,\\nWhile of ten thousand herds there\\nstrays\\nBut one along yon river s maze,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe Gael, of plain and river heir,\\nShall with strong hand redeem his\\nshare.\\nWhere live the mountain Chiefs\\nwho hold\\nThat plundering Lowland field\\nand fold\\nIs aught but retribution true\\nSeek other cause gainst Roderick\\nDhu.\\nVIII\\nAnswered Fitz-James: And, if I\\nsought, 170\\nThink st thou no other could be\\nbrought\\nWhat deem ye of my path way-\\nlaid?\\nMy life given o er to ambuscade?\\nAs of a meed to rashness due\\nHadst thou sent warning fair and\\ntrue,\\nI seek my hound or falcon strayed,\\nI seek, good faith, a Highland\\nmaid,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFree hadst thou been to come and\\ngo;\\nBut secret path marks secret foe.\\nNor yet for this, even as a spy, 180\\nHadst thou, unheard, been doomed\\nto die,\\nSave to fulfil an augury/\\nWell, let it pass nor will I now\\nFresh cause of enmity avow,\\nTo chafe thy mood and cloud thy\\nbrow.\\nEnough, I am by promise tied\\nTo match me with this man of\\npride\\nTwice have I sought Clan- Alpine s\\nglen\\nIn peace but w 7 hen I come again,\\nI come with banner, brand, and\\nbow, 190\\nAs leader seeks his mortal foe.\\nFor love-lorn swain in lady s\\nbower\\nNe er panted for the appointed\\nhour,\\nAs I, until before me stand\\nThis rebel Chieftain and his\\nband\\nIX\\nHave then thy wish He whis-\\ntled shrill,\\nAnd he was answered from the\\nhill;\\nWild as the scream of the curlew,\\nFrom crag to crag the signal flew\\\\\\nInstant, through copse and heath,\\narose 200\\nBonnets and spears and bended\\nbows\\nOn right, on left, above, below,\\nSprung up at once the lurking foe\\nFrom shingles gray their lances\\nstart,\\nThe bracken bush sends forth the\\ndart,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0277.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "256\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nThe rushes and the willow-wand\\nAre bristling into axe and brand,\\nAnd every tuft of broom gives life\\nTo plaided warrior armed for\\nstrife. 209\\nThat whistle garrisoned the glen\\nAt once with full five hundred men,\\nAs if the yawning hill to heaven\\nA subterranean host had given.\\nWatching their leader s beck and\\nwill,\\nAll silent there they stood and\\nstill.\\nLike the loose crags whose threat-\\nening mass\\nLay tottering o er the hollow pass,\\nAs if an infant s touch could urge\\nTheir headlong passage down the\\nverge,\\nWith step and weapon forward\\nflung, 220\\nUpon the mountain side they\\nhung.\\nThe Mountaineer cast glance of\\npride\\nAlong Benledi s living side,\\nThen fixed his eye and sable brow\\nFull on Fitz-James: How say st\\nthou now\\nThese are Clan-Alpine s warriors\\ntrue\\nAnd, Saxon, I am Roderick\\nDim!\\nx\\nFitz-James was brave though\\nto his heart\\nThe life-blood thrilled with sudden\\nstart,\\nHe manned himself with dauntless\\nair, 230\\nReturned the Chief his haughty\\nstare,\\nHis back against a rock he bore,\\nAnd firmly placed his foot be-\\nfore\\n4 Come one, come all this rock\\nshall fly\\nFrom its firm base as soon as I.\\nSir Roderick marked, and in his\\neyes\\nRespect was mingled with sur-\\nprise,\\nAnd the stern joy which warriors\\nfeel\\nIn foeman worthy of their steel.\\nShort space he stood then waved\\nhis hand 240\\nDown sunk the disappearing\\nband\\nEach warrior vanished where he\\nstood,\\nIn broom or bracken, heath or\\nwood;\\nSunk brand and spear and bended\\nbow,\\nIn osiers pale and copses low\\nIt seemed as if their mother Earth\\nHad swallowed up her warlike\\nbirth.\\nThe wind s last breath had tossed\\nin air\\nPennon and plaid and plumage\\nfair,\\nThe next but swept a lone hill-\\nside, 250\\nWhere heath and fern were wav-\\ning wide\\nThe sun s last glance was glinted\\nback\\nFrom spear and glaive, from targe\\nand jack\\nThe next, all unreflected, shone\\nOn bracken green and cold gray\\nstone.\\nXI\\nyet\\nFitz-James looked round,\\nscarce believed\\nThe witness that his sight re-\\nceived;\\nSuch apparition well might seem\\nDelusion of a dreadful dream. 259\\nSir Roderick in suspense he eyed,\\nAnd to his look the Chief replied\\nFear naught nay, that I need\\nnot say\\nBut\u00e2\u0080\u0094 doubt not aught from mine\\narray.\\nThou art my guest; I pledged\\nmy word\\nAs far as Coilantogle ford", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0278.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT\\n257\\nNor would I call a clansman s\\nbrand\\nFor aid against one valiant hand,\\nThough on our strife lay every\\nvale\\nRent by the Saxon from the\\nGael. 269\\nSo move we on I only meant\\nTo show the reed on which you\\nleant,\\nDeeming this path you might pur-\\nsue\\nWithout a pass from Roderick\\nDhu.\\nThey moved I said Fitz-James\\nwas brave\\nAs ever knight that belted glaive,\\nYet dare not say that now his\\nblood\\nKept on its wont and tempered\\nflood,\\nAs, following Roderick s stride, he\\ndrew\\nThat seeming lonesome pathway\\nthrough,\\nWhich yet by fearful proof was\\nrife 280\\nWith lances, that, to take his\\nlife,\\nWaited but signal from a guide,\\nSo late dishonored and defied.\\nEver, by stealth, his eye sought\\nround\\nThe vanished guardians of the\\nground,\\nAnd still from copse and heather\\ndeep\\nFancy saw spear and broadsword\\npeep,\\nAnd in the plover s shrilly strain\\nThe signal whistle heard again.\\nNor breathed he free till far be-\\nhind 290\\nThe pass was left; for then they\\nwind\\nAlong a wide and level green,\\nWhere neither tree nor tuft was\\nseen,\\nNor rush nor bush of broom was\\nnear,\\nTo hide a bonnet or a spear.\\nXII\\nThe Chief in silence strode before,\\nAnd reached that torrent s sound-\\ning shore,\\nWhich, daughter of three mighty\\nlakes,\\nFrom Vennachar in silver breaks,\\nSweeps through the plain, and\\nceaseless mines 300\\nOn Bochastle the mouldering\\nlines,\\nWhere Rome, the Empress of the\\nworld,\\nOf yore her eagle wings unfurled.\\nAnd here his course the Chieftain\\nstayed,\\nThrew down his target and his\\nplaid,\\nAnd to the Lowland warrior said\\nBold Saxon to his promise just,\\nVich- Alpine has discharged his\\ntrust.\\nThis murderous Chief, this ruth-\\nless man,\\nThis head of a rebellious clan, 310\\nHath led thee safe, through watch\\nand ward,\\nFar past Clan-Alpine s outmost\\nguard.\\nNow, man to man, and steel to\\nsteel,\\nA Chieftain s vengeance thou shalt\\nfeel.\\nSee, here all vantageless I stand,\\nArmed like thyself with single\\nbrand\\nFor this is Coilantogle ford,\\nAnd thou must keep thee with thy\\nsword.\\nXIII\\nThe Saxon paused I ne er de-\\nlayed,\\nWhen foeman bade me draw my\\nblade; 320\\nNay more, brave Chief, I vowed\\nthy death\\nYet sure thy fair and generous\\nfaith,\\nAnd my deep debt for life pre-\\nserved,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0279.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "5 8\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nA better meed have well deserved\\nCan naught but blood our feud\\natone\\nAre there no means No,\\nstranger, none\\nAnd hear, to fire thy flagging\\nzeal,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe Saxon cause rests on thy\\nsteel;\\nFor thus spoke Fate by prophet\\nbred 329\\nBetween the living and the dead\\nWho spills the foremost f oeman s\\nlife,\\nHis party conquers in the strife.\\nThen, by my word, the Saxon\\nsaid,\\n4 The riddle is already read.\\nSeek yonder brake beneath the\\ncliff,\\nThere lies Red Murdoch, stark\\nand stiff.\\nThus Fate hath solved her pro-\\nphecy\\nThen yield to Fate, and not to me.\\nTo James at Stirling let us go, 339\\nWhen, if thou wilt be still his foe,\\nOr if the King shall not agree\\nTo grant thee grace and favor free,\\nI plight mine honor, oath, and\\nword\\nThat, to thy native strengths re-\\nstored,\\nWith each advantage shalt thou\\nstand\\nThat aids thee now to guard thy\\nland.\\nXIV\\nDark lightning flashed from Rod-\\nerick s eye\\nSoars thy presumption, then, so\\nhigh, 348\\nBecause a wretched kern ye slew,\\nHomage to name to Roderick Dhu\\nHe yields not, he, to man nor Fate\\nThou add st but fuel to my hate\\nMy clansman s blood demands re-\\nvenge.\\nNot yet prepared By heaven, I\\nchange\\nMy thought, and hold thy valor\\nlight\\nAs that of some vain carpet\\nknight,\\nWho ill deserved my courteous\\ncare,\\nAnd whose best boast is but to\\nwear\\nA braid of his fair lady s hair.\\nI thank thee, Roderick, for the\\nword 360\\nIt nerves my heart, it steels my\\nsword\\nFor I have sworn this braid to\\nstain\\nIn the best blood that warms thy\\nvein.\\nNow, truce, farewell! and, ruth,\\nbegone\\nYet think not that by thee alone,\\nProud Chief can courtesy be\\nshown\\nThough not from copse, or heath,\\nor cairn,\\nStart at my whistle clansmen stern,\\nOf this small horn one feeble blast\\nWould fearful odds against thee\\ncast. 370\\nBut fear not\u00e2\u0080\u0094 doubt not which\\nthou wilt\\nWe try this quarrel hilt to hilt.\\nThen each at once his falchion\\ndrew,\\nEach on the ground his scabbard\\nthrew,\\nEach looked to sun and stream\\nand plain\\nAs what they ne er might see\\nagain;\\nThen foot and point and eye op-\\nposed,\\nIn dubious strife they darkly\\nclosed.\\nxv\\n111 fared it then with Roderick\\nDhu,\\nThat on the field his targe he\\nthrew, 380\\nWhose brazen studs and tough\\nbull-hide", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0280.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT\\n259\\nHad death so often dashed aside\\nFor, trained abroad his arms to\\nwield,\\nFitz- James s blade was sword and\\nshield.\\nHe practised every pass and ward,\\nTo thrust, to strike, to feint, to\\nguard\\nWhile less expert, though stronger\\nfar,\\nThe Gael maintained unequal war.\\nThree times in closing strife they\\nstood,\\nAnd thrice the Saxon blade drank\\nblood; 390\\nNo stinted draught, no scanty tide,\\nThe gushing flood the tartans dyed.\\nFierce Roderick felt the fatal\\ndrain,\\nAnd showered his blows like win-\\ntry rain\\nAnd, as firm rock or castle-roof\\nAgainst the winter shower is\\nproof,\\nThe foe, invulnerable still,\\nFoiled his wild rage by steady\\nskill;\\nTill, at advantage ta en, his brand\\nForced Roderick s weapon from\\nhis hand, 400\\nAnd backward borne upon the lea,\\nBrought the proud Chieftain to his\\nknee.\\nXVI\\nNow yield thee, or by Him who\\nmade\\nThe world, thy heart s blood dyes\\nmy blade\\n1 Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy\\nLet recreant yield, who fears to\\ndie.\\nLike adder darting from his coil,\\nLike wolf that dashes through the\\ntoil,\\nLike mountain-cat who guards her\\nyoung,\\nFull at Fitz- James s throat he\\nsprung; 410\\nReceived, but recked not of a\\nwound,\\nAnd locked his arms his foeman\\nround.\\nNow, gallant Saxon, hold thine\\nown\\nNo maiden s hand is round thee\\nthrown\\nThat desperate grasp thy frame\\nmight feel\\nThrough bars of brass and triple\\nsteel\\nThey tug, they strain down, down\\nthey go,\\nThe Gael above, Fitz-James below.\\nThe Chieftain s gripe his throat\\ncompressed,\\nHis knee was planted on his\\nbreast; 420\\nHis clotted locks he backward\\nthrew,\\nAcross his brow his hand he drew,\\nFrom blood and mist to clear his\\nsight,\\nThen gleamed aloft his dagger\\nbright\\nBut hate and fury ill supplied\\nThe stream of life s exhausted tide,\\nAnd all too late the advantage\\ncame,\\nTo turn the odds of deadly game\\nFor, while the dagger gleamed on\\nhigh,\\nReeled soul and sense, reeled brain\\nand eye. 430\\nDown came the blow! but in the\\nheath\\nThe erring blade found bloodless\\nsheath.\\nThe struggling foe may now un-\\nclasp\\nThe fainting Chief s relaxing grasp\\nUnwounded from the dreadful\\nclose,\\nBut breathless all, Fitz-James\\narose.\\nXYII\\nHe faltered thanks to Heaven for\\nlife,\\nRedeemed, unhoped, from despe-\\nrate strife\\nNext on his foe his look he cast,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0281.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "26o\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nWhose every gasp appeared his\\nlast 440\\nIn Koderick s gore he dipped the\\nbraid,\\n4 Poor Blanche thy wrongs are\\ndearly paid\\nYet with thy foe must die, or live,\\nThe praise that faith and valor\\ngive.\\nWith that he blew a bugle note,\\nUndid the collar from his throat,\\nUnbonneted, and by the wave\\nSat down his brow and hands to\\nlave.\\nThen faint afar are heard the feet\\nOf rushing steeds in gallop fleet\\nThe sounds increase, and now are\\nseen 451\\nFour mounted squires in Lincoln\\ngreen\\nTwo who bear lance, and two who\\nlead\\nBy loosened rein a saddled steed\\nEach onward held his headlong\\ncourse,\\nAnd by Fitz-James reined up his\\nhorse,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWith wonder viewed the bloody\\nspot,\\nExclaim not, gallants question\\nnot.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nYou, Herbert and Luffness, alight,\\nAnd bind the wounds of yonder\\nknight 460\\nLet the gray palfrey bear his\\nweight,\\nWe destined for a fairer freight.\\nAnd bring him on to Stirling\\nstraight\\nI will before at better speed,\\nTo seek fresh horse and fitting\\nweed.\\nThe sun rides high I must be\\nboune\\nTo see the archer-game at noon\\nBut lightly Bayard clears the lea.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nDe Vaux and Herries, follow me.\\nXVIII\\nStand, Bayard, stand the steed\\nobeyed, 470\\nWith arching neck and bended\\nhead,\\nAnd glancing eye and quivering\\near,\\nAs if he loved his lord to hear.\\nNo foot Fitz-James in stirrup\\nstayed,\\nNo grasp upon the saddle laid,\\nBut wreathed his left hand in the\\nmane,\\nAnd lightly bounded from the\\nplain,\\nTurned on the horse his armed\\nheel,\\nAnd stirred his courage with the\\nsteel.\\nBounded the fiery steed in air, 480\\nThe rider sat erect and fair,\\nThen like a bolt from steel cross-\\nbow\\nForth launched, along the plain\\nthey go.\\nThey dashed that rapid torrent\\nthrough,\\nAnd up Carhonie s hill they flew;\\nStill at the gallop pricked the\\nKnight,\\nHis merrymen followed as they\\nmight.\\nAlong thy banks, swift Teith, they\\nride,\\nAnd in the race they mock thy\\ntide 489\\nTorry and Lendrick now are past,\\nAnd Deanstown lies behind them\\ncast;\\nThey rise, the bannered towers of\\nDoune,\\nThey sink in distant woodland\\nsoon;\\nBlair-Drummond sees the hoofs\\nstrike fire,\\nThey sweep like breeze through\\nOchtertyre\\nThey mark just glance and disap-\\npear\\nThe lofty brow of ancient Kier;\\nThey bathe their coursers swelter-\\ning sides,\\nDark Forth amid thy sluggish\\ntides,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0282.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT\\n261\\nAnd on the opposing shore take\\nground, 5\u00c2\u00b0\u00c2\u00b0\\nWith plash, with scramble, and\\nwith bound.\\nRight-hand they leave thy cliffs,\\nCraig-Forth\\nAnd soon the bulwark of the North,\\nGray Stirling, with her towers and\\ntown,\\nUpon their fleet career looked\\ndown.\\nXIX\\nAs up the flinty path they strained,\\nSudden his steed the leader\\nreined\\nA signal to his squire he flung,\\nWho instant to his stirrup\\nsprung\\n4 Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woods-\\nman gray, 510\\nWho townward holds the rocky\\nway,\\nOf stature tall and poor array\\nMark st thou the firm, yet active\\nstride,\\nWith which he scales the moun-\\ntain-side\\nKnow st thou from whence he\\ncomes, or whom?\\n4 No, by my word a burly groom\\nHe seems, who in the field or\\nchase\\nA baron s train would nobly\\ngrace\\n4 Out, out, De Vaux can fear sup-\\nply,\\nAnd jealousy, no sharper eye 520\\nAfar, ere to the hill he drew,\\nThat stately form and step I knew\\nLike form in Scotland is not\\nseen,\\nTreads not such step on Scottish\\ngreen.\\nT is James of Douglas, by Saint\\nSerle\\nThe uncle of the banished Earl.\\nAway, away, to court, to show\\nThe near approach of dreaded foe\\nThe King must stand upon his\\nguard\\nDouglas and he must meet pre-\\npared. 530\\nThen right hand wheeled their\\nsteeds, and straight\\nThey won the Castle s postern\\ngate.\\nxx\\nThe Douglas who had bent his\\nway\\nFrom Cambus kenneth s abbey\\ngray,\\nNow, as he climbed the rocky\\nshelf,\\nHeld sad communion with him-\\nself\\n4 Yes all is true my fears could\\nframe\\nA prisouer lies the noble Grseuie,\\nAnd fiery Roderick soon will feel\\nThe vengeance of the royal steel.\\nI, only I, can ward their fate,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nGod grant the ransom come not\\nlate 542\\nThe Abbess hath her promise\\ngiven,\\nMy child shall be the bride of\\nHeaven\\nBe pardoned one repining tear\\nFor He who gave her knows how\\ndear,\\nHow excellent! but that is by,\\nAnd now my business is to\\ndie.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nYe towers! within whose circuit\\ndread 549\\nA Douglas by his sovereign bled\\nAnd thou, sad and fatal mound!\\nThat oft hast heard the death-axe\\nsound,\\nA s on the noblest of the land\\nFell the stern headsman s bloody\\nhand,\\nThe dungeon, block, and nameless\\ntomb\\nPrepare for Douglas seeks his\\ndoom\\nBut hark what blithe and jolly\\npeal\\nMakes the Franciscan steeple\\nreel", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0283.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "262\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nAnd see upon the crowded street,\\nIn motley groups what masquers\\nmeet 560\\nBanner and pageant, pipe and\\ndrum,\\nAnd merry morrice-dancers come.\\nI guess, by all this quaint array,\\nThe burghers hold their sports to-\\nday.\\nJames will be there he loves such\\nshow,\\nWhere the good yeoman bends his\\nbow,\\nAnd the tough wrestler foils his\\nfoe,\\nAs well as where, in proud career,\\nThe high-born tilter shivers spear.\\nI 11 follow to the Castle-park, 570\\nAnd play my prize King James\\nshall mark\\nIf age has tamed these sinews\\nstark,\\nWhose force so oft in happier\\ndays\\nHis boyish wonder loved to praise.\\nXXI\\nThe Castle gates were open flung,\\nThe quivering drawbridge rocked\\nand rung.\\nAnd echoed loud the flinty street\\nBeneath the courser s clattering\\nfeet,\\nAs slowly down the steep descent\\nFair Scotland s King and nobles\\nwent, 580\\nWhile all along the crowded way.\\nWas jubilee and loud huzza.\\nAnd ever James w T as bending\\nlow\\nTo his white jennet s saddle-bow,\\nDoffing his cap to city dame,\\nWho smiled and blushed for pride\\nand shame.\\nAnd well the simperer might be\\nvain,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nHe chose the fairest of the train.\\nGravely he greets each city sire,\\nCommends each pageant s quaint\\nattire, 590\\nGives to the dancers thanks aloud,\\nAnd smiles and nods upon the\\ncrowd,\\nWho rend the heavens with their\\nacclaims,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nLong live the Commons King,\\nKing James\\nBehind the King thronged peer\\nand knight,\\nAnd noble dame and damsel\\nbright,\\nWhose fiery steeds ill brooked the\\nstay\\nOf the steep street and crowded\\nway.\\nBut in the train you might dis-\\ncern\\nDark lowering brow and visage\\nstern 600\\nThere nobles mourned their pride\\nrestrained,\\nAnd the mean burgher s joys dis-\\ndained\\nAnd chiefs, who, hostage for their\\nclan,\\nWere each from home a banished\\nman,\\nThere thought upon their own\\ngray tower,\\nTheir waving woods, their feudal\\npower,\\nAnd deemed themselves a shame-\\nful part\\nOf pageant which they cursed in\\nheart.\\nXXII\\nNow, in the Castle-park, drew out\\nTheir checkered bands the joyous\\nrout. 610\\nThere morricers, with bell at heel\\nAnd blade in hand, their mazes\\nwheel;\\nBut chief, beside the butts, there\\nstand\\nBold Robin Hood and all his\\nband,\\nFriar Tuck with quarterstaff and\\ncowl,\\nOld Scathelocke with his surly\\nscowl,\\nMaid Marian, fair as ivory bone,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0284.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH THE COMBAT\\n263\\nScarlet, and Mutch, and Little\\nJohn\\nTheir bugles challenge all that\\nwill.\\nIn archery to prove their skill. 620\\nThe Douglas bent a bow of\\nmight,\\nHis first shaft centred in the white,\\nAnd when in turn he shot again,\\nHis second split the first in twain.\\nFrom the King s hand must Doug-\\nlas take\\nA silver dart, the archer s stake\\nFondly he watched, with watery\\neye,\\nSome answering glance of sym-\\npathy,\\nNo kind emotion made reply\\nIndifferent as to archer wight, 630\\nThe monarch gave the arrow\\nbright.\\nXXIII\\nNow, clear the ring for, hand to\\nhand,\\nThe manly wrestlers take their\\nstand.\\nTwo o er the rest superior rose,\\nAnd proud demanded mightier\\nfoes,\\nNor called in vain, for Douglas\\ncame.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFor life is Hugh of Larbert lame\\nScarce better John of Alloa s fare,\\nWhom senseless home his com-\\nrades bare.\\nPrize of the wrestling match, the\\nKing 640\\nTo Douglas gave a golden ring,\\nWhile coldly glanced his eye of\\nblue,\\nAs frozen drop of wintry dew.\\nDouglas would speak, but in his\\nbreast\\nHis struggling soul his words sup-\\npressed\\nIndignant then he turned him\\nwhere\\nTheir arms the brawny yeomen\\nbare,\\nTo hurl the massive bar in air.\\nWhen each his utmost strength\\nhad shown,\\nThe Douglas rent an earth-fast\\nstone 650\\nFrom its deep bed, then heaved it\\nhigh,\\nAnd sent the fragment through\\nthe sky\\nA rood beyond the farthest mark\\nAnd still in Stirling s royal park,\\nThe gray-haired sires, who know\\nthe past,\\nTo strangers point the Douglas\\ncast,\\nAnd moralize on the decay\\nOf Scottish strength in modern\\nday.\\nXXIV\\nThe vale with loud applauses\\nrang,\\nThe Ladies Rock sent back the\\nclang. 660\\nThe King, with look unmoved, be-\\nstowed\\nA purse well filled with pieces\\nbroad.\\nIndignant smiled the Douglas\\nproud,\\nAnd threw the gold among the\\ncrowd,\\nWho now with anxious wonder\\nscan,\\nAnd sharper glance, the dark gray\\nman;\\nTill whispers rose among the\\nthrong,\\nThat heart so free, and hand so\\nstrong,\\nMust to the Douglas blood be-\\nlong.\\nThe old men marked and shook\\nthe head, 670\\nTo see his hair with silver spread\\nAnd winked aside, and told each\\nson\\nOf feats upon the English done,\\nEre Douglas of the stalwart hand\\nWas exiled from his native land.\\nThe women praised his stately\\nform,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0285.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "264\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nThough wrecked by many a win-\\nter s storm\\nThe youth with awe and wonder\\nsaw\\nHis strength surpassing Nature s\\nlaw.\\nThus judged, as is their wont, the\\ncrowd, 680\\nTill murmurs rose to clamors\\nloud.\\nBut not a glance from that proud\\nring\\nOf peers who circled round the\\nKing\\nWith Douglas held communion\\nkind,\\nOr called the banished man to\\nmind\\nNo, not from those who at the\\nchase\\nOnce held his side the honored\\nplace,\\nBegirt his board, and in the field\\nFound safety underneath his\\nshield\\nFor he whom royal eyes dis-\\nown, 690\\nWhen was his form to courtiers\\nknown\\nXXV\\nThe Monarch saw the gambols\\nflag,\\nAnd bade let loose a gallant stag,\\nWhose pride, the holiday to\\ncrown,\\nTwo favorite greyhounds should\\npull down,\\nThat venison free and Bourdeaux\\nwine\\nMight serve the archery to dine.\\nBut Luf ra, whom from Douglas\\nside\\nNor bribe nor threat could e er\\ndivide,\\nThe fleetest hound in all the\\nNorth, 700\\nBrave Lufra saw, and darted\\nforth.\\nShe left the royal hounds midway,\\nAnd dashing on the antlered prey,\\nSunk her sharp muzzle in his\\nflank,\\nAnd deep the flowing life-blood\\ndrank.\\nThe king s stout huntsman saw\\nthe sport\\nBy strange intruder broken short,\\nCame up, and with his leash un-\\nbound\\nIn anger struck the noble hound.\\nThe Douglas had endured, that\\nmorn, 710\\nThe King s cold look, the nobles\\nscorn,\\nAnd last, and worst to spirit proud.\\nHad borne the pity of the crowd\\nBut Lufra had been fondly bred,\\nTo share his board, to watch his\\nbed,\\nAnd oft would Ellen Lufra s neck\\nIn maiden glee with garlands\\ndeck\\nThey were such playmates that\\nwith name\\nOf Lufra Ellen s image came.\\nHis stifled wrath is brimming\\nhigh, 720\\nIn darkened brow and flashing\\neye;\\nAs waves before the bark divide,\\nThe crowd gave way before his\\nstride\\nNeeds but a buffet and no more,\\nThe groom lies senseless in his\\ngore.\\nSuch blow no other hand could\\ndeal,\\nThough gauntleted in glove of\\nsteel.\\nXXVI\\nThen clamored loud the royal\\ntrain,\\nAnd brandished swords and staves\\namain,\\nBut stern the Baron s warning:\\nBack 730\\nBack., on your lives, ye menial\\npack\\nBeware the Douglas. Yes be-\\nhold,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0286.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "CAXTO FIFTH: THE COMBAT\\n265\\nKing James The Douglas, doomed\\nof old,\\nAnd vainly sought for near and\\nfar,\\nA victim to atone the war,\\nA willing victim, now attends,\\nNor craves thy grace but for his\\nfriends.\\nThus is my clemency repaid\\nPresumptuous Lord! the Mon-\\narch said; 739\\n1 Of thy misproud ambitious clan.\\nThou, James of Bothwell, wert the\\nman,\\nThe only man, in whom a foe\\nMy woman-mercy would not\\nknow\\nBut shall a Monarch s presence\\nbrook\\nInjurious blow and haughty\\nlook?\\nWhat ho the Captain of our\\nGuard\\nGive the offender fitting ward.\\nBreak off the sports for tu-\\nmult rose,\\nAnd yeomen gan to bend their\\nbows,\\nBreak off the sports he said\\nand frowned, 750\\nAnd bid our horsemen clear the\\nground.\\nXXVII\\nThen uproar wild and misarray\\nMarred the fair form of festal\\nday.\\nThe horsemen pricked among the\\ncrowd,\\nKepelled by threats and insult\\nloud;\\nTo earth are borne the old and\\nweak,\\nThe timorous fly, the women\\nshriek j\\nWith flint, with shaft, with staff,\\nwith bar,\\nThe hardier urge tumultuous war.\\nAt once round Douglas darkly\\nsweep 760\\nThe royal spears in circle deep,\\nAnd slowly scale the pathway\\nsteep,\\nWhile on the rear in thunder pour\\nThe rabble with disordered roar.\\nWith grief the noble Douglas saw\\nThe Commons rise against the\\nlaw,\\nAnd to the leading soldier said\\n1 Sir John of Hyndford, t was my\\nblade,\\nThat knighthood on thy shoulder\\nlaid;\\nFor that good deed permit me\\nthen 770\\nA word with these misguided\\nmen.\\nXXVIII\\nHear, gentle friends, ere yet for\\nme\\nYe break the bands of fealty.\\nMy life, my honor, and my cause,\\nI tender free to Scotland s laws.\\nAre these so weak as must re-\\nquire\\nThe aid of your misguided ire\\nOr if I suffer causeless wrong,\\nIs then my selfish rage so strong,\\nMy sense of public weal so low, 780\\nThat, for mean vengeance on a\\nfoe,\\nThose cords of love I should un-\\nbind\\nWhich knit my country and my\\nkind?\\nno Believe, in yonder tower\\nIt will not soothe my captive\\nhour,\\nTo know those spears, our foes\\nshould dread\\nFor me in kindred gore are red\\nTo know, in fruitless brawl be-\\ngun,\\nFor me that mother wails her son,\\nFor me that widow s mate ex-\\npires, 790\\nFor me that orphans weep their\\nsires,\\nThat patriots mourn insulted laws,\\nAnd curse the Douglas for the\\ncause.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0287.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "266\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nlet your patience ward such\\nill,\\nAnd keep your right to love me\\nstill\\nXXIX\\nThe crowd s wild fury sunk again\\nIn tears, as tempests melt in rain.\\nWith lifted hands and eyes, they\\nprayed\\nFor blessings on his generous\\nhead\\nWho for his country felt alone, 800\\nAnd prized her blood beyond his\\nown.\\nOld men upon the verge of life\\nBlessed him who stayed the civil\\nstrife\\nAnd mothers held their babes on\\nhigh,\\nThe self-devoted Chief to spy,\\nTriumphant over wrongs and ire,\\nTo whom the prattlers owed a sire.\\nEven the rough soldier s heart was\\nmoved\\nAs if behind some bier beloved,\\nWith trailing arms and drooping\\nhead, 810\\nThe Douglas up the hill he led,\\nAnd at the Castle s battled verge,\\nWith sighs resigned his honored\\ncharge.\\nXXX\\nThe offended Monarch rode apart,\\nWith bitter thought and swelling\\nheart,\\nAnd would not now vouchsafe\\nagain\\nThrough Stirling streets to lead\\nhis train.\\n1 O Lennox, who would wish to rule\\nThis changeling crowd, this com-\\nmon fool\\nHear st thou, he said, the loud ac-\\nclaim 820\\nWith which they shout the Doug-\\nlas name\\nWith like acclaim the vulgar\\nthroat\\nStrained for King James their\\nmorning note\\nWith like acclaim they hailed the\\nday\\nWhen first I broke the Douglas\\nsway;\\nAnd like acclaim would Douglas\\ngreet\\nIf he could hurl me from my seat.\\nWho o er the herd would wish to\\nreign, 828\\nFantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain?\\nVain as the leaf upon the stream,\\nAnd fickle as a changeful dream\\nFantastic as a woman s mood,\\nAnd fierce as Frenzy s fevered\\nblood;\\nThou many-headed monster-thing,\\nwho would wish to be thy\\nking\\nXXXI\\nBut soft! what messenger of\\nspeed\\nSpurs hitherward his panting\\nsteed?\\n1 guess his cognizance afar\\nWhat from our cousin, John of\\nMar?\\n1 He prays, my liege, your sports\\nkeep bound 840\\nWithin the safe and guarded\\nground\\nFor some foul purpose yet un-\\nknown,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMost sure for evil to the throne,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe outlawed Chieftain, Roderick\\nDhu,\\nHas summoned his rebellious\\ncrew;\\nT is said, in James of Bothwell s\\naid\\nThese loose banditti stand ar-\\nrayed.\\nThe Earl of Mar this morn from\\nDoune\\nTo break their muster marched,\\nand soon\\nYour Grace will hear of battle\\nfought 850\\nBut earnestly the Earl besought,\\nTill for such danger he provide,\\nWith scanty train you will not\\nride.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0288.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH: THE GUARD-ROOM\\n267\\nXXXII\\n1 Thou warn st me I have done\\namiss,\\nI should have earlier looked to\\nthis\\nI lost it in this hustling day.\\nRetrace with speed thy former\\nway\\nSpare not for spoiling of thy steed,\\nThe best of mine shall be thy\\nmeed.\\nSay to our faithful Lord of Mar, 860\\nWe do forbid the intended war\\nRoderick this morn in single fight\\nWas made our prisoner by a\\nknight,\\nAnd Douglas hath himself and\\ncause\\nSubmitted to our kingdom s laws.\\nThe tidings of their leaders lost\\nWill soon dissolve the mountain\\nhost,\\nNor would we that the vulgar feel,\\nFor their Chief s crimes, avenging\\nsteel. 869\\nBear Mar our message, Braco, fly\\nHe turned his steed, Mv liege,\\nI hie,\\nYet ere I cross this lily lawn\\nI fear the broadswords will be\\ndrawn.\\nThe turf the flying courser\\nspurned,\\nAnd to his towers the King re-\\nturned.\\nXXXIII\\n111 with King James s mood that\\nday\\nSuited gay feast and minstrel lay\\nSoon were dismissed the courtly\\nthrong, 878\\nAnd soon cut short the festal song.\\nNor less upon the saddened town\\nThe evening sunk in sorrow down.\\nThe burghers spoke of civil jar,\\nOf rumored feuds and mountain\\nwar,\\nOf Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu,\\nAll up in arms the Douglas\\ntoo,\\nThey mourned him pent within the\\nhold,\\nWhere stout Earl William was\\nof old.\\nAnd there his word the speaker\\nstayed,\\nAnd finger on his lip he laid,\\nOr pointed to his dagger blade. 890\\nBut jaded horsemen from the west\\nAt evening to the Castle pressed,\\nAnd busy talkers said they bore\\nTidings of fight on Katrine s shore;\\nAt noon the deadly fray begun,\\nAnd lasted till the set of sun.\\nThus giddy rumor shook the town,\\nTill closed the Night her pennons\\nbrown.\\nCANTO SIXTH\\nTHE GUARD-ROOM\\nI.\\nThe sun, awakening, through the\\nsmoky air\\nOf the dark city casts a sullen\\nglance,\\nRousing each caitiff to his task of\\ncare,\\nOf sinful man the sad inheri-\\ntance\\nSummoning revellers from the\\nlagging dance,\\nScaring the prowling robber to\\nhis den\\nGilding on battled tower the ward-\\ner s lance,\\nAnd warning student pale to\\nleave his pen,\\nAnd yield his drowsy eyes to the\\nkind nurse of men.\\nWhat various scenes, and O, what\\nscenes of woe, 10\\nAre witnessed by that red and\\nstruggling beam\\nThe fevered patient, from his pal-\\nlet low,\\nThrough crowded hospital be-\\nholds it stream", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0289.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "268\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nThe ruined maiden trembles at its\\ngleam,\\nThe debtor wakes to thought of\\ngyve and jail,\\nThe love-lorn wretch starts from\\ntormenting dream\\nThe wakeful mother, by the\\nglimmering pale,\\nTrims her sick infant s couch, and\\nsoothes his feeble wail.\\nii\\nAt dawn the towers of Stirling\\nrang\\nWith soldier -step and weapon-\\nclang, 20\\nWhile drums with rolling note\\nforetell\\nRelief to weary sentinel.\\nThrough narrow loop and case-\\nment barred,\\nThe sunbeams sought the Court of\\nGuard,\\nAnd, struggling with the smoky\\nair,\\nDeadened the torches yellow\\nglare.\\nIn comfortless alliance shone\\nThe lights through arch of black-\\nened stone,\\nAnd showed wild shapes in garb\\nof war,\\nFaces deformed with beard and\\nscar, 3 c\\nAll haggard from the midnight\\nwatch,\\nAnd fevered with the stern de-\\nbauch\\nFor the oak table s massive board,\\nFlooded with wine, with fragments\\nstored,\\nAnd beakers drained, and cups\\no erthrown,\\nShowed in what sport the night\\nhad flown.\\nSome, weary, snored on floor and\\nbench\\nSome labored still their thirst to\\nquench\\nSome, chilled with watching,\\nspread their hands\\nO er the huge chimney s dying\\nbrands, 40\\nWhile round them, or beside them\\nflung,\\nAt every step their harness rung.\\nin\\nThese drew not for their fields the\\nsword,\\nLike tenants of a feudal lord,\\nNor owned the patriarchal claim\\nOf Chieftain in their leader s\\nname\\nAdventurers they, from far who\\nroved,\\nTo live by battle which they loved.\\nThere the Italian s clouded face,\\nThe swarthy Spaniard s there you\\ntrace 50\\nThe mountain-loving Switzer there\\nMore freely breathed in mountain-\\nair;\\nThe Fleming there despised the\\nsoil\\nThat paid so ill the laborer s toil\\nTheir rolls showed French and\\nGerman name\\nAnd merry England s exiles came,\\nTo share, with ill-concealed dis-\\ndain,\\nOf Scotland s pay the scanty gain.\\nAll brave in arms, well trained to\\nwield\\nThe heavy halberd, brand, and\\nshield 60\\nIn camps licentious, wild, and\\nbold;\\nIn pillage fierce and uncontrolled\\nAnd now, by holytide and feast,\\nFrom rules of discipline released.\\nIV\\nThey held debate of bloody fray,\\nFought twixt Loch Katrine and\\nAchray.\\nFierce was their speech, and mid\\ntheir words\\nTheir hands oft grappled to their\\nswords\\nNor sunk their tone to spare the\\near", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0290.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH THE GUARD-ROOM\\n169\\nOf wounded comrades groaning\\nnear, 70\\nWhose mangled limbs and bodies\\ngored\\nBore token of the mountain sword,\\nThough, neighboring to the Court\\nof Guard,\\nTheir prayers and feverish wails\\nwere heard,\\nSad burden to the ruffian joke,\\nAnd savage oath by fury spoke\\nAt length up started John of\\nBrent,\\nA yeoman from the banks of\\nTrent\\nA stranger to respect or fear,\\nIn peace a chaser of the deer, 80\\nIn host a hardy mutineer,\\nBut still the boldest of the crew\\nWhen deed of danger was to do.\\nHe grieved that day their games\\ncut short,\\nAnd marred the dicer s brawling\\nsport,\\nAnd shouted loud, Renew the\\nbowl\\nAnd, while a merry catch I troll,\\nLet each the buxom chorus bear,\\nLike brethren of the brand and\\nspear.\\nSOLDIER S SOXG\\nOur vicar still preaches that Peter\\nand Poule 90\\nLaid a swinging long curse on the\\nbonny brown bowl,\\nThat there s wrath and despair in\\nthe jolly black-jack,\\nAnd the seven deadly sins in a\\nflagon of sack\\nYet whoop, Barnaby off with thy\\nliquor,\\nDrink upsees out, and a fig for the\\nvicar\\nOur vicar he calls it damnation to\\nsip\\nThe ripe ruddy dew of a woman s\\ndear lip,\\nSays that Beelzebub lurks in her\\nkerchief so sly,\\nAnd Apollyon shoots darts from\\nher merry black eye\\nYet whoop, Jack kiss Gillian the\\nquicker, 100\\nTill she bloom like a rose, and a\\nfig for the vicar\\nOur vicar thus preaches,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and\\nwhy should he not\\nFor the dues of his cure are the\\nplacket and pot\\nAnd t is right of his office poor\\nlaymen to lurch\\nWho infringe the domains of our\\ngood Mother Church.\\nYet whoop, bully-boys off with\\nyour liquor,\\nSweet Marjorie s the word, and a\\nfig for the vicar\\nVI\\nThe warder s challenge, heard\\nwithout,\\nStayed in mid roar the merry\\nshout.\\nA soldier to the portal went, no\\nI Here is old Bertram, sirs, of\\nGhent\\nAnd beat for jubilee the drum\\nA maid and minstrel with him\\ncome.\\nBertram, a Fleming, gray and\\nscarred,\\nWas entering now the Court of\\nGuard,\\nA harper with him, and, in plaid\\nAll muffled close, a mountain\\nmaid,\\nWho backward shrunk to scape\\nthe view\\nOf the loose scene and boisterous\\ncrew.\\nWhat news? they roared I\\nonly know, 120\\nFrom noon till eve we fought with\\nfoe,\\nAs wild and as untamable\\nAs the rude mountains where they\\ndwell", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0291.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "270\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nOn both sides store of blood is\\nlost,\\nNor much success can either\\nboast.\\nBut whence thy captives, friend\\nsuch spoil\\nAs theirs must needs reward thy\\ntoil.\\nOld dost thou wax, and wars grow\\nsharp\\nThou now hast glee-maiden and\\nharp!\\nGet thee an ape, and trudge the\\nland, 130\\nThe leader of a juggler band.\\nVII\\n1 No, comrade no such fortune\\nmine.\\nAfter the fight these sought our\\nline,\\nThat aged harper and the girl,\\nAnd, having audience of the Earl,\\nMar bade I should purvey them\\nsteed,\\nAnd bring them hitherward with\\nspeed.\\nForbear your mirth and rude\\nalarm,\\nFor none shall do them shame or\\nharm.\\nHear ye his boast cried John\\nof Brent, 140\\nEver to strife and jangling bent\\nShall he strike doe beside our\\nlodge,\\nAnd yetthe jealous niggard grudge\\nTo pay the forester his fee\\nI 11 have my share howe er it\\nbe,\\nDespite of Moray, Mar, or thee.\\nBertram his forward step with-\\nstood\\nAnd, burning in his vengeful mood,\\nOld Allan, though unfit for strife,\\nLaid hand upon his dagger-knife\\nBut Ellen boldly stepped between,\\nAnd dropped at once the tartan\\nscreen:\u00e2\u0080\u0094 152\\nSo, from his morning cloud, ap-\\npears\\nThe sun of May through summer\\ntears.\\nThe savage soldiery, amazed,\\nAs on descended angel gazed\\nEven hardy Brent, abashed and\\ntamed,\\nStood half admiring, half ashamed.\\nVIII\\nBoldly she spoke: Soldiers, at-\\ntend\\nMy father was the soldier s friend,\\nCheered him in camps, in marches\\nled, 161\\nAnd with him in the battle bled.\\nNot from the valiant or the strong\\nShould exile s daughter suffer\\nwrong.\\nAnswered De Brent, most forward\\nstill\\nIn every feat or good or ill\\nI shame me of the part I played\\nAnd thou an outlaw s child, poor\\nmaid\\nAn outlaw 1 by forest laws,\\nAnd merry Needwood knows the\\ncause. 170\\nPoor Rose, if Rose be living\\nnow,\\nHe wiped his iron eye and brow,\\n1 Must bear such age, I think, as\\nthou.\\nHear ye, my mates I go to call\\nThe Captain of our watch to hall\\nThere lies my halberd on the floor\\nAnd he that steps my halberd\\no er,\\nTo do the maid injurious part,\\nMy shaft shall quiver in his heart\\nBeware loose speech, or jesting\\nrough 180\\nYe all know John de Brent.\\nEnough.\\nIX\\nTheir Captain came, a gallant\\nyoung,\\nOf Tullibardine s house he\\nsprung,\\nNor wore he yet the spurs of\\nknight", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0292.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH THE GUARD-ROOM\\n271\\nGay was liis mien, his humor\\nlight,\\nAnd, though by courtesy con-\\ntrolled,\\nForward his speech, his bearing\\nbold.\\nThe high-born maiden ill could\\nbrook\\nThe scanning of his curious look\\nAnd dauntless eye and yet, in\\nsooth, 190\\nYoung Lewis was a generous\\nyouth\\nBut Ellen s lovely face and mien,\\n111 suited to the garb and scene,\\nMight lightly bear construction\\nstrange,\\nAnd give loose fancy scope to\\nrange.\\n4 Welcome to Stirling towers, fair\\nmaid!\\nCome ye to seek a champion s aid,\\nOn palfrey white, with harper\\nhoar,\\nLike errant damosel of yore?\\nDoes thy high quest a knight re-\\nquire, 200\\nOr may the venture suit a squire\\nHer dark eye flashed she\\npaused and sighed\\nO what have I to do with pride\\nThrough scenes of sorrow, shame,\\nand strife,\\nA suppliant for a father s life,\\nI crave an audience of the King\\nBehold, to back my suit, a ring,\\nThe royal pledge of grateful\\nclaims,\\nGiven by the Monarch to Fitz-\\nJames.\\nx\\nThe signet-ring young Lewis took\\nWith deep respect and altered\\nlook, 211\\nAnd said This ring our duties\\nown\\nAnd pardon, if to worth unknown,\\nIn semblance mean obscurely\\nveiled,\\nLady, in aught my folly failed.\\nSoon as the day flings wide his\\ngates,\\nThe King shall know what suitor\\nwaits.\\nPlease you meanwhile in fitting\\nbower\\nRepose you till his waking hour\\nFemale attendance shall obey 220\\nYour nest, for service or array.\\nPermit I marshal you the way.\\nBut, ere she followed, with the\\ngrace\\nAnd open bounty of her race,\\nShe bade her slender purse be\\nshared\\nAmong the soldiers of the guard.\\nThe rest with thanks their guerdon\\ntook,\\nBut Brent, with shy and awkward\\nlook,\\nOn the reluctant maiden s hold\\nForced bluntly back the proffered\\ngold 230\\n1 Forgive a haughty English heart,\\nAnd 0, forget its ruder part\\nThe vacant purse shall be my\\nshare,\\nWhich in my barret-cap I 11 bear,\\nPerchance, in jeopardy of war,\\nWhere gayer crests may keep\\nafar.\\nWith thanks t was all she could\\nthe maid\\nHis rugged courtesy repaid.\\nXI\\nWhen Ellen forth with Lewis went,\\nAllan made suit to John of\\nBrent 240\\nMy lady safe, let your grace\\nGive me to see my master s face\\nHis minstrel I, to share his doom\\nBound from the cradle to the\\ntomb.\\nTenth in descent, since first my\\nsires\\nWaked for his noble house their\\nlyres,\\nNor one of all the race was known\\nBut prized its weal above their\\nown.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0293.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "272\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nWith the Chief s birth begins our\\ncare;\\nOur harp must soothe the infant\\nheir, 250\\nTeach the youth tales of fight, and\\ngrace\\nHis earliest feat of field or chase\\nIn peace, in war, our rank we\\nkeep,\\nWe cheer his board, we soothe his\\nsleep,\\nNor leave him till we pour our\\nverse\\nA doleful tribute o er his\\nhearse.\\nThen let me share his captive lot;\\nIt is my right, deny it not\\nLittle we reck, said John of\\nBrent,\\nWe Southern men, of long de-\\nscent; 260\\nNor wot we how a name\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a\\nword\\nMakes clansmen vassals to a lord\\nYet kind my noble landlord s\\npart,\\nGod bless the house of Beaude-\\nsert\\nAnd, but I loved to drive the deer\\nMore than to guide the laboring\\nsteer,\\nI had not dwelt an outcast here.\\nCome, good old Minstrel, follow\\nme;\\nThy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou\\nsee.\\nXII\\nThen, from a rusted iron hook, 270\\nA bunch of ponderous keys he\\ntook,\\nLighted a torch, and Allan led\\nThrough grated arch and passage\\ndread.\\nPortals they passed, where, deep\\nwithin,\\nSpoke prisoner s moan and fetters\\ndin;\\nThrough rugged vaults, where,\\nloosely stored,\\nLay wheel, and axe, and heads-\\nman s sword,\\nAnd many a hideous engine grim,\\nFor wrenching joint and crushing\\nlimb,\\nBy artists formed who deemed it\\nshame 280\\nAnd sin to give their work a name.\\nThey halted at a low-browed porch,\\nAnd Brent to Allan gave the torch,\\nWhile bolt and chain he backward\\nrolled,\\nAnd made the bar unhasp its hold.\\nThey entered t was a prison-\\nroom\\nOf stern security and gloom,\\nYet not a dungeon for the day\\nThrough lofty gratings found its\\nway, 289\\nAnd rude and antique garniture\\nDecked the sad walls and oaken\\nfloor,\\nSuch as the rugged days of old\\nDeemed fit for captive noble s hold.\\n4 Here, said De Brent, thou mayst\\nremain\\nTill the Leech visit him again.\\nStrict is his charge, the warders\\ntell,\\nTo tend the noble prisoner well.\\nRetiring then the bolt he drew,\\nAnd the lock s murmurs growled\\nanew.\\nRoused at the sound, from lowly\\nbed 300\\nA captive feebly raised his head\\nThe wondering Minstrel looked,\\nand knew\\nNot his dear lord, but Roderick\\nDim\\nFor, come from where Clan-Alpine\\nfought,\\nThey, erring, deemed the Chief he\\nsought.\\nXIII\\nAs the tall ship, whose lofty prore\\nShall never stem the billows more,\\nDeserted by her gallant band, 308\\nAmid the breakers lies astrand,\\nSo on his couch lay Roderick Dhu\\nAnd oft his fevered limbs he threw\\nIn toss abrupt, as when her sides", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0294.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH: THE GUARD-ROOM\\n73\\nLie rocking in the advancing tides,\\nThat shake her frame with cease-\\nless beat,\\nYet cannot heave her from her\\nseat\\nO, how unlike her course at sea\\nOr his free step on hill and lea\\nSoon as the Minstrel he could\\nscan,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhat of thy lady? of my\\nclan\\nMy mother Douglas tell me\\nall! 320\\nHave they been ruined in my fall\\nAh, yes! or wherefore art thou\\nhere?\\nYet speak, speak boldly, do\\nnot fear.\\nFor Allan, who his mood well\\nknew,\\nWas choked with grief and terror\\ntoo.\\nWho fought? who fled? Old\\nman, be brief;\\nSome might, for they had lost\\ntheir Chief.\\nWho basely live? who bravely\\ndied\\n0, calm thee, Chief the Minstrel\\ncried,\\nEllen is safe! For that thank\\nHeaven! 330\\n4 And hopes are for the Douglas\\ngiven;\\nThe Lady Margaret, too, is well\\nAnd, for thy clan, on field or fell,\\nHas never harp of minstrel told\\nOf combat fought so true and bold.\\nThy stately Pine is yet unbent,\\nThough many a goodly bough is\\nrent.\\nXIV\\nThe Chieftain reared his form on\\nhigh,\\nAnd fever s fire was in his eye\\nBut ghastly, pale, and livid streaks\\nCheckered his swarthy brow and\\ncheeks. 341\\nHark, Minstrel I have heard\\nthee play,\\nWith measure bold on festal day,\\nIn yon lone isle, again where\\nne er\\nShall harper play or warrior\\nhear\\nThat stirring air that peals on\\nhigh,\\nO er Dermid s race our victory.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nStrike it! and then, for well\\nthou canst,\\nFree from thy minstrel-spirit\\nglanced, 349\\nFling me the picture of the fight,\\nWhen met my clan the Saxon\\nmight.\\nI 11 listen, till my fancy hears\\nThe clang of swords, the crash of\\nspears\\nThese grates, these walls, shall\\nvanish then\\nFor the fair field of fighting men,\\nAnd my free spirit burst away,\\nAs if it soared from battle fray.\\nThe trembling Bard with awe\\nobeyed,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSlow on the harp his hand he laid\\nBut soon remembrance of the\\nsight 360\\nHe witnessed from the mountain s\\nheight,\\nWith what old Bertram told at\\nnight,\\nAwakened the full power of song,\\nAnd bore him in career along\\nAs shallop launched on river s\\ntide,\\nThat slow and fearful leaves the\\nside,\\nBut, when it feels the middle\\nstream,\\nDrives downward swift as light-\\nning s beam.\\nxv\\nBATTLE OF BEAL AN DTJINE\\nThe Minstrel came once more to\\nview 369\\nThe eastern ridge of Benvenue,\\nFor ere he parted he would say", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0295.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "274\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nFarewell to lovely Loch Achray\\nWhere shall he find, in foreign\\nland,\\nSo lone a lake, so sweet a\\nstrand\\nThere is no breeze upon the\\nfern,\\nNo ripple on the lake,\\nUpon her eyry nods the erne,\\nThe deer has sought the brake\\nThe small birds will not sing\\naloud, 379\\nThe springing trout lies still,\\nSo darkly glooms yon thunder-\\ncloud,\\nThat swathes, as with a purple\\nshroud,\\nBenledi s distant hill.\\nIs it the thunder s solemn sound\\nThat mutters deep and dread,\\nOr echoes from the groaning\\nground\\nThe warrior s measured tread\\nIs it the lightning s quivering\\nglance\\nThat on the thicket streams,\\nOr do they flash on spear and\\nlance 390\\nThe sun s retiring beams\\nI see the dagger-crest of Mar,\\nI see the Moray s silver star,\\nWave o er the cloud of Saxon\\nwar,\\nThat up the lake comes winding\\nfar!\\nTo hero boune for battle-strife,\\nOr bard of martial lay,\\nT were worth ten years of\\npeaceful life,\\nOne glance at their array\\nXVI\\nTheir light-armed archers far\\nand near 4\u00c2\u00b0\u00c2\u00b0\\nSurveyed the tangled ground,\\nTheir centre ranks, with pike\\nand spear,\\nA twilight forest frowned,\\nTheir barded horsemen in the\\nrear\\nThe stern battalia crowned.\\nNo cymbal clashed, no clarion\\nrang,\\nStill were the pipe and drum\\nSave heavy tread, and armor s\\nclang,\\nThe sullen march was dumb.\\nThere breathed no wind their\\ncrests to shake, 410\\nOr wave their flags abroad\\nScarce the frail aspen seemed\\nto quake,\\nThat shadowed o er their road.\\nTheir vaward scouts no tidings\\nbring,\\nCan rouse no lurking foe,\\nNor spy a trace of living thing,\\nSave when they stirred the\\nroe;\\nThe host moves like a deep-sea\\nwave,\\nWhere rise no rocks its pride to\\nbrave,\\nHigh-swelling, dark, and slow,\\nThe lake is passed, and now they\\ngain 421\\nA narrow and a broken plain,\\nBefore the Trosachs rugged jaws\\nAnd here the horse and spear-\\nmen pause,\\nWhile, to explore the dangerous\\nglen,\\nDive through the pass the archer-\\nmen.\\nXVII\\nAt once there rose so wild a yell\\nWithin that dark and narrow dell,\\nAs all the fiends from heaven that\\nfell 429\\nHad pealed the banner-cry of hell\\nForth from the pass in tumult\\ndriven,\\nLike chaff before the wind of\\nheaven,\\nThe archery appear\\nFor life! for life! their flight\\nthey ply\\nAnd shriek, and shout, and bat-\\ntle-cry,\\nAnd plaids and bonnets waving\\nhigh,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0296.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH THE GUARD-ROOM\\n2 7S\\nAnd broadswords flashing to the\\nThey hurled them on the foe.\\n*ky,\\nI heard the lance s shivering crash,\\nAre maddening in the rear.\\nAs when the whirlwind rends the\\nOnward they .drive in dreadful\\nash\\nrace,\\nI heard the broadsword s deadly\\nPursuers and pursued 440\\nclang^\\nBefore that tide of flight and\\nAs if a hundred anvils rang\\nchase,\\nBut Moray wheeled his rearward\\nHow shall it keep its rooted\\nrank\\nplace,\\nOf horsemen on Clan Alpine s\\nThe spearmen s twilight\\nflank, 470\\nwood\\nMy banner-men, advance\\nDown, down, cried Mar, your\\nI see, he cried, their column\\nlances down\\nshake.\\nBear back both friend and\\nNow, gallants for your ladies\\nfoe!\\nsake,\\nLike reeds before the tempest s\\nUpon them with the lance\\nfrown,\\nThe horsemen dashed among\\nThat serried grove of lances\\nthe rout,\\nbrown\\nAs deer break through the\\nAt once lay levelled low\\nbroom\\nAnd closely shouldering side to\\nTheir steeds are stout, their\\nside,\\nswords are out,\\nThe bristling ranks the onset\\nThey soon make lightsome\\nbide.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 450\\nroom.\\nWe ll quell the savage moun-\\nClan- Alpine s best are backward\\ntaineer,\\nborne\\nAs their Tinchel cows the\\nWhere, where was Roderick\\ngame\\nthen 480\\nThey come as fleet as forest\\nOne blast upon his bugle-horn\\ndeer,\\nWere worth a thousand men.\\nWe 11 drive them back as\\nAnd refluent through the pass\\ntame.\\nof fear\\nThe battle s tide was poured\\nXVIII\\nVanished the Saxon s struggling\\nBearing before them in their\\nspear,\\ncourse\\nVanished the mountain-sword.\\nThe relics of the archer force,\\nAs Bracklinn s chasm, so black\\nLike wave with crest of sparkling\\nand steep,\\nfoam,\\nReceives her roaring linn,\\nRight onward did Clan Alpine\\nAs the dark caverns of the deep\\ncome.\\nSuck the wild whirlpool in, 490\\nAbove the tide, each broadsword\\nSo did the deep and darksome pass\\nbright\\nDevour the battle s mingled mass;\\nWas brandishing like beam of\\nNone linger now r upon the plain,\\nlight, 460\\nSave those who ne er shall fight\\nEach targe was dark below;\\nagain.\\nAnd with the ocean s mighty\\nswing,\\nXIX\\nWhen heaving to the tempest s\\nNow westward rolls the battle s\\nwing,\\ndin,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0297.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "276\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nThat deep and doubling pass with-\\nin.\\nMinstrel, away the work of fate\\nIs bearing on its issue wait,\\nWhere the rude Trosachs dread\\ndefile 499\\nOpens on Katrine s lake and isle.\\nGray Benvenue I soon repassed,\\nLoch Katrine lay beneath me cast.\\nThe sun is set the clouds are\\nmet,\\nThe lowering scowl of heaven\\nAn inky hue of livid blue\\nTo the deep lake has given\\nStrange gusts of wind from moun-\\ntain glen\\nSwept o er the lake, then sunk\\nagain.\\nI heeded not the eddying surge,\\nMine eye but saw the Trosachs\\ngorge, 510\\nMine ear but heard that sullen\\nsound,\\nWhich like an earthquake shook\\nthe ground,\\nAnd spoke the stern and desperate\\nstrife\\nThat parts not but with parting\\nlife,\\nSeeming, to minstrel ear, to toll\\nThe dirge of many a passing\\nsoul.\\nNearer it comes\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the dim wood-\\nglen\\nThe martial flood disgorged\\nagain,\\nBut not in mingled tide\\nThe plaided warriors of the\\nNorth 520\\nHigh on the mountain thunder\\nforth\\nAnd overhang its side,\\nWhile by the lake below appears\\nThe darkening cloud of Saxon\\nspears.\\nAt weary bay each shattered\\nband,\\nEying their foemen, sternly\\nstand\\nTheir banners stream like tat-\\ntered sail,\\nThat flings its fragments to the\\ngale,\\nAnd broken arms and disarray\\nMarked the fell havoc of the\\nday.\\n530\\nxx\\nViewing the mountain s ridge\\naskance,\\nThe Saxons stood in sullen trance,\\nTill Moray pointed with his lance,\\nAnd cried Behold yon isle\\nSee none are left to guard its\\nstrand\\nBut women weak, that wring the\\nhand\\nT is there of yore the robber band\\nTheir booty wont to pile\\nMy purse, with bonnet -pieces\\nstore, 539\\nTo him will swim a bow- shot\\no er,\\nAnd loose a shallop from the\\nshore.\\nLightly we 11 tame the w r ar-wolf\\nthen,\\nLords of his mate, and brood, and\\nden.\\nForth from the ranks a spearman\\nsprung,\\nOn earth his casque and corselet\\nrung,\\nHe plunged him in the wave\\nAll saw the deed, the purpose\\nknew,\\nAnd to their clamors Benvenue\\nA mingled echo gave;\\nThe Saxons shout, their mate to\\ncheer, 550\\nThe helpless females scream for\\nfear,\\nAnd yells for rage the mountain-\\neer.\\nT was then, as by the outcry\\nriven,\\nPoured down at once the lowering\\nheaven\\nA whirlwind swept Loch Katrine s\\nbreast,\\nHer billows reared their snowy\\ncrest.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0298.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH THE GUARD-ROOM\\n277\\nWell for the swimmer swelled they\\nhigh,\\nTo mar the Highland marksman s\\neye;\\nFor round him showered, mid rain\\nand hail,\\nThe vengeful arrows of the Gael.\\nIn vain. He nears the isle and\\n10! 561\\nHis hand is on a shallop s bow.\\nJust then a flash of lightning\\ncame,\\nIt tinged the waves and strand\\nwith flame\\nI marked Duncraggan s widowed\\ndame,\\nBehind an oak I saw her stand,\\nA naked dirk gleamed in her\\nhand\\nIt darkened, but amid the moan\\nOf waves I heard a dying groan\\nAnother flash the spearman\\nfloats 570\\nA weltering corse beside the boats,\\nAnd the stern matron o er him\\nstood,\\nHer hand and dagger streaming\\nblood.\\nXXI\\nRevenge revenge the Saxons\\ncried,\\nThe Gaels exulting shout replied.\\nDespite the elemental rage,\\nAgain they hurried to engage\\nBut, ere they closed in desperate\\nfight,\\nBloody with spurring came a\\nknight,\\nSprung from his horse, and from\\na crag 580\\nWaved twixt the hosts a milk-\\nwhite flag.\\nClarion and trumpet by his side\\nPamg forth a truce-note high and\\nwide,\\nWhile, in the Monarch s name,\\nafar\\nA herald s voice forbade the war,\\nFor Bothwell s lord and Roderick\\nbold\\nWere both, he said, in captive\\nhold,\\nBut here the lay made sudden\\nstand,\\nThe harp escaped the Minstrel s\\nhand!\\nOft had he stolen a glance, to\\nspy 590\\nHow Roderick brooked his min-\\nstrelsy\\nAt first, the Chieftain, to the\\nchime,\\nWith lifted hand kept feeble\\ntime\\nThat motion ceased, yet feeling\\nstrong\\nVaried his look as changed the\\nsong;\\nAt length, no more his deafened\\near\\nThe minstrel melody can hear\\nHis face grows sharp, \u00e2\u0080\u0094his hands\\nare clenched,\\nAs if some pang his heart-strings\\nwrenched\\nSet are his teeth, his fading\\neye 600\\nIs sternly fixed on vacancy\\nThus, motionless and moanless,\\ndrew\\nHis parting breath stout Roderick\\nDhu!\\nOld Allan-bane looked on aghast,\\nWhile grim and still his spirit\\npassed;\\nBut when he saw that life was\\nfled,\\nHe poured his wailing o er the\\ndead.\\nXXII\\nLAMENT\\nAnd art thou cold and lowly\\nlaid,\\nThy foeman s dread, thy people s\\naid,\\nBreadalbane s boast, Clan- Alpine s\\nshade 610\\nFor thee shall none a requiem\\nsay", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0299.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "278\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nFor thee, who loved the minstrel s\\nlay,\\nFor thee, of BothwelPs house the\\nstay,\\nThe shelter of her exiled line,\\nE en in this prison-house of thine,\\nI 11 wail for Alpine s honored\\nPine!\\n4 What groans shall yonder valleys\\nfill!\\nWhat shrieks of grief shall rend\\nyon hill\\nWhat tears of burning rage shall\\nthrill,\\nWhen mourns thy tribe thy bat-\\ntles done, 620\\nThy fall before the race was won,\\nThy sword ungirt ere set of sun\\nThere breathes not clansman of\\nthy line,\\nBut would have given his life for\\nthine.\\nO, woe for Alpine s honored Pine\\nSad was thy lot on mortal\\nstage\\nThe captive thrush may brook the\\ncage,\\nThe prisoned eagle dies for rage.\\nBrave spirit, do not scorn my\\nstrain\\nAnd, when its notes awake\\nagain, 630\\nEven she, so long beloved in vain,\\nShall with my harp her voice com-\\nbine,\\nAnd mix her woe and tears with\\nmine,\\nTo wail Clan -Alpine s honored\\nPine.\\nXXIII\\nEllen, the while, with bursting\\nheart,\\nEemained in lordly bower apart,\\nWhere played, with many-colored\\ngleams,\\nThrough storied pane the rising\\nbeams.\\nIn vain on gilded roof they fall,\\nAnd lightened up a tapestried\\nwall, 640\\nAnd for her use a menial train\\nA rich collation spread in vain.\\nThe banquet proud, the chamber\\ngay,\\nScarce drew one curious glance\\nastray\\nOr if she looked, t was but to say,\\nWith better omen dawned the day\\nIn that lone isle, where waved on\\nhigh\\nThe dun-deer s hide for canopy\\nWhere oft her noble father shared\\nThe simple meal her care pre-\\npared, 650\\nWhile Lufra, crouching by her\\nside,\\nHer station claimed with jealous\\npride,\\nAnd Douglas, bent on woodland\\ngame,\\nSpoke of the chase to Malcolm\\nGraeme,\\nWhose answer, oft at random\\nmade,\\nThe wandering of his thoughts be-\\ntrayed.\\nThose who such simple joys have\\nknown\\nAre taught to prize them when\\nthey re gone.\\nBut sudden, see, she lifts her head,\\nThe window seeks with cautious\\ntread. 660\\nWhat distant music has the power\\nTo win her in this woful hour?\\nT was from a turret that o er-\\nhung\\nHer latticed bower, the strain was\\nsung.\\nXXIV\\nLAY OF THE IMPRISONED\\nHUNTSMAN\\n4 My hawk is tired of perch and\\nhood,\\nMy idle greyhound loathes his\\nfood,\\nMy horse is weary of his stall,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0300.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH THE GUARD-ROOM\\n279\\nAnd I am sick of captive thrall.\\nI wish I were as I have been,\\nHunting the hart in forest green,\\nWith bended bow and bloodhound\\nfree, 671\\nFor that s the life is meet for me.\\n4 1 hate to learn the ebb of time\\nFrom yon dull steeple s drowsy\\nchime,\\nOr mark it as the sunbeams crawl,\\nInch after inch, along the wall.\\nThe lark was wont my matins\\nring,\\nThe sable rook my vespers sing,\\nThese towers, although a king s\\nthey be,\\nHave not a hall of joy for me. 680\\nNo more at dawning morn I rise,\\nAnd sun myself in Ellen s eyes,\\nDrive the fleet deer the forest\\nthrough,\\nAnd homeward wend with evening\\ndew\\nA blithesome welcome blithely\\nmeet,\\nAnd lay my trophies at her feet,\\nWhile fled the eve on wing of\\nglee,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThat life is lost to love and me\\nXXV\\nThe heart-sick lay was hardly\\nsaid,\\nThe listener had not turned her\\nhead, 690\\nIt trickled still, the starting tear,\\nWhen light a footstep struck her\\near,\\nAnd Snowdoun s graceful Knight\\nwas near.\\nShe turned the hastier, lest again\\nThe prisoner should renew his\\nstrain.\\nO welcome, brave Fitz-James!\\nshe said\\n1 How may an almost orphan maid\\nPay the deep debt O say not\\nso!\\nTo me no gratitude you owe.\\nNot mine, alas the boon to give,\\nAnd bid thy noble father live 701\\nI can but be thy guide, sweet\\nmaid,\\nWith Scotland s King thy suit to\\naid.\\nNo tyrant he, though ire and pride\\nMay lay his better mood aside.\\nCome, Ellen, come t is more than\\ntime,\\nHe holds his court at morning\\nprime.\\nWith beating heart, and bosom\\nwrung,\\nAs to a brother s arm she clung.\\nGently he dried the falling tear,\\nAnd gently whispered hope and\\ncheer; 711\\nHer faltering steps half led, half\\nstayed,\\nThrough gallery fair and high ar-\\ncade,\\nTill at his touch its wings of pride\\nA portal arch unfolded wide.\\nXXVI\\nWithin t was brilliant all and\\nlight,\\nA thronging scene of figures\\nbright\\nIt glowed on Ellen s dazzled sight,\\nAs when the setting sun has given\\nTen thousand hues to summer\\neven, 720\\nAnd from their tissue fancy frames\\nAerial knights and fairy dames.\\nStill by Fitz-James her footing\\nstaid\\nA few faint steps she forward\\nmade,\\nThen slow her drooping head she\\nraised,\\nAnd fearful round the presence\\ngazed\\nFor him she sought who owned\\nthis state,\\nThe dreaded Prince whose will\\nw r as fate\\nShe gazed on many a princely port\\nMight well have ruled a royal\\ncourt 730", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0301.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "28o\\nTHE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nOn many a splendid garb she\\ngazed,\\nThen turned bewildered and\\namazed,\\nFor all stood bare; and in the\\nroom\\nFitz-James alone wore cap and\\nplume.\\nTo him each lady s look was lent,\\nOn him each courtier s eye was\\nbent\\nMidst furs and silks and jewels\\nsheen,\\nHe stood, in simple Lincoln green,\\nThe centre of the glittering ring,\\nAnd Snowdoun s Knight is Scot-\\nland s King\\n740\\nXXVII\\nAs wreath of snow on mountain-\\nbreast\\nSlides from the rock that gave it\\nrest,\\nPoor Ellen glided from her stay,\\nAnd at the Monarch s feet she\\nlay;\\nNo word her choking voice com-\\nmands.\\nShe showed the ring, she clasped\\nher hands.\\nO, not a moment could he brook,\\nThe generous Prince, that sup-\\npliant look\\nGently he raised her, and, the\\nwhile,\\nChecked with a glance the circle s\\nsmile 750\\nGraceful, but grave, her brow he\\nkissed,\\nAnd bade her terrors be dis-\\nmissed\\nYes, fair; the wandering poor\\nFitz-James\\nThe fealty of Scotland claims.\\nTo him thy woes, thy wishes,\\nbring\\nHe will redeem his signet ring,\\nAsk naught for Douglas yester\\neven,\\nHis Prince and he have much for-\\ngiven\\nWrong hath he had from slander-\\nous tongue, 759\\nI, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong.\\nWe would not, to the vulgar crowd,\\nYield what they craved with cla-\\nmor loud\\nCalmly we heard and judged his\\ncause,\\nOur council aided and our laws.\\nI stanched thy father s death-feud\\nstern\\nWith stout De Vaux and gray\\nGlencairn\\nAnd Bothwell s Lord henceforth\\nwe own\\nThe friend and bulwark of our\\nthrone.\\nBut, lovely infidel, how now?\\nWhat clouds thy misbelieving\\nbrow 770\\nLord James of Douglas, lend thine\\naid;\\nThou must confirm this doubting\\nmaid.\\nXXVIII\\nThen forth the noble Douglas\\nsprung,\\nAnd on his neck his daughter\\nhung.\\nThe Monarch drank, that happy\\nhour,\\nThe sweetest, holiest draught of\\nPower,\\nWhen it can say with godlike\\nvoice,\\nArise, sad Virtue, and rejoice\\nYet would not James the general\\neye\\nOn nature s raptures long should\\npry 780\\nHe stepped between Nay,\\nDouglas, nay,\\nSteal not my proselyte away\\nThe riddle t is my right to read,\\nThat brought this happy chance\\nto speed.\\nYes, Ellen, when disguised I stray\\nIn life s more low but happier way,\\nT is under name which veils my\\npower,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0302.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH: THE GUARD-ROOM\\n281\\nNor falsely veils, for Stirling s\\ntower\\nOf yore the name of Snowdoun\\nclaims,\\nAnd Normans call me James Fitz-\\nJames. 790\\nThus watch I o er insulted laws,\\nThus learn to right the injured\\ncause.\\nThen, in a tone apart and low,\\n1 Ah, little traitress none must\\nknow\\nWhat idle dream, what lighter\\nthought,\\nWhat vanity full dearly bought,\\nJoined to thine eye s dark witch-\\ncraft, drew\\nMy spell-bound steps to Benve-\\nnue\\nIn dangerous hour, and all but\\ngave\\nThy Monarch s life to mountain\\nglaive i 800\\nAloud he spoke Thou still dost\\nhold\\nThat little talisman of gold,\\nPledge of my faith, Fitz-James s\\nring,\\nWhat seeks fair Ellen of the King?\\nXXIX\\nFull well the conscious maiden\\nguessed\\nHe probed the weakness of her\\nbreast\\nBut with that consciousness there\\ncame\\nA lightening of her fears for\\nGraeme,\\nAnd more she deemed the Mon-\\narch s ire\\nKindled gainst him who for her\\nsire 810\\nRebellious broadsword boldly\\ndrew;\\nAnd, to her generous feeling\\ntrue,\\nShe craved the grace of Roderick\\nDhu.\\nForbear thy suit the King of\\nkings\\nAlone can stay life s parting\\nwings.\\nI know his heart, I know his\\nhand,\\nHave shared his cheer, and proved\\nhis brand\\nMy fairest earldom would I give\\nTo bid Clan Alpine s Chieftain\\nlive!\u00e2\u0080\u0094 819\\nHast thou no other boon to crave\\nNo other captive friend to save\\nBlushing, she turned her from the\\nKing,\\nAnd to the Douglas gave the\\nring,\\nAs if she wished her sire to\\nspeak\\nThe suit that stained her glowing\\ncheek.\\n4 Nay, then, my pledge has lost its\\nforce,\\nAnd stubborn justice holds her\\ncourse.\\nMalcolm, come forth and, at\\nthe word,\\nDown kneeled the Graeme to Scot-\\nland s Lord.\\n1 For thee, rash youth, no suppliant\\nsues, 830\\nFrom thee may Vengeance claim\\nher dues,\\nWho, nurtured underneath our\\nsmile,\\nHast paid our care by treacherous\\nwile,\\nAnd sought amid thy faithful clan\\nA refuge for an outlawed man,\\nDishonoring thus thy loyal name.\\nFetters and warder for the\\nGraeme\\nHis chain of gold the King un-\\nstrung,\\nThe links o er Malcolm s neck he\\nflung,\\nThen gently drew the glittering\\nband, 840\\nAnd laid the clasp on Ellen s hand.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0303.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "282 THE LADY OF THE LAKE\\nHarp of the North, farewell The hills grow dark,\\nOn purple peaks a deeper shade descending\\nIn twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,\\nThe deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.\\nResume thy wizard elm the fountain lending,\\nAnd the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy\\nThy numbers sweet with nature s vespers blending,\\nWith distant echo from the fold and lea,\\nAnd herd-boy s evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. 850\\nYet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp\\nYet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,\\nAnd little reck I of the censure sharp\\nMay idly cavil at an idle lay.\\nMuch have I owed thy strains on life s long way,\\nThrough secret woes the world has never known,\\nWhen on the weary night dawned wearier day,\\nAnd bitterer was the grief devoured alone.\\nThat I o erlive such woes, Enchantress is thine own.\\nHark as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 860\\nSome Spirit of the Air has waked thy string\\nT is now a seraph bold, with touch of fire,\\nT is now the brush of Fairy s frolic wing.\\nReceding now, the dying numbers ring\\nFainter and fainter down the rugged dell\\nAnd now the mountain breezes scarcely bring\\nA wandering witch-note of the distant spell\\nAnd now t is silent all Enchantress, fare thee well", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0304.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\n2S3\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\nQuid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris.\\nVox humana valet Claudian.\\nTO\\nJOHN WHITMORE, ESQ.,\\nAND TO THE\\nCOMMITTEE OF SUBSCRIBERS FOR RELIEF OF THE\\nPORTUGUESE SUFFERERS,\\nIN WHICH HE PRESIDES,\\nTHIS POEM,\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK,\\nCOMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUND UNDER THEIR\\nMANAGEMENT,\\nIS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY\\nWALTER SCOTT\\nINTRODUCTION\\nLives there a strain whose\\nsounds of mounting fire\\nMay rise distinguished o er the\\ndin of war\\nOr died it with yon Master of\\nthe Lyre,\\nWho sung beleaguered Ilion s\\nevil star\\nSuch, Wellington, might\\nreach thee from afar,\\nWafting its descant wide o er\\nOcean s range\\nNor shouts, nor clashing arms,\\nits mood could mar,\\nAll as it swelled twixt each\\nloud trumpet-change,\\nThat clangs to Britain victory, to\\nPortugal revenge\\n11\\nYes such a strain, with all o er-\\npowering measure, 10\\nMight melodize with each tu-\\nmultuous sound,\\nEach voice of fear or triumph,\\nwoe or pleasure,\\nThat rings Mondego s ravaged\\nshores around\\nThe thundering cry of hosts with\\nconquest crowned,\\nThe female shriek, the ruined\\npeasant s moan,\\nThe shout of captives from their\\nchains unbound,\\nThe foiled oppressor s deep\\nand sullen groan,\\nA Nation s choral hymn for tyr-\\nanny o erthrowii;", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0305.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "284\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\nin\\nBut we, weak minstrels of a lag-\\ngard day,\\nSkilled but to imitate an elder\\npage, 20\\nTimid and raptureless, can we\\nrepay\\nThe debt thou claim st in this\\nexhausted age\\nThou givest our lyres a theme,\\nthat might engage\\nThose that could send thy\\nname o er sea and land,\\nWhile sea and land shall last;\\nfor Homer s rage\\nA theme a theme for Milton s\\nmighty hand\\nHow much unmeet for us, a faint\\ndegenerate band\\nIV\\nYe mountains stern within\\nwhose rugged breast\\nThe friends of Scottish free-\\ndom found repose\\nYe torrents! whose hoarse\\nsounds have soothed their\\nrest, 30\\nReturning from the field of\\nvanquished foes\\nSay, have ye lost each wild ma-\\njestic close,\\nThat erst the choir of Bards or\\nDruids flung;\\nWhat time their hymn of victory\\narose,\\nAnd Cattraeth s glens with\\nvoice of triumph rung,\\nAnd mystic Merlin harped, and\\ngray-haired Lly warch sung\\nO, if your wilds such minstrelsy\\nretain,\\nAs sure your changeful gales\\nseem oft to say,\\nWhen sweeping wild and sink-\\ning soft again,\\nLike trumpet-jubilee or harp s\\nwild sway 40\\nIf ye can echo such triumphant\\nlay,\\nThen lend the note to him has\\nloved you long\\nWho pious gathered each tradi-\\ntion gray,\\nThat floats your solitary\\nwastes along,\\nAnd with affection vain gave them\\nnew voice in song.\\nVI\\nFor not till now, how oft soe er\\nthe task\\nOf truant verse hath lightened\\ngraver care,\\nFrom Muse or Sylvan was he\\nwont to ask,\\nIn phrase poetic, inspiration\\nfair\\nCareless he gave his numbers to\\nthe air, 50\\nThey came unsought for, if\\napplauses came\\nNor for himself prefers he now\\nthe prayer\\nLet but his verse befit a hero s\\nfame,\\nImmortal be the verse forgot\\nthe poet s name\\nVII\\nHark, from yon misty cairn their\\nanswer tost\\nMinstrel! the fame of whose\\nromantic lyre,\\nCapricious swelling now, may\\nsoon be lost,\\nLike the light flickering of a\\ncottage fire\\nIf to such task presumptuous\\nthou aspire\\nSeek not from us the meed to\\nwarrior due 60\\nAge after age has gathered son\\nto sire,\\nSince our gray cliffs the din of\\nconflict knew,\\nOr, pealing through our vales, vic-\\ntorious bugles blew.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0306.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\n285\\nVIII\\n1 Decayed our old traditionary\\nlore,\\nSave where the lingering fays\\nrenew their ring,\\nBy milkmaid seen beneath the\\nhawthorn hoar,\\nOr round the marge of Minch-\\nmore s haunted spring;\\nSave where their legends gray-\\nhaired shepherds sing,\\nThat now scarce win a listen-\\ning ear but thine,\\nOf feuds obscure and Border\\nravaging, 7\u00c2\u00b0\\nAnd rugged deeds recount in\\nrugged line\\nOf moonlight foray made on Te-\\nviot, Tweed, or Tyne.\\nIX\\nXo search romantic lands,\\nwhere the near Sun\\nGives with unstinted boon\\nethereal flame,\\nWhere the rude villager, his la-\\nbor done,\\nIn verse spontaneous chants\\nsome favored name,\\nWhether Olalia s charms his\\ntribute claim,\\nHer eye of diamond and her\\nlocks of jet,\\nOr whether, kindling at the\\ndeeds of Graeme,\\nHe sings, to wild Morisco mea-\\nsure set, 80\\nOld Albin s red claymore, green\\nErin s bayonet\\n1 Explore those regions, where\\nthe flinty crest\\nOf wild Nevada ever gleams\\nwith snows,\\nWhere in the proud Alhambra s\\nruined breast\\nBarbaric monuments of pomp\\nrepose\\nOr where the banners of more\\nruthless foes\\nThan the tierce Moor float o er\\nToledo s fane,\\nFrom whose tall towers even\\nnow the patriot throws\\nAn anxious glance, to spy\\nupon the plain\\nThe blended ranks of England,\\nPortugal, and Spain. 90\\nXI\\nf There, of Numantian fire a\\nswarthy spark\\nStill lightens in the sunburnt\\nnative s eye;\\nThe stately port, slow step, and\\nvisage dark\\nStill mark enduring pride and\\nconstancy.\\nAnd, if the glow of feudal chiv-\\nalry\\nBeam not, as once, thy nobles\\ndearest pride,\\nIberia 2 oft thy crestless peas-\\nantry\\nHave seen the plumed Hidalgo\\nquit their side,\\nHave seen, yet dauntless stood\\ngainst fortune fought aud\\ndied.\\nXII\\n1 And cherished still by that un-\\nchanging race, 100\\nAre themes for minstrelsy\\nmore high than thine\\nOf strange tradition many a\\nmystic trace,\\nLegend and vision, prophecy\\nand sign\\nWhere wonders wild of Ara-\\nbesque combine\\nWith Gothic imagery of darker\\nshade,\\nForming a model meet for min-\\nstrel line.\\nGo, seek such theme. The\\nMountain Spirit said\\nWith filial awe I heard I heard,\\nand I obeyed.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0307.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "286\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\nTHE VISION OF DON ROD-\\nERICK\\nRearing their crests amid the\\ncloudless skies,\\nAnd darkly clustering in the\\npale moonlight,\\nToledo s holy towers and spires\\narise,\\nAs from a trembling lake of\\nsilver white.\\nTheir mingled shadows inter-\\ncept the sight\\nOf the broad burial-ground\\noutstretched below,\\nAnd naught disturbs the silence\\nof the night\\nAll sleeps in sullen shade, or\\nsilver glow,\\nAll save the heavy swell of Teio s\\nceaseless flow.\\nn\\nAll save the rushing swell of\\nTeio s tide, 10\\nOr, distant heard, a courser s\\nneigh or tramp,\\nTheir changing rounds as watch-\\nful horsemen ride,\\nTo guard the limits of King\\nRoderick s camp.\\nFor, through the river s night-\\nfog rolling damp,\\nWas many a proud pavilion\\ndimly seen,\\nWhich glimmered back, against\\nthe moon s fair lamp,\\nTissues of silk and silver\\ntwisted sheen,\\nAnd standards proudly pitched,\\nand warders armed between.\\nin\\nBut of their monarch s person\\nkeeping ward,\\nSince last the deep-mouthed\\nbell of vespers tolled, 20\\nThe chosen soldiers of the royal\\nguard\\nThe post beneath the proud\\ncathedral hold\\nA band unlike their Gothic sires\\nof old,\\nWho, for the cap of steel and\\niron mace,\\nBear slender darts and casques\\nbedecked with gold,\\nWhile silver-studded belts their\\nshoulders grace,\\nWhere ivory quivers ring in the\\nbroad falchion s place.\\nIV\\nIn the light language of an idle\\ncourt,\\nThey murmured at their mas-\\nter s long delay,\\nAnd held his lengthened orisons\\nin sport: 30\\nWhat! will Don Roderick\\nhere till morning stay,\\nTo wear in shrift and prayer the\\nnight away\\nAnd are his hours in such dull\\npenance past,\\nFor fair Florinda s plundered\\ncharms to pay\\nThen to the east their weary\\neyes they cast,\\nAnd wished the lingering dawn\\nwould glimmer forth at last.\\nBut, far within, Toledo s prelate\\nlent\\nAn ear of fearful wonder to\\nthe king\\nThe silver lamp a fitful lustre\\nsent,\\nSo long that sad confession\\nwitnessing 40\\nFor Roderick told of many a hid-\\nden thing,\\nSuch as are lothly uttered to\\nthe air,\\nWhen Fear, Remorse, and Shame\\nthe bosom wring,\\nAnd Guilt his secret burden\\ncannot bear,\\nAnd Conscience seeks in speech a\\nrespite from Despair.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0308.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "THE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\n287\\nVI\\nFull on the prelate s face and\\nsilver hair\\nThe stream of failing light was\\nfeebly rolled\\nBut Roderick s visage, though\\nhis head was bare,\\nWas shadowed by his hand and\\nmantle s fold.\\nWhile of his hidden soul the\\nsins he told, 50\\nProud Alaric s descendant\\ncould not brook\\nThat mortal man his bearing\\nshould behold,\\nOr boast that he had seen,\\nwhen conscience shook,\\nFear tame a monarch s brow, re-\\nmorse a w r arrior s look.\\nVII\\nThe old man s faded cheek\\nwaxed yet more pale,\\nAs many a secret sad the king\\nbewrayed\\nAs sign and glance eked out the\\nunfinished tale,\\nWhen in the midst his faltering\\nwhisper staid.\\n4 Thus royal Witiza was slain,\\nhe said\\nYet, holy father, deem not it\\nwas L 60\\nThus still Ambition strives her\\ncrimes to shade.\\nO, rather deem t was stern\\nnecessity!\\nSelf-preservation bade, and I must\\nkill or die.\\nVIII\\nAnd if Florinda s shrieks\\nalarmed the air,\\nIf she invoked her absent sire\\nin vain\\nAnd on her knees implored that\\nI would spare,\\nYet, reverend priest, thy sen-\\ntence rash refrain\\nAll is not as it seems the\\nfemale train\\nKnow by their bearing to dis-\\nguise their mood\\nBut Conscience here, as if in high\\ndisdain. 70\\nSent to the Monarch s cheek\\nthe burning blood\\nHe stayed his speech abrupt and\\nup the prelate stood.\\nIX\\n1 hardened offspring of an iron\\nrace!\\nWhat of thy crimes, Don Rod-\\nerick, shall I say\\nWhat alms or prayers or penance\\ncan efface\\nMurder s dark spot, wash\\ntreason s stain away\\nFor the foul ravisher how shall\\nI pray,\\nWho, scarce repentant, makes\\nhis crime his boast?\\nHow hope Almighty vengeance\\nshall delay,\\nUnless, in mercy to yon Chris-\\ntian host, 80\\nHe spare the shepherd lest the\\nguiltless sheep be lost*\\nThen kindled the dark tyrant in\\nhis mood,\\nAnd to his brow returned its\\ndauntless gloom\\nAnd welcome then, he cried,\\nbe blood for blood,\\nFor treason treachery, for dis-\\nhonor doom\\nYet will I know whence come\\nthey or by whom,\\nShow, for thou canst give\\nforth the fated key,\\nAnd guide me, priest, to that\\nmysterious room\\nWhere, if aught true in old\\ntradition be,\\nHis nation s future fates a Spanish\\nking shall see. go", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0309.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": ";88\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\nXI\\nIll-fated Prince recall the de-\\nsperate word,\\nOr pause ere yet the omen thou\\nobey\\nBethink, yon spell-bound portal\\nwould afford\\nNever to former monarch en-\\ntrance-way\\nNor shall it ever ope, old records\\nsay,\\nSave to a king, the last of all\\nhis line,\\nWhat time his empire totters to\\ndecay,\\nAnd treason digs beneath her\\nfatal mine,\\nAnd high above impends avenging\\nwrath divine.\\nXII\\n4 Prelate a monarch s fate\\nbrooks no delay ioo\\nLead on The ponderous\\nkey the old man took,\\nAnd held the winking lamp, and\\nled the way,\\nBy winding stair, dark aisle,\\nand secret nook,\\nThen on an ancient gateway\\nbent his look;\\nAnd, as the key the desperate\\nking essayed,\\nLow muttered thunders the\\ncathedral shook,\\nAnd twice he stopped and\\ntwice new effort made,\\nTill the huge bolts rolled back and\\nthe loud hinges brayed.\\nXIII\\nLong, large, and lofty was that\\nvaulted hall\\nRoof, walls, and floor were all\\nof marble stone, no\\nOf polished marble, black as\\nfuneral pall,\\nCarved o er with signs and\\ncharacters unknown.\\nA paly light, as of the dawning,\\nshone\\nThrough the sad bounds, but\\nwhence they could not spy,\\nFor window to the upper air was\\nnone\\nYet by that light Don Roder-\\nick could descry\\nWonders that ne er till then were\\nseen by mortal eye.\\nXIV\\nGrim sentinels, against the up-\\nper wall,\\nOf molten bronze, two Statues\\nheld their place\\nMassive their naked limbs, their\\nstature tall, 120\\nTheir frowning foreheads\\ngolden circles grace.\\nMoulded they seemed for kings\\nof giant race,\\nThat lived and sinned before\\nthe avenging flood\\nThis grasped a scythe, that\\nrested on a mace\\nThis spread his wings for flight,\\nthat pondering stood,\\nEach stubborn seemed and stern,\\nimmutable of mood.\\nxv\\nFixed was the right-hand giant s\\nbrazen look\\nUpon his brother s glass of\\nshifting sand,\\nAs if its ebb he measured by a\\nbook,\\nWhose iron volume loaded his\\nhuge hand; 130\\nIn which was wrote of many a\\nfallen land,\\nOf empires lost, and kings to\\nexile driven\\nAnd o er that pair their names\\nin scroll expand\\n4 Lo, Destiny and Time to\\nwhom by Heaven\\nThe guidance of the earth is for a\\nseason given.\\nXVI\\nEven while they read, the sand-\\nglass wastes away", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0310.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "THE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\n\u00c2\u00bb8q\\nAnd, as the last and lagging\\ngrains did creep,\\nThat right hand giant gan his\\nclub upsway,\\nAs one that startles from a\\nheavy sleep.\\nFull on the upper wall the mace s\\nsweep 140\\nAt once descended with the\\nforce of thunder,\\nAnd, hurtling down at once in\\ncrumbled heap,\\nThe marble boundary was rent\\nasunder,\\nAnd gave to Roderick s view new\\nsights of fear and wonder.\\nXVII\\nFor they might spy beyond that\\nmighty breach\\nRealms as of Spain in visioned\\nprospect laid,\\nCastles and towers, in due pro-\\nportion each,\\nAs by some skilful artist s\\nhand portrayed\\nHere, crossed by many a wild\\nSierra s shade\\nAnd boundless plains that tire\\nthe traveller s eye 150\\nThere, rich with vineyard and\\nwith olive glade,\\nOr deep-embrowned by forests\\nhuge and high,\\nOr washed by mighty streams that\\nslowly murmured by.\\nXVIII\\nAnd here, as erst upon the an-\\ntique stage\\nPassed forth the band of mas-\\nquers trimly led,\\nIn various forms and various\\nequipage,\\nWhile fitting strains the hear-\\ner s fancy fed\\nSo, to sad Roderick s eye in or-\\nder spread,\\nSuccessive pageants filled that\\nmystic scene,\\nShowing the fate of battles ere\\nthey bled, 160\\nAnd issue of events that had\\nnot been\\nAnd ever and anon strange sounds\\nwere heard between.\\nXIX\\nFirst shrilled an unrepeated fe-\\nmale shriek\\nIt seemed as if Don Roderick\\nknew the call,\\nFor the bold blood was blanch-\\ning in his cheek.\\nThen answered kettle-drum\\nand atabal,\\nGong-peal and cymbal- clank the\\near appall,\\nThe Tecbir war-cry and the\\nLelie s yell\\nRing wildly dissonant along the\\nhall.\\nNeeds not to Roderick their\\ndread import tell 170\\nThe Moor he cried, the Moor\\nring out the tocsin bell\\nxx\\nThey come they come I see\\nthe groaning lands\\nWhite with the turbans of\\neach Arab horde\\nSwart Zaarah joins her misbe-\\nlieving bands,\\nAlia and Mahomet their bat-\\ntle-word,\\nThe choice they yield, the Koran\\nor the sword.\\nSee how the Christians rush to\\narms amain!\\nIn yonder shout the voice of con-\\nflict roared,\\nThe shadowy hosts are closing\\non the plain\\nNow, God and Saint Iago strike\\nfor the good cause of Spain\\nXXI\\n1 By Heaven, the Moors prevail\\nthe Christians yield 18 1\\nTheir coward leader gives for\\nflight the sign\\nThe sceptred craven mounts\\nto quit the field", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0311.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "200\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\nIs not yon steed Orelia?\\nYes, t is mine\\nBut never was she turned from\\nbattle-line\\nLo where the recreant spurs\\no er stock and stone\\nCurses pursue the slave, and\\nwrath divine\\nRivers ingulf him P Hush,\\nin shuddering tone,\\nThe prelate said; rash prince,\\nyon visioned form s thine\\nown.\\nXXII\\nJust then, a torrent crossed the\\nflier s course 190\\nThe dangerous ford the kingly\\nlikeness tried\\nBut the deep eddies whelmed\\nboth man and horse,\\nSwept like benighted peasant\\ndown the tide\\nAnd the proud Moslemah spread\\nfar and wide,\\nAs numerous as their native\\nlocust band\\nBerber and IsmaePs sons the\\nspoils divide,\\nWith naked scimitars mete out\\nthe land,\\nAnd for the bondsmen base the\\nfreeborn natives brand.\\nXXIII\\nThen rose the grated Harem, to\\nenclose\\nThe loveliest maidens of the\\nChristian line 200\\nThen, menials, to their misbe-\\nlieving foes\\nCastile s young nobles held for-\\nbidden wine\\nThen, too, the holy Cross, salva-\\ntion s sign,\\nBy impious hands was from\\nthe altar thrown,\\nAnd the deep aisles of the pol-\\nluted shrine\\nEchoed, for holy hymn and or-\\ngan-tone,\\nThe Santon s frantic dance, the\\nFakir s gibbering moan.\\nXXIV\\nHow fares Don Roderick?\\nE en as one who spies\\nFlames dart their glare o er\\nmidnight s sable woof,\\nAnd hears around his children s\\npiercing cries, 210\\nAnd sees the pale assistants\\nstand aloof\\nWhile cruel Conscience brings\\nhim bitter proof\\nHis folly or his crime have\\ncaused his grief\\nAnd while above him nods the\\ncrumbling roof,\\nHe curses earth and Heaven\\nhimself in chief\\nDesperate of earthly aid, despair-\\ning Heaven s relief\\nXXV\\nThat scythe-armed Giant turned\\nhis fatal glass\\nAnd twilight on the landscape\\nclosed her wings\\nFar to Asturian hills the war-\\nsounds pass,\\nAnd in their stead rebeck or\\ntimbrel rings 220\\nAnd to the sound the bell-decked\\ndancer springs,\\nBazars resound as when their\\nmarts are met,\\nIn tourney light the Moor his\\njerrid flings,\\nAnd on the land as evening\\nseemed to set,\\nThe Imaum s chant was heard\\nfrom mosque or minaret.\\nXXVI\\nSo passed that pageant. Ere\\nanother came\\nThe visionary scene was\\nwrapped in smoke,\\nWhose sulphurous wreaths were\\ncrossed by sheets of flame\\nWith every flash a bolt explo-\\nsive broke,\\nTill Roderick deemed the fiends\\nhad burst their yoke 230\\nAnd waved gainst heaven the\\ninfernal gonfalone", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0312.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "THE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\n291\\nFor War a new and dreadful lan-\\nguage spoke,\\nNever by ancient warrior\\nheard or known\\nLightning and smoke her breath,\\nand thunder was her tone.\\nXXVII\\nFrom the dim landscape roll the\\nclouds away\\nThe Christians have regained\\ntheir heritage\\nBefore the Cross has waned the\\nCrescent s ray,\\nAnd many a monastery decks\\nthe stage,\\nAnd lofty church, and low-\\nbrowed hermitage.\\nThe land obeys a Hermit and\\na Knight,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 240\\nThe Genii these of Spain for\\nmany an age\\nThis clad in sackcloth, that in\\narmor bright,\\nAnd that was Valor named, this\\nBigotry was hight.\\nXXVIII\\nValor was harnessed like a\\nchief of old,\\nArmed at all points, and\\nprompt for knightly gest\\nHis sword was tempered in the\\nEbro cold,\\nMorena s eagle plume adorned\\nhis crest,\\nThe spoils of Afric s lion bound\\nhis breast.\\nFierce he stepped forward and\\nflung down his gage\\nAs if of mortal kind to brave the\\nbest. 250\\nHim followed his companion,\\ndark and sage\\nAs he my Master sung, the dan-\\ngerous Archimage.\\nXXIX\\nHaughty of heart and brow the\\nwarrior came.\\nIn look and language proud\\nas proud might be,\\nVaunting his lordship, lineage,\\nfights, and fame\\nYet was that barefoot monk\\nmore proud than he\\nAnd as the ivy climbs the tallest\\ntree,\\nSo round the loftiest soul his\\ntoils he wound,\\nAnd with his spells subdued the\\nfierce and free.\\nTill ermined Age and Youth in\\narms renowned, 260\\nHonoring his scourge and hair-\\ncloth, meekly kissed the\\nground.\\nXXX\\nAnd thus it chanced that Valor,\\npeerless knight,\\nWho ne er to king or Kaiser\\nveiled his crest,\\nVictorious still in bull-feast or in\\nfight,\\nSince first his limbs with mail\\nhe did invest,\\nStooped ever to that anchoret s\\nbehest\\nNor reasoned of the right nor\\nof the wrong,\\nBut at his bidding laid the lance\\nin rest,\\nAnd wrought fell deeds the\\ntroubled world along,\\nFor he was fierce as brave and\\npitiless as strong. 270\\nXXXI\\nOft his proud galleys sought\\nsome new-found world,\\nThat latest sees the sun or\\nfirst the morn\\nStill at that wizard s feet their\\nspoils he hurled,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nIngots of ore from rich Potosi\\nborne,\\nCrowns by Caciques, aigrettes\\nby Omrahs worn,\\nWrought of rare gems, but\\nbroken, rent, and foul", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0313.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "292\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\nIdols of gold from heathen tem-\\nples torn,\\nBedabbled all with blood.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWith grisly scowl\\nThe hermit marked the stains and\\nsmiled beneath his cowl.\\nXXXII\\nThen did he bless the offering,\\nand bade make 280\\nTribute to Heaven of grati-\\ntude and praise\\nAnd at his word the choral\\nhymns awake,\\nAnd many a hand the silver\\ncenser sways,\\nBut with the incense breath\\nthese censers raise\\nMix steams from corpses\\nsmouldering in the fire\\nThe groans of prisoned victims\\nmar the lays,\\nAnd shrieks of agony con-\\nfound the quire\\nWhile, mid the mingled sounds,\\nthe darkened scenes expire.\\nXXXIII\\nPreluding light, were strains of\\nmusic heard,\\nAs once again revolved that\\nmeasured sand 290\\nSuch sounds as when, for sylvan\\ndance prepared,\\nGay Xeres summons forth her\\nvintage band\\nWhen for the light bolero ready\\nstand\\nThe mozo blithe, with gay mu-\\nchacha met,\\nHe conscious of his broidered\\ncap and band,\\nShe of her netted locks and\\nlight corsette,\\nEach tiptoe perched to spring and\\nshake the castanet.\\nXXXIV\\nAnd well such strains the open-\\ning scene became\\nFor Valok had relaxed his\\nardent look,\\nAnd at a lady s feet, like lion\\ntame, 300\\nLay stretched, full loath the\\nweight of arms to brook\\nAnd softened Bigotry upon his\\nbook\\nPattered a task of little good\\nor ill\\nBut the blithe peasant plied his\\npr uning-hook,\\nWhistled the muleteer o er\\nvale and hill,\\nAnd rung from village-green the\\nmerry seguidille.\\nXXXV\\nGray Royalty, grown impotent\\nof toil,\\nLet the grave sceptre slip his\\nlazy hold\\nAnd careless saw his rule be-\\ncome the spoil\\nOf a loose female and her min-\\nion bold. 310\\nBut peace was on the cottage\\nand the fold,\\nFrom court intrigue, from bick-\\nering faction far;\\nBeneath the chestnut-tree love s\\ntale was told,\\nAnd to the tinkling of the light\\nguitar\\nSweet stooped the western sun,\\nsweet rose the evening star.\\nXXXVI\\nAs that sea-cloud, in size like hu-\\nman hand\\nWhen first from Carmel by the\\nTishbite seen,\\nCame slowly overshadowing\\nIsrael s land,\\nAwhile perchance bedecked\\nwith colors sheen,\\nWhile yet the sunbeams on its\\nskirts had been, 320\\nLimning with purple and with\\ngold its shroud,\\nTill darker folds obscured the\\nblue serene\\nAnd blotted heaven with one\\nbroad sable cloud.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0314.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "THE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\n293\\nThen sheeted rain burst down and\\nwhirlwinds howled aloud\\nXXXVII\\nEven so, upon that peaceful\\nscene was poured,\\nLike gathering clouds, full\\nmany a foreign band,\\nAnd He, their leader, wore in\\nsheath his sword,\\nAnd offered peaceful front\\nand open hand,\\nVeiling the perjured treachery\\nhe planned,\\nBy friendship s zeal and\\nhonor s specious guise, 330\\nUntil he won the passes of the\\nland\\nThen burst w r ere honor s oath\\nand friendship s ties\\nHe clutched his vulture grasp and\\ncalled fair Spain his prize.\\nXXXYIII\\nAn iron crown his anxious fore-\\nhead bore\\nAnd well such diadem his\\nheart became\\nWho ne er his purpose for re-\\nmorse gave o er,\\nOr checked his course for\\npiety or shame\\nWho, trained a soldier, deemed\\na soldier s fame\\nMight flourish in the wreath of\\nbattles won,\\nThough neither truth nor honor\\ndecked his name 340\\nWho, placed by fortune on a\\nmonarch s throne,\\nRecked not of monarch s faith or\\nmercy s kingly tone.\\nXXXIX\\nFrom a rude isle his ruder lin-\\neage came\\nThe spark that, from a suburb-\\nhovel s hearth\\nAscending, wraps some capital\\nin flame,\\nHath not a meaner or more\\nsordid birth.\\nAnd for the soul that bade him\\nwaste the earth\\nThe sable land-flood from some\\nswamp obscure,\\nThat poisons the glad husband-\\nfield with dearth,\\nAnd by destruction bids its\\nfame endure, 350\\nHath not a source more sullen,\\nstagnant, and impure.\\nXL\\nBefore that leader strode a shad-\\nowy form\\nHer limbs like mist, her torch\\nlike meteor showed,\\nWith which she beckoned him\\nthrough fight and storm,\\nAnd all he crushed that\\ncrossed his desperate road,\\nXor thought, nor feared, nor\\nlooked on what he trode.\\nRealms could not glut his\\npride, blood could not slake,\\nSo oft as e er she shook her\\ntorch abroad\\nIt was Ambition bade his\\nterrors wake,\\nXor deigned she, as of yore, a\\nmilder form to take. 360\\nxli\\nNo longer now T she spurned at\\nmean revenge,\\nOr staid her hand for con-\\nquered foeman s moan,\\nAs when, the fates of aged Rome\\nto change,\\nBy Caesar s side she crossed\\nthe Rubicon.\\nNor joyed she to bestow the\\nspoils she won,\\nAs when the banded powers\\nof Greece were tasked\\nTo war beneath the Youth of\\nMacedon\\nNo seemly veil her modern\\nminion asked.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0315.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "294\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\nHe saw her hideous face and\\nloved the fiend unmasked.\\nXLII\\nThat prelate marked his march\\non banners blazed 370\\nWith battles won in many a\\ndistant land,\\nOn eagle-standards and on arms\\nhe gazed\\nAnd hopest thou, then, he\\nsaid, thy power shall stand\\nO, thou hast builded on the\\nshifting sand\\nAnd thou hast tempered it\\nwith slaughter s flood;\\nAnd know, fell scourge in the\\nAlmighty s hand,\\nGore-moistened trees shall per-\\nish in the bud,\\nAnd by a bloody death shall die\\nthe Man of Blood\\nXLIII\\nThe ruthless leader beckoned\\nfrom his train\\nA wan fraternal shade, and\\nbade him kneel, 380\\nAnd paled his temples with the\\ncrown of Spain,\\nWhile trumpets rang and her-\\nalds cried Castile\\nNot that he loved him No\\nIn no man s weal,\\nScarce in his own, e er joyed\\nthat sullen heart\\nYet round that throne he bade\\nhis warriors wheel,\\nThat the poor puppet might\\nperform his part\\nAnd be a sceptred slave, at his\\nstern beck to start.\\nxliv\\nBut on the natives of that land\\nmisused\\nNot long the silence of amaze-\\nment hung,\\nNor brooked they long their\\nfriendly faith abused 390\\nFor with a common shriek the\\ngeneral tongue\\nExclaimed, To arms and fast\\nto arms they sprung.\\nAnd Valor woke, that Genius\\nof the land\\nPleasure and ease and sloth\\naside he flung,\\nAs burst the awakening Naza-\\nrite his band\\nWhen gainst his treacherous foes\\nhe clenched his dreadful\\nhand.\\nXLV\\nThat mimic monarch now cast\\nanxious eye\\nUpon the satraps that begirt\\nhim round,\\nNow doffed his royal robe in act\\nto fly,\\nAnd from his brow the diadem\\nunbound. 400\\nSo oft, so near, the Patriot bugle\\nwound,\\nFrom Tarik s walls to Bilboa s\\nmountains blown,\\nThese martial satellites hard\\nlabor found,\\nTo guard awhile his substi-\\ntuted -throne;\\nLight recking of his cause, but\\nbattling for their own.\\nXLV I\\nFrom Alpuhara s peak that bu-\\ngle rung,\\nAnd it was echoed from Co-\\nrunna s wall\\nStately Seville responsive war-\\nshout flung,\\nGrenada caught it in her\\nMoorish hall\\nGalicia bade her children fight\\nor fall, 4*0\\nWild Biscay shook his moun-\\ntain-coronet,\\nValencia roused her at the bat-\\ntle-call,\\nAnd, foremost still where\\nValor s sons are met,\\nFast started to his gun each fiery\\nMiquelet.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0316.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "THE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\n295\\nXLVII\\nBut unappallecl and burning for\\nthe fight,\\nThe invaders march, of vic-\\ntory secure\\nSkilful their force to sever or\\nunite,\\nAnd trained alike to vanquisl-i\\nor endure,\\nNor skilful less, cheap conquest\\nto insure\\nDiscord to breathe and jeal-\\nousy to sow, 420\\nTo quell by boasting and by\\nbribes to lure\\nWhile naught against them\\nbring the unpractised foe v\\nSave hearts for freedom s cause\\nand hands for freedom s\\nblow.\\nXLVIII\\nProudly they march but, O,\\nthey march not forth\\nBy one hot field to crown a\\nbrief campaign,\\nAs when their eagles, sweeping\\nthrough the North,\\nDestroyed at every stoop an\\nancient reign\\nFar other fate had Heaven de-\\ncreed for Spain\\nIn vain the steel, in vain the\\ntorch was plied,\\nNew Patriot armies started from\\nthe slain, 430\\nHigh blazed the war, and long,\\nand far, and wide,\\nAnd oft the God of Battles blest\\nthe righteous side.\\nXLIX\\nNor unatoned, where Freedom s\\nfoes prevail,\\nRemained their savage waste.\\nWith blade and brand\\nBy day the invaders ravaged\\nhill and dale,\\nBut with the darkness the\\nGuerilla band\\nCame like night s tempest and\\navenged the land,\\nAnd claimed for blood the re-\\ntribution due,\\nProbed the hard heart and\\nlopped the murd rous hand;\\nAnd Dawn, when o er the scene\\nher beams she threw, 440\\nMidst ruins they had made the\\nspoilers corpses knew.\\nWhat minstrel verse may sing\\nor tongue may tell,\\nAmid the visioned strife from\\nsea to sea,\\nHow oft the Patriot banners rose\\nor fell,\\nStill honored in defeat as vic-\\ntory\\nFor that sad pageant of events\\nto be\\nShowed every form of fight by\\nfield and flood;\\nSlaughter and Ruin, shouting\\nforth their glee,\\nBeheld, while riding on the\\ntempest scud, 449\\nThe waters choked with slain, the\\nearth bedrenched with blood\\nLI\\nThen Zaragoza blighted be the\\ntongue\\nThat names thy name without\\nthe honor due\\nFor never hath the harp of min-\\nstrel rung\\nOf faith so felly proved, so\\nfirmly true\\nMine, sap, and bomb thy shattered\\nruins knew,\\nEach art of war s extremity\\nhad room,\\nTwice from thy half sacked\\nstreets the foe withdrew,\\nAnd when at length stern Fate\\ndecreed thy doom,\\nThey won not Zaragoza but her\\nchildren s bloody tomb,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0317.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "296\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\nLII\\nYet raise thy head, sad city\\nThough in chains, 460\\nEnthralled thou canst not be\\nArise, and claim\\nReverence from every heart\\nwhere Freedom reigns,\\nFor what thou worshippest\\nthy sainted dame,\\nShe of the Column, honored be\\nher name\\nBy all, whate er their creed,\\nwho honor love\\nAnd like the sacred relics of the\\nflame\\nThat gave some martyr to the\\nblessed above,\\nTo every loyal heart may thy sad\\nembers prove\\nliii\\nNor thine alone such wreck.\\nGerona fair\\nFaithful to death thy heroes\\nshould be sung, 470\\nManning the towers, while o er\\ntheir heads the air\\nSwart as the smoke from ra-\\nging furnace hung\\nNow thicker darkening where\\nthe mine was sprung,\\nNow briefly lightened by the\\ncannon s flare,\\nNow arched with fire-sparks as\\nthe bomb was flung,\\nAnd reddening now with con-\\nflagration s glare,\\nWhile by the fatal light the foes\\nfor storm prepare.\\nLIV\\nWhile all around was danger,\\nstrife, and fear,\\nWhile the earth shook and\\ndarkened was the sky,\\nAnd wide destruction stunned\\nthe listening ear, 480\\nAppalled the heart, and stupe-\\nfled the eye,\\nAfar was heard that thrice-re-\\npeated cry,\\nIn which old Albion s heart\\nand tongue unite,\\nWhene er her soul is up and\\npulse beats high,\\nWhether it hail the wine-cup\\nor the fight,\\nAnd bid each arm, be strong or bid\\neach heart be light.\\nLV\\nDon Roderick turned him as the\\nshout grew loud\\nA varied scene the changeful\\nvision showed,\\nFor, where the ocean mingled\\nwith the cloud,\\nA gallant navy stemmed the\\nbillows broad. 490\\nFrom mast and stern Saint\\nGeorge s symbol flowed,\\nBlent with the silver cross to\\nScotland dear;\\nMottling the sea their landward\\nbarges rowed,\\nAnd flashed the sun on bayo-\\nnet, brand, and spear,\\nAnd the wild beach returned the\\nseamen s jovial cheer.\\nIiVI\\nIt was a dread yet spirit-stirring\\nsight\\nThe billows foamed beneath a\\nthousand oars,\\nFast as they land the red-cross\\nranks unite,\\nLegions on legions brightening\\nall the shores.\\nThen banners rise and cannon-\\nsignal roars, 500\\nThen peals the warlike thun-\\nder of the drum,\\nThrills the loud fife, the trumpet-\\nflourish pours,\\nAnd patriot hopes awake and\\ndoubts are dumb,\\nFor, bold in Freedom s cause, the\\nbands of Ocean come", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0318.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "THE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\n297\\nLVII\\nA various host they came\\nwhose ranks display\\nEach mode in which the war-\\nrior meets the fight\\nThe deep battalion locks its firm\\narray,\\nAnd meditates his aim the\\nmarksman light\\nFar glance the lines of sabres\\nflashing bright,\\nWhere mounted squadrons\\nshake the echoing mead 510\\nLacks not artillery breathing\\nflame and night,\\nNor the fleet ordnance whirled\\nby rapid steed,\\nThat rivals lightning s flash in ruin\\nand in speed.\\nLYIII\\nA various host from kindred\\nrealms they came,\\nBrethren in arms but rivals in\\nrenown\\nFor yon fair bands shall merry\\nEngland claim,\\nAnd with their deeds of valor\\ndeck her crown.\\nHers their bold port, and hers\\ntheir martial frown,\\nAnd hers their scorn of death\\nin freedom s cause,\\nTheir eyes of azure, and their\\nlocks of brown, 520\\nAnd the blunt speech that\\nbursts without a pause,\\nAnd freeborn thoughts which\\nleague the soldier with the\\nlaws.\\nLIX\\nAnd, O loved warriors of the\\nminstrel s land\\nYonder your bonnets nod, your\\ntartans wave\\nThe rugged form may mark the\\nmountain band,\\nAnd harsher features, and a\\nmien more grave\\nBut ne er in battle-field throbbed\\nheart so brave\\nAs that which beats beneath\\nthe Scottish plaid\\nAnd when the pibroch bids the\\nbattle rave,\\nAnd level for the charge your\\narms are laid, 530\\nWhere lives the desperate foe that\\nfor such onset staid\\nlx\\nHark! from yon stately ranks\\nwhat laughter rings,\\nMingling wild mirth with war s\\nstern minstrelsy,\\nHis jest while each blithe com-\\nrade round him flings\\nAnd moves to death with mili-\\ntary glee\\nBoast, Erin, boast them tame-\\nless, frank, and free,\\nIn kindness warm and fierce\\nin danger known,\\nEough nature s children, humor-\\nous as she\\nAnd He, yon Chieftain strike\\nthe proudest tone\\nOf thy bold harp, green Isle the\\nhero is thine own. 540\\nLXI\\nNow on the scene Vimeira\\nshould be shown,\\nOn Talavera s fight should\\nRoderick gaze,\\nAnd hear Corunna wail her\\nbattle won,\\nAnd see Busaco s crest with\\nlightning blaze\\nBut shall fond fable mix with\\nheroes praise\\nHath Fiction s stage for\\nTruth s long triumphs room\\nAnd dare her wild-flowers mingle\\nwith the bays\\nThat claim a long eternity to\\nbloom\\nAround the warrior s crest and\\no er the warrior s tomb", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0319.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "298\\nTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK\\nLXII\\nOr may I give adventurous\\nFancy scope, 550\\nAnd stretch a bold hand to\\nthe awful veil\\nThat hides futurity from anxious\\nhope.\\nBidding beyond it scenes of\\nglory hail,\\nAnd painting Europe rousing at\\nthe tale\\nOf Spain s invaders from her\\nconfines hurled,\\nWhile kindling nations buckle\\non their mail,\\nAnd Fame, with clarion-blast\\nand wings unfurled,\\nTo freedom and revenge awakes\\nan injured world?\\nLXIII\\nO vain, though anxious, is the\\nglance I cast,\\nSince Fate has marked futurity\\nher own 560\\nYet Fate resigns to worth the\\nglorious past,\\nThe deeds recorded and the\\nlaurels won.\\nThen, though the Vault of De-\\nstiny be gone,\\nKing, prelate, all the phan-\\ntasms of my brain,\\nMelted away like mist-wreaths\\nin the sun,\\nYet grant for faith, for valor,\\nand for Spain,\\nOne note of pride and fire, a pa-\\ntriot s parting strain\\nCONCLUSION\\n1\\n1 Who shall command Estrella s\\nmountain-tide\\nBack to the source, when tem-\\npest-chafed, to hie\\nWho, when Gascogne s vexed\\ngulf is raging wide,\\nShall hush it as a nurse her in-\\nfant s cry\\nHis magic power let such vain\\nboaster try,\\nAnd when the torrent shall his\\nvoice obey,\\nAnd Biscay s whirlwinds list his\\nlullaby,\\nLet him stand forth and bar\\nmine eagles way,\\nAnd they shall heed his voice and\\nat his bidding stay.\\n11\\n1 Else ne er to stoop till high on\\nLisbon s towers 10\\nThey close their wings, the\\nsymbol of our yoke,\\nAnd their own sea hath whelmed\\nyon red-cross powers\\nThus, on the summit of Al-\\nverca s rock,\\nTo marshal, duke, and peer\\nGaul s leader spoke.\\nWhile downward on the land\\nhis legions press,\\nBefore them it was rich with\\nvine and flock,\\nAnd smiled like Eden in her\\nsummer dress\\nBehind their wasteful march a\\nreeking wilderness,\\nin\\nAnd shall the boastful chief\\nmaintain his word,\\nThough Heaven hath heard\\nthe wailings of the land, 20\\nThough Lusitania whet her\\nvengeful sword,\\nThough Britons arm and\\nWellington command\\nNo grim Busaco s iron ridge\\nshall stand\\nAn adamantine barrier to his\\nforce\\nAnd from its base shall wheel\\nhis shattered band,\\nAs from the unshaken rock\\nthe torrent hoarse\\nBears off its broken waves and\\nseeks a devious course.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0320.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "CONCLUSION\\n299\\nIV\\nYet not because Alcoba s moun-\\ntain-hawk\\nHath on his best and bravest\\nmade her food,\\nIn numbers confident, yon chief\\nshall balk 30\\nHis lord s imperial thirst for\\nspoil and blood\\nFor full in view the promised\\nconquest stood,\\nAnd Lisbon s matrons from\\ntheir walls might sum\\nThe myriads that had half the\\nworld subdued,\\nAnd hear the distant thunders\\nof the drum\\nThat bids the bands of France to\\nstorm and havoc come.\\nFour moons have heard these\\nthunders idly rolled,\\nHave seen these wistful my-\\nriads eye their prey,\\nAs famished wolves survey a\\nguarded fold\\nBut in the middle path a Lion\\nlay 40\\nAt length they move but not\\nto battle-fray,\\nNor blaze yon fires where\\nmeets the manly fight\\nBeacons of infamy, they light the\\nway\\nWhere cowardice and cruelty\\nunite\\nTo damn with double shame their\\nignominious flight\\nVI\\ntriumph for the fiends of lust\\nand wrath\\nNe er to be told, yet ne er to\\nbe forgot,\\nWhat wanton horrors marked\\nthen- wrackf ul path\\nThe peasant butchered in his\\nruined cot,\\nThe hoary priest even at the\\naltar shot, 50\\nChildhood and age given o er\\nto sword and flame,\\nWoman to infamy; no crime\\nforgot,\\nBy which inventive demons\\nmight proclaim\\nImmortal hate to man and scorn\\nof God s great name\\nVII\\nThe rudest sentinel in Britain\\nborn\\nWith horror paused to view\\nthe havoc done,\\nGave his poor crust to feed some\\nwretch forlorn,\\nWiped his stern eye, then\\nfiercer grasped his gun.\\nNor with less zeal shall Britain s\\npeaceful son\\nExult the debt of sympathy to\\npay 60\\nKiches nor poverty the tax shall\\nshun,\\nNor prince nor peer, the\\nwealthy nor the gay,\\nNor the poor peasant s mite, nor\\nbard s more worthless lay.\\nviii\\nBut thou unfoughten wilt\\nthou yield to Fate,\\nMinion of Fortune, now mis-\\ncalled in vain\\nCan vantage-ground no confi-\\ndence create,\\nMarcella s pass, nor Guarda s\\nmountain-chain?\\nVainglorious fugitive, yet turn\\nagain\\nBehold, where, named by some\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2prophetic seer,\\nFlows Honor s Fountain, as fore-\\ndoomed the stain 70\\nFrom thy dishonored name and\\narms to clear\\nFallen child of Fortune, turn, re-\\ndeem her favor here", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0321.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "300\\nthp: vision of don Roderick\\nIX\\nYet, ere thou turn st, collect each\\ndistant aid\\nThose chiefs that never heard\\nthe lion roar\\nWithin whose souls lives not a\\ntrace portrayed\\nOf Talavera or Mondego s\\nshore\\nMarshal each hand thou hast\\nand summon more\\nOf war s fell stratagems ex-\\nhaust the whole\\nRank upon rank, squadron on\\nsquadron pour,\\nLegion on legion on thy foe-\\nman roll, 80\\nAnd weary out his arm thou\\ncanst not quell his soul.\\nx\\nO vainly gleams with steel\\nAgueda s shore,\\nVainly thy squadrons hide\\nAssuava s plain,\\nAnd front the flying thunders as\\nthey roar,\\nWith frantic charge and ten-\\nfold odds, in vain\\nAnd what avails thee that for\\nCameron slain\\nWild from his plaided ranks\\nthe yell was given\\nVengeance and grief gave moun-\\ntain-rage the rein,\\nAnd, at the bloody spear-point\\nheadlong driven.\\nThy despot s giant guards fled like\\nthe rack of heaven. 90\\nXI\\nGo, baffled boaster! teach thy\\nhaughty mood\\nTo plead at thine imperious\\nmaster s throne\\nSay, thou hast left his legions in\\ntheir blood,\\nDeceived his hopes and frus-\\ntrated thine own\\nSay, that thine utmost skill and\\nvalor shown\\nBy British skill and valor were\\noutvied\\nLast say, thy conqueror was\\nWellington\\nAnd if he chafe, be his own\\nfortune tried\\nGod and our cause to friend, the\\nventure we 11 abide.\\nXII\\nBut you, the heroes of that well-\\nfought day, 100\\nHow shall a bard unknowing\\nand unknown\\nHis meed to each victorious\\nleader pay,\\nOr bind on every brow the\\nlaurels won\\nYet fain my harp would wake\\nits boldest tone,\\nO er the wide sea to hail Ca-\\ndogak brave\\nAnd he perchance the minstrel-\\nnote might own,\\nMindful of meeting brief that\\nFortune gave\\nMid yon far western isles that hear\\nthe Atlantic rave.\\nXIII\\nYes! hard the task, when Brit-\\nons wield the sword,\\nTo give each chief and every\\nfield its fame: no\\nHark Albuera thunders Beres-\\nFORD,\\nAnd red Barosa shouts for\\ndauntless Gr.eme\\nO for a verse of tumult and of\\nflame,\\nBold as the bursting of their\\ncannon sound,\\nTo bid the world re-echo to their\\nfame!\\nFor never upon gory battle-\\nground\\nWith conquest s well bought\\nwreath were braver victors\\ncrowned", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0322.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "CONCLUSION\\n30i\\nXIV\\nO who shall grudge him Al-\\nbuera s bays\\nWho brought a race regene-\\nrate to the field,\\nKoused them to emulate their\\nfathers praise, 120\\nTempered their headlong rage,\\ntheir courage steeled,\\nAnd raised fair Lusitania\\nfallen shield,\\nAnd gave new edge to Lusi-\\ntania s sword,\\nAnd taught her sons forgotten\\narms to wield\\nShivered my harp and burst its\\nevery chord,\\nIf it forget thy worth, victorious\\nBeresford!\\nXV\\nNot on that bloody field of battle\\nwon,\\nThough Gaul s proud legions\\nrolled like mist away,\\nWas half his self-devoted valor\\nshown,\\nHe gaged but life on that illus-\\ntrious day 130\\nBut when he toiled those squad-\\nrons to array\\nWho fought like Britons in the\\nbloody game,\\nSharper than Polish pike or as-\\nsagay,\\nHe braved the shafts of cen-\\nsure and of shame,\\n.And, clearer far than life, he\\npledged a soldier s fame.\\nXVI\\nNor be his praise o erpast who\\nstrove to hide\\nBeneath the warrior s vest\\naffection s wound,\\nWhose wish Heaven for his\\ncountry s weal denied\\nDanger and fate ne sought,\\nbut glory found.\\nFrom clime to clime, where er\\nwar s trumpets sound, 140\\nThe wanderer went; yet, Cale-\\ndonia still\\nThine was his thought in march\\nand tented ground\\nHe dreamed mid Alpine cliffs\\nof Athole s hill,\\nAnd heard in Ebro s roar his\\nLyndoch s lovely rill.\\nXVII\\nhero of a race renowned of old,\\nWhose war-cry oft has waked\\nthe battle-swell,\\nSince first distinguished in the\\nonset bold,\\nWild sounding when the Eo-\\nman rampart fell\\nBy Wallace side it rung the\\nSouthron s knell,\\nAlderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber\\nowned its fame, 150\\nT umme IPs rude pass can of its\\nterrors tell,\\nBut ne er from prouder field\\narose the name\\nThan when wild Eonda learned\\nthe conquering shout of\\nGR-E3IE\\nXVIII\\nBut all too long, through seas un-\\nknown and dark,\\nWith Spenser s parable I close\\nmy tale,\\nBy shoal and rock hath steered\\nmy venturous bark,\\nAnd landward now I drive be-\\nfore the gale.\\nAnd now the blue and distant\\nshore I hail,\\nAnd nearer now I see the port\\nexpand,\\nAnd now I gladly furl my weary\\nsail, 160\\nAnd, as the prow light touches\\non the strand,\\nI strike my red-cross flag and\\nbind my skiff to land.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0323.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "302\\nROKEBY\\nROKEBY\\nA POEM IN SIX CANTOS\\nTO\\nJOHN B. S. MORRITT, ESQ.\\nTHIS POEM\\nTHE SCENE OF WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE\\nOF ROKEBY, IS INSCRIBED, IN TOKEN OF SINCERE\\nFRIENDSHIP, BY\\nWALTER SCOTT.\\nADVERTISEMENT\\nThe Scene of this Poem is laid at Rokeby, near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshire,\\nand shifts to the adjacent fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places in that\\nVicinity.\\nThe Time occupied by the Action is a space of Five Days, Three of which are\\nsupposed to elapse between the end of the Fifth and the beginning of the Sixth\\nCanto.\\nThe date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to the great\\nBattle of Marston Moor, 3d July, 1644. This period of public confusion has been\\nchosen without any purpose of combining the Fable with the Military or Political\\nEvents of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of probability to the\\nFictitious Narrative now presented to the Public.\\nCANTO FIRST\\nThe moon is in her summer glow,\\nBut hoarse and high the breezes\\nblow,\\nAnd, racking o er her face, the\\ncloud\\nVaries the tincture of her shroud\\nOn Barnard s towers and Tees s\\nstream\\nShe changes as a guilty dream,\\nWhen Conscience with remorse\\nand fear\\nGoads sleeping Fancy s wild ca-\\nreer.\\nHer light seems now the blush of\\nshame,\\nSeems now fierce anger s darker\\nflame, 10\\nShifting that shade to come and go,\\nLike apprehension s hurried glow\\nThen sorrow s livery dims the air,\\nAnd dies in darkness, like despair.\\nSuch varied hues the warder sees\\nReflected from the woodland Tees,\\nThen from old Baliol s tower looks\\nforth,\\nSees the clouds mustering in the\\nnorth, 1 8\\nHears upon turret-roof and wall\\nBy fits the plashing rain -drop fall,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0324.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n303\\nLists to the breeze s boding sound,\\nAnd wraps his shaggy mantle\\nround.\\n11\\nThose towers, which in the change-\\nful gleam\\nThrow murky shadows on the\\nstream,\\nThose towers of Barnard hold a\\nguest,\\nThe emotions of whose troubled\\nbreast,\\nIn wild and strange confusion\\ndriven,\\nRival the flitting rack of heaven.\\nEre sleep stern Oswald s senses\\ntied,\\nOft had he changed his weary\\nside, 30\\nComposed his limbs, and vainly\\nsought\\nBy effort strong to banish thought.\\nSleep came at length, but with a\\ntrain\\nOf feelings true and fancies vain,\\nMingling, in wild disorder cast,\\nThe expected future with the past,\\nConscience, anticipating time,\\nAlready rues the enacted crime,\\nAnd calls her furies forth to shake\\nThe sounding scourge and hissing\\nsnake 40\\nWhile her poor victim s outward\\nthroes\\nBear witness to his mental woes,\\nAnd show what lesson may be read\\nBeside a sinner s restless bed.\\nin\\nThus Oswald s laboring feelings\\ntrace\\nStrange changes in his sleeping\\nface,\\nRapid and ominous as these\\nWith which the moonbeams tinge\\nthe Tees.\\nThere might be seen of shame the\\nblush,\\nThere anger s dark and fiercer\\nflush, so\\nWhile the perturbed sleeper s hand\\nSeemed grasping dagger-knife or\\nbrand.\\nRelaxed that grasp, the heavy\\nsigh,\\nThe tear in the half-opening eye,\\nThe pallid cheek and brow, con-\\nfessed\\nThat grief was busy in his breast\\nNor pause that mood a sudden\\nstart\\nImpelled the life-blood from the\\nheart\\nFeatures convulsed and mutter-\\nings dread\\nShow terror reigns in sorrow s\\nstead. 60\\nThat pang the painful slumber\\nbroke,\\nAnd Oswald with a start awoke.\\nIV\\nHe woke, and feared again to close\\nHis eyelids in such dire repose\\nHe woke, to watch the lamp, and\\ntell\\nFrom hour to hour the castle-bell,\\nOr listen to the owlet s cry,\\nOr the sad breeze that whistles\\nhy,\\nOr catch by fits the tuneless rhyme\\nWith which the warder cheats the\\ntime, 70\\nAnd envying think how, when the\\nsun\\nBids the poor soldier s watch be\\ndone,\\nCouched on his straw and fancy-\\nfree,\\nHe sleeps like careless infancy.\\nFar town ward sounds a distant\\ntread,\\nAnd Oswald, starting from his bed,\\nHath caught it, though no human\\near,\\nUnsharpened by revenge and fear,\\nCould e er distinguish horse s\\nclank, 79\\nUntil it reached the castle bank.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0325.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "304\\nROKEBY\\nNow nigh and plain the sound ap-\\npears,\\nThe warder s challenge now he\\nhears,\\nThen clanking chains and levers\\ntell\\nThat o er the moat the drawbridge\\nfell,\\nAnd, in the castle court below,\\nVoices are heard, and torches\\nglow,\\nAs marshalling the stranger s way\\nStraight for the room where Os-\\nwald lay\\nThe cry was, Tidings from the\\nhost,\\nOf weight a messenger comes\\npost. 90\\nStifling the tumult of his breast,\\nHis answer Oswald thus expressed,\\n1 Bring food and wine, and trim the\\nfire;\\nAdmit the stranger and retire.\\nVI\\nThe stranger came with heavy\\nstride;\\nThe morion s plumes his visage\\nhide,\\nAnd the buff-coat in ample fold\\nMantles his form s gigantic mould.\\nFull slender answer deigned he\\nTo Oswald s anxious courtesy, 100\\nBut marked by a disdainful smile\\nHe saw and scorned the petty\\nwile,\\nWhen Oswald changed the torch s\\nplace,\\nAnxious that on the soldier s face\\nIts partial lustre might be thrown,\\nTo show his looks yet hide his own.\\nHis guest the while laid slow aside\\nThe ponderous cloak of tough\\nbull s hide,\\nAnd to the torch glanced broad\\nand clear\\nThe corselet of a cuirassier no\\nThen from his brows the casque\\nhe drew\\nAnd from the dank plume dashed\\nthe dew,\\nFrom gloves of mail relieved his\\nhands\\nAnd spread them to the kindling\\nbrands,\\nAnd, turning to the genial board,\\nWithout a health or pledge or word\\nOf meet and social reverence said,\\nDeeply he drank and fiercely fed,\\nAs free from ceremony s sway\\nAs famished wolf that tears his\\nprey. 120\\nVII\\nWith deep impatience, tinged with\\nfear,\\nHis host beheld him gorge his\\ncheer,\\nAnd quaff the full carouse that\\nlent\\nHis brow a fiercer hardiment.\\nNow Oswald stood a space aside,\\nNow paced the room with hasty\\nstride,\\nIn feverish agony to learn\\nTidings of deep and dread con-\\ncern,\\nCursing each moment that his\\nguest 129\\nProtracted o er his ruffian feast,\\nYet, viewing with alarm at last\\nThe end of that uncouth repast,\\nAlmost he seemed their haste to\\nrue\\nAs at his sign his train withdrew,\\nAnd left him with the stranger\\nfree\\nTo question of his mystery.\\nThen did his silence long proclaim\\nA struggle between fear and\\nshame.\\nVIII\\nMuch in the stranger s mien ap-\\npears\\nTo justify suspicious fears. 140\\nOn his dark face a scorching clime\\nAnd toil had done the work of\\ntime,\\nRoughened the brow, the temples\\nbared,\\nAnd sable hairs with silver shared", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0326.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n305\\nYet left what age alone could\\ntame\\nThe lip of pride, the eye of flame\\nThe full-drawn lip that upward\\ncurled,\\nThe eye that seemed to scorn the\\nworld.\\nThat lip had terror never\\nblanched\\nNe er in that eye had tear-drop\\nquenched 150\\nThe flash severe of swarthy glow\\nThat mocked at pain and knew\\nnot woe.\\nInured to danger s direst form,\\nTornado and earthquake, flood\\nand storm,\\nDeath had he seen by sudden\\nblow,\\nBy wasting plague, by tortures\\nslow,\\nBy mine or breach, by steel or\\nball,\\nKnew all his shapes and scorned\\nthem all.\\nIX\\nBut yet, though Bertram s hard-\\nened look\\nUnmoved could blood and danger\\nbrook, 160\\nStill worse than apathy had place\\nOn his swart brow and callous\\nface;\\nFor evil passions cherished long\\nHad ploughed them with impres-\\nsions strong.\\nAll that gives gloss to sin, all gay\\nLight folly, past with youth away,\\nBut rooted stood in manhood s\\nhour\\nThe weeds of vice without their\\nflower.\\nAnd yet the soil in which they\\ngrew,\\nHad it been tamed when life was\\nnew, 170\\nHad depth and vigor to bring forth\\nThe hardier fruits of virtuous\\nworth.\\nNot that e en then his heart had\\nknown\\nThe gentler feelings kindly tone\\nBut lavish waste had been refined\\nTo bounty in his chastened mind,\\nAnd lust of gold, that waste to\\nfeed,\\nBeen lost in love of glory s meed,\\nAnd, frantic then no more, his\\npride\\nHad ta en fair virtue for its\\nguide. 180\\nEven now, by conscience unre-\\nstrained,\\nClogged by gross vice, by slaugh-\\nter stained,\\nStill knew his daring soul to soar\\nAnd mastery o er the mind he\\nbore\\nFor meaner guilt or heart less\\nhard\\nQuailed beneath Bertram s bold\\nregard.\\nAnd this felt Oswald, while in\\nvain\\nHe strove by many a winding\\ntrain\\nTo lure his sullen guest to show\\nUnasked the news he longed to\\nknow, 190\\nWhile on far other subject hung\\nHis heart than faltered from his\\ntongue.\\nYet naught for that his guest did\\ndeign\\nTo note or spare his secret pain,\\nBut still in stern and stubborn\\nsort\\nKeturned him answer dark and\\nshort,\\nOr started from the theme to range\\nIn loose digression wild and\\nstrange,\\nAnd forced the embarrassed host\\nto buy\\nBy query close direct reply. 200\\nXI\\nAwhile he glozed upon the cause\\nOf Commons, Covenant, and Laws,\\nAnd Church reformed but felt\\nrebuke", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0327.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "306\\nROKEBY\\nBeneath grim Bertram s sneering\\nlook,\\nThen stammered Has a field\\nbeen fought?\\nHas Bertram news of battle\\nbrought?\\nFor sure a soldier, famed so far\\nIn foreign fields for feats of war,\\nOn eve of fight ne er left the host\\nUntil the field were won and\\nlost. 2IO\\n1 Here, in your towers by circling\\nTees,\\nYou, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at\\nease:\\nWhy deem it strange that others\\ncome\\nTo share such safe and easy home,\\nFrom fields where danger, death,\\nand toil\\nAre the reward of civil broil\\n4 Nay, mock not, friend since well\\nwe know\\nThe near advances of the foe,\\nTo mar our northern army s work,\\nEncamped before beleaguered\\nYork 220\\nThy horse with valiant Fairfax\\nlay.\\nAnd must have fought how went\\nthe day\\nXII\\nWouldst hear the tale? On\\nMarston heath\\nMet front to front the ranks of\\ndeath\\nFlourished the trumpets fierce,\\nand now\\nFired was each eye and flushed\\neach brow\\nOn either side loud clamors ring,\\nGod and the Cause! God\\nand the King\\nRight English all, they rushed to\\nblows,\\nWith naught to win and all to\\nlose. 230\\nI could have laughed but lacked\\nthe time\\nTo see, in phrenesy sublime,\\nHow the fierce zealots fought and\\nbled\\nFor king or state, as humor led\\nSome for a dream of public good,\\nSome for church-tippet, gown, and\\nhood,\\nDraining their veins, in death to\\nclaim\\nA patriot s or a martyr s name.\\nLed Bertram Risingham the\\nhearts\\nThat countered there on adverse\\nparts, 240\\nNo superstitious fool had I\\nSought El Dorados in the sky\\nChili had heard me through her\\nstates,\\nAnd Lima oped her silver gates,\\nRich Mexico I had marched\\nthrough,\\nAnd sacked the splendors of Peru,\\nTill sunk Pizarro s daring name,\\nAnd, Cortez, thine, in Bertram s\\nfame.\\nStill from the purpose wilt thou\\nstray\\nGood gentle friend, how went the\\nday? 250\\nXIII\\nGood am I deemed at trumpet\\nsound,\\nAnd good where goblets dance the\\nround,\\nThough gentle ne er was joined\\ntill now\\nWith rugged Bertram s breast and\\nbrow.\\nBut I resume. The battle s rage\\nWas like the strife which currents\\nwage\\nWhere Orinoco in his pride\\nRolls to the main no tribute tide,\\nBut gainst broad ocean urges\\nfar\\nA rival sea of roaring war 260\\nWhile, in ten thousand eddies\\ndriven,\\nThe billows fling their foam to\\nheaven,\\nAnd the pale pilot seeks in vain", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0328.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n307\\nWhere rolls the river, where the\\nmain:\\nEven thus upon the bloody field\\nThe eddying tides of conflict\\nwheeled\\nAmbiguous, till that heart of\\nflame,\\nHot Rupert, on our squadrons\\ncame,\\nHurling against our spears a line\\nOf gallants fiery as their wine 270\\nThen ours, though stubborn in\\ntheir zeal,\\nIn zeal s despite began to reel.\\nWhat wouldst thou more?*\u00e2\u0080\u0094 in\\ntumult tost,\\nOur leaders fell, our ranks were\\nlost.\\nA thousand men who drew the\\nsword\\nFor both the Houses and the\\nWord,\\nPreached forth from hamlet,\\ngrange, and down,\\nTo curb the crosier and the crown,\\nNow, stark and stiff, lie stretched\\nin gore,\\nAnd ne er shall rail at mitre\\nmore.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 280\\nThus fared it when I left the fight,\\nWith the good Cause and Com-\\nmons right\\nXIV\\n4 Disastrous news dark Wycliffe\\nsaid;\\nAssumed despondence bent his\\nhead,\\nWhile troubled joy was in his eye,\\nThe well -feigned sorrow to be-\\nlie.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nDisastrous news when needed\\nmost,\\nTold ye not that your chiefs were\\nlost?\\nComplete the woful tale and say\\nWho fell upon that fatal day, 290\\nWhat leaders of repute and name\\nBought by their death a deathless\\nfame.\\nIf such my direst foeman s doom,\\nMy tears shall dew his honored\\ntomb.\\nNo answer Friend, of all our\\nhost,\\nThou know st whom I should hate\\nthe most,\\nWhom thou too once wert wont to\\nhate,\\nYet leavest me doubtful of his\\nfate.\\nWith look unmoved Of friend\\nor foe,\\nAught, answered Bertram,\\nwouldst thou know, 300\\nDemand in simple terms and plain,\\nA soldier s answer shalt thou gain\\nFor question dark or riddle high\\nI have nor judgment nor reply.\\nxv\\nThe wrath his art and fear sup-\\npressed\\nNow blazed at once in Wycliffe s\\nbreast,\\nAnd brave from man so meanly\\nborn\\nRoused his hereditary scorn.\\n1 Wretch hast thou paid thy\\nbloody debt\\nPhilip of Mortham, lives he\\nyet? 310\\nFalse to thy patron or thine oath,\\nTraitorous or perjured, one or\\nboth.\\nSlave! hast thou kept thy promise\\nplight,\\nTo slay thy leader in the fight\\nThen from his seat the soldier\\nsprung,\\nAnd Wycliffe s hand he strongly\\nwrung\\nHis grasp, as hard as glove of\\nmail,\\nForced the red blood-drop from\\nthe nail\\nA health he cried and ere he\\nquaffed\\nFlung from him Wycliffe s hand\\nand laughed\u00e2\u0080\u0094 320\\n1 Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks\\nthy heart", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0329.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "3 o8\\nROKEBY\\nNow play st thou well thy genuine\\npart\\nWorthy, but for thy craven fear,\\nLike me to roam a buccaneer.\\nWhat reck st thou of the Cause\\ndivine,\\nIf Mortham s wealth and lands be\\nthine\\nWhat carest thou for beleaguered\\nYork,\\nIf this good hand have done its\\nwork\\nOr what though Fairfax and his\\nbest\\nAre reddening Marston s swarthy\\nbreast, 330\\nIf Philip Mortham with them lie,\\nLending his life blood to the\\ndye?\\nSit, then and as mid comrades\\nfree\\nCarousing after victory,\\nWhen tales are told of blood and\\nfear\\nThat boys and women shrink to\\nhear,\\nFrom point to point I frankly\\ntell\\nThe deed of death as it befell.\\nXVI\\n1 When purposed vengeance I fore-\\ngo,\\nTerm me a wretch, nor deem me\\nfoe 34\u00c2\u00b0\\nAnd when an insult I forgive,\\nThen brand me as a slave and\\nlive\\nPhilip of Mortham is with those\\nWhom Bertram Kisingham calls\\nfoes\\nOr whom more sure revenge at-\\ntends,\\nIf numbered with ungrateful\\nfriends.\\nAs was his wont, ere battle\\nglowed,\\nAlong the marshalled ranks he\\nrode,\\nAnd wore his visor up the while.\\nI saw his melancholy smile 350\\nWhen, full opposed in front, he\\nknew\\nWhere Rokeby s kindred banner\\nflew.\\nAnd thus, he said, will friends\\ndivide!\\nI heard, and thought how side by\\nside\\nWe two had turned the battle s\\ntide\\nIn many a well-debated field\\nWhere Bertram s breast was\\nPhilip s shield..\\nI thought on Darien s deserts pale\\nWhere death bestrides the even-\\ning gale\\nHow o er my friend my cloak I\\nthrew, 360\\nAud fenceless faced the deadly\\ndew;\\nI thought on Quariana s cliff\\nWhere, rescued from our founder-\\ning skiff,\\nThrough the white breakers wrath\\nI bore\\nExhausted Mortham to the shore\\nAnd, when his side an arrow\\nfound,\\nI sucked the Indian s venomed\\nwound.\\nThese thoughts like torrents rush-\\ned along,\\nTo sweep away my purpose strong.\\nXYII\\n1 Hearts are not flint, and flints are\\nrent; 370\\nHearts are not steel, and steel is\\nbent.\\nWhen Mortham bade me, as of\\nyore,\\nBe near him in the battle s roar,\\nI scarcely saw the spears laid low,\\nI scarcely heard the trumpets\\nblow;\\nLost was the war in inward strife,\\nDebating Mortham s death or life.\\nT was then I thought how, lured\\nto come\\nAs partner of his wealth and home,\\nYears of piratic wandering o er,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0330.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n309\\nWith him I sought our native\\nshore. 381\\nBut Mortham s lord grew far es-\\ntranged\\nFrom the bold heart with whom\\nhe ranged\\nDoubts, horrors, superstitious\\nfears,\\nSaddened and dimmed descending\\nyears\\nThe wily priests their victim\\nsought,\\nAnd damned each free-born deed\\nand thought.\\nThen must I seek another home,\\nMy license shook his sober dome\\nIf gold he gave, in one wild day\\nI revelled thrice the sum away. 391\\nAn idle outcast then I strayed,\\nUnfit for tillage or for trade.\\nDeemed, like the steel of rusted\\nlance,\\nUseless and dangerous at once.\\nThe women feared my hardy look,\\nAt my approach the peaceful\\nshook\\nThe merchant saw my glance of\\nflame,\\nAnd locked his hoards when Ber-\\ntram came\\nEach child of coward peace kept\\nfar 400\\nFrom the neglected son of war.\\nXVIII\\n4 But civil discord gave the call,\\nAnd made my trade the trade of\\nall.\\nBy Mortham urged, I came again\\nHis vassals to the fight to train.\\nWhat guerdon waited on my care\\nI could not cant of creed or prayer\\nSour fanatics each trust obtained,\\nAnd I, dishonored and disdained,\\nGained but the high and happy\\nlot 410\\nIn these poor arms to front the\\nshot\\nAll this thou know st,thy gestures\\ntell;\\nYet hear it o er and mark it well.\\nT is honor bids me now relate\\nEach circumstance of Mortham s\\nfate.\\nXIX\\n4 Thoughts, from the tongue that\\nslowly part,\\nGlance quick as lightning through\\nthe heart.\\nAs my spur pressed my courser s\\nside,\\nPhilip of Mortham s cause was\\ntried,\\nAnd ere the charging squadrons\\nmixed 420\\nHis plea was cast, his doom was\\nfixed.\\nI watched him through the doubt-\\nful fray,\\nThat changed as March s moody\\nday,\\nTill, like a stream that bursts its\\nbank,\\nFierce Rupert thundered on our\\nflank.\\nT was then, midst tumult, smoke,\\nand strife,\\nWhere each man fought for death\\nor life,\\nT was then I fired my petronei,\\nAnd Mortham, steed and rider, fell.\\nOne dying look he upward cast, 430\\nOf wrath and anguish\u00e2\u0080\u0094 twas his\\nlast.\\nThink not that there I stopped, to\\nview\\nWhat of the battle should ensue\\nBut ere I cleared that bloody\\npress,\\nOur northern horse ran master-\\nless;\\nMonckton and Mitton told the news\\nHow troops of Roundheads choked\\nthe Ouse,\\nAnd many a bonny Scot aghast,\\nSpurring his palfrey northward,\\npast,\\nCursing the day when zeal or\\nmeed 44 o\\nFirst lured their Lesley o er the\\nTweed.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0331.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "3io\\nROKEBY\\nYet when I reached the banks of\\nSwale,\\nHad rumor learned another tale\\nWith his barbed horse, fresh tid-\\nings say,\\nStout Cromwell has redeemed the\\nday:\\nBut whether false the news or true,\\nOswald, I reck as light as you.\\nxx\\nNot then by Wycliffe might be\\nshown\\nHow his pride startled at the tone\\nIn which his complice, fierce and\\nfree, 450\\nAsserted guilt s equality.\\nIn smoothest terms his speech he\\nwove\\nOf endless friendship, faith, and\\nlove;\\nPromised and vowed in courteous\\nsort,\\nBut Bertram broke professions\\nshort.\\n4 Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay,\\nNo, scarcely till the rising day\\nWarned by the legends of my\\nyouth,\\nI trust not an associate s truth.\\nDo not my native dales prolong 460\\nOf Percy Rede the tragic song,\\nTrained forward to his bloody fall,\\nBy Girsonfield, that treacherous\\nHall?\\nOft by the Pringle s haunted side\\nThe shepherd sees his spectre\\nglide.\\nAnd near the spot that gave me\\nname,\\nThe moated mound of Risingham,\\nWhere Reed upon her margin sees\\nSweet Woodburne s cottages and\\ntrees,\\nSome ancient sculptor s art has\\nshown 470\\nAn outlaw s image on the stone\\nUnmatched in strength, a giant he,\\nWith quivered back and kirtled\\nknee.\\nAsk how he died, that hunter bold,\\nThe tameless monarch of the\\nwold,\\nAnd age and infancy can tell\\nBy brother s treachery he fell.\\nThus warned by legends of my\\nyouth,\\nI trust to no associate s truth.\\nXXI\\nWhen last we reasoned of this\\ndeed, 480\\nNaught, I bethink me, was agreed,\\nOr by what rule, or when, or\\nwhere,\\nThe wealth of Mortham we should\\nshare\\nThen list while I the portion name\\nOur differing laws give each to\\nclaim.\\nThou, vassal sworn to England s\\nthrone,\\nHer rules of heritage must own\\nThey deal thee, as to nearest heir,\\nThy kinsman s lands and livings\\nfair,\\nAnd these I yield do thou re-\\nvere 490\\nThe statutes of the buccaneer.\\nFriend to the sea, and foeman\\nsworn\\nTo all that on her waves are\\nborne,\\nW T hen falls a mate in battle broil\\nHis comrade heirs his portioned\\nspoil\\nWhen dies in fight a daring foe\\nHe claims his wealth who struck\\nthe blow\\nAnd either rule to me assigns\\nThose spoils of Indian seas and\\nmines\\nHoarded in Mortham s caverns\\ndark 500\\nIngot of gold and diamond spark,\\nChalice and plate from churches\\nborne,\\nAnd gems from shrieking beauty\\ntorn,\\nEach string of pearl, each silver\\nbar,\\nAnd all the wealth of western war.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0332.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n3ii\\nI go to search where, dark and\\ndeep,\\nThose trans Atlantic treasures\\nsleep.\\nThou must along\u00e2\u0080\u0094 for, lacking\\nthee,\\nThe heir will scarce find entrance\\nfree 509\\nAnd then farewell. I haste to try\\nEach varied pleasure wealth can\\nbuy;\\nWhen cloyed each wish, these\\nwars afford\\nFresh work for Bertram s restless\\nsword.\\nXXII\\nAn undecided answer hung\\nOn Oswald s hesitating tongue.\\nDespite his craft, he heard with\\nawe\\nThis ruffian stabber fix the law\\nWhile his own troubled passions\\nveer\\nThrough hatred, joy, regret, and\\nfear\\nJoyed at the soul that Bertram\\nflies, 520\\nHe grudged the murderer s mighty\\nprize,\\nHated his pride s presumptuous\\ntone,\\nAnd feared to wend with him\\nalone.\\nAt length, that middle course to\\nsteer\\nTo cowardice and craft so dear,\\n1 His charge, he said, would ill\\nallow\\nHis absence from the fortress\\nnow;\\nWilfrid on Bertram should\\nattend,\\nHis son should journey with his\\nfriend.\\nXXIII\\nContempt kept Bertram s anger\\ndown. 530\\nAnd wreathed to savage smile his\\nfrown.\\n4 Wilfrid, or thou, tis one tome\\nWhichever bears the golden key.\\nYet think not but I mark, and\\nsmile\\nTo mark, thy poor and selfish wile\\nIf injury from me you fear,\\nWhat, Oswald Wycliffe, shields\\nthee here\\nI ve sprung from walls more high\\nthan these,\\nI ve swam through deeper streams\\nthan Tees. 539\\nMight I not stab thee ere one yell\\nCould rouse the distant sentinel?\\nStart not it is not my design,\\nBut, if it were, weak fence were\\nthine\\nAnd, trust me that in time of need\\nThis hand hath done more desper-\\nate deed.\\nGo, haste and rouse thy slumber-\\ning son\\nTime calls, and I must needs be\\ngone.\\nXXIV\\nNaught of his sire s ungenerous\\npart\\nPolluted Wilfrid s gentle heart,\\nA heart too soft from early life 550\\nTo hold with fortune needful\\nstrife.\\nHis sire, while yet a hardier race\\nOf numerous sons were Wycliffe s\\ngrace,\\nOn Wilfrid set contemptuous brand\\nFor feeble heart and forceless\\nhand;\\nBut a fond mother s care and joy\\nWere centred in her sickly boy.\\nNo touch of childhood s frolic\\nmood\\nShowed the elastic spring of blood\\nHour after hour he loved to\\npore 560\\nOn Shakespeare s rich and varied\\nlore,\\nBut turned from martial scenes\\nand light,\\nFrom Falstaff s feast and Percy s\\nfight,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0333.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "312\\nROKEBY\\nTo ponder Jaques moral strain,\\nAnd muse with Hamlet, wise in\\nvain,\\nAnd weep himself to soft repose\\nO er gentle Desdemona s woes.\\nXXV\\nIn youth he sought not pleasures\\nfound\\nBy youth in horse and hawk and\\nhound, 569\\nBut loved the quiet joys that wake\\nBy lonely stream and silent lake\\nIn Deepdale s solitude to lie,\\nWhere all is cliff and copse and\\nsky;\\nTo climb Catcastle s dizzy peak,\\nOr lone Pendragon s mound to\\nseek.\\nSuch was his wont and there his\\ndream\\nSoared on some wild fantastic\\ntheme\\nOf faithful love or ceaseless spring,\\nTill Contemplation s wearied wing\\nThe enthusiast could no more sus-\\ntain, 580\\nAnd sad he sunk to earth again.\\nXXVI\\nHe loved as many a lay can tell,\\nPreserved in Stanmore s lonely\\ndell;\\nFor his was minstrel s skill, he\\ncaught\\nThe art unteachable, untaught;\\nHe loved his soul did nature\\nframe\\nFor love, and fancy nursed the\\nflame;\\nVainly he loved for seldom\\nswain\\nOf such soft mould is loved again\\nSilent he loved in every gaze 590\\nWas passion, friendship in his\\nphrase\\nSo mused his life away till died\\nHis brethren all, their father s\\npride.\\nWilfred is now the only heir\\nOf all his stratagems and care,\\nAnd destined darkling to pursue\\nAmbition s maze by Oswald s clue.\\nXXVII\\nWilfrid must love and woo the\\nbright\\nMatilda, heir of Rokeby s knight.\\nTo love her was an easy hest, 600\\nThe secret empress of his breast;\\nTo woo her was a harder task\\nTo one that durst not hope or ask.\\nYet all Matilda could she gave\\nIn pity to her gentle slave\\nFriendship, esteem, and fair re-\\ngard,\\nAnd praise, the poet s best re-\\nward\\nShe read the tales his taste ap-\\nproved,\\nAnd sung the lays he framed or\\nloved 609\\nYet, loath to nurse the fatal flame\\nOf hopeless love in friendship s\\nname,\\nIn kind caprice she oft withdrew\\nThe favoring glance to friendship\\ndue,\\nThen grieved to see her victim s\\npain,\\nAnd gave the dangerous smiles\\nagain.\\nXXVIII\\nSo did the suit of WiJfrid stand\\nWhen war s loud summons waked\\nthe land.\\nThree banners, floating o er the\\nTees,\\nThe woe-foreboding peasant sees\\nIn concert oft they braved of old\\nThe bordering Scot s incursion\\nbold: 621\\nFrowning defiance in their pride,\\nTheir vassals now and lords di-\\nvide.\\nFrom his fair hall on Greta banks,\\nThe Knight of Rokeby led his\\nranks,\\nTo aid the valiant northern earls\\nWho drew the sword for royal\\nCharles.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0334.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n313\\nMortham, by marriage near al-\\nlied,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nHis sister had been Rokeby s\\nbride, 629\\nThough long before the civil fray\\nIn peaceful grave the lady lay,\\nPhilip of Mortham raised his band,\\nAnd marched at Fairfax s com-\\nmand\\nWhile Wycliffe, bound by many a\\ntrain\\nOf kindred art with wily Vane,\\nLess prompt to brave the bloody\\nfield,\\nMade Barnard s battlements his\\nshield,\\nSecured them with his Lunedale\\npowers,\\nAnd for the Commons held the\\ntowers.\\nXXIX\\nThe lovely heir of Rokeby s\\nKnight 640\\nWaits in his halls the event of\\nfight;\\nFor England s war revered the\\nclaim\\nOf every unprotected name,\\nAnd spared amid its fiercest rage\\nChildhood and womanhood and\\nage,\\nBut Wilfrid, son to Rokeby s foe,\\nMust the dear privilege forego,\\nBy Greta s side in evening gray,\\nTo steal upon Matilda s way,\\nStriving with fond hypocrisy 650\\nFor careless step and vacant eye\\nCalming each anxious look and\\nglance,\\nTo give the meeting all to chance,\\nOr framing as a fair excuse\\nThe book, the pencil, or the muse\\nSomething to give, to sing, to\\nsay,\\nSome modern tale, some ancient\\nlay,\\nThen, while the longed-for minutes\\nlast,\\nAh minutes quickly over-past!\\nRecording each expression free 660\\nOf kind or careless courtesy,\\nEach friendly look, each softer\\ntone,\\nAs food for fancy when alone.\\nAll this is o er but still unseen\\nWilfrid may lurk in Eastwood\\ngreen,\\nTo watch Matilda s wonted round,\\nWhile springs his heart at every\\nsound.\\nShe comes t is but a passing\\nsight,\\nYet serves to cheat his weary\\nnight\\nShe comes not he will w r ait the\\nhour 670\\nWhen her lamp lightens in the\\ntower\\nT is something yet if, as she\\npast,\\nHer shade is o er the lattice cast.\\nWhat is my life, my hope he\\nsaid\\nAlas a transitory shade.\\nXXX\\nThus wore his life, though reason\\nstrove\\nFor mastery in vain with love,\\nForcing upon his thoughts the sum\\nOf present woe and ills to come,\\nWhile still he turned impatient\\near\\nFrom Truth s intrusive voice se-\\nvere. 681\\nGentle, indifferent, and subdued,\\nIn all but this unmoved he viewed\\nEach outward change of ill and\\ngood\\nBut Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild,\\nWas Fancy s spoiled and wayward\\nchild\\nIn her bright car she bade him\\nride,\\nWith one fair form to grace his\\nside,\\nOr, in some wild and lone retreat,\\nFlung her high spells around his\\nseat, 690\\nBathed in her dews his languid\\nhead,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0335.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "3H\\nROKEBY\\nHer fairy mantle o er him spread,\\nFor him her opiates gave to\\nflow,\\nWhich he who tastes can ne er\\nforego,\\nAnd placed him in her circle, free\\nFrom every stern reality,\\nTill to the Visionary seem\\nHer day-dreams truth, and truth a\\ndream.\\nXXXI\\nWoe to the youth whom Fancy\\ngains,\\nWinning from Reason s hand the\\nreins, 700\\nPity and woe for such a mind\\nIs soft, contemplative, and kind\\nAnd woe to those who train such\\nyouth,\\nAnd spare to press the rights of\\ntruth,\\nThe mind to strengthen and an-\\nneal\\nWhile on the stithy glows the\\nsteel\\nO teach him while your lessons\\nlast\\nTo judge the present by the past\\nRemind him of each wish pur-\\nsued,\\nHow rich it glowed with promised\\ngood; 710\\nRemind him of each wish enjoyed,\\nHow soon his hopes possession\\ncloyed\\nTell him we play unequal game\\nWhene er we shoot by Fancy s\\naim;\\nAnd, ere he strip him for her\\nrace,\\nShow the conditions of the chase\\nTwo sisters by the goal are set,\\nCold Disappointment and Regret\\nOne disenchants the winner s\\neyes,\\nAnd strips of all its worth the\\nprize. 720\\nWhile one augments its gaudy\\nshow,\\nMore to enhance the loser s woe.\\nThe victor sees his fairy gold\\nTransformed when won to drossy\\nmould,\\nBut still the vanquished mourns\\nhis loss,\\nAnd rules as gold that glittering\\ndross.\\nXXXII\\nMore would st thou know yon\\ntower survey,\\nYon couch unpressed since parting\\nday,\\nYon yuntrimmed lamp, whose yel-\\nlow gleam\\nIs mingling with the cold moon-\\nbeam, 730\\nAnd yon thin form the hectic\\nred\\nOn his pale cheek unequal spread\\nThe head reclined, the loosened\\nhair,\\nThe limbs relaxed, the mournful\\nair.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSee, he looks up a wof ul smile\\nLightens his woe-worn cheek a\\nwhile,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nT is Fancy wakes some idle\\nthought,\\nTo gild the ruin she has wrought;\\nFor, like the bat of Indian brakes,\\nHer pinions fan the wound she\\nmakes, 740\\nAnd, soothing thus the dreamer s\\npain,\\nShe drinks his life-blood from the\\nvein.\\nNow to the lattice turn his eyes,\\nVain hope to see the sun arise.\\nThe moon with clouds is still o er-\\ncast,\\nStill howls by fits the stormy\\nblast\\nAnother hour must wear away\\nEre the east kindle into day,\\nAnd hark! to waste that weary\\nhour,\\nHe tries the minstrel s magic\\npower. 750", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0336.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n315\\nXXXIII\\nSONG\\nTO THE MOON\\nHail to thy cold and clouded\\nbeam,\\nPale pilgrim of the troubled\\nsky!\\nHail, though the mists that o er\\nthee stream\\nLend to thy brow their sullen\\ndye!\\nHow should thy pure and peaceful\\neye\\nUntroubled view our scenes be-\\nlow,\\nOr how a tearless beam supply\\nTo light a world of war and woe\\nFair Queen I will not blame thee\\nnow,\\nAs once by Greta s fairy side\\nEach little cloud that dimmed thy\\nbrow 761\\nDid then an angel s beauty hide.\\nAnd of the shades I then could\\nchide\\nStill are the thoughts to memory\\ndear,\\nFor, while a softer strain I tried,\\nThey hid my blush and calmed\\nmy fear.\\nThen did I swear thy ray serene\\nWas formed to light some lonely\\ndell,\\nBy two fond lovers only seen,\\nReflected from the crystal well\\nOr sleeping on their mossy cell, 77 t\\nOr quivering on the lattice\\nbright,\\nOr glancing on their couch, to tell\\nHow swiftly wanes the summer\\nnight\\nXXXIV\\nHe starts a step at this lone\\nhour\\nA voice! his father seeks the\\ntower,\\nWith haggard look and troubled\\nsense,\\nFresh from his dreadful confer-\\nence.\\nWilfrid what, not to sleep ad-\\ndressed?\\nThou hast no cares to chase thy\\nrest. 780\\nMortham has fallen on Marston-\\nmoor\\nBertram brings warrant to secure\\nHis treasures, bought by spoil and\\nblood,\\nFor the state s use and public\\ngood.\\nThe menials will thy voice obey\\nLet his commission have its way,\\nIn every point, in every word.\\nThen, in a whisper, 4 Take thy\\nsword\\nBertram is what I must not tell.\\nI hear his hasty step fare-\\nwell 790\\nCANTO SECOND\\nFab in the chambers of the west,\\nThe gale had sighed itself to rest\\nThe moon was cloudless now and\\nclear,\\nBut pale and soon to disappear.\\nThe thin gray clouds waxed dimly\\nlight\\nOn Brusleton and Houghton\\nheight\\nAnd the rich dale that eastward\\nlay\\nWaited the wakening touch of day,\\nTo give its woods and cultured\\nplain,\\nAnd towers and spires, to light\\nagain. 10\\nBut, westward, Stanmore s shape-\\nless swell,\\nAnd Lunedale wild, and Kelton-\\nfell,\\nAnd rock-begirdled Gilmanscar,\\nAnd Arkingarth, lay dark afar\\nWhile, as a livelier twilight falls,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0337.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "3 l6\\nROKEBY\\nEmerge proud Barnard s bannered\\nwalls.\\nHigh crowned he sits in dawning\\npale,\\nThe sovereign of the lovely vale.\\nii\\nWhat prospects from his watch-\\ntower high\\nGleam gradual on the warder s\\neye!\u00e2\u0080\u0094 20\\nFar sweeping to the east, he sees\\nDown his deep woods the course\\nof Tees,\\nAnd tracks his wanderings by the\\nsteam\\nOf summer vapors from the stream\\nAnd ere he pace his destined hour\\nBy Brackenbury s dungeon-tower,\\nThese silver mists shall melt away\\nAnd dew the woods with glittering-\\nspray.\\nThen in broad lustre shall be\\nshown 29\\nThat mighty trench of living stone,\\nAnd each huge trunk that from\\nthe side\\nReclines him o er the darksome\\ntide\\nWhere Tees, full many a fathom\\nlow,\\nWears with his rage no common\\nfoe;\\nFor pebbly bank, nor sand-bed\\nhere,\\nNor clay-mound, checks his fierce\\ncareer,\\nCondemned to mine a channelled\\nway\\nO er solid sheets of marble gray.\\nin\\nNor Tees alone in dawning bright\\nShall rush upon the ravished sight\\nBut many a tributary stream 4 1\\nEach from its own dark dell shall\\ngleam\\nStaindrop, who from her sylvan\\nbowers\\nSalutes proud Raby s battled\\ntowers\\nThe rural brook of Egliston,\\nAnd Balder, named from Odin s\\nson;\\nAnd Greta, to whose banks ere\\nlong\\nWe lead the lovers of the song\\nAnd silver Lune from Stanmore\\nwild,\\nAnd fairy Thorsgill s murmuring\\nchild, 50\\nAnd last and least, but loveliest\\nstill,\\nRomantic Deepdale s slender rill.\\nWho in that dim-wood glen hath\\nstrayed,\\nYet longed for Roslin s magic\\nglade\\nWho, wandering there, hath sought\\nto change\\nEven for that vale so stern and\\nstrange\\nWhere Cartland s crags, fantastic\\nrent,\\nThrough her green copse like\\nspires are sent?\\nYet, Albin, yet the praise be thine,\\nThy scenes and story to combine\\nThou bid st him who by Roslin\\nstrays 61\\nList to the deeds of other days\\nMid Cartland s crags thou show st\\nthe cave,\\nThe refuge of thy champion brave\\nGiving each rock its storied tale,\\nPouring a lay for every dale,\\nKnitting, as with a moral band,\\nThy native legends with thy land,\\nTo lend each scene the interest\\nhigh\\nWhich genius beams from Beauty s\\neye.\\n7\u00c2\u00b0\\nIV\\nBertram awaited not the sight\\nWhich sunrise shows from Bar-\\nnard s height,\\nBat from the towers, preventing\\nday,\\nWith Wilfrid took his early way,\\nWhile misty dawn and moonbeam\\npale", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0338.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n3*7\\nStill mingled in the silent dale.\\nBy Barnard s bridge of stately\\nstone\\nThe southern bank of Tees they\\nwon;\\nTheir winding path then eastward\\ncast, 79\\nAnd Egliston s gray ruins passed\\nEach on his own deep visions\\nbent,\\nSilent and sad they onward went.\\nWell may you think that Bertram s\\nmood\\nTo Wilfrid savage seemed and\\nrude\\nWell may you think bold Rising-\\nham\\nHeld Wilfrid trivial, poor, and\\ntame\\nAnd small the intercourse, I ween.\\nSuch uncongenial souls between.\\nStern Bertram shunned the nearer\\nway\\nThrough Rokeby s park and chase\\nthat lay, 90\\nAnd, skirting high the valley s\\nridge,\\nThey crossed by Greta s ancient\\nbridge,\\nDescending where her waters wind\\nFree for a space and unconfined\\nAs, scaped from Brignall s dark-\\nwood glen,\\nShe seeks wild Mortham s deeper\\nden.\\nThere, as his eye glanced o er the\\nmound\\nRaised by that Legion long re-\\nnowned\\nWhose votive shrine asserts their\\nclaim 99\\nOf pious, faithful, conquering fame,\\nStern sons of war: sad Wilfrid\\nsighed,\\nBehold the boast of Soman pride\\nWhat now of all your toils are\\nknown\\nA grassy trench, a broken\\nstone\\nThis to himself; for moral strain\\nTo Bertram were addressed in\\nvain.\\nvr\\nOf different mood a deeper sigh\\nAwoke when Rokeby s turrets\\nhigh\\nWere northward in the dawning\\nseen 109\\nTo rear them o er the thicket green.\\nthen, though Spenser s self had\\nstrayed\\nBeside him through the lovely\\nglade,\\nLending his rich luxuriant glow\\nOf fancy all its charms to show,\\nPointing the stream rejoicing free\\nAs captive set at liberty.\\nFlashing her sparkling waves\\nabroad,\\nAnd clamoring joyful on her road\\nPointing where, up the sunny\\nbanks,\\nThe trees retire in scattered ranks\\nSave where, advanced before the\\nrest, 121\\nOn knoll or hillock rears his crest,\\nLonely and huge, the giant Oak,\\nAs champions when their band is\\nbroke\\nStand forth to guard the rearward\\npost,\\nThe bulwark of the scattered\\nhost\\nAll this and more might Spenser\\nsay,\\nYet waste in vain his magic lay,\\nWhile Wilfrid eyed the distant\\ntower\\nWhose lattice lights Matilda s\\nbower. 130\\nVII\\nThe open vale is soon passed o er,\\nRokeby, though nigh, is seen no\\nmore\\nSinking mid Greta s thickets deep,\\nA wild and darker course they\\nkeep,\\nA stern and lone yet lovely road", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0339.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "3i8\\nROKEBY\\nAs e er the foot of minstrel trode\\nBroad shadows o er their passage\\nfell,\\nDeeper and narrower grew the\\ndell;\\nIt seemed some mountain, rent\\nand riven,\\nA channel for the stream had\\ngiven, 140\\nSo high the cliffs of limestone gray\\nHung beetling o er the torrent s\\nway,\\nYielding along their rugged base\\nA flinty footpath s niggard space,\\nWhere he who winds twixt rock\\nand wave\\nMay hear the headlong torrent\\nrave,\\nAnd like a steed in frantic fit,\\nThat flings the froth from curb\\nand bit,\\nMay view her chafe her waves to\\nspray\\nO er every rock that bars her way,\\nTill foam-globes on her eddies ride,\\nThick as the schemes of human\\npride 152\\nThat down life s current drive\\namain,\\nAs frail, as frothy, and as vain\\nVIII\\nThe cliffs that rear their haughty\\nhead\\nHigh o er the river s darksome\\nbed\\nWere now all naked, wild, and\\ngray,\\nNow waving all with greenwood\\nspray,\\nHere trees to every crevice clung\\nAnd o er the dell their branches\\nhung 160\\nAnd there, all splintered and un-\\neven,\\nThe shivered rocks ascend to hea-\\nven;\\nOft, too, the ivy swathed their\\nbreast\\nAnd wreathed its garland round\\ntheir crest,\\nOr from the spires bade loosely\\nflare\\nIts tendrils in the middle air.\\nAs pennons wont to wave of old\\nO er the high feast of baron bold,\\nWhen revelled loud the feudal rout\\nAnd the arched halls returned\\ntheir shout, 170\\nSuch and more wild is Greta s\\nroar,\\nAnd such the echoes from her\\nshore,\\nAnd so the ivied banners gleam,\\nWaved wildly o er the brawling\\nstream.\\nIX\\nNow from the stream the rocks re-\\ncede,\\nBut leave between no sunny mead,\\nNo, nor the spot of pebbly sand\\nOft found by such a mountain\\nstrand,\\nForming such warm and dry re-\\ntreat\\nAs fancy deems the lonely seat\\nWhere hermit, wandering from his\\ncell, 181\\nHis rosary might love to tell.\\nBut here twixt rock and river\\ngrew\\nA dismal grove of sable yew,\\nWith whose sad tints were min-\\ngled seen\\nThe blighted fir s sepulchral green.\\nSeemed that the trees their shad-\\nows cast\\nThe earth that nourished them to\\nblast\\nFor never knew that swarthy\\ngrove\\nThe verdant hue that fairies love,\\nNor wilding green nor woodland\\nflower 191\\nArose within its baleful bower\\nThe dank and sable earth receives\\nIts only carpet from the leaves\\nThat, from the withering branches\\ncast,\\nBestrewed the ground with every\\nblast.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0340.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n3*9\\nThough now the sun was o er the\\nhill,\\nIn this dark spot t was twilight\\nstill,\\nSave that on Greta s farther side\\nSome straggling beams through\\neopsewood glide; 200\\nAnd wild and savage contrast\\nmade\\nThat dingle s deep and funeral\\nshade\\nWith the bright tints of early day,\\nWhich, glimmering through the\\nivy spray,\\nOn the opposing summit lay.\\nThe lated peasant shunned the\\ndell\\nFor Superstition wont to tell\\nOf many a grisly sound and sight,\\nScaring its path at dead of night.\\nWhen Christmas logs blaze high\\nand wide 210\\nSuch wonders speed the festal tide,\\nWhile Curiosity and Fear,\\nPleasure and Pain, sit crouching\\nnear,\\nTill childhood s cheek no longer\\nglows,\\nAnd village maidens lose the rose.\\nThe thrilling interest rises higher,\\nThe circle closes nigh and nigher,\\nAnd shuddering glance is cast be-\\nhind,\\nAs louder moans the wintry wind.\\nBelieve that fitting scene was laid\\nFor such wild tales in Mortham\\nglade 221\\nFor who had seen on Greta s side\\nBy that dim light fierce Bertram\\nstride,\\nIn such a spot, at such an hour,\\nIf touched by Superstition s power.\\nMight well have deemed that Hell\\nhad given\\nA murderer s ghost to upper hea-\\nven,\\nWhile Wilfrid s form had seemed\\nto glide 228\\nLike his pale victim by his side.\\nXI\\nNor think to village swains alone\\nAre these unearthly terrors known,\\nFor not to rank nor sex confined\\nIs this vain ague of the mind\\nHearts firm as steel, as marble\\nhard,\\nGainst faith and love and pity\\nbarred,\\nHave quaked, like aspen leaves in\\nMay,\\nBeneath its universal sway.\\nBertram had listed many a tale\\nOf wonder in his native dale, 239\\nThat in his secret soul retained\\nThe credence they in childhood\\ngained\\nNor less his wild adventurous\\nyouth\\nBelieved in every legend s truth\\nLearned when beneath the tropic\\ngale\\nFull swelled the vessel s steady\\nsail,\\nAnd the broad Indian moon her\\nlight\\nPoured on the watch of middle\\nnight,\\nWhen seamen love to hear and tell\\nOf portent, prodigy, and spell\\nWhat gales are sold on Lapland s\\nshore, 250\\nHow whistle rash bids tempests\\nroar,\\nOf witch, of mermaid, and of\\nsprite,\\nOf Erick s cap and Elmo s light;\\nOr of that Phantom Ship whose\\nform\\nShoots like a meteor through the\\nstorm\\nWhen the dark scud comes driv-\\ning hard,\\nAnd lowered is every top- sail\\nyard,\\nAnd canvas wove in earthly\\nlooms\\nNo more to brave the storm pre-\\nsumes\\n259\\nThen mid the war of sea and sky,\\nTop and top-gallant hoisted high,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0341.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "320\\nROKEBY\\nFull spread and crowded every\\nsail,\\nThe Demon Frigate braves the\\ngale,\\nAnd well the doomed spectators\\nknow\\nThe harbinger of wreck and woe.\\nXII\\nThen, too, were told in stifled tone\\nMarvels and omens all their own\\nHow, by some desert isle or key\\nWhere Spaniards wrought their\\ncruelty, 269\\nOr where the savage pirate s mood\\nRepaid it home in deeds of blood,\\nStrange nightly sounds of woe and\\nfear\\nAppalled the listening buccaneer,\\nWhose light -armed shallop an-\\nchored lay\\nIn ambush by the lonely bay.\\nThe groan of grief, the shriek of\\npain,\\nRing from the moonlight groves\\nof cane\\nThe fierce adventurer s heart they\\nscare,\\nWho wearies memory for a prayer,\\nCurses the roadstead, and with\\ngale 280\\nOf early morning lifts the sail,\\nTo give, in thirst of blood and prey,\\nA legend for another bay.\\nXIII\\nThus, as a man, a youth, a child,\\nTrained in the mystic and the\\nwild,\\nWith this on Bertram s soul at\\ntimes\\nRushed a dark feeling of his\\ncrimes\\nSuch to his troubled soul their\\nform\\nAs the pale Death-ship to the\\nstorm,\\nAnd such their omen dim and\\ndread 290\\nAs shrieks and voices of the dead.\\nThat pang, whose transitory force\\nHovered twixt horror and re-\\nmorse\\nThat pang, perchance, his bosom\\npressed\\nAs Wilfrid sudden he addressed\\nWilfrid, this glen is never trod\\nUntil the sun rides high abroad,\\nYet twice have 1 beheld to-day\\nA form that seemed to dog our\\nway;\\nTwice from my glance it seemed\\nto flee 300\\nAnd shroud itself by cliff or tree.\\nHow think st thou?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Is our path\\nwaylaid\\nOr hath thy sire my trust betrayed\\nIf so Ere, starting from his\\ndream\\nThat turned upon a gentler theme,\\nWilfrid had roused him to reply,\\nBertram sprung forward, shouting\\nhigh,\\n4 Whate er thou art, thou now shalt\\nstand\\nAnd forth he darted, sword in\\nhand. 309\\nXIV\\nAs bursts the levin in its wrath,\\nHe shot him down the sounding\\npath\\nRock, wood, and stream rang\\nwildly out\\nTo his loud step and savage shout\\nSeems that the object of his race\\nHath scaled the cliffs his frantic\\nchase\\nSidelong he turns, and now tis\\nbent\\nRight up the rock s tall battle-\\nment\\nStraining each sinew to ascend,\\nFoot, hand, and knee their aid\\nmust lend.\\nWilfrid, all dizzy with dismay, 320\\nViews from beneath his dreadful\\nway:\\nNow to the oak s warped roots he\\nclings,\\nNow trusts his weight to ivy\\nstrings", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0342.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n321\\nNow, like the wild-goat, must he\\ndare\\nAn unsupported leap in air\\nHid in the shrubby rain-course now,\\nYou mark him by the crashing\\nbough,\\nAnd by his corselet s sullen clank,\\nAnd by the stones spurned from\\nthe bank,\\nAnd by the hawk scared from her\\nnest, 330\\nAnd raven s croaking o er their\\nguest,\\nWho deem his forfeit limbs shall\\npay\\nThe tribute of his bold essay.\\nxv\\nSee, he emerges desperate now\\nAll farther course yon beetling\\nbrow,\\nIn craggy nakedness sublime,\\nWhat heart or foot shall dare to\\nclimb\\nIt bears no tendril for his clasp,\\nPresents no angle to his grasp\\nSole stay his foot may rest up-\\non 340\\nIs yon earth-bedded jetting stone.\\nBalanced on such precarious prop,\\nHe strains his grasp to reach the\\ntop.\\nJust as the dangerous stretch he\\nmakes,\\nBy heaven, his faithless footstool\\nshakes\\nBeneath his tottering bulk it bends\\nIt sways, it loosens, it descends,\\nAnd downward holds its headlong\\nway,\\nCrashing o er rock and copsewood\\nspray\\nLoud thunders shake the echoing\\ndell! 350\\nFell it alone alone it fell.\\nJust on the very verge of fate,\\nThe hardy Bertram s falling\\nweight\\nHe trusted to his sinewy hands,\\nAnd on the top unharmed he\\nstands\\nXVI\\nWilfrid a safer path pursued,\\nAt intervals where, roughly\\nhewed,\\nEude steps ascending from the\\ndell\\nRendered the cliffs accessible.\\nBy circuit slow he thus attained\\nThe height that Risingham had\\ngained, 361\\nAnd when he issued from the wood\\nBefore the gate of Mortham stood.\\nT was a fair scene the sunbeam\\nlay\\nOn battled tower and portal gray\\nAnd from the grassy slope he\\nsees\\nThe Greta flow to meet the Tees\\nWhere, issuing from her darksome\\nbed,\\nShe caught the morning s eastern\\nred,\\nAnd through the softening vale\\nbelow 37\u00c2\u00b0\\nRolled her bright waves in rosy\\nglow,\\nAll blushing to her bridal bed,\\nLike some shy maid in convent\\nbred,\\nWhile linnet, lark, and blackbird\\ngay\\nSing forth her nuptial roundelay.\\nXVII\\nTwas sweetly sung that rounde-\\nlay,\\nThat summer morn shone blithe\\nand gay\\nBut morning beam and wild-bird s\\ncall\\nAwaked not Mortham s silent\\nhall. 379\\nNo porter by the low-browed gate\\nTook in the wonted niche his seat\\nTo the paved court no peasant\\ndrew\\nWaked to their toil no menial\\ncrew\\nThe maiden s carol was not heard,\\nAs to her morning task she fared\\nIn the void offices around", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0343.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "322\\nROKEBY\\nRung not a hoof nor bayed a\\nhound\\nNor eager steed with shrilling\\nneigh\\nAccused the lagging groom s de-\\nlay-,\\nUntrimmed, undressed, neglected\\nnow, 390\\nWas alleyed walk and orchard\\nbough\\nAll spoke the master s absent care,\\nAll spoke neglect and disrepair.\\nSouth of the gate an arrow flight,\\nTwo mighty elms their limbs unite\\nAs if a canopy to spread\\nO er the lone dwelling of the dead\\nFor their huge boughs in arches\\nbent\\nAbove a massive monument, 399\\nCarved o er in ancient Gothic wise\\nWith many a scutcheon and de-\\nvice:\\nThere, spent with toil and sunk in\\ngloom,\\nBertram stood pondering by the\\ntomb.\\nXVITI\\n4 It vanished like a flitting ghost\\nBehind this tomb, he said, 4 t was\\nlost\\nThis tomb where oft I deemed lies\\nstored\\nOf Mortham s Indian wealth the\\nhoard.\\nT is true, the aged servants said\\nHere his lamented wife is laid\\nBut weightier reasons may be\\nguessed 410\\nFor their lord s strict and stern\\nbehest\\nThat none should on his steps in-\\ntrude\\nWhene er he sought this solitude.\\nAn ancient mariner I knew,\\nWhat time I sailed with Morgan s\\ncrew,\\nWho oft mid our carousals spake\\nOf Ealeigh, Frobisher, and Drake\\nAdventurous hearts who bar-\\ntered, bold,\\nTheir English steel for Spanish\\ngold.\\nTrust not, would his experience\\nsay, 420\\nCaptain or comrade with your\\nprey,\\nBut seek some charnel, when, at\\nfull,\\nThe moon gilds skeleton and\\nskull:\\nThere dig and tomb your precious\\nheap,\\nAnd bid the dead your treasure\\nkeep;\\nSure stewards they, if fitting spell\\nTheir service to the task com-\\npel.\\nLacks there such charnel kill a\\nslave\\nOr prisoner on the treasure-grave,\\nAnd bid his discontented ghost 430\\nStalk nightly on his lonely post.\\nSuch was his tale. Its truth, I\\nween,\\nIs in my morning vision seen.\\nXIX\\nWilfrid, who scorned the legend\\nwild,\\nIn mingled mirth and pity smiled,\\nMuch marvelling that a breast so\\nbold\\nIn such fond tale belief should\\nhold,\\nBut yet of Bertram sought to\\nknow\\nThe apparition s form and show.\\nThe power within the guilty\\nbreast, 440\\nOft vanquished, never quite sup-\\npressed,\\nThat unsubdued and lurking lies\\nTo take the felon by surprise\\nAnd force him, as by magic spell,\\nIn his despite his guilt to tell\\nThat power in Bertram s breast\\nawoke\\nScarce conscious he was heard,\\nhe spoke\\n4 T was Mortham s form, from foot\\nto head", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0344.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n323\\nHis morion with the plume of red,\\nHis shape, his mien t was Mor-\\ntmain, right 450\\nAs when I slew him in the fight.\\nThou slay him thou With\\nconscious start\\nHe heard, then manned his haugh-\\nty heart\\n1 1 slew him I I had forgot\\nThou, stripling, knew st not of\\nthe plot.\\nBut it is spoken nor will I\\nDeed done or spoken word deny.\\nI slew him; I! for thankless\\npride\\nT was by this hand that Mortham\\ndied.\\nxx\\nWilfrid, of gentle hand and heart,\\nAverse to every active part, 461\\nBut most averse to martial broil,\\nFrom danger shrunk and turned\\nfrom toil\\nYet the meek lover of the lyre\\nNursed one brave spark of noble\\nfire;\\nAgainst injustice, fraud, or wrong\\nHis blood beat high, his hand\\nwaxed strong.\\nNot his the nerves that could sus-\\ntain,\\nUnshakeu, danger, toil, and pain;\\nBut, when that spark blazed forth\\nto flame, 470\\nHe rose superior to his frame.\\nAnd now it came, that generous\\nmood\\nAnd, in full current of his blood,\\nOn Bertram he laid desperate\\nhand,\\nPlaced firm his foot, and drew his\\nbrand.\\n1 Should every fiend to whom\\nthou rt sold\\nRise in thine aid, I keep my\\nhold.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nArouse there, ho take spear and\\nsword\\nAttach the murderer of your lord!\\nXXI\\nA moment, fixed as by a spell, 480\\nStood Bertram it seemed mira-\\ncle,\\nThat one so feeble, soft, and tame\\nSet grasp on warlike Eisingham.\\nBut when he felt a feeble stroke\\nThe fiend within the ruffian woke\\nTo wrench the sword from Wil-\\nfrid s hand,\\nTo dash him headlong on the sand,\\nWas but one moment s work,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\none more\\nHad drenched the blade in Wil-\\nfrid s gore.\\nBut in the instant it arose 490\\nTo end his life, his love, his woes,\\nA warlike form that marked the\\nscene\\nPresents his rapier sheathed be-\\ntween,\\nParries the fast-descending blow,\\nAnd steps twixt Wilfrid and his\\nfoe;\\nNor then unscabbarded his brand,\\nBut, sternly pointing with his\\nhand,\\nWith monarch s voice forbade the\\nfight,\\nAnd motioned Bertram from his\\nsight.\\nGo, and repent, he said, while\\ntime 5\u00c2\u00b0\u00c2\u00b0\\nIs given thee; add not crime to\\ncrime.\\nXXII\\nMute and uncertain and amazed,\\nAs on a vision Bertram gazed\\nT was Mortham s bearing, bold\\nand high,\\nHis sinewy frame, his falcon eye,\\nHis look and accent of command,\\nThe martial gesture of his hand,\\nHis stately form, spare-built and\\ntall,\\nHis war-bleached locks t w r as\\nMortham all.\\nThrough Bertram s dizzy brain\\ncareer 5*0", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0345.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "324\\nROKEBY\\nA thousand thoughts, and all of\\nfear\\nHis wavering faith received not\\nquite\\nThe form he saw as Mortham s\\nsprite,\\nBut more he feared it if it stood\\nHis lord in living flesh and blood.\\nWhat spectre can the charnel send,\\nSo dreadful as an injured friend\\nThen, too, the habit of command,\\nUsed by the leader of the band\\nWhen Risingham for many a\\nday 520\\nHad marched and fought beneath\\nhis sway,\\nTamed him and with reverted\\nface\\nBackwards he bore his sullen\\npace,\\nOft stopped, and oft on Mortham\\nstared,\\nAnd dark as rated mastiff glared,\\nBut when the tramp of steeds was\\nheard,\\nPlunged in the glen and disap-\\npeared\\nNor longer there the warrior stood,\\nRetiring eastward through the\\nwood,\\nBut first to Wilfrid warning\\ngives, 530\\n1 Tell thou to none that Mortham\\nlives.\\nXXIII\\nStill rung these words in Wilfrid s\\near,\\nHinting he knew not what of fear,\\nWhen nearer came the coursers\\ntread,\\nAnd, with his father at their head,\\nOf horsemen armed a gallant\\npower\\nReined up their steeds before the\\ntower.\\nWhence these pale looks, my\\nson he said\\nWhere s Bertram Why that\\nnaked blade\\nWilfrid ambiguously replied\u00e2\u0080\u0094 540\\nFor Mortham s charge his honor\\ntied\\nBertram is gone the villain s\\nword\\nAvouched him murderer of his\\nlord\\nEven now we fought but when\\nyour tread\\nAnnounced you nigh, the felon\\nfled.\\nIn Wycliffe s conscious eye ap-\\npear\\nA guilty hope, a guilty fear\\nOn his pale brow the dewdrop\\nbroke,\\nAnd his lip quivered as he spoke\\nXXIV\\nA murderer Philip Mortham\\ndied 550\\nAmid the battle s wildest tide.\\nWilfrid, or Bertram raves or you\\nYet, grant such strange confession\\ntrue,\\nPursuit were vain let him fly\\nfar\\nJustice must sleep in civil war.\\nA gallant youth rode near his\\nside,\\nBrave Rokeby s page, in battle\\ntried\\nThat morn an embassy of weight\\nHe brought to Barnard s castle\\ngate,\\nAnd followed now in Wycliffe s\\ntrain 560\\nAn answer for his lord to gain.\\nHis steed, whose arched and sable\\nneck\\nAn hundred wreaths of foam be-\\ndeck,\\nChafed not against the curb more\\nhigh\\nThan he at Oswald s cold reply\\nHe bit his lip, implored his saint\\nHis the old faith then burst re-\\nstraint\\nXXV\\n1 Yes I beheld his bloody fall\\nBy that base traitor s dastard ball", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0346.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n325\\nJust wh#n I thought to measure\\nsword, 570\\nPresumptuous hope with Mor-\\ntmain s lord.\\nAnd shall the murderer scape who\\nslew\\nHis leader, generous, brave, and\\ntrue\\nEscape, while on the dew you\\ntrace\\nThe marks of his gigantic pace\\nNo! ere the sun that dew shall\\ndry,\\nFalse Risinghani shall yield or\\ndie.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nRing out the castle larum bell\\nArouse the peasants with the\\nknell\\nMeantime disperse ride, gallants,\\nride 580\\nBeset the wood on every side.\\nBut if among you one there be\\nThat honors Mortham s memory,\\nLet him dismount and follow me\\nElse on your crests sit fear and\\nshame,\\nAnd foul suspicion dog your name V\\nXXVI\\nInstant to earth young Redmond\\nsprung\\nInstant on earth the harness rung\\nOf twenty men of Wycliffe s band,\\nWho waited not their lord s com-\\nmand. 590\\nRedmond his spurs from buskins\\ndrew,\\nHis mantle from his shoulders\\nthrew,\\nHis pistols in his belt he placed,\\nThe green-wood gained, the foot-\\nsteps traced,\\nShouted like huntsman to his\\nhounds,\\n1 To cover, hark and in he\\nbounds.\\nScarce heard was Oswald s anx-\\nious cry,\\n1 Suspicion yes pursue him\\nfly-\\nBut venture not in useless strife\\nOn ruffian desperate of his life 600\\nWhoever finds him shoot him dead\\nFive hundred nobles for his head\\nXXVII\\nThe horsemen galloped to make\\ngood\\nEach path that issued from the\\nwood.\\nLoud from the thickets rung the\\nshout\\nOf Redmond and his eager rout\\nWith them was Wilfrid, stung\\nwith ire,\\nAnd envying Redmond s martial\\nfire,\\nAnd emulous of fame. But where\\nIs Oswald, noble Mortham s\\nheir? 610\\nHe, bound by honor, law, and\\nfaith,\\nAvenger of his kinsman s death?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nLeaning against the elmin tree,\\nWith drooping head and slackened\\nknee,\\nAnd clenched teeth, and close-\\nclasped hands,\\nIn agony of soul he stands\\nHis downcast eye on earth is bent,\\nHis soul to every sound is lent;\\nFor in each shout that cleaves the\\nair\\nMay ring discovery and despair.\\nXXTIII\\nWhat vailed it him that brightly\\nplayed 62 1\\nThe morning sun on Mortham s\\nglade\\nAll seems in giddy round to ride,\\nLike objects on a stormy tide\\nSeen eddying by the moonlight\\ndim,\\nImperfectly to sink and swim.\\nWhat vailed it that the fair do-\\nmain,\\nIts battled mansion, hill, and plain,\\nOn which the sun so brightly\\nshone,\\nI Envied so long, was now his own\\nI The lowest dungeon, in that hour,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0347.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "326\\nROKEBY\\nOf Brackenbury s dismal tower, 632\\nHad been his choice, could such a\\ndoom\\nHave opened Mortham s bloody\\ntomb!\\nForced, too, to turn unwilling ear\\nTo each surmise of hope or fear,\\nMurmured among the rustics\\nround,\\nWho gathered at the larum sound.\\nHe dare not turn his head away,\\nEven to look up to heaven to pray,\\nOr call on hell in bitter mood 641\\nFor one sharp death-shot from the\\nwood!\\nXXIX\\nAt length o erpast that dreadful\\nspace,\\nBack straggling came the scat-\\ntered chase\\nJaded and weary, horse and man,\\nReturned the troopers one by one.\\nWilfrid the last arrived to say\\nAll trace was lost of Bertram s\\nway,\\nThough Redmond still up Brignall\\nwood\\nThe hopeless quest in vain pur-\\nsued. 650\\nO, fatal doom of human race\\nWhat tyrant passions passions\\nchase\\nRemorse from Oswald s brow is\\ngone,\\nAvarice and pride resume their\\nthrone\\nThe pang of instant terror by,\\nThey dictate thus their slave s re-\\nply:\\nXXX\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2Ay let him range like hasty\\nhound\\nAnd if the grim wolf s lair be\\nfound,\\nSmall is my care how goes the\\ngame\\nWith Redmond or with Rising-\\nham.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 660\\nNay, answer not, thou simple boy\\nThy fair Matilda, all so coy\\nTo thee, is of another mood\\nTo that bold youth of Erin s blood.\\nThy ditties will she freely praise,\\nAnd pay thy pains with courtly\\nphrase\\nIn a rough path will oft com-\\nmand\\nAccept at least thy friendly\\nhand;\\nHis she avoids, or, urged and\\nprayed,\\nUnwilling takes his proffered aid,\\nWhile conscious passion plainly\\nspeaks 671\\nIn downcast look and blushing\\ncheeks.\\nWhene er he sings will she glide\\nnigh,\\nAnd all her soul is in her eye\\nYet doubts she still to tender free\\nThe wonted words of courtesy.\\nThese are strong signs yet\\nwherefore sigh,\\nAnd wipe, effeminate, thine eye\\nThine shall she be, if thou attend\\nThe counsels of thy sire and\\nfriend. 680\\nXXXI\\nScarce wert thou gone, when peep\\nof light\\nBrought genuine news of Mars-\\nton s fight.\\nBrave Cromwell turned the doubt-\\nful tide,\\nAnd conquest blessed the rightful\\nside;\\nThree thousand cavaliers lie dead,\\nRupert and that bold Marquis fled\\nNobles and knights, so proud of\\nlate,\\nMust fine for freedom and estate.\\nOf these committed to my charge\\nIs Rokeby, prisoner at large 690\\nRedmond his page arrived to say\\nHe reaches Barnard s towers to-\\nday.\\nRight heavy shall his ransom be\\nUnless that maid compound with\\nthee J", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0348.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n3 2 7\\nGo to her now be bold of cheer\\nWhile her soul floats twixt hope\\nand fear\\nIt is the very change of tide,\\nWhen best the female heart is\\ntried\\nPride, prejudice, and modesty,\\nAre in the current swept to sea, 700\\nAnd the bold swain who plies his\\noar\\nMay lightly row his bark to shore.\\nCANTO THIRD\\nThe hunting tribes of air and\\nearth\\nRespect the brethren of their\\nbirth\\nNature, who loves the claim of\\nkind,\\nLess cruel chase to each assigned.\\nThe falcon, poised on soaring wing,\\nWatches the wild-duck by the\\nspring\\nThe slow-hound wakes the fox*s\\nlair;\\nThe greyhound presses on the\\nhare;\\nThe eagle pounces on the lamb\\nThe wolf devours the fleecy dam\\nEven tiger fell and sullen bear 1 1\\nTheir likeness and their lineage\\nspare\\nMan only mars kind Nature s plan,\\nAnd turns the fierce pursuit on\\nman,\\nPlying war s desultory trade,\\nIncursion, flight, and ambuscade,\\nSince Nimrod, Cush s mighty son,\\nAt first the bloody game begun.\\nn\\nThe Indian, prowling for his prey,\\nWho hears the settlers track his\\nway, 20\\nAnd knows in distant forest far\\nCamp his red brethren of the\\nwar\\nHe, when each double and dis-\\nguise\\nTo baffle the pursuit he tries,\\nLow crouching now his head to\\nhide\\nWhere swampy streams through\\nrushes glide,\\nNow covering with the withered\\nleaves\\nThe foot-prints that the dew re-\\nceives\\nHe, skilled in every sylvan guile,\\nKnows not, nor tries, such various\\nwile 30\\nAs Risingham when on the wind\\nArose the loud pursuit behind.\\nIn Redesdale his youth had heard\\nEach art her wily dalesman dared,\\nWhen Rooken-edge and Redswair\\nhigh\\nTo bugle rung and blood-hound s\\ncry,\\nAnnouncing Jedwood-axe and\\nspear,\\nAnd Lid sdale riders in the rear;\\nAnd well his venturous life had\\nproved\\nThe lessons that his childhood\\nloved. 40\\nin\\nOft had he shown in climes afar\\nEach attribute of roving war\\nThe sharpened ear, the piercing\\neye,\\nThe quick resolve in danger nigh;\\nThe speed that in the flight or\\nchase\\nOutstripped the Charib s rapid\\nrace;\\nThe steady brain, the sinewy\\nlimb,\\nTo leap, to climb, to dive, to swim\\nThe iron frame, inured to bear\\nEach dire inclemency of air, 50\\nNor less confirmed to undergo\\nFatigue s faint chill and famine s\\nthroe.\\nThese arts he proved, his life to\\nsave,\\nIn peril oft by land and wave,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0349.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "328\\nROKEBY\\nOn Arawaca s desert shore,\\nOr where La Plata s billows roar,\\nWhen oft the sons of vengeful\\nSpain\\nTracked the marauder s steps in\\nvain.\\nThese arts, in Indian warfare\\ntried,\\nMust save him now by Greta s\\nside. 60\\nIV\\nT was then, in hour of utmost\\nneed,\\nHe proved his courage, art, and\\nspeed.\\nNow slow he stalked with stealthy\\npace,\\nNow started forth in rapid race,\\nOft doubling back in mazy train\\nTo blind the trace the dews retain\\nNow clomb the rocks projecting\\nhigh\\nTo baffle the pursuer s eye\\nNow sought the stream, whose\\nbrawling sound 69\\nThe echo of his footsteps drowned.\\nBut if the forest verge he nears,\\nThere trample steeds, and glim-\\nmer spears\\nIf deeper down the copse he drew,\\nHe heard the rangers loud halloo,\\nBeating each cover while they\\ncame,\\nAs if to start the sylvan game.\\n\u00e2\u0099\u00a6T was then like tiger close be-\\nset\\nAt every pass with toil and net,\\nCountered where er he turns his\\nglare\\nBy clashing arms and torches\\nflare, 80\\nWho meditates with furious bound\\nTo burst on hunter, horse and\\nhound\\nT was then that Bertram s soul\\narose,\\nPrompting to rush upon his foes\\nBut as that crouching tiger, cowed\\nBy brandished steel and shouting\\ncrowd,\\nRetreats beneath the jungle s\\nshroud,\\nBertram suspends his purpose\\nstern,\\nAnd crouches in the brake and\\nfern,\\nHiding his face lest foemen spy 90\\nThe sparkle of his swarthy eye.\\nThen Bertram might the bearing\\ntrace\\nOf the bold youth who led the\\nchase\\nWho paused to list for every\\nsound,\\nClimbed every height to look\\naround,\\nThen rushing on with naked\\nsword,\\nEach dingle s bosky depths ex-\\nplored.\\nT was Redmond by the azure\\neye;\\nT was Redmond by the locks\\nthat fly\\nDisordered from his glowing\\ncheek 100\\nMien, face, and form young Red-\\nmond speak.\\nA form more active, light, and\\nstrong,\\nNe er shot the ranks of war along\\nThe modest yet the manly mien\\nMight grace the court of maiden\\nqueen\\nA face more fair you well might\\nfind,\\nFor Redmond s knew the sun and\\nwind,\\nNor boasted, from their tinge when\\nfree,\\nThe charm of regularity 109\\nBut every feature had the power\\nTo aid the expression of the hour:\\nWhether gay wit and humor sly\\nDanced laughing in his light-blue\\neye,\\nOr bended brow and glance of fire\\nAnd kindling cheek spoke Erin s\\nire,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0350.jp2"}, "349": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n3 2 9\\nOr soft aud saddened glances show\\nHer ready sympathy with woe\\nOr in that wayward mood of mind\\nWhen various feelings are com-\\nbined, 119\\nWhen joy and sorrow mingle near,\\nAnd hope s bright wings are\\nchecked by fear,\\nAnd rising doubts keep transport\\ndown,\\nAnd anger lends a short-lived\\nfrown\\nIn that strange mood which maids\\napprove\\nEven when they dare not call it\\nlove\\nWith every change his features\\nplayed,\\nAs aspens show the light and\\nshade,\\nVI\\nWell Risingham young Redmond\\nknew,\\nAnd much he marvelled that the\\ncrew,\\nRoused to revenge bold Mortham\\ndead 130\\nWere by that Morthain s foeman\\nled;\\nFor never felt his soul the woe\\nThat wails a generous foeman\\nlow,\\nFar less that sense of justice\\nstrong\\nThat wreaks a generous foeman s\\nwrong.\\nBut small his leisure now to pause\\nRedmond is first, whate er the\\ncause\\nAnd twice that Redmond came so\\nnear\\nWhere Bertram couched like\\nhunted deer,\\nThe very boughs his steps dis-\\nplace 140\\nRustled against the ruffian s face,\\nWho desperate twice prepared to\\nstart,\\nAnd plunge his dagger in his\\nheart\\nBut Redmond turned a different\\nway,\\nAnd the bent boughs resumed\\ntheir sway,\\nAnd Bertram held it wise, un-\\nseen,\\nDeeper to plunge in coppice green.\\nThus, circled in his coil, the snake,\\nWhen roving hunters beat the\\nbrake,\\nWatches with red and glistening\\neye, 150\\nPrepared, if heedless step draw\\nnigh,\\nWith forked tongue and venomed\\nfang\\nInstant to dart the deadly pang\\nBut if the intruders turn aside,\\nAway his coils unfolded glide,\\nAnd through the deep savannah\\nwind,\\nSome undisturbed retreat to find.\\nVII\\nBut Bertram, as he backward drew,\\nAnd heard the loud pursuit re-\\nnew,\\nAnd Redmond s hollo on the wind,\\nOft muttered in his savage mind\\n1 Redmond O Neale were thou\\nand I 162\\nAlone this day s event to try,\\nWith not a second here to see\\nBut the gray cliff and oaken tree,\\nThat voice of thine that shouts so\\nloud\\nShould ne er repeat its summons\\nproud\\nNo nor e er try its melting power\\nAgain in maiden s summer bower.\\nEluded, now behind him die 170\\nFaint and more faint each hostile\\ncry;\\nHe stands in Scargill wood alone,\\nNor hears he now a harsher tone\\nThan the hoarse cushat s plaintive\\ncry,\\nOr Greta s sound that murmurs\\nby;\\nAnd on the dale, so lone and wild,\\nThe summer sun in quiet smiled.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0351.jp2"}, "350": {"fulltext": "33\u00c2\u00b0\\nROKEBY\\nVIII\\nHe listened long with anxious\\nheart,\\nEar bent to hear and foot to start,\\nAnd, while his stretched attention\\nglows, 180\\nRefused his weary frame repose.\\nT was silence all he laid him\\ndown,\\nWhere purple heath profusely\\nstrown,\\nAnd throatwort with its azure\\nbell,\\nAnd moss and thyme his cushion\\nswell.\\nThere, spent with toil, he listless\\neyed\\nThe course of Greta s playful tide\\nBeneath her banks now eddying\\ndun, 188\\nNow brightly gleaming to the sun,\\nAs, dancing over rock and stone,\\nIn yellow light her currents shone,\\nMatching in hue the favorite gem\\nOf Al bin s mountain-diadem.\\nThen, tired to watch the currents\\nPlay,\\nHe turned his weary eyes away\\nTo where the bank opposing\\nshowed\\nIts huge, square cliffs through\\nshaggy wood.\\nOne, prominent above the rest,\\nReared to the sun its pale gray\\nbreast; 199\\nAround its broken summit grew\\nThe hazel rude and sable yew\\nA thousand varied lichens dyed\\nIts waste and weather-beaten side,\\nAnd round its rugged basis lay,\\nBy time or thunder rent away,\\nFragments that from its frontlet\\ntorn\\nWere mantled now by verdant\\nthorn.\\nSuch was the scene s wild majesty\\nThat filled stern Bertram s gazing\\neye.\\nIX\\nIn sullen mood he lay reclined, 210\\nRevolving in his stormy mind\\nThe felon deed, the fruitless guilt,\\nHis patron s blood by treason\\nspilt\\nA crime, it seemed, so dire and\\ndread\\nThat it had power to wake the\\ndead.\\nThen, pondering on his life be-\\ntrayed\\nBy Oswald s art to Redmond s\\nblade,\\nIn treacherous purpose to with-\\nhold,\\nSo seemed it, Mortham s promised\\ngold,\\nA deep and full revenge he vowed\\nOn Redmond, forward, fierce, and\\nproud; 221\\nRevenge on Wilfrid on his sire\\nRedoubled vengeance, swift and\\ndire\\nIf, in such mood as legends say,\\nAnd well believed that simple\\nday\\nThe Enemy of Man has power\\nTo profit by the evil hour,\\nHere stood a wretch prepared to\\nchange\\nHis soul s redemption for revenge\\nBut though his vows with such a\\nfire 230\\nOf earnest and intense desire\\nFor vengeance dark and fell were\\nmade\\nAs well might reach hell s lowest\\nshade,\\nNo deeper clouds the grove em-\\nbrowned,\\nNo nether thunders shook the\\nground\\nThe demon knew his vassal s heart,\\nAnd spared temptation s needless\\nart.\\nx\\nOft, mingled with the direful\\ntheme,\\nCame Mortham s form was it a\\ndream?\\nOr had he seen in vision true 240\\nThat very Mortham whom he slew?\\nOr had in living flesh appeared", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0352.jp2"}, "351": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n331\\nThe only man on earth he\\nfeared?\\nTo try the mystic cause intent,\\nHis eyes that on the cliff were\\nbent\\nCountered at once a dazzling\\nglance,\\nLike sunbeam flashed from sword\\nor lance.\\nAt once he started as for fight,\\nBut not a foeman was in sight\\nHe heard the cushat s murmur\\nhoarse, 250\\nHe heard the river s sounding\\ncourse\\nThe solitary woodlands lay,\\nAs slumbering in the summer\\nray.\\nHe gazed, like lion roused, around,\\nThen sunk again upon the ground.\\nT was but, he thought, some fitful\\nbeam,\\nGlanced sudden from the sparkling\\nstream\\nThen plunged him in his gloomy\\ntrain\\nOf ill-connected thoughts again,\\nUntil a voice behind him cried, 260\\nBertram well met on Greta side.\\nXI\\nInstant his sword was in his hand,\\nAs instant sunk the ready brand\\nYet, dubious still, opposed he\\nstood\\nTo him that issued from the wood\\n4 Guy Denzil is it thou? he said\\n1 Do we two meet in Scargill\\nshade\\nStand back a space thy purpose\\nshow,\\nWhether thou comest as friend or\\nfoe.\\nReport hath said, that Denzil s\\nname 270\\nFrom Eokeby s band was razed\\nwith shame\\nA shame I owe that hot O Neale,\\nWho told his knight in peevish\\nzeal\\nOf my marauding on the clowns\\nOf Calverley and Bradford downs.\\nI reck not. In a war to strive,\\nWhere save the leaders none can\\nthrive,\\nSuits ill my mood; and better\\ngame\\nAwaits us both, if thou rt the\\nsame 279\\nUnscrupulous, bold Risingham\\nW T ho w r atched with me in midnight\\ndark\\nTo snatch a deer from Rokeby-\\npark.\\nHow think st thou? Speak thy\\npurpose out;\\nI love not mystery or doubt\\nXII\\n1 Then list. Not far there lurk a\\ncrew\\nOf trusty comrades stanch and\\ntrue,\\nGleaned from both factions\\nRoundheads freed\\nFrom cant of sermon and of creed\\nAnd Cavaliers, wiiose souls like\\nmine 289\\nSpurn at the bonds of discipline.\\nWiser, we judge, by dale and wold\\nA warfare of our ow r n to hold\\nThan breathe our last on battle-\\ndown\\nFor cloak or surplice, mace or\\ncrown.\\nOur schemes are laid, our purpose\\nset,\\nA chief and leader lack we yet.\\nThou art a wanderer, it is said,\\nFor Mortham s death thy steps\\nwaylaid,\\nThy head at price so say our\\nspies,\\nWho ranged the valley in dis-\\nguise. 300\\nJoin then with us: though wild\\ndebate\\nAnd wrangling rend our infant\\nstate,\\nEach, to an equal loath to bow,\\nWill yield to chief renow r ned as\\nthou.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0353.jp2"}, "352": {"fulltext": "332\\nROKEBY\\nXIII\\n1 Even now, thought Bertram,\\npassion-stirred,\\n*I called on hell, and hell has\\nheard\\nWhat lack I, vengeance to com-\\nmand,\\nBut of stanch comrades such a\\nband?\\nThis Denzil, vowed to every evil,\\nMight read a lesson to the devil.\\nWell, be it so each knave and\\nfOOl 311\\nShall serve as my revenge s\\ntool.\\nAloud, I take thy proffer, Guy,\\nBut tell me where thy comrades\\nlie.\\n1 Not far from hence, Guy Denzil\\nsaid;\\n1 Descend and cross the river s bed\\nWhere rises yonder cliff so gray.\\nDo thou, said Bertram, lead the\\nway.\\nThen muttered, It is best make\\nsure\\nGuy Denzil s faith was never\\npure. 320\\nHe followed down the steep de-\\nscent,\\nThen through the Greta s streams\\nthey went\\nAnd when they reached the far-\\nther shore\\nThey stood the lonely cliff before.\\nXIV\\nWith wonder Bertram heard\\nwithin\\nThe flinty rock a murmured din\\nBut when Guy pulled the wilding\\nspray\\nAnd brambles from its base away,\\nHe saw appearing to the air\\nA little entrance low and\\nsquare, 330\\nLike opening cell of hermit lone,\\nDark winding through the living\\nstone.\\nHere entered Denzil, Bertram\\nhere\\nAnd loud and louder on their ear,\\nAs from the bowels of the earth,\\nResounded shouts of boisterous\\nmirth.\\nOf old the cavern strait and rude\\nIn slaty rock the peasant hewed\\nAnd Brignall s woods and Scar-\\ngill s wave\\nE en now o er many a sister\\ncave, 340\\nWhere, far within the darksome\\nrift,\\nThe wedge and lever ply their\\nthrift.\\nBut war had silenced rural trade,\\nAnd the deserted mine was made\\nThe banquet-hall and fortress too\\nOf Denzil and his desperate crew.\\nThere Guilt his anxious revel kept,\\nThere on his sordid pallet slept\\nGuilt-born Excess, the goblet\\ndrained\\nStill in his slumbering grasp re-\\ntained; 350\\nRegret was there, his eye still cast\\nWith vain repining on the past\\nAmong the feasters waited near\\nSorrow and unrepentant Fear,\\nAnd Blasphemy, to frenzy driven,\\nWith his own crimes reproaching\\nHeaven\\nWhile Bertram showed amid the\\ncrew\\nThe Master-Fiend that Milton\\ndrew.\\nxv\\nHark the loud revel wakes again\\nTo greet the leader of the train. 360\\nBehold the group by the pale lamp\\nThat struggles with the earthy\\ndamp.\\nBy what strange features Vice\\nhath known\\nTo single out and mark her own\\nYet some there are whose brows\\nretain\\nLess deeply stamped her brand\\nand stain.\\nSee yon pale stripling! when a\\nboy,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0354.jp2"}, "353": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n333\\nA mother s pride, a father s joy\\nNow, gainst the vault s rude walls\\nreclined,\\nAn early image fills his mind 370\\nThe cottage once his sire s he sees,\\nEmbowered upon the banks of\\nTees;\\nHe views sweet Winston s wood-\\nland scene,\\nAnd shares the dance on Gainford-\\ngreen.\\nA tear is springing but the zest\\nOf some wild tale or brutal jest\\nHath to loud laughter stirred the\\nrest.\\nOn him they call, the aptest mate\\nFor jovial song and merry feat\\nFast flies his dream with daunt-\\nless air, 380\\nAs one victorious o er despair,\\nHe bids the ruddy cup go round\\nTill sense and sorrow both are\\ndrowned\\nAnd soon in merry wassail he,\\nThe life of all their revelry,\\nPeals his loud song The muse\\nhas found\\nHer blossoms on the wildest\\nground,\\nMid noxious weeds at random\\nstrewed,\\nThemselves all profitless and\\nrude.\\nWith desperate merriment he\\nsung, 390\\nThe cavern to the chorus rung,\\nYet mingled with his reckless glee\\nRemorse s bitter agony.\\nXVI\\nSONG\\nO, Brignall banks are wild and fair,\\nAnd Greta woods are green,\\nAnd you may gather garlands\\nthere\\nWould grace a summer queen.\\nAnd as I rode by Dalton-hall,\\nBeneath the turrets high,\\nA maiden on the castle wall 400\\nWas singing merrily,\\nchorus\\n4 0, Brignall banks are fresh and\\nfair,\\nAnd Greta woods are green\\nI d rather rove with Edmund\\nthere\\nThan reign our English queen.\\nIf, maiden, thou wouldst wend\\nwith me,\\nTo leave both tower and town,\\nThou first must guess what life\\nlead we\\nThat dwell by dale and down\\nAnd if thou canst that riddle\\nread, 410\\nAs read full well you may,\\nThen to the greenwood shalt thou\\nspeed,\\nAs blithe as Queen of May.\\nCHORUS\\nYet sung she, Brignall banks are\\nfair,\\nAnd Greta woods are green\\nI d rather rove with Edmund\\nthere\\nThan reign our English queen.\\nXVII\\nI I read you, by your bugle horn,\\nAnd by your palfrey good,\\nI read you for a ranger sworn 420\\nTo keep the king s greenwood.\\nA ranger, lady, winds his horn,\\nAnd t is at peep of light\\nHis blast is heard at merry morn,\\nAnd mine at dead of night.\\nCHORUS\\nYet sung she, Brignall banks are\\nfair,\\nAnd Greta woods are gay\\nI would I were with Edmund\\nthere,\\nTo reign his Queen of May\\n4 With burnished brand and mus-\\nketoon 430\\nSo gallantly you come,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0355.jp2"}, "354": {"fulltext": "334\\nROKEBY\\nI read you for a bold dragoon,\\nThat lists the tuck of drum.\\nI I list no more the tuck of drum,\\nNo more the trumpet hear\\nBut when the beetle sounds his\\nhum,\\nMy comrades take the spear.\\nCHORUS\\nAnd O, though Brignall banks be\\nfair,\\nAnd Greta woods be gay,\\nYet mickle must the maiden\\ndare 440\\nWould reign my Queen of May\\nXVIII\\nMaiden l a nameless life I lead,\\nA nameless death I 11 die\\nThe fiend whose lantern lights the\\nmead\\nWere better mate than I\\nAnd when I m with my comrades\\nmet\\nBeneath the greenwood bough,\\nWhat once we were we all forget,\\nNor think what we are now.\\nCHORUS\\n4 Yet Brignall banks are fresh and\\nfair, 450\\nAnd Greta woods are green,\\nAnd you may gather garlands\\nthere\\nWould grace a summer queen.\\nWhen Edmund ceased his simple\\nsong,\\nWas silence on the sullen throng,\\nTill waked some ruder mate their\\nglee\\nWith note of coarser minstrelsy.\\nBut far apart in dark divan,\\nDenzil and Bertram many a plan\\nOf import foul and fierce designed,\\nWhile still on Bertram s grasping\\nmind 461\\nThe wealth of murdered Mortham\\nhung;\\nThough half he feared his daring\\ntongue,\\nWhen it should give his wishes\\nbirth,\\nMight raise a spectre from the\\nearth\\nXIX\\nAt length his wondrous tale he\\ntold;\\nWhen scornful smiled his comrade\\nbold,\\nFor, trained in license of a court,\\nKeligion s self was Denzil s sport\\nThen judge in what contempt he\\nheld 470\\nThe visionary tales of eld\\nHis awe for Bertram scarce re-\\npressed\\nThe unbeliever s sneering jest,\\n4 T were hard, he said, for sage\\nor seer\\nTo spell the subject of your fear\\nNor do I boast the art renowned\\nVision and omen to expound.\\nYet, faith if I must needs afford\\nTo spectre watching treasured\\nhoard,\\nAs ban-dog keeps his master s\\nroof, 480\\nBidding the plunderer stand aloof,\\nThis doubt remains thy goblin\\ngaunt\\nHath chosen ill his ghostly\\nhaunt\\nFor why his guard on Mortham\\nhold,\\nWhen Rokeby castle hath the\\ngold\\nThy patron won on Indian soil\\nBy stealth, by piracy, and\\nspoil?\\nxx\\nAt this he paused for angry\\nshame\\nLowered on the brow of Rising-\\nham.\\nHe blushed to think, that he\\nshould seem 490\\nAssertor of an airy dream,\\nAnd gave his wrath another\\ntheme.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0356.jp2"}, "355": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n335\\nDenzil, he says, though lowly\\nlaid,\\nWrong not the memory of the\\ndead;\\nFor while he lived at Mortham s\\nlook\\nThy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook\\nAnd when he taxed thy breach of\\nword\\nTo yon fair rose of Allenford,\\nI saw thee crouch like chastened\\nhound\\nWhose hack the huntsman s lash\\nhath found. 500\\nNor dare to call his foreign wealth\\nThe spoil of piracy or stealth\\nHe won it bravely with his brand\\nWhen Spain waged warfare with\\nour land.\\nMark, too I brook no idle jeer,\\nNor couple Bertram s name with\\nfear;\\nMine is but half the demon s lot,\\nFor I believe, but tremble not.\\nEnough of this. Say, why this\\nhoard\\nThou deem st at Rokeby castle\\nstored; 510\\nOr think st that Mortham would\\nbestow\\nHis treasure with his faction s\\nfoe?\\nXXI\\nSoon quenched was Denzil s ill-\\ntimed mirth\\nRather he would have seen the\\nearth\\nGive to ten thousand spectres\\nbirth\\nThan venture to awake to flame\\nThe deadly wrath of Risingham.\\nSubmisshe answered, Mortham s\\nmind,\\nThou know st, to joy was ill in-\\nclined, 519\\nIn youth, t is said, a gallant free,\\nA lusty reveller was he\\nBut since returned from over\\nsea,\\nA sullen and a silent mood\\nHath numbed the current of his\\nblood.\\nHence he refused each kindly call\\nj To Rokeby s hospitable hall,\\nAnd our stout knight, at dawn or\\nmorn\\nj Who loved to hear the bugle-horn,\\nNor less, when eve his oaks em.\\nbrowned,\\nj To see the ruddy cup go round, 530\\nTook umbrage that a friend so\\nnear\\nRefused to share his chase and\\ncheer\\nThus did the kindred barons jar\\nEre they divided in the war.\\nYet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair\\nOf Mortham s wealth is destined\\nheir.\\nXXII\\n1 Destined to her to yon slight\\nmaid!\\nThe prize my life had wellnigh\\npaid\\nWhen gainst Laroche by Cayo s\\nwave\\nI fought my patron s wealth to\\nsave 540\\nDenzil, I knew him long, yet ne er\\nKnew him that joyous cavalier\\nWhom youthful friends and early\\nfame\\nCalled soul of gallantry and game.\\nA moody man he sought our crew,\\nDesperate and dark, whom no one\\nknew,\\nAnd rose, as men with us must\\nrise,\\nBy scorning life and all its ties.\\nOn each adventure rash he roved,\\nAs danger for itself he loved 550\\nOn his sad brow nor mirth nor\\nwine\\nj Could e er one wrinkled knot un-\\ntwine\\n111 was the omen if he smiled,\\nI For t was in peril stern and wild\\nBut when he laughed each luck-\\nless mate\\nMight hold our fortune desperate.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0357.jp2"}, "356": {"fulltext": "336\\nROKEBY\\nForemost he fought in every broil,\\nThen scornful turned him from\\nthe spoil,\\nNay, often strove to bar the way\\nBetween his comrades and their\\nprey 560\\nPreaching even then to such as\\nwe,\\nHot with our dear-bought victory,\\nOf mercy and humanity.\\nXXIII\\n4 1 loved him well his fearless\\npart,\\nHis gallant leading, won my heart.\\nAnd after each victorious fight,\\nTwas I that wrangled for his\\nright,\\nRedeemed his portion of the prey\\nThat greedier mates had torn\\naway,\\nIn field and storm thrice saved his\\nlife, 570\\nAnd once amid our comrades\\nstrife.\\nYes, I have loved thee Well hath\\nproved\\nMy toil, my danger, how I loved!\\nYet will I mourn no more thy fate,\\nIngrate in life,, in death ingrate.\\nRise if thou canst he looked\\naround\\nAnd sternly stamped upon the\\nground\\nRise, with thy bearing proud and\\nhigh,\\nEven as this morn it met mine\\neye,\\nAnd give me, if thou darest, the\\nlie 580\\nHe paused then, calm and pas-\\nsion-freed,\\nBade Denzil with his tale pro-\\nceed.\\nXXIV\\n1 Bertram, to thee I need not tell,\\nWhat thou hast cause to wot so\\nwell,\\nHow superstition s nets were\\ntwined\\nAround the Lord of Mortham s\\nmind;\\nBut since he drove thee from his\\ntower,\\nA maid he found in Greta s bower\\nWhose speech, like David s harp,\\nhad sway\\nTo charm his evil fiend away. 590\\nI know not if her features moved\\nRemembrance of the wife he loved,\\nBut he would gaze upon her eye,\\nTill his mood softened to a sigh.\\nHe, whom no living mortal sought\\nTo question of his secret thought,\\nNow every thought and care con-\\nfessed\\nTo his fair niece s faithful breast\\nNor was there aught of rich and\\nrare,\\nIn earth, in ocean, or in air, 600\\nBut it must deck Matilda s hair.\\nHer love still bound him unto\\nlife;\\nBut then awoke the civil strife,\\nAnd menials bore by his com-\\nmands\\nThree coffers with their iron\\nbands\\nFrom Mortham s vault at midnight\\ndeep\\nTo her lone bower in Rokeby-\\nKeep,\\nPonderous with gold and plate of\\npride,\\nHis gift, if he in battle died.\\nXXV\\nThen Denzil, as I guess, lays\\ntrain 610\\nThese iron-banded chests to gain,\\nElse wherefore should he hover\\nhere\\nWhere many a peril waits him\\nnear\\nFor all his feats of war and peace,\\nFor plundered boors, and harts of\\ngreese\\nSince through the hamlets as he\\nfared\\nWhat hearth has Guy s maraud-\\ning spared,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0358.jp2"}, "357": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n337\\nOr where the chase that hath not\\nrung\\nWith Denzil s bow at midnight\\nstrung\\nI hold my wont my rangers go,\\nEven now to track a milk-white\\ndoe. 621\\nBy Rokeby-hall she takes her lair,\\nIn Greta wood she harbors fair,\\nAnd when my huntsman marks\\nher way,\\nWhat think st thou, Bertram, of\\nthe prey\\nWere Rokeby s daughter in our\\npower,\\nWe rate her ransom at her dower.\\nXXVI\\nT is well! there s vengeance\\nin the thought,\\nMatilda is by Wilfrid sought\\nAnd hot-brained Redmond too, t is\\nsaid, 630\\nPays lover s homage to the maid.\\nBertram she scorned if met by\\nchance\\nShe turned from me her shudder-\\ning glance,\\nLike a nice dame that will not\\nbrook\\nOn what she hates and loathes to\\nlook\\nShe told to Mortham she could\\nne er\\nBehold me without secret fear,\\nForeboding evil she may rue\\nTo find her prophecy fall true\\nThe war has weeded Rokeby s\\ntrain, 640\\nFew followers in his halls remain\\nIf thy scheme miss, then, brief and\\nbold,\\nWe are enow to storm the hold,\\nBear off the plunder and the dame,\\nAnd leave the castle all in flame.\\nXXVII\\n1 Still art thou Valor s venturous\\nson!\\nYet ponder first the risk to run\\nThe menials of the castle, true\\nAnd stubborn to their charge,\\nthough few\\nThe wall to scale the moat to\\ncross 650\\nThe wicket grate the inner\\nfosse\\nFool! if we blench for toys like\\nthese,\\nOn what fair guerdon can we\\nseize\\nOur hardiest venture, to explore\\nSome wretched peasant s fence-\\nless door,\\nAnd the best prize we bear away,\\nThe earnings of his sordid day.\\nk A while thy hasty taunt for-\\nbear:\\nIn sight of road more sure and\\nfair\\nThou wouldst not choose, in blind-\\nfold wrath 660\\nOr wantonness a desperate path\\nList, then; for vantage or as-\\nsault,\\nFrom gilded vane to dungeon\\nvault,\\nEach pass of Hoke by -house I\\nknow\\nThere is one postern dark and\\nlow\\nThat issues at a secret spot,\\nBy most neglected or forgot.\\nNow, could a spial of our train\\nOn fair pretext admittance gain,\\nThat sally-port might be unbarred\\nThen, vain were battlement and\\nward 67 1\\nXXVIII\\n4 Now speak st thou well to me\\nthe same\\nIf force or art shall urge the\\ngame;\\nIndifferent if like fox I wind,\\nOr spring like tiger on the hind.\\nBut, hark our merry men so gay\\nTroll forth another roundelay.\\nSONG\\n1 A weary lot is thine, fair maid,\\nA weary lot is thine l", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0359.jp2"}, "358": {"fulltext": "338\\nROKEBY\\nTo pull the thorn thy brow to\\nbraid, 680\\nAnd press the rue for wine\\nA lightsome eye, a soldier s mien,\\nA feather of the blue,\\nA doublet of the Lincoln green,\\nNo more of me you knew,\\nMy love\\nNo more of me you knew.\\n1 This morn is merry June, I trow,\\nThe rose is budding fain\\nBut she shall bloom in winter\\nsnow 690\\nEre we two meet again.\\nHe turned his charger as he spake\\nUpon the river shore,\\nHe gave his bridle-reins a shake,\\nSaid, Adieu for evermore,\\nMy love\\nAnd adieu for evermore.\\nXXIX\\n1 What youth is this your band\\namong 698\\nThe best for minstrelsy and song?\\nIn his wild notes seem aptly met\\nA strain of pleasure and regret.\\nEdmund of Winston is his name\\nThe hamlet sounded with the fame\\nOf early hopes his childhood\\ngave,\\nNow centred all in Brignall cave\\nI watch him well his wayward\\ncourse\\nShows oft a tincture of remorse.\\nSome early love-shaft grazed his\\nheart,\\nAnd oft the scar will ache and\\nsmart.\\nYet is he useful of the rest 710\\nBy fits the darling and the jest,\\nHis harp, his story, and his lay,\\nOft aid the idle hours away\\nWhen unemployed, each fiery mate\\nIs ripe for mutinous debate.\\nHe tuned his strings e en now\\nagain\\nHe wakes them with a blither\\nstrain.\\nXXX\\nSONG\\nALLEN-A-DALE\\nAllen-a-Dale has no fagot for burn-\\ning,\\nAllen-a-Dale has no furrow for\\nturning,\\nAllen-a-Dale has no fleece for the\\nspinning, 720\\nYet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for\\nthe winning.\\nCome, read me my riddle! come,\\nhearken my tale\\nAnd tell me the craft of bold Allen-\\na-Dale.\\nThe Baron of Ravens worth prances\\nin pride,\\nAnd he views his domains upon\\nArkindale side.\\nThe mere for his net and the land\\nfor his game,\\nThe chase for the wild and the\\npark for the tame\\nYet the fish of the lake and the\\ndeer of the vale\\nAre less free to Lord Dacre than\\nAllen-a-Dale I\\nAllen-a-Dale was ne er belted a\\nknight, 730\\nThough his spur be as sharp and\\nhis blade be as bright;\\nAllen-a-Dale is no baron or lord,\\nYet twenty tall yeomen will draw\\nat his word\\nAnd the best of our nobles his bon-\\nnet will vail,\\nWho at Rere-cross on Stanmore\\nmeets Allen-a-Dale\\nAllen-a-Dale to his wooing is come\\nThe mother, she asked of his\\nhousehold and home\\nThough the castle of Richmond\\nstand fair on the hill,\\nMy hall, quoth bold Allen, shows\\ngallanter still", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0360.jp2"}, "359": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n339\\nT is the blue vault of heaven,\\nwith its crescent so pale 740\\nAnd with all its bright spangles\\nsaid Allen-a-Dale.\\nThe father was steel and the mo-\\nther was stone\\nThey lifted the latch and they\\nbade him be gone\\nBut loud on the morrow their wail\\nand their cry\\nHe had laughed on the lass with\\nhis bonny black eye,\\nAnd she fled to the forest to hear\\na love-tale,\\nAnd the youth it was told by was\\nAllen-a-Dale\\nXXXI\\nThou see st that, whether sad or\\ngay,\\nLove mingles ever in his lay. 749\\nBut when his boyish wayward fit\\nIs o er, he hath address and wit\\nO, t is a brain of fire, can ape\\nEach dialect, each various\\nshape\\nNay, then, to aid thy project,\\nGuy-\\nSoft who comes here My\\ntrusty spy.\\nSpeak, Hamlin hast thou lodged\\nour deer?\\n4 1 have but two fair stags are\\nnear.\\nI watched her as she slowly\\nstrayed\\nFrom Egliston up Thorsgill glade,\\nBut Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her\\nside, 760\\nAnd then young Redmond in his\\npride\\nShot down to meet them on their\\nway;\\nMuch, as it seemed, was theirs to\\nsay:\\nThere s time to pitch both toil\\nand net\\nBefore their path be homeward\\nset.\\nA hurried and a whispered speech\\nDid Bertram s will to Denzil teach,\\nWho, turning to the robber band,\\nBade four, the bravest, take the\\nbrand.\\nCANTO FOURTH\\nWhex Denmark s raven soared\\non high,\\nTriumphant through Northum-\\nbrian sky,\\nTill hovering near her fatal croak\\nBade Reged s Britons dread the\\nyoke,\\nAnd the broad shadow of her wing\\nBlackened each cataract and\\nspring\\nWhere Tees in tumult leaves his\\nsource,\\nThundering o er Caldron and High-\\nForce\\nBeneath the shade the Northmen\\ncame, q\\nFixed on each vale a Runic name,\\nReared high their altar s rugged\\nstone,\\nAnd gave their gods the land they\\nwon.\\nThen, Balder, one bleak garth was\\nthine\\nAnd one sweet brooklet s silver\\nline,\\nAnd Woden s Croft did title gain\\nFrom the stern Father of the\\nSlain\\nBut to the Monarch of the Mace,\\nThat held in fight the foremost\\nplace.\\nTo Odin s son and Sifia s spouse,\\nNear Stratforth high they paid\\ntheir vows, 20\\nRemembered Thor s victorious\\nfame,\\nAnd gave the dell the Thunder-\\ner s name.\\n11\\nYet Scald or Kemper erred, I ween\\nWho gave that soft and quiet\\nscene,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0361.jp2"}, "360": {"fulltext": "340\\nROKEBY\\nWith all its varied light and shade,\\nAnd every little sunny glade,\\nAnd the blithe brook that strolls\\nalong\\nIts pebbled bed with summer song,\\nTo the grim God of blood and\\nscar,\\nThe grisly King of Northern\\nWar. 30\\nO, better were its banks assigned\\nTo spirits of a gentler kind\\nFor where the thicket-groups re-\\ncede\\nAnd the rathe primrose decks the\\nmead,\\nThe velvet grass seems carpet\\nmeet\\nFor the light fairies lively feet.\\nYon tufted knoll with daisies\\nstrown\\nMight make proud Oberon a\\nthrone,\\nWhile, hidden in the thicket nigh,\\nPuck should brood o er his frolic\\nsly 40\\nAnd where profuse the wood-vetch\\nclings\\nRound ash and elm in verdant\\nrings,\\nIts pale and azure-pencilled flower\\nShould canopy Titania s bower.\\nin\\nHere rise no cliffs the yale to\\nshade\\nBut, skirting every sunny glade,\\nIn fair variety of green\\nThe woodland lends its sylvan\\nscreen.\\nHoary yet haughty, frowns the\\noak,\\nIts boughs by weight of ages\\nbroke 50\\nAnd towers erect in sable spire\\nThe pine-tree scathed by lightning-\\nfire;\\nThe drooping ash and birch be-\\ntween\\nHang their fair tresses o er the\\ngreen,\\nAnd all beneath at random grow\\nEach coppice dwarf of varied\\nshow,\\nOr, round the stems profusely\\ntwined,\\nFling summer odors on the wind.\\nSuch varied group TJrbino s hand\\nRound Him of Tarsus nobly\\nplanned, 60\\nWhat time he bade proud Athens\\nown\\nOn Mars s Mount the God Un-\\nknown\\nThen gray Philosophy stood nigh,\\nThough bent by age, in spirit high\\nThere rose the scar-seamed veter-\\nan s spear,\\nThere Grecian Beauty bent to hear,\\nWhile Childhood at her foot was\\nplaced,\\nOr clung delighted to her waist.\\nIV\\n1 And rest we here, Matilda said,\\nAnd sat her in the varying\\nshade. 70\\nChance-met, we well may steal an\\nhour,\\nTo friendship due from fortune s\\npower.\\nThou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend\\nThy counsel to thy sister-friend\\nAnd, Redmond, thou, at my be-\\nhest,\\nNo farther urge thy desperate\\nquest.\\nFor to my care a charge is left,\\nDangerous to one of aid bereft,\\nWellnigh an orphan and alone,\\nCaptive her sire, her house o er-\\nthrown. 80\\nWilfrid, with wonted kindness\\ngraced,\\nBeside her on the turf she placed;\\nThen paused with downcast look\\nand eye,\\nNor bade young Redmond seat\\nhim nigh.\\nHer conscious diffidence he saw,\\nDrew backward as in modest awe,\\nAnd sat a little space removed,\\nUnmarked to gaze on her he loved.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0362.jp2"}, "361": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n341\\nWreathed in its dark-brown rings,\\nher hair 89\\nHalf hid Matilda s forehead fair,\\nHalf hid and half revealed to view\\nHer full dark eye of hazel hue.\\nThe rose with faint and feeble\\nstreak\\nSo slightly tinged the maiden s\\ncheek\\nThat you had said her hue was\\npale;\\nBut if she faced the summer gale,\\nOr spoke, or sung, or quicker\\nmoved,\\nOr heard the praise of those she\\nloved,\\nOr when of interest was expressed\\nAught that waked feeling in her\\nbreast, 100\\nThe mantling blood in ready play\\nRivalled the blush of rising day.\\nThere was a soft and pensive\\ngrace,\\nA cast of thought upon her face,\\nThat suited well the forehead high,\\nThe eyelash dark and downcast\\neye;\\nThe mild expression spoke a mind\\nIn duty firm, composed, re-\\nsigned\\nTis that which Roman art has\\ngiven,\\nTo mark their maiden Queen of\\nHeaven. no\\nIn hours of sport that mood gave\\nway\\nTo Fancy s light and frolic play\\nAnd when the dance, or tale, or\\nsong\\nIn harmless mirth sped time along,\\nFull oft her doting sire would call\\nHis Maud the merriest of them all.\\nBut days of war and civil crime\\nAllowed but ill such festal time,\\nAnd her soft pensiveness of brow\\nHad deepened into sadness now.\\nIn Marston field her father ta en,\\nHer friends dispersed, brave Mor-\\ntham slain, 122\\nWhile every ill her soul foretold\\nFrom Oswald s thirst of power\\nand gold,\\nAnd boding thoughts that she\\nmust part\\nWith a soft vision of her heart,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAll lowered around the lovely\\nmaid,\\nTo darken her dejection s shade.\\nVI\\nWho has not heard while Erin\\nyet\\nStrove gainst the Saxon s iron\\nbit 13\u00c2\u00b0\\nWho has not heard how brave\\nO Neale\\nIn English blood imbrued his steel,\\nAgainst Saint George s cross\\nblazed high\\nThe banners of his Tanistry,\\nTo fiery Essex gave the foil,\\nAnd reigned a prince on Ulster s\\nsoil?\\nBut chief arose his victor pride\\nWhen that brave Marshal fought\\nand died,\\nAnd Avon-Duff to ocean bore 139\\nHis billows red with Saxon gore.\\nT was first in that disastrous\\nfight\\nRokeby and Mortham proved their\\nmight.\\nThere had they fallen amongst the\\nrest,\\nBut pity touched a chieftain s\\nbreast\\nThe Tanist he to great O Xeale,\\nHe checked his followers bloody\\nzeal,\\nTo quarter took the kinsmen bold,\\nAnd bore them to his mountain-\\nhold,\\nGave them each sylvan joy to\\nknow\\nSlieve-Donard s cliffs and woods\\ncould show, 150\\nShared with them Erin s festal\\ncheer,\\nShowed them the chase of wolf\\nand deer,\\nAnd, when a fitting time was come", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0363.jp2"}, "362": {"fulltext": "342\\nROKEBY\\nSafe and unransomed sent them\\nhome,\\nLoaded with many a gift to prove\\nA generous foe s respect and love.\\nVII\\nYears speed away. On Kokeby s\\nhead\\nSome touch of early snow was\\nshed;\\nCalm he enjoyed by Greta s wave\\nThe peace which James the Peace-\\nful gave, 1 60\\nWhile Mortham far beyond the\\nmain\\nWaged his fierce wars on Indian\\nSpain.\\nIt chanced upon a wintry night\\nThat whitened Stanmore s stormy\\nheight,\\nThe chase was o er, the stag was\\nkilled,\\nIn Eokeby hall the cups were filled,\\nAnd by the huge stone chimney\\nsate\\nThe knight in hospitable state.\\nMoonless the sky, the hour was\\nlate,\\nWhen a loud summons shook the\\ngate, 170\\nAnd sore for entrance and for aid\\nA voice of foreign accent prayed.\\nThe porter answered to the call,\\nAnd instant rushed into the hall\\nA man whose aspect and attire\\nStartled the circle by the fire.\\nVIII\\nHis plaited hair in elf-locks spread\\nAround his bare and matted head\\nOn leg and thigh, close stretched\\nand trim,\\nHis vesture showed the sinewy\\nlimb 180\\nIn saffron dyed, a linen vest\\nWas frequent folded round his\\nbreast\\nA mantle long and loose he wore,\\nShaggy with ice and stained with\\ngore.\\nHe clasped a burden to his heart,\\nAnd, resting on a knotted dart,\\nThe snow from hair and beard he\\nshook,\\nAnd round him gazed with wil-\\ndered look.\\nThen up the hall with staggering\\npace 189\\nHe hastened by the blaze to place,\\nHalf lifeless from the bitter air,\\nHis load, a boy of beauty rare.\\nTo Eokeby next he louted low,\\nThen stood erect his tale to show\\nWith wild majestic port and tone,\\nLike envoy of some barbarous\\nthrone.\\nSir Richard, Lord of Eokeby,\\nhear!\\nTur lough O Neale salutes thee\\ndear;\\nHe graces thee, and to thy care\\nYoung Eedmond gives, his grand-\\nson fair. 200\\nHe bids thee breed him as thy son,\\nFor Turlough s days of joy are\\ndone,\\nAnd other lords have seized his\\nland,\\nAnd faint and feeble is his hand,\\nAnd all the glory of Tyrone\\nIs like a morning vapor flown.\\nTo bind the duty on thy soul,\\nHe bids thee think on Erin s bowl\\nIf any w r rong the young O Neale,\\nHe bids thee think of Erin s steel.\\nTo Mortham first this charge w r as\\ndue, 2 1 1\\nBut in his absence honors you.\\nNow is my master s message by,\\nAnd Ferraught will contented die.\\nIX\\nHis look grew fixed, his cheek\\ngrew pale,\\nHe sunk when he had told his tale\\nFor, hid beneath his mantle wide,\\nA mortal wound was in his side.\\nVain was all aid in terror wild\\nAnd sorrow screamed the orphan\\nchild. 220\\nPoor Ferraught raised his wistful\\neyes,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0364.jp2"}, "363": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n343\\nAnd faintly strove to soothe his\\ncries;\\nAll reckless of his dying pain,\\nHe blest and blest him o er again,\\nAnd kissed the little hands out-\\nspread,\\nAnd kissed and crossed the infant\\nhead,\\nAnd in his native tongue and\\nphrase\\nPrayed to each saint to watch his\\ndays;\\nThen all his strength together\\ndrew\\nThe charge to Rokeby to renew.\\nWhen half was faltered from his\\nbreast, 231\\nAnd half by dying signs expressed,\\nBless thee, O Xeale he faintly\\nsaid,\\nAnd thus the faithful spirit fled.\\nT was long ere soothing might\\nprevail\\nUpon the child to end the tale\\nAnd then he said that from his\\nhome\\nHis grandsire had been forced to\\nroam,\\nWhich had not been if Redmond s\\nhand\\nHad but had strength to draw the\\nbrand, 240\\nThe brand of Lenaugh More the\\nRed,\\nThat hung beside the gray wolf s\\nhead.\\nT was from his broken phrase de-\\nscried,\\nHis foster father was his guide,\\nWho in his charge from Ulster\\nbore\\nLetters and gifts a goodly store\\nBut ruffians met them in the\\nwood,\\nFerraught in battle boldly stood,\\nTill wounded and o erpowered at\\nlength,\\nAnd stripped of all, his failing\\nstrength 250\\nJust bore him here and then the\\nchild\\nRenewed again his moaning wild.\\nXI\\nThe tear down childhood s cheek\\nthat flows\\nIs like the dewdrop on the rose\\nWhen next the summer breeze\\ncomes by\\nAnd waves the bush, the flower is\\ndry.\\nWon by their care, the orphan\\nchild\\nSoon on his new protector smiled,\\nWith dimpled cheek and eye so\\nfair,\\nThrough his thick curls of flaxen\\nhair, 260\\nBut blithest laughed that cheek\\nand eye,\\nWhen Rokeby s little maid was\\nnigh\\nT was his with elder brother s\\npride\\nMatilda s tottering steps to guide\\nHis native lays in Irish tongue\\nTo soothe her infant ear he sung,\\nAnd primrose twined with daisy\\nfaii-\\nTo form a chaplet for her hair.\\nBy lawn, by grove, by brooklet s\\nstrand,\\nThe children still were hand in\\nhand, 270\\nAnd good Sir Richard smiling eyed\\nThe early knot so kindly tied.\\nXII\\nBut summer months bring wilding\\nshoot\\nFrom bud to bloom, from bloom\\nto fruit\\nAnd years draw on our human\\nspan\\nFrom child to boy, from boy to\\nman;\\nAnd soon in Rokeby s woods is\\nseen\\nA gallant boy in hunter s green.\\nHe loves to wake the felon boar", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0365.jp2"}, "364": {"fulltext": "344\\nROKEBY\\nIn his dark haunt on Greta s\\nshore, 280\\nAnd loves against the deer so dun\\nTo draw the shaft, or lift the gun\\nYet more he loves in autumn prime\\nThe hazel s spreading boughs to\\nclimb,\\nAnd down its clustered store to\\nhail\\nWhere young Matilda holds her\\nveil.\\nAnd she whose veil receives the\\nshower\\nIs altered too and knows her\\npower,\\nAssumes a monitress s pride\\nHer Redmond s dangerous sports\\nto chide, 296\\nYet listens still to hear him tell\\nHow the grim wild-boar fought\\nand fell,\\nHow at his fall the bugle rung,\\nTill rock and greenwood answer\\nflung;\\nThen blesses her that man can find\\nA pastime of such savage kind 1\\nXIII\\nBut Redmond knew to weave his\\ntale\\nSo well with praise of wood and\\ndale,\\nAnd knew so well each point to\\ntrace 299\\nGives living interest to the chase,\\nAnd knew so well o er all to throw\\nHis spirit s wild romantic glow,\\nThat, while she blamed and while\\nshe feared,\\nShe loved each venturous tale she\\nheard.\\nOft, too, when drifted snow and\\nrain\\nTo bower and hall their steps re-\\nstrain,\\nTogether they explored the page\\nOf glowing bard or gifted sage\\nOft, placed the evening fire beside,\\nThe minstrel art alternate tried,\\nWhile gladsome harp and lively\\nlay 311\\nBade winter-night flit fast away\\nThus, from their childhood blend-\\ning still\\nTheir sport, their study, and their\\nskill,\\nAn union of the soul they prove,\\nBut must not think that it was\\nlove.\\nBut though they dared not, envious\\nFame\\nSoon dared to give that union\\nname\\nAnd when so often side by side\\nFrom year to year the pair she\\neyed, 320\\nShe sometimes blamed the good\\nold knight\\nAs dull of ear and dim of sight,\\nSometimes his purpose would de-\\nclare\\nThat young O Neale should wed\\nhis heir.\\nXIV\\nThe suit of Wilfrid rent disguise\\nAnd bandage from the lovers\\neyes;\\nT was plain that Oswald for his\\nson\\nHad Rokeby s favor wellnigh won.\\nNow must they meet with change\\nof cheer,\\nWith mutual looks of shame and\\nfear; 330\\nNow must Matilda stray apart\\nTo school her disobedient heart,\\nAnd Redmond now alone must rue\\nThe love he never can subdue.\\nBut factions rose, and Rokeby\\nsware\\nNo rebel s son should wed his\\nheir;\\nAnd Redmond, nurtured while a\\nchild\\nIn many a bard s traditions wild,\\nNow sought the lonely wood or\\nstream,\\nTo cherish there a happier\\ndream 340\\nOf maiden won by sword or lance,\\nAs in the regions of romance", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0366.jp2"}, "365": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n345\\nAnd count the heroes of his line,\\nGreat Nial of the Pledges Nine,\\nShane-Dymas wild, and Geraldine,\\nAnd Connan-inore, who vowed his\\nrace\\nForever to the fight and chase,\\nAnd cursed him of his lineage born\\nShould sheathe the sword to reap\\nthe corn,\\nOr leave the mountain and the\\nwold 350\\nTo shroud himself in castled hold.\\nFrom such examples hope he\\ndrew,\\nAnd brightened as the trumpet\\nblew.\\nxv\\nIf brides were won by heart and\\nblade,\\nRedmond had both his cause to aid,\\nAnd all beside of nurture rare\\nThat might beseem a baron s heir.\\nTurlough O Neale in Erin s strife\\nOn Rokeby s Lord bestowed his\\nlife,\\nAnd well did Rokeby s generous\\nknight 360\\nYoung Redmond for the deed re-\\nquite.\\nNor was his liberal care and cost\\nUpon the gallant stripling lost\\nSeek the North Riding broad and\\nwide,\\nLike Redmond none could steed\\nbestride\\nFrom Tynemouth search to Cum-\\nberland,\\nLike Redmond none could wield a\\nbrand\\nAnd then, of humor kind and free,\\nAnd bearing him to each degree\\nWith frank and fearless courtesy,\\nThere never youth was formed to\\nsteal 371\\nUpon the heart like brave O Neale.\\nxvi\\nSir Richard loved him as his son\\nAnd when the days of peace were\\ndone,\\nAnd to the gales of war he gave\\nThe banner of his sires to wave,\\nRedmond, distinguished by his\\ncare,\\nHe chose that honored flag to\\nbear,\\nAnd named his page, the next de-\\ngree\\nIn that old time to chivalry. 380\\nIn five pitched fields he well main-\\ntained\\nThe honored place his worth ob-\\ntained,\\nAnd high was Redmond s youth-\\nful name\\nBlazed in the roll of martial fame.\\nHad fortune smiled on Marston\\nfight,\\nThe eve had seen him dubbed a\\nknight\\nTwice mid the battle s doubtful\\nstrife\\nOf Rokeby s Lord he saved the\\nlife,\\nBut when he saw him prisoner\\nmade,\\nHe kissed and then resigned his\\nblade, 390\\nAnd yielded him an easy prey\\nTo those who led the knight away,\\nResolved Matilda s sire should\\nprove\\nIn prison, as in fight, his love.\\nXVII\\nWhen lovers meet in adverse hour,\\nT is like a sun-glimpse through a\\nshower,\\nA watery ray an instant seen\\nThe darkly closing clouds between.\\nAs Redmond on the turf reclined,\\nThe past and present filled his\\nmind 400\\nIt was not thus, Affeetion said,\\n1 1 dreamed of my return, dear\\nmaid\\nNot thus when from thy trembling\\nhand\\nI took the banner and the brand,\\nWhen round me, as the bugles\\nblew,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0367.jp2"}, "366": {"fulltext": "346\\nROKEBY\\nTheir blades three hundred war-\\nriors drew,\\nAnd, while the standard I un-\\nrolled,\\nClashed their bright arms, with\\nclamor bold.\\nWhere is that banner now its\\npride\\nLies whelmed in Ouse s sullen\\ntide! 4 to\\nWhere now these warriors? in\\ntheir gore\\nThey cumber Marston s dismal\\nmoor!\\nAnd what avails a useless brand,\\nHeld by a captive s shackled hand,\\nThat only would his life retain\\nTo aid thy sire to bear his chain\\nThus Redmond to himself apart,\\nNor lighter was his rival s heart\\nFor Wilfrid, while his generous\\nsoul\\nDisdained to profit by control, 420\\nBy many a sign could mark too\\nplain,\\nSave with such aid, his hopes were\\nvain.\\nBut now Matilda s accents stole\\nOn the dark visions of their soul,\\nAnd bade their mournful musing\\nfly,\\nLike mist before the zephyr s sigh.\\nXVIII\\nI need not to my friends recall,\\nHow Mortham shunned my father s\\nhall,\\nA man of silence*and of woe,\\nYet ever anxious to bestow 430\\nOn my poor self whate er could\\nprove\\nA kinsman s confidence and love.\\nMy feeble aid could sometimes\\nchase\\nThe clouds of sorrow for a space\\nBut oftener, fixed beyond my\\npower,\\nI marked his deep despondence\\nlower.\\nOne dismal cause, by all un-\\nguessed,\\nHis fearful confidence confessed\\nAnd twice it was my hap to see\\nExamples of that agony 440\\nWhich for a season can o erstrain\\nAnd wreck the structure of the\\nbrain.\\nHe had the awful power to know\\nThe approaching mental over-\\nthrow,\\nAnd while his mind had courage\\nyet\\nTo struggle with the dreadful fit,\\nThe victim writhed against its\\nthroes,\\nLike wretch beneath a murderer s\\nblows.\\nThis malady, I well could mark,\\nSprung from some direful cause\\nand dark, 450\\nBut still he kept its source con-\\ncealed,\\nTill arming for the civil field\\nThen in my charge he bade me\\nhold\\nA treasure huge of gems and gold,\\nWith this disjointed dismal scroll\\nThat tells the secret of his soul\\nIn such wild words as oft betray\\nA mind by anguish forced astray.\\nXIX\\nMORTHAM S HISTORY\\nMatilda! thou hast seen me\\nstart,\\nAs if a dagger thrilled my heart,\\nWhen it has happed some casual\\nphrase 461\\nWaked memory of my former days.\\nBelieve that few can backward\\ncast\\nTheir thought with pleasure on the\\npast;\\nBut I! my youth was rash and\\nvain,\\nAnd blood and rage my manhood\\nstain,\\nAnd my gray hairs must now de-\\nscend\\nTo my cold grave without a\\nfriend", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0368.jp2"}, "367": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n347\\nEven thou, Matilda, wilt disown\\nThy kinsman when his guilt is\\nknown. 470\\nAnd must I lift the bloody veil\\nThat hides my dark and fatal tale\\nI must I will Pale phantom,\\ncease\\nLeave me one little hour in peace\\nThus haunted, think st thou I have\\nskill\\nThine own commission to fulfil?\\nOr, while thou point st with ges-\\nture fierce\\nThy blighted cheek, thy bloody\\nhearse,\\nHow can I paint thee as thou\\nwert,\\nSo fair in face, so warm in heart\\nxx\\nYes, she was fair Matilda,\\nthou 481\\nHast a soft sadness on thy brow\\nBut hers was like the sunny glow,\\nThat laughs on earth and all be-\\nlow!\\nWe wedded secret there was\\nneed\\nDiffering in country and in creed\\nAnd when to Mortham s tower she\\ncame,\\nWe mentioned not her race and\\nname,\\nUntil thy sire, who fought afar,\\nShould turn him home from foreign\\nwar 490\\nOn whose kind influence we relied\\nTo soothe her father s ire and\\npride.\\nFew months we lived retired, un-\\nknown\\nTo all but one dear friend alone,\\nOne darling friend I spare his\\nshame,\\nT will not write the villain s name\\nMy trespasses I might forget,\\nAnd sue in vengeance for the debt\\nDue by a brother worm to me,\\nUngrateful to God s clemency, 500\\nThat spared me penitential time,\\nNor cut me off amid my crime.\\nXXI\\n4 A kindly smile to all she lent,\\nBut on her husband s friend t was\\nbent\\nSo kind that from its harmless glee\\nThe wretch misconstrued villany.\\nRepulsed in his presumptuous\\nlove,\\nA vengeful snare the traitor wove.\\nAlone we sat the flask had\\nflowed,\\nMy blood with heat unwonted\\nglowed, 510\\nWhen through the alleyed walk\\nwe spied\\nWith hurried step my Edith glide,\\nCowering beneath the verdant\\nscreen,\\nAs one unwilling to be seen.\\nWords cannot paint the fiendish\\nsmile\\nThat curled the traitor s cheek the\\nwhile\\nFiercely I questioned of the cause\\nHe made a cold and artful pause,\\nThen prayed it might not chafe\\nmy mood\\nThere was a gallant in the\\nwood! 520\\nWe had been shooting at the\\ndeer;\\nMy cross bow evil chance\\nwas near\\nThat ready weapon of my wrath\\nI caught and, hasting up the path,\\nIn the yew grove my wife I found\\nA stranger s arms her neck had\\nbound\\nI marked his heart the bow I\\ndrew\\nI loosed the shaft t was more\\nthan true\\nI found my Edith s dying charms\\nLocked in her murdered brother s\\narms 530\\nHe came in secret to inquire\\nHer state and reconcile her sire.\\nxxn\\nAll fled my rage the villain\\nfirst", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0369.jp2"}, "368": {"fulltext": "348\\nROKEBY\\nWhose craft my jealousy had\\nnursed\\nHe sought in far and foreign clime\\nTo scape the vengeance of his\\ncrime.\\nThe manner of the slaughter done\\nWas known to few, my guilt to\\nnone\\nSome tale my faithful steward\\nframed\\nI know not what of shaft mis-\\naimed 540\\nAnd even from those the act who\\nknew\\nHe hid the hand from which it\\nflew.\\nUntouched by human laws I stood,\\nBut God had heard the cry of\\nblood\\nThere is a blank upon my mind,\\nA fearful vision ill-defined\\nOf raving till my flesh was torn,\\nOf dungeon bolts and fetters\\nworn\\nAnd when I waked to woe more\\nmild\\nAnd questioned of my infant\\nchild\u00e2\u0080\u0094 550\\nHave I not written that she\\nbare\\nA boy, like summer morning\\nfair?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWith looks confused my menials\\ntell\\nThat armed men in Mortham\\ndell\\nBeset the nurse s evening way,\\nAnd bore her with her charge\\naway.\\nMy faithless friend, and none but\\nhe,\\nCould profit by this villany\\nHim then I sought with purpose\\ndread\\nOf treble vengeance on his head\\nHe scaped me-\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but my bosom s\\nwound 561\\nSome faint relief from wandering\\nfound,\\nAnd over distant land and sea\\nI bore my load of misery.\\nXXIII\\n1 T was then that fate my foot.\\nsteps led\\nAmong a daring crew and dread,\\nWith whom full oft my hated life\\nI ventured in such desperate strife\\nThat even my fierce associates\\nsaw\\nMy frantic deeds with doubt and\\nawe. 570\\nMuch then I learned and much\\ncan show\\nOf human guilt and human woe,\\nYet ne er have in my wanderings\\nknown\\nA wretch whose sorrows matched\\nmy own\\nIt chanced that after battle fray\\nUpon the bloody field we lay\\nThe yellow moon her lustre shed\\nUpon the wounded and the dead,\\nWhile, sense in toil and wassail\\ndrowned,\\nMy ruffian comrades slept around,\\nThere came a voice its silver\\ntone 581\\nWas soft, Matilda, as thine own\\nAh, wretch! it said, what\\nmak st thou here,\\nWhile unavenged my bloody bier,\\nWhile unprotected lives mine heir\\nWithout a father s name and\\ncare?\\nXXIV\\nI heard obeyed and home-\\nward drew\\nThe fiercest of our desperate crew\\nI brought, at time of need to aid\\nMy purposed vengeance long de-\\nlayed. 590\\nBut humble be my thanks to Hea-\\nven\\nThat better hopes and thoughts\\nhas given,\\nAnd by our Lord s dear prayer has\\ntaught\\nMercy by mercy must be bought\\nLet me in misery rejoice\\nI ve seen his face T ve heard\\nhis voice", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0370.jp2"}, "369": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n349\\nI claimed of him my only child\\nAs he disowned the theft, he\\nsmiled\\nThat very calm and callous look,\\nThat fiendish sneer his visage\\ntook, 600\\nAs when he said, in scornful\\nmood,\\nThere is a gallant in the\\nwood\\nI did not slay him as he stood\\nAll praise be to my Maker given\\nLong sufferance is one path to\\nheaven.\\nXXV\\nThus far the woful tale was heard\\nWhen something in the thicket\\nstirred.\\nUp Redmond sprung; the villain\\nGuy\\nFor he it was that lurked so nigh\\nDrew back he durst not cross\\nhis steel 610\\nA moment s space with brave\\nO Neale\\nFor all the treasured gold that\\nrests\\nIn Mortham s iron-banded chests.\\nRedmond resumed his seat; he\\nsaid\\nSome roe was rustling in the\\nshade.\\nBertram laughed grimly when he\\nsaw\\nHis timorous comrade backward\\ndraw\\n1 A trusty mate art thou, to fear\\nA single arm, and aid so near! 619\\nYet have I seen thee mark a deer.\\nGive me thy carabine I 11 show\\nAn art that thou wilt gladly know,\\nHow thou mayst safely quell a\\nfoe.\\nXXVI\\nOn hands and knees fierce Ber-\\ntram drew\\nThe spreading birch and hazels\\nthrough,\\nTill he had Redmond full in view;\\nThe gun he levelled Mark like\\nthis\\nWas Bertram never known to\\nmiss,\\nWhen fair opposed to aim there\\nsate\\nAn object of his mortal hate. 630\\nThat day young Redmond s death\\nhad seen,\\nBut twice Matilda came between\\nThe carabine and Redmond s\\nbreast\\nJust ere the spring his finger\\npressed.\\nA deadly oath the ruffian swore,\\nBut yet his fell design forbore\\nIt ne er, he muttered, shall be\\nsaid\\nThat thus I scathed thee, haughty\\nmaid\\nThen moved to seek more open\\naim,\\nWhen to his side Guy Denzil\\ncame 640\\n1 Bertram, forbear we are un-\\ndone\\nForever, if thou fire the gun.\\nBy all the fiends, an armed force\\nDescends the dell of foot and\\nhorse\\nWe perish if they hear a shot\\nMadman we have a safer plot\\nNay, friend, be ruled, and bear\\nthee back\\nBehold, down yonder hollow track\\nThe warlike leader of the band\\nComes with his broadsword in his\\nhand. 650\\nBertram looked up; he saw, he\\nknew\\nThat DenziPs fears had counselled\\ntrue,\\nThen cursed his fortune and with-\\ndrew,\\nThreaded the woodlands unde-\\nscried,\\nAnd gained the cave on Greta\\nside.\\nXXVII\\nThey whom dark Bertram in his\\nwrath", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0371.jp2"}, "370": {"fulltext": "350\\nROKEBY\\nDoomed to captivity or death,\\nTheir thoughts to one sad subject\\nlent,\\nSaw not nor heard the ambush-\\nment.\\nHeedless and unconcerned they\\nsate 660\\nWhile on the very verge of fate,\\nHeedless and unconcerned re-\\nmained\\nWhen Heaven the murderer s arm\\nrestrained\\nAs ships drift darkling down the\\ntide,\\nNor see the shelves o er which\\nthey glide.\\nUninterrupted thus they heard\\nWhat Mortham s closing tale de-\\nclared.\\nHe spoke of wealth as of a\\nload\\nBy fortune on a wretch bestowed,\\nIn bitter mockery of hate, 670\\nHis cureless woes to aggravate\\nBut yet he prayed Matilda s\\ncare\\nMight save that treasure for his\\nheir\\nHis Edith s son for still he\\nraved\\nAs confident his life was saved\\nIn frequent vision, he averred,\\nHe saw his face, his voice he\\nheard,\\nThen argued calm-\u00e2\u0080\u0094 had murder\\nbeen,\\nThe blood, the corpses, had been\\nseen 679\\nSome had pretended, too, to mark\\nOn Windermere a stranger bark,\\nWhose crew, with jealous care yet\\nmild,\\nGuarded a female and a child.\\nWhile these faint proofs he told\\nand pressed,\\nHope seemed to kindle in his\\nbreast\\nThough inconsistent, vague, and\\nvain,\\nIt warped his judgment and his\\nbrain.\\nXXVIII\\nThese solemn words his story\\nclose\\nHeaven witness for me that I\\nchose\\nMy part in this sad civil fight 690\\nMoved by no cause but England s\\nright.\\nMy country s groans have bid me\\ndraw\\nMy sword for gospel and for\\nlaw\\nThese righted, I fling arms aside\\nAnd seek my son through Europe\\nwide.\\nMy wealth, on which a kinsman\\nnigh\\nAlready casts a grasping eye,\\nWith thee may unsuspected lie.\\nWhen of my death Matilda hears,\\nLet her retain her trust three\\nyears 700\\nIf none from me the treasure\\nclaim,\\nPerished is Mortham s race and\\nname.\\nThen let it leave her generous\\nhand,\\nAnd flow in bounty o er the land,\\nSoften the wounded prisoner s lot,\\nEebuild the peasant s ruined cot\\nSo spoils, acquired by fight afar,\\nShall mitigate domestic war.\\nXXIX\\nThe generous youths, who well\\nhad known\\nOf Mortham s mind the powerful\\ntone, 710\\nTo that high mind by sorrow\\nswerved\\nGave sympathy his woes de-\\nserved\\nBut Wilfrid chief, who saw re-\\nvealed\\nWhy Mortham wished his life con.\\ncealed,\\nIn secret, doubtless, to pursue\\nThe schemes his wildered fancy\\ndrew.\\nThoughtful he heard Matilda tell", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0372.jp2"}, "371": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n3Si\\nThat she would share her father s\\ncell,\\nHis partner of captivity,\\nWhere er his prison-house should\\nbe 720\\nYet grieved to think that Rokebv-\\nhall,\\nDismantled and forsook by all,\\nOpen to rapine and to stealth,\\nHad now no safeguard for the\\nwealth\\nIntrusted by her kinsman kind\\nAnd for such noble use designed.\\nWas Barnard Castle then her\\nchoice,\\nWilfrid inquired with hasty voice,\\nSince there the victor s laws or-\\ndain 729\\nHer father must a space remain\\nA fluttered hope his accent shook,\\nA fluttered joy was in his look.\\nMatilda hastened to reply,\\nFor anger flashed in Redmond s\\neye;\\n1 Duty, she said, with gentle grace,\\n1 Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of\\nplace\\nElse had I for my sire assigned\\nPrison less galling to his mind\\nThan that his wild-wood haunts\\nwhich sees\\nAnd hears the murmur of the\\nTees, 740\\nRecalling thus with every glance\\nWhat captive s sorrow can en-\\nhance\\nBut where those woes are highest,\\nthere\\nNeeds Rokeby most his daughter s\\ncare.\\nXXX\\nHe felt the kindly check she gave,\\nAnd stood abashed then an-\\nswered grave\\nI sought thy purpose, noble maid,\\nThy doubts to clear, thy schemes\\nto aid.\\nI have beneath mine own com-\\nmaud,\\nSo wills my sire, a gallant band,\\nAnd well could send some horse-\\nmen wight 751\\nTo bear the treasure forth by\\nnight,\\nAnd so bestow it as you deem\\nIn these ill days may safest seem.\\n4 Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks,\\nshe said\\nc O, be it not one day delayed\\nAnd, more thy sister-friend to aid,\\nBe thou thyself content to hold\\nIn thine own keeping Mortham s\\ngoldi\\nSafest with thee. While thus\\nshe spoke, 760\\nArmed soldiers on their converse\\nbroke,\\nThe same of whose approach\\nafraid\\nThe ruffians left their ambuscade.\\nTheir chief to Wilfrid bended low,\\nThen looked around as for a foe.\\nWhat mean st thou, friend, young\\nWycliffe said,\\nWhy thus in arms beset the\\nglade\\n4 That would I gladly learn from\\nyou;\\nFor up my squadron as I drew\\nTo exercise our martial game 770\\nUpon the moor of Barninghame,\\nA stranger told you were waylaid,\\nSurrounded, and to death be-\\ntrayed.\\nHe had a leader s voice, I ween,\\nA falcon s glance, a warrior s\\nmien.\\nHe bade me bring you instant aid\\nI doubted not and I obeyed.\\nXXXI\\nWilfrid changed color, and amazed\\nTurned short and on the speaker\\ngazed,\\nWhile Redmond every thicket\\nround 780\\nTracked earnest as a questing\\nhound,\\nAnd Denzil s carabine he found j\\nSure evidence by which they knew\\nThe warning was as kind as true.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0373.jp2"}, "372": {"fulltext": "352\\nROKEBY\\nWisest it seemed with cautious\\nspeed\\nTo leave the dell. It was agreed\\nThat Redmond with Matilda fair\\nAnd fitting guard should home re-\\npair\\nAt nightfall Wilfrid should attend\\nWith a strong band his sister-\\nfriend, 790\\nTo bear with her from Rokeby s\\nbowers\\nTo Barnard Castle s lofty towers\\nSecret and safe the banded chests\\nIn which the wealth of Mortham\\nrests.\\nThis hasty purpose fixed, they\\npart,\\nEach with a grieved and anxious\\nheart.\\nCANTO FIFTH\\nThe sultry summer day is done,\\nThe western hills have hid the\\nsun,\\nBut mountain peak and village\\nspire\\nRetain reflection of his fire.\\nOld Barnard s towers are purple\\nstill\\nTo those that gaze from Toller-\\nhill;\\nDistant and high, the tower of\\nBowes\\nLike steel upon the anvil glows\\nAnd Stanmore s ridge behind that\\nlay\\nRich with the spoils of parting\\nday, 10\\nIn crimson and in gold arrayed,\\nStreaks yet awhile the closing\\nshade,\\nThen slow resigns to darkening\\nheaven\\nThe tints which brighter hours\\nhad given.\\nThus aged men full loath and\\nslow\\nThe vanities of life forego,\\nAnd count their youthful follies\\no er\\nTill memory lends her light no\\nmore.\\n11\\nThe eve that slow on upland fades\\nHas darker closed on Rokeby s\\nglades 20\\nWhere, sunk within their banks\\nprofound,\\nHer guardian streams to meeting\\nwound.\\nThe stately oaks, whose sombre\\nfrown\\nOf noontide made a twilight brown,\\nImpervious now to fainter light,\\nOf twilight make an early night.\\nHoarse into middle air arose\\nThe vespers of the roosting crows,\\nAnd with congenial murmurs seem\\nTo wake the Genii of the stream\\nFor louder clamored Greta s tide,\\nAnd Tees in deeper voice replied,\\nAnd fitful waked the evening wind,\\nFitful in sighs its breath resigned.\\nWilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul\\nFelt in the scene a soft control,\\nWith lighter footstep pressed the\\nground,\\nAnd often paused to look around\\nAnd, though his path was to his\\nlove, 39\\nCould not but linger in the grove,\\nTo drink the thrilling interest\\ndear\\nOf awful pleasure checked by fear,\\nSuch inconsistent moods have we,\\nEven when our passions strike the\\nkey.\\nin\\nNow, through the wood s dark\\nmazes past,\\nThe opening lawn he reached at\\nlast\\nWhere, silvered by the moonlight\\nray,\\nThe ancient Hall before him lay.\\nThose martial terrors long were\\nfled", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0374.jp2"}, "373": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n353\\nThat frowned of old around its\\nhead 50\\nThe battlements, the turrets gray,\\nSeemed half abandoned to decay\\nOn barbican and keep of stone\\nStern Time the foeman s work had\\ndone.\\nWhere banners the invader braved,\\nThe harebell now and wallflower\\nwaved\\nIn the rude guard-room where of\\nyore\\nTheir w r eary hours the warders\\nwore,\\nNow, while the cheerful fagots\\nblaze,\\nOn the paved floor the spindle\\nplays 60\\nThe flanking guns dismounted lie,\\nThe moat is ruinous and dry,\\nThe grim portcullis gone and all\\nThe fortress turned to peaceful\\nHall.\\nIV\\nBut yet precautions lately ta en\\nShowed danger s day revived\\nagain\\nThe court-yard wall showed marks\\nof care\\nThe fall n defences to repair,\\nLending such strength as might\\nwithstand\\nThe insult of marauding band. 70\\nThe beams once more were taught\\nto bear\\nThe trembling drawbridge into air,\\nAnd not till questioned o er and\\no er\\nFor Wilfrid oped the jealous door,\\nAnd when he entered bolt and bar\\nResumed their place with sullen\\n3 ar;\\nThen, as he crossed the vaulted\\nporch,\\nThe old gray porter raised his\\ntorch,\\nAnd viewed him o er from foot to\\nhead\\nEre to the hall his steps he led. 80\\nThat huge old hall of knightly\\nstate\\nDismantled seemed and desolate.\\nThe moon through transom-shafts\\nof stone\\nWhich crossed the latticed oriels\\nshone,\\nAnd by the mournf ul light she gave\\nThe Gothic vault seemed funeral\\ncave.\\nPennon and banner waved no\\nmore\\nO er beams of stag and tusks of\\nboar,\\nNor glimmering arms w r ere mar-\\nshalled seen\\nTo glance those sylvan spoils be-\\ntween. 90\\nThose arms, those ensigns, borne\\naway,\\nAccomplished Rokeby s brave\\narray,\\nBut all were lost on Marston s day!\\nYet here and there the moonbeams\\nfall\\nWhere armor yet adorns the wall,\\nCumbrous of size, uncouth to sight,\\nAnd useless in the modern fight,\\nLike veteran relic of the wars\\nKnown only by neglected scars.\\nMatilda soon to greet him came,\\nAnd bade them light the evening\\nflame; 10 1\\nSaid all for parting was prepared,\\nAnd tarried but for Wilfrid s\\nguard.\\nBut then, reluctant to unfold\\nHis father s avarice of gold,\\nHe hinted that lest jealous eye\\nShould on their precious burden\\npry,\\nHe judged it best the castle gate\\nTo enter when the night wore late\\nAnd therefore he had left com-\\nmand IIO\\nWith those he trusted of his band\\nThat they should be atRokebymet\\nWhat time the midnight-watch was\\nset.\\nNow Redmond came, whose anx-\\nious care", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0375.jp2"}, "374": {"fulltext": "354\\nROKEBY\\nTill then was busied to prepare\\nAll needful, meetly to arrange\\nThe mansion for its mournful\\nchange.\\nWith Wilfrid s care and kindness\\npleased, n8\\nHis cold unready hand he seized,\\nAnd pressed it till his kindly strain\\nThe gentle youth returned again.\\nSeemed as between them this was\\nsaid,\\n4 Awhile let jealousy be dead,\\nAnd let our contest be whose\\ncare\\nShall best assist this helpless fair.\\nVI\\nThere was no speech the truce to\\nbind;\\nIt was a compact of the mind,\\nA generous thought at once im-\\npressed\\nOn either rival s generous breast.\\nMatilda well the secret took 130\\nFrom sudden change of mien and\\nlook,\\nAnd for not small had been her\\nfear\\nOf jealous ire and danger near\\nFelt even in her dejected state\\nA joy beyond the reach of fate.\\nThey closed beside the chimney s\\nblaze,\\nAnd talked, and hoped for happier\\ndays,\\nAnd lent their spirits rising glow\\nAwhile to gild impending woe\\nHigh privilege of youthful time,\\nWorth all the pleasures of our\\nprime 14:\\nThe bickering fagot sparkled\\nbright\\nAnd gave the scene of love to\\nsight,\\nBade Wilfrid s cheek more lively\\nglow,\\nPlayed on Matilda s neck of snow,\\nHer nut-brown curls and forehead\\nhigh,\\nAnd laughed in Redmond s azure\\neye.\\nTwo lovers by the maiden sate 148\\nWithout a glance of jealous hate\\nThe maid her lovers sat between\\nWith open brow and equal mien\\nIt is a sight but rarely spied,\\nThanks to man s wrath and wo-\\nman s pride.\\nVII\\nWhile thus in peaceful guise they\\nsate\\nA knock alarmed the outer gate,\\nAnd ere the tardy porter stirred\\nThe tinkling of a harp was heard.\\nA manly voice of mellow swell\\nBore burden to the music well\\nSONG\\n4 Summer eve is gone and past,\\nSummer dew is falling fast 16 x\\nI have wandered all the day,\\nDo not bid me farther stray\\nGentle hearts of gentle kin,\\nTake the wandering harper in\\nBut the stern porter answer gave,\\nWith Get thee hence, thou stroll-\\ning knave\\nThe king wants soldiers; war, I\\ntrow,\\nWere meeter trade for such as\\nthou.\\nAt this unkind reproof again 170\\nAnswered the ready Minstrel s\\nstrain\\nSONG RESUMED\\n4 Bid not me, in battle-field,\\nBuckler lift or broadsword wield\\nAll my strength and all my art\\nIs to touch the gentle heart\\nWith the wizard notes that ring\\nFrom the peaceful minstrel-\\nstring.\\nThe porter, all unmoved, replied,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n4 Depart in peace, with Heaven to\\nguide\\nIf longer by the gate thou dwell,\\nTrust me, thou shalt not part so\\nwell. 181", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0376.jp2"}, "375": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n35.\\nVIII\\nWith somewhat of appealing look\\nThe harper s part young Wilfrid\\ntook\\n1 These notes so wild and ready\\nthrill,\\nThey show no vulgar minstrel s\\nskill;\\nHard were his task to seek a home\\nMore distant, since the night is\\ncome\\nAnd for his faith I dare engage\\nYour Harpool s blood is soured by\\nage;\\nHis gate, once readily displayed\\nTo greet the friend, the poor to\\naid, 191\\nNow even to me though known of\\nold\\nDid but reluctantly unfold.\\n1 O blame not as poor Harpool s\\ncrime\\nAn evil of this evil time.\\nHe deems dependent on his care\\nThe safety of his patron s heir,\\nNor judges meet to ope the tower\\nTo guest unknown at parting hour,\\nUrging his duty to excess 200\\nOf rough and stubborn faithful-\\nness.\\nFor this poor harper, I would fain\\nHe may relax hark to his\\nstrain!\\nIX\\nSONG RESUMED\\nI have song of war for knight,\\nLay of love for lady bright,\\nFairy tale to lull the heir,\\nGoblin grim the maids to scare.\\nDark the night and long till day,\\nDo not bid me farther stray\\n4 Eokeby s lords of martial fame,\\nI can count them name by name\\nLegends of their line there be, 212\\nKnown to few but known to me\\nIf you honor Rokeby s kin,\\nTake the wandering harper in\\n1 Rokeby s lords had fair regard\\nFor the harp and for the bard\\nBaron s race throve never well\\nWhere the curse of minstrel fell.\\nIf you love that noble kin, 220\\nTake the weary harper in\\n4 Hark Harpool parleys there\\nis hope,\\nSaid Redmond, that the gate will\\nope.\\nFor all thy brag and boast, I\\ntrow,\\nNaught knowest thou of the Felon\\nSow,\\nQuoth Harpool, nor how Greta-\\nside\\nShe roamed and Rokeby forest\\nwide;\\nNor how Ralph Rokeby gave the\\nbeast\\nTo Richmond s friars to make a\\nfeast.\\nOf Gilbert Griffinson the tale 230\\nGoes, and of gallant Peter Dale\\nThat well could strike with sword\\namain,\\nAnd of the valiant son of Spain,\\nFriar Middleton, and blithe Sir\\nRalph\\nThere were a jest to make us\\nlaugh\\nIf thou canst tell it, in yon shed,\\nThou st won thy supper and thy\\nbed.\\nMatilda smiled Cold hope, 1 said\\nshe,\\n*From Harpool s love of min-\\nstrelsy 239\\nBut for this harper may we dare,\\nRedmond, to mend his couch and\\nfare\\n1 0, ask me not At minstrel-\\nstring\\nMy heart from infancy would\\nspring\\nNor can I hear its simplest strain\\nBut it brings Erin s dream again,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0377.jp2"}, "376": {"fulltext": "356\\nROKEBY\\nWhen placed by Owen Lysagh s\\nknee\\nThe Filea of O Neale was he,\\nA blind and bearded man whose\\neld\\nWas sacred as a prophet s held\\nI ve seen a ring of rugged kerne,\\nWith aspects shaggy, wild, and\\nstern, 251\\nEnchanted by the master s lay,\\nLinger around the livelong day,\\nShift from wild rage to wilder glee,\\nTo love, to grief, to ecstasy,\\nAnd feel each varied change of\\nsoul\\nObedient to the bard s control.\\nAh, Clandeboy thy friendly floor\\nSlieve-Donard s oak shall light no\\nmore 259\\nNor Owen s harp beside the blaze\\nTell maiden s love or hero s praise\\nThe mantling brambles hide thy\\nhearth,\\nCentre of hospitable mirth\\nAll undistinguished in the glade,\\nMy sires glad home is prostrate\\nlaid,\\nTheir vassals wander wide and\\nfar,\\nServe foreign lords in distant war,\\nAnd now the stranger s sons enjoy\\nThe lovely woods of Clandeboy\\nHe spoke, and proudly turned\\naside 270\\nThe starting tear to dry and hide.\\nXI\\nMatilda s dark and softened eye\\nWas glistening ere O Neale s was\\ndry.\\nHer hand upon his arm she laid\\nIt is the will of Heaven, she\\nsaid.\\n1 And think st thou, Redmond, I\\ncan part\\nFrom this loved home with light-\\nsome heart,\\nLeaving to wild neglect whate er\\nEven from my infancy was dear\\nFor in this calm domestic bound\\nWere all Matilda s pleasures\\nfound. 281\\nThat hearth my sire was wont to\\ngrace\\nFull soon may be a stranger s\\nplace\\nThis hall in which a child I played\\nLike thine, dear Kedmond, lowly\\nlaid,\\nThe bramble and the thorn may\\nbraid\\nOr, passed for aye from me and\\nmine,\\nIt ne er may shelter Rokeby s line.\\nYet is this consolation given,\\nMy Redmond, t is the will of\\nHeaven. 290\\nHer word, her action, and her\\nphrase\\nWere kindly as in early days\\nFor cold reserve had lost its power\\nIn sorrow s sympathetic hour.\\nYoung Redmond dared not trust\\nhis voice\\nBut rather had it been his choice\\nTo share that melancholy hour\\nThan, armed with all a chieftain s\\npower,\\nIn full possession to enjoy\\nSlieve-Donard wide and Clande-\\nboy. 300\\nXII\\nThe blood left Wilfrid s ashen\\ncheek,\\nMatilda sees and hastes to\\nspeak.\\nHappy in friendship s ready aid,\\nLet all my murmurs here be staid\\nAnd Rokeby s maiden will not\\npart\\nFrom Rokeby s hall with moody\\nheart.\\nThis night at least for Rokeby s\\nfame\\nThe hospitable hearth shall flame/\\nAnd ere its native heir retire\\nFind for the wanderer rest and fire,\\nWhile this poor harper by the\\nblaze 3 1 1", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0378.jp2"}, "377": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n357\\nRecounts the tale of other days.\\nBid Harpool ope the door with\\nspeed,\\nAdmit him and relieve each\\nneed.\\nMeantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt\\nthou try\\nThy minstrel skill?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Nay, no\\nreply\\nAnd look not sad I guess thy\\nthought\\nThy verse with laurels would he\\nbought,\\nAnd poor Matilda, landless now,\\nHas not a garland for thy brow.\\nTrue, I must leave sweet Rokeby s\\nglades, 321\\nNor wander more in Greta shades\\nBut sure, no rigid jailer, thou\\nWilt a short prison-walk allow\\nWhere summer flowers grow wild\\nat will\\nOn Marwood chase and Toller\\nHill;\\nThen holly green and lily gay\\nShall twine in guerdon of thy lay.\\nThe mournful youth a space aside\\nTo tune Matilda s harp applied,\\nAnd then a low sad descant rung\\nAs prelude to the lay he sung. 332\\nXIII\\nTHE CYPRESS WREATH\\n1 O, lady, twine no wreath for me,\\nOr twine it of the cypress-tree\\nToo lively glow the lilies light,\\nThe varnished holly s all too\\nbright,\\nThe May-flower and the eglantine\\nMay shade a brow less sad than\\nmine\\nBut, lady, weave no wreath for\\nme, 339\\nOr weave it of the cypress-tree J\\nLet dimpled Mirth his temples\\ntwine\\nWith tendrils of the laughing vine\\nThe manly oak, the pensive yew,\\nTo patriot and to sage be due\\nThe myrtle bough bids lovers live,\\nBut that Matilda will not give\\nThen, lady, twine no wreath for me,\\nOr twine it of the cypress-tree\\nLet merry England proudly rear\\nHer blended roses bought so dear\\nLet Albin bind her bonnet blue 351\\nWith heath and harebell dipped in\\ndew;\\nOn favored Erin s crest be seen\\nThe flower she loves of emerald\\ngreen\\nBut, lady, twine no wreath for me,\\nOr twine it of the cypress-tree.\\n1 Strike the wild harp while maids\\nprepare\\nThe ivy meet for minstrel s hair;\\nAnd, while his crown of laurel-\\nleaves\\nWith bloody hand the victor\\nweaves, 360\\nLet the loud trump his triumph\\ntell;\\nBut when you hear the passing-\\nbell,\\nThen, lady, twine a wreath for me,\\nAnd tw r ine it of the cypress-tree.\\nYes! twine for me the cypress-\\nbough\\nBut, O Matilda, twine not now\\nStay till a few brief months are\\npast,\\nAnd I have looked and loved my\\nlast!\\nWhen villagers my shroud bestrew\\nWith pansies, rosemary, and\\nrue, 370\\nThen, lady, weave a wreath for me,\\nAnd weave it of the cypress-tree.\\nXIV\\nO Neale observed the starting\\ntear,\\nAnd spoke with kind and blithe-\\nsome cheer\\nNo, noble Wilfrid ere the day\\nWhen mourns the land thy silent\\nlay,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0379.jp2"}, "378": {"fulltext": "35*\\nROKEBY\\nShall many a wreath be freely\\nwove\\nBy hand of friendship and of love.\\nI would not wish that rigid Fate\\nHad doomed thee to a captive s\\nstate, 380\\nWhose hands are bound by honor s\\nlaw,\\nWho wears a sword he must not\\ndraw;\\nBut were it so, in minstrel pride\\nThe land together would we ride\\nOn prancing steeds, like harpers\\nold,\\nBound for the halls of barons bold\\nEach lover of the lyre we d seek\\nFrom Michael s Mount to Skid-\\ndaw s Peak,\\nSurvey wild Albin s mountain\\nstrand, 389\\nAnd roam green Erin s lovely land,\\nWhile thou the gentler souls should\\nmove\\nWith lay of pity and of love,\\nAnd I, thy mate, in rougher strain\\nWould sing of war and warriors\\nslain.\\nOld England s bards were van-\\nquished then,\\nAnd Scotland s vaunted Haw-\\nthornden,\\nAnd, silenced on Iernian shore,\\nM Curtin s harp should charm no\\nmore\\nIn lively mood he spoke to wile\\nFrom Wilfrid s woe-worn cheek a\\nsmile. 400\\nxv\\n1 But, said Matilda, ere thy name,\\nGood Redmond, gain its destined\\nfame,\\nSay, wilt thou kindly deign to call\\nThy brother-minstrel to the hall\\nBid all the household too attend,\\nEach in his rank a humble friend\\nI know their faithful hearts will\\ngrieve\\nWhen their poor mistress takes\\nher leave\\nSo let the horn and beaker flow\\nTo mitigate their parting woe. 410\\nThe harper came in youth s\\nfirst prime\\nHimself in mode of olden time\\nHis garb was fashioned, to express\\nThe ancient English minstrel s\\ndress,\\nA seemly gown of Kendal green\\nWith gorget closed of silver sheen\\nHis harp in silken scarf was slung,\\nAnd by his side an anlace hung.\\nIt seemed some masquer s quaint\\narray\\nFor revel or for holiday. 420\\nXVI\\nHe made obeisance with a free\\nYet studied air of courtesy.\\nEach look and accent framed to\\nplease\\nSeemed to affect a playful ease\\nHis face was of that doubtful kind\\nThat wins the eye, but not the\\nmind\\nYet harsh it seemed to deem amiss\\nOf brow so young and smooth as\\nthis.\\nHis was the subtle look and sly\\nThat, spying all, seems naught to\\nspy; 430\\nRound all the group his glances\\nstole,\\nUnmarked themselves, to mark\\nthe whole.\\nYet sunk beneath Matilda s look,\\nNor could the eye of Redmond\\nbrook.\\nTo the suspicious or the old\\nSubtle and dangerous and bold\\nHad seemed this self-invited guest\\nBut young our lovers, and the\\nrest,\\nWrapt in their sorrow and their\\nfear 439\\nAt parting of their Mistress dear,\\nTear-blinded to the castle-hall\\nCame as to bear her funeral pall.\\nXVII\\nAll that expression base was gone\\nWhen waked the guest his minstrel\\ntone;", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0380.jp2"}, "379": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n359\\nIt fled at inspiration s call,\\nAs erst the demon fled from Saul.\\nMore noble glance be cast around,\\nMore free-drawn breath inspired\\nthe sound,\\nHis pulse beat bolder and more\\nhigh\\nIn all the pride of minstrelsy 450\\nAlas too soon that pride was o er,\\nSunk with the lay that bade it soar\\nHis soul resumed with habit s\\nchain\\nIts vices wild and follies vain,\\nAnd gave the talent with him born,\\nTo be a common curse and scorn.\\nSuch was the youth whom Eokeby s\\nmaid\\nWith condescending kindness\\nprayed\\nHere to renew the strains she\\nloved,\\nAt distance heard and well ap-\\nproved. 460\\nXVIII\\nSONG\\nTHE HARP\\nI was a wild and wayward boy,\\nMy childhood scorned each child-\\nish toy\\nRetired from all, reserved and coy.\\nTo musing prone,\\nI wooed my solitary joy,\\nMy Harp alone.\\nMy youth with bold ambition s\\nmood\\nDespised the humble stream and\\nwood\\nWhere my poor father s cottage\\nstood,\\nTo fame unknown 470\\nWhat should my soaring views\\nmake good\\nMy Harp alone\\nLove came with all his frantic fire,\\nAnd wild romance of vain desire\\nThe baron s daughter heard my\\nlyre\\nAnd praised the tone\\nWhat could presumptuous hope\\ninspire\\nMy Harp alone\\nAt manhood s touch the bubble\\nburst,\\nAnd manhood s pride the vision\\ncurst, 480\\nAnd all that had my folly nursed\\nLove s sway to own\\nYet spared the spell that lulled me\\nfirst,\\nMy Harp alone\\nWoe came with war, and want\\nwith woe,\\nAnd it was mine to undergo\\nEach outrage of the rebel foe\\nCan aught atone\\nMy fields laid waste, my cot laid\\nlow?\\nMy Harp alone 490\\nAmbition s dreams I ve seen de-\\npart,\\nHave rued of penury the smart,\\nHave felt of love the venomed\\ndart,\\nWhen hope was flown\\nYet rests one solace to my heart,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMy Harp alone\\nThen over mountain, moor, and\\nhill,\\nMy faithful Harp, I ll bear thee\\nStill\\nAnd when this life of want and ill\\nIs wellnigh gone, 500\\nThy strings mine elegy shall thrill\\nMy Harp alone\\nXIX\\nA pleasing lay Matilda said\\nBut Harpool shook his old gray\\nhead,\\nAnd took his baton and his torch\\nTo seek his guard-room in the\\nporch.\\nEdmund observed with sudden\\nchange", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0381.jp2"}, "380": {"fulltext": "3 6\\nROKEBY\\nAmong the strings his fingers\\nrange,\\nUntil they waked a bolder glee\\nOf military melody 510\\nThen paused amid the martial\\nsound,\\nAnd looked with well-feigned fear\\naround\\n1 None to this noble house belong,\\nHe said, that would a minstrel\\nwrong\\nWhose fate has been through good\\nand ill\\nTo love his Royal Master still,\\nAnd with your honored leave\\nwould fain\\nRejoice you with a loyal strain.\\nThen, as assured by sign and\\nlook,\\nThe warlike tone again he took\\nAnd Harpool stopped and turned\\nto hear 521\\nA ditty of the Cavalier.\\nxx\\nSONG\\nTHE CAVALIER\\nWhile the dawn on the mountain\\nwas misty and gray,\\nMy true love has mounted his\\nsteed and away,\\nOver hill, over valley, o er dale, and\\no er down\\nHeaven shield the brave gallant\\nthat fights for the Crown\\nHe has doffed the silk doublet the\\nbreastplate to bear,\\nHe has placed the steel-cap o er\\nhis long-flowing hair,\\nFrom his belt to his stirrup his\\nbroadsword hangs down,\\nHeaven shield the brave gallant\\nthat fights for the Crown 530\\nFor the rights of fair England that\\nbroadsword he draws,\\nHer King is his leader, her Church\\nis his cause\\nHis watchword is honor, his pay is\\nrenown,\\nGod strike with the gallant that\\nstrikes for the Crown\\nThey may boast of their Fairfax,\\ntheir Waller, and all\\nThe roundheaded rebels of West-\\nminster Hall;\\nBut tell these bold traitors of Lon-\\ndon s proud town,\\nThat the spears of the North have\\nencircled the Crown.\\nThere s Derby and Cavendish,\\ndread of their foes\\nThere s Erin s high Ormond and\\nScotland s Montrose 540\\nWould you match the base Skip-\\npon, and Massey, and Brown,\\nWith the Barons of England that\\nfight for the Crown\\nNow joy to the crest of the brave\\nCavalier\\nBe his banner unconquered, resist-\\nless his spear,\\nTill in peace and in triumph his\\ntoils he may drown,\\nIn a pledge to fair England, her\\nChurch, and her Crown.\\nXXI\\nAlas Matilda said, that strain,\\nGood harper, now is heard in\\nvain\\nThe time has been at such a sound\\nWhen Rokeby s vassals gathered\\nround, 550\\nAn hundred manly hearts would\\nbound\\nBut now, the stirring verse we\\nhear\\nLike trump in dying soldier s ear\\nListless and sad the notes we\\nown,\\nThe power to answer them is\\nflown.\\nYet not without his meet applause\\nBe he that sings the rightful cause,\\nEven when the crisis of its fate", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0382.jp2"}, "381": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n36i\\nTo human eye seems desperate.\\nWhile Rokeby s heir such power\\nretains, 560\\nLet this slight guerdon pay thy\\npains:\\nAnd lend thy harp I fain would\\ntry\\nIf my poor skill can aught supply,\\nEre yet I leave my fathers hall,\\nTo mourn the cause in which we\\nfall.\\nXXII\\nThe harper with a downcast look\\nAnd trembling hand her bounty\\ntook.\\nAs yet the conscious pride of art\\nHad steeled him in his treacher-\\nous part\\nA powerful spring of force un-\\nguessed 570\\nThat hath each gentler mood sup-\\npressed,\\nAnd reigned in many a human\\nbreast,\\nFrom his that plans the red cam-\\npaign\\nTo his that wastes the woodland\\nreign.\\nThe failing wing, the blood-shot\\neye\\nThe sportsman marks with apathy,\\nEach feeling of his victim s ill\\nDrowned in his own successful\\nskill.\\nThe veteran, too, who now no\\nmore 579\\nAspires to head the battle s roar,\\nLoves still the triumph of his art,\\nAnd traces on the pencilled chart\\nSome stern invader s destined\\nway\\nThrough blood and ruin to his\\nprey;\\nPatriots to death, and towns to\\nflame\\nHe dooms, to raise another s name\\nAnd shares the guilt, though not\\nthe fame.\\nWhat pays him for his span of\\ntime\\nSpent in premeditating crime\\nWhat against pity arms his heart?\\nIt is the conscious pride of art. 591\\nXXIII\\nBut principles in Edmund s mind\\nWere baseless, vague, and unde-\\nfined.\\nHis soul, like bark with rudder\\nlost,\\nOn passion s changeful tide was\\ntost;\\nXor vice nor virtue had the power\\nBeyond the impression of the\\nhour\\nAnd 0, when passion rules, how\\nrare\\nThe hours that fall to Virtue s\\nshare\\nYet now she roused her for the\\npride 600\\nThat lack of sterner guilt supplied\\nCould scarce support him when\\narose\\nThe lay that mourned Matilda s\\nwoes.\\nSONG\\nTHE FAREWELL\\n1 The sound of Rokeby s woods I\\nhear,\\nThey miugle with the song\\nDark Greta s voice is in mine\\near,\\nI must not hear them long.\\nFrom every loved and native\\nhaunt\\nThe native heir must stray,\\nAnd, like a ghost whom sunbeams\\ndaunt, 610\\nMust part before the day.\\nSoon from the halls my fathers\\nreared,\\nTheir scutcheons may descend,\\nA line so long beloved and feared\\nMay soon obscurely end.\\nNo longer here Matilda s tone\\nShall bid these echoes swell", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0383.jp2"}, "382": {"fulltext": "362\\nROKEBY\\nYet shall they hear her proudly\\nown\\nThe cause in which we fell.\\nThe lady paused, and then\\nagain 620\\nResumed the lay in loftier\\nstrain.\\nXXIV\\nLet our halls and towers decay,\\nBe our name and line forgot,\\nLands and manors pass away,\\nWe but share our monarch s\\nlot.\\nIf no more our annals show\\nBattles won and banners taken,\\nStill in death, defeat, and woe,\\nOurs be loyalty unshaken\\nConstant still in danger s hour,\\nPrinces owned our father s\\naid 63 1\\nLands and honors, wealth and\\npower,\\nWell their loyalty repaid.\\nPerish wealth and power and\\npride,\\nMortal boons by mortals given\\nBut let constancy abide,\\nConstancy s the gift of Heaven.\\nXXV\\nWhile thus Matilda s lay was\\nheard,\\nA thousand thoughts in Edmund\\nstirred.\\nIn peasant life he might have\\nknown 640\\nAs fair a face, as sweet a tone\\nBut village notes could ne er sup-\\nply\\nThat rich and varied melody,\\nAnd ne er in cottage maid was\\nseen\\nThe easy dignity of mien,\\nClaiming respect yet waiving\\nstate,\\nThat marks the daughters of the\\ngreat.\\nYet not perchance had these alone\\nHis scheme of purposed guilt o er-\\nthrown\\nBut while her energy of mind 650\\nSuperior rose to griefs combined,\\nLending its kindling to her eye,\\nGiving her form new majesty,\\nTo Edmund s thought Matilda\\nseemed\\nThe very object he had dreamed\\nWhen, long ere guilt his soul had\\nknown,\\nIn Winston bowers he mused\\nalone,\\nTaxing his fancy to combine\\nThe face, the air, the voice divine,\\nOf princess fair by cruel fate 660\\nReft of her honors, power, and\\nstate,\\nTill to her rightful realm restored\\nBy destined hero s conquering\\nsword.\\nXXVI\\nSuch was my vision! Edmund\\nthought\\nAnd have I then the ruin\\nwrought\\nOf such a maid that fancy ne er\\nIn fairest vision formed her peer?\\nWas it my hand that could un-\\nclose\\nThe postern to her ruthless foes\\nFoes lost to honor, law, and faith,\\nTheir kindest mercy sudden\\ndeath! 671\\nHave I done this? I, who have\\nswore\\nThat if the globe such angel bore,\\nI would have traced its circle\\nbroad\\nTo kiss the ground on which she\\ntrode!\\nAnd now\u00e2\u0080\u0094 O, would that earth\\nwould rive\\nAnd close upon me while alive\\nIs there no hope?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 is all then\\nlost\\nBertram s already on his post\\nEven now beside the hall s arched\\ndoor 680\\nI saw his shadow cross the floor", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0384.jp2"}, "383": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n363\\nHe was to wait my signal strain\\nA little respite tbus we gain\\nBy what I heard the menials say,\\nYoung Wycliffe s troop are on\\ntheir way\\nAlarm precipitates the crime\\nMy harp must wear away the\\ntime.\\nAnd then in accents faint and\\nlow\\nHe faltered forth a tale of woe.\\nXXVII\\nBALLAD\\nAnd whither would you lead me\\nthen? 690\\nQuoth the friar of orders gray\\nAnd the ruffians twain replied\\nagain,\\nBy a dying woman to pray.\\n4 I see, he said, a lovely sight,\\nA sight bodes little harm,\\nA lady as a lily bright\\nWith an infant on her arm.\\nThen do thine office, friar gray,\\nAnd see thou shrive her free\\nElse shall the sprite that parts to-\\nnight 700\\nFling all its guilt on thee.\\n4 Let mass be said and trentals\\nread\\nWhen thou rt to convent gone,\\nAnd bid the bell of Saint Benedict\\nToll out its deepest tone.\\n4 The shrift is done, the friar is\\ngone,\\nBlindfolded as he came\\nNext morning all in Littlecot Hall\\nWere weeping for their dame.\\nWild Darrell is an altered\\nman, 710\\nThe village crones can tell\\nHe looks pale as clay and strives\\nto pray,\\nIf he hears the convent bell.\\n4 If prince or peer cross Darrell s\\nway,\\nHe 11 beard him in his pride\\nIf he meet a friar of orders gray,\\nHe droops and turns aside.\\nXXVIII\\nHarper! methinks thy magic\\nlays,\\nMatilda said, can goblins raise\\nWellnigh my fancy can discern\\nNear the dark porch a visage\\nstern; 721\\nE en now in yonder shadowy nook\\nI see it! Redmond, Wilfrid,\\nlook\\nA human form distinct and\\nclear\\nGod, for thy mercy It draws\\nnear\\nShe saw too true. Stride after\\nstride,\\nThe centre of that chamber wide\\nFierce Bertram gained; then\\nmade a stand,\\nAnd, proudly waving with his\\nhand,\\nThundered Be still, upon your\\nlives! 730\\nHe bleeds who speaks, he dies\\nwho strives.\\nBehind their chief the robber\\ncrew,\\nForth from the darkened portal\\ndrew\\nIn silence save that echo dread\\nReturned their heavy measured\\ntread.\\nThe lamp s uncertain lustre gave\\nTheir arms to gleam, their plumes\\nto wave\\nFile after file in order pass,\\nLike forms on Banquo s mystic\\nglass.\\nThen, halting at their leader s\\nsign, 740\\nAt once they formed and curved\\ntheir line,\\nHemming within its crescent drear\\nTheir victims like a herd of deer.\\nAnother sign, and to the aim", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0385.jp2"}, "384": {"fulltext": "3^4\\nROKEBY\\nLevelled at once their muskets\\ncame,\\nAs waiting but their chieftain s\\nword\\nTo make their fatal volley heard.\\nXXIX\\nBack in a heap the menials drew\\nYet, even in mortal terror true,\\nTheir pale and startled group op-\\npose 75 o\\nBetween Matilda and the foes.\\n1 O, haste thee, Wilfrid Redmond\\ncried\\nUndo that wicket by thy side\\nBear hence Matilda gain the\\nwood\\nThe pass may be awhile made\\ngood\\nThy band ere this must sure be\\nnigh\\nspeak not dally not but fly\\nWhile yet the crowd their motions\\nhide,\\nThrough the low wicket door they\\nglide.\\nThrough vaulted passages they\\nwind, 760\\nIn Gothic intricacy twined\\nWilfrid half led and half he bore\\nMatilda to the postern door,\\nAnd safe beneath the forest tree,\\nThe lady stands at liberty.\\nThe moonbeams, the fresh gale s\\ncaress,\\nRenewed suspended conscious-\\nness;\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n1 Where s Redmond eagerly she\\ncries\\n\\\\Thou answer st not he dies he\\ndies\\nAnd thou hast left him all bereft\\nOf mortal aid with murderers\\nleft! 771\\nI know it well he would not\\nyield\\nHis sword to man his doom is\\nsealed\\nFor my scorned life, which thou\\nhast bought\\nAt price of his, I thank thee not.\\nXXX\\nThe unjust reproach, the angry\\nlook,\\nThe heart of Wilfrid could not\\nbrook,\\nLady, he said, my band so near,\\nIn safety thou mayst rest thee\\nhere.\\nFor Redmond s death thou shalt\\nnot mourn, 780\\nIf mine can buy his safe return.\\nHe turned away his heart\\nthrobbed high,\\nThe tear was bursting from his\\neye;\\nThe sense of her injustice pressed\\nUpon the maid s distracted\\nbreast,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nStay, Wilfrid, stay! all aid is\\nvain I\\nHe heard but turned him not\\nagain\\nHe reaches now the postern-door,\\nNow enters and is seen no more.\\nXXXI\\nWith all the agony that e er 790\\nWas gendered tvvixt suspense and\\nfear,\\nShe watched the line of windows\\ntall\\nWhose Gothic lattice lights the\\nHall,\\nDistinguished by the paly red\\nThe lamps in dim reflection shed,\\nWhile all beside in wan moonlight\\nEach grated casement glimmered\\nwhite.\\nNo sight of harm, no sound of ill,\\nIt is a deep and midnight still.\\nWho looked upon the scene had\\nguessed 800\\nAll in the castle were at rest\\nWhen sudden on the windows\\nshone\\nA lightning flash just seen and\\ngone\\nA shot is heard\u00e2\u0080\u0094 again the flame\\nFlashed thick and fast a volley\\ncame!\\nThen echoed wildly from within", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0386.jp2"}, "385": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n365\\nOf shout and scream the mingled\\ndin,\\nAnd weapon-clash and maddening\\ncry,\\nOf those who kill and those who\\ndie!\\nAs filled the hall with sulphurous\\nsmoke, 810\\nMore red, more dark, the death-\\nflash broke,\\nAnd forms were on the lattice\\ncast\\nThat struck or struggled as they\\npast.\\nXXXII\\nWhat sounds upon the midnight\\nwind\\nApproach so rapidly behind\\nIt is, it is, the tramp of steeds,\\nMatilda hears the sound, she\\nspeeds,\\nSeizes upon the leader s rein\\nO, haste to aid ere aid be vain\\nFly to the postern gain the\\nhall! 820\\nFrom saddle spring the troopers\\nall;\\nTheir gallant steeds at liberty\\nRung wild along the moonlight lea.\\nBut ere they burst upon the scene\\nFull stubborn had the conflict\\nbeen.\\nWhen Bertram marked Matilda s\\nflight,\\nIt gave the signal for the fight\\nAnd Eokeby s veterans, seamed\\nwith scars\\nOf Scotland s and of Erin s wars,\\nTheir momentary panic o er, 830\\nStood to the arms which then they\\nbore\\nFor they were weaponed and pre-\\npared\\nTheir mistress on her way to\\nguard.\\nThen cheered them to the fight\\nO Xeale,\\nThen pealed the shot, and clashed\\nthe steel\\nThe war-smoke soon with sable\\nbreath\\nDarkened the scene of blood and\\ndeath,\\nWhile on the few defenders close\\nThe bandits with redoubled blows,\\nAnd, twice driven back, yet fierce\\nand fell 840\\nRenew the charge with frantic\\nyell.\\nXXXIII\\nWilfrid has fallen but o er him\\nstood\\nYoung Redmond soiled with smoke\\nand blood,\\nCheering his mates with heart and\\nhand\\nStill to make good their desperate\\nstand\\n1 Up, comrades, up In Rokeby\\nhalls\\nNe er be it said our courage falls.\\nWhat! faint ye for their savage\\ncry,\\nOr do the smoke-wreaths daunt\\nyour eye\\nThese rafters have returned a\\nshout S50\\nAs loud at Rokeby s wassail rout,\\nAs thick a smoke these hearths\\nhave given\\nAt Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.\\nStand to it yet renew the fight\\nFor Rokeby s and Matilda s right\\nThese slaves they dare not hand\\nto hand\\nBide buffet from a true man s\\nbrand.\\nImpetuous, active, fierce, and\\nyoung,\\nUpon the advancing foes he\\nsprung.\\nWoe to the wretch at whom is\\nbent 860\\nHis brandished falchion s sheer\\ndescent\\nBackward they scattered as he\\ncame,\\nLike wolves before the levin flame,\\nWhen, mid their howling conclave\\ndriven,\\nHath glanced the thunderbolt of\\nheaven.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0387.jp2"}, "386": {"fulltext": "3 66\\nROKEBY\\nBertram rushed on but Harpool\\nclasped\\nHis knees, although in death he\\ngasped,\\nHis falling corpse before him\\nflung,\\nAnd round the trammelled ruffian\\nclung.\\nJust then the soldiers filled the\\ndome, 870\\nAnd shouting charged the felons\\nhome\\nSo fiercely that in panic dread,\\nThey broke, they yielded, fell, or\\nfled,\\nBertram s stern voice they heed\\nno more,\\nThough heard above the battle s\\nroar\\nWhile, trampling down the dying\\nman,\\nHe strove with volleyed threat\\nand ban\\nIn scorn of odds, in fate s despite,\\nTo rally up the desperate fight.\\nXXXIV\\nSoon murkier clouds the hall en-\\nfold 880\\nThan e er from battle-thunders\\nrolled,\\nSo dense the combatants scarce\\nknow\\nTo aim or to avoid the blow.\\nSmothering and blindfold grows\\nthe fight\\nBut soon shall dawn a dismal\\nlight\\nMid cries and clashing arms there\\ncame\\nThe hollow sound of rushing\\nflame;\\nNew horrors on the tumult dire\\nArise the castle is on fire\\nDoubtful if chance had cast the\\nbrand 890\\nOr frantic Bertram s desperate\\nhand,\\nMatilda saw for frequent broke\\nFrom the dim casements gusts of\\nsmoke,\\nYon tower, which late so clear de-\\nfined\\nOn the fair hemisphere reclined\\nThat, pencilled on its azure pure,\\nThe eye could count each embra-\\nsure,\\nNow, swathed within the sweeping\\ncloud,\\nSeems giant-spectre in his shroud\\nTill, from each loop-hole flashing\\nlight, 900\\nA spout of fire shines ruddy bright,\\nAnd, gathering to united glare,\\nStreams high into the midnight\\nair;\\nA dismal beacon, far and wide\\nThat wakened Greta s slumbering\\nside.\\nSoon all beneath, through gallery\\nlong\\nAnd pendent arch, the fire flashed\\nstrong,\\nSnatching whatever could main-\\ntain,\\nRaise, or extend its furious reign\\nStartling with closer cause of\\ndread 910\\nThe females who the conflict fled,\\nAnd now rushed forth upon the\\nplain,\\nFilling the air with clamors vain,\\nXXXV\\nBut ceased not yet the hall within\\nThe shriek, the shout, the carnage-\\ndin,\\nTill bursting lattices give proof\\nThe flames have caught the raf-\\ntered roof.\\nWhat! wait they till its beams\\namain\\nCrash on the slayers and the slain\\nThe alarm is caught\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the draw-\\nbridge falls, 920\\nThe warriors hurry from the walls,\\nBut by the conflagration s light\\nUpon the lawn renew the fight.\\nEach straggling felon down was\\nhewed,\\nNot one could gain the sheltering\\nwood", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0388.jp2"}, "387": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n3^7\\nBut forth the affrighted harper\\nsprung,\\nAnd to Matilda s robe he clung.\\nHer shriek, entreaty, and command\\nStopped the pursuer s lifted hand.\\nDenzil and he alive were ta en 930\\nThe rest save Bertram all are\\nslain.\\nxxxvi\\nAnd where is Bertram? Soaring\\nhigh,\\nThe general flame ascends the\\nsky\\nIn gathered group the soldiers\\ngaze\\nUpon the broad and roaring blaze,\\nWhen, like infernal demon, sent\\nRed from his penal element,\\nTo plague and to pollute the air,\\nHis face all gore, on fire his hair,\\nForth from the central mass of\\nsmoke 940\\nThe giant form of Bertram broke\\nHis brandished sword on high he\\nrears,\\nThen plunged among opposing\\nspears\\nRound his left arm his mantle\\ntrussed,\\nReceived and foiled three lances\\nthrust\\nNor these his headlong course\\nwithstood,\\nLike reeds he snapped the tough\\nashwood.\\nIn vain his foes around himelung\\nWith matchless force aside he\\nflung 949\\nTheir boldest, as the bull at bay\\nTosses the ban-dogs from his way,\\nThrough forty foes his path he\\nmade,\\nAnd safely gained the forest glade.\\nXXXVII\\nScarce was this final conflict o er\\nWhen from the postern Redmond\\nbore\\nWilfrid, who, as of life bereft,\\nHad in the fatal hall been left,\\nDeserted there by all his train\\nBut Redmond saw and turned\\nagain. 959\\nBeneath an oak he laid him down\\nThat in the blaze gleamed ruddy\\nbrown,\\nAnd then his mantle s clasp un-\\ndid;\\nMatilda held his drooping head,\\nTill, given to breathe the freer\\nair,\\nReturning life repaid their care.\\nHe gazed on them with heavy\\nsigh,\\n1 1 could have wished even thus to\\ndie!\\nNo more he said,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 for now with\\nspeed\\nEach trooper had regained his\\nsteed 969\\nThe ready palfreys stood arrayed\\nFor Redmond and for Rokeby s\\nmaid\\nTwo Wilfrid on his horse sustain,\\nOne leads his charger by the rein.\\nBut oft Matilda looked behind,\\nAs up the vale of Tees they wind,\\nWhere far the mansion of her sires\\nBeaconed the dale with midnight\\nfires.\\nIn gloomy arch above them spread,\\nThe clouded heaven lowered\\nbloody red 979\\nBeneath in sombre light the flood\\nAppeared to roll in waves of blood.\\nThen one by one was heard to\\nfall\\nThe tower, the donjon- keep, the\\nhall.\\nEach rushing down with thunder\\nsound\\nA space the conflagration drowned\\nTill gathering strength again it\\nrose,\\nAnnounced its triumph in its close,\\nShook wide its light the landscape\\no er,\\nThen sunk and Rokeby was no\\nmore!", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0389.jp2"}, "388": {"fulltext": "3 68\\nROKEBY\\nCANTO SIXTH\\nThe summer sun, whose early\\npower\\nWas wont to gild Matilda s bower\\nAnd rouse her with his matin ray\\nHer duteous orisons to pay,\\nThat morning sun has three times\\nseen\\nThe flowers unfold on Rokeby\\ngreen,\\nBut sees no more the slumbers fly\\nFrom fair Matilda s hazel eye\\nThat morning sun has three times\\nbroke\\nOn Rokeby s glades of elm and\\noak, 10\\nBut, rising from their sylvan\\nscreen,\\nMarks no gray turrets glance be-\\ntween.\\nA shapeless mass lie keep and\\ntower,\\nThat, hissing to the morning\\nshower,\\nCan but with smouldering vapor\\npay\\nThe early smile of summer day.\\nThe peasant, to his labor bound,\\nPauses to view the blackened\\nmound,\\nStriving amid the ruined space\\nEach well remembered spot to\\ntrace. 20\\nThat length of frail and fire-\\nscorched wall\\nOnce screened the hospitable\\nhall;\\nWhen yonder broken arch was\\nwhole,\\nT was there was dealt the weekly\\ndole;\\nAnd where yon tottering columns\\nnod\\nThe chapel sent the hymn to God.\\nSo flits the world s uncertain span\\nNor zeal for God nor love for man\\nGives mortal monuments a date\\nBeyond the power of Time and\\nFate. 30\\nThe towers must share the build.\\ner s doom\\nRuin is theirs, and his a tomb\\nBut better boon benignant Heaven\\nTo Faith and Charity has given,\\nAnd bids the Christian hope sub-\\nlime\\nTranscend the bounds of Fate and\\nTime.\\n11\\nNow the third night of summer\\ncame\\nSince that which witnessed Roke-\\nby s flame.\\nOn Brignall cliffs and Scargill\\nbrake\\nThe owlet s homilies awake, 40\\nThe bittern screamed from rush\\nand flag,\\nThe raven slumbered on his crag,\\nForth from his den the otter\\ndrew,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nGrayling and trout their tyrant\\nknew,\\nAs between reed and sedge he\\npeers,\\nWith fierce round snout and sharp-\\nened ears,\\nOr prowling by the moonbeam cool\\nWatches the stream or swims the\\npool\\nPerched on his wonted eyrie high,\\nSleep sealed the tercelet s wearied\\neye, 50\\nThat all the day had watched so\\nwell\\nThe cushat dart across the dell.\\nIn dubious beam reflected shone\\nThat lofty jliff of pale gray stone\\nBeside whose base the secret cave\\nTo rapine late a refuge gave.\\nThe crag s wild crest of copse and\\nyew\\nOn Greta s breast dark shadows\\nthrew,\\nShadows that met or shunned the\\nsight 59\\nWith every change of fitful light,\\nAs hope and fear alternate chase\\nOur course through life s uncertain\\nrace.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0390.jp2"}, "389": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n369\\nin\\nGliding by crag and copsewood\\ngreen,\\nA solitary form was seen\\nTo trace with stealthy pace the\\nwold,\\nLike fox that seeks the midnight\\nfold,\\nAnd pauses oft, and cowers dis-\\nmayed\\nAt every breath that stirs the\\nshade. 68\\nHe passes now the ivy bush,\\nThe owl has seen him and is hush\\nHe passes now the doddered oak-\\nHe heard the startled raven croak\\nLower and lower he descends,\\nRustle the leaves, the brushwood\\nbends\\nThe otter hears him tread the\\nshore,\\nAnd dives and is beheld no more\\nAnd by the cliff of pale gray stone\\nThe midnight wanderer stands\\nalone.\\nMethinks that by the moon we\\ntrace 79\\nA well-remembered form and face\\nThat stripling shape, that cheek\\nso pale,\\nCombine to tell a rueful tale,\\nOf powers misused, of passion s\\nforce,\\nOf guilt, of grief, and of remorse\\nT is Edmund s eye at every sound\\nThat flings that guilty glance\\naround\\nT is Edmund s trembling haste\\ndivides\\nThe brushwood that the cavern\\nhides\\nAnd when its narrow porch lies\\nbare\\nT is Edmund s form that enters\\nthere. 90\\nIV\\nHis flint and steel have sparkled\\nbright,\\nA lamp hath lent the cavern light.\\nFearful and quick his eye surveys\\nEach angle of the gloomy maze.\\nSince last he left that stern abode,\\nIt seemed as none its floor had\\ntrode\\nUntouched appeared the various\\nspoil,\\nThe purchase of his comrades\\ntoil;\\nMasks and disguises grimed with\\nmud,\\nArms broken and defiled with\\nblood, 100\\nAnd all the nameless tools that aid\\nNight-felons in their lawless trade,\\nUpon the gloomy walls were hung\\nOr lay in nooks obscurely flung.\\nStill on the sordid board appear\\nThe relics of the noontide cheer\\nFlagons and emptied flasks were\\nthere,\\nAnd bench o erthrown and shat-\\ntered chair\\nAnd all around the semblance\\nshowed,\\nAs when the final revel glowed, 1 10\\nWhen the red sun was setting fast\\nAnd parting pledge Guy Denzil\\npast.\\n1 To Rokeby treasure-vaults they\\nquaffed,\\nAnd shouted loud and wildly\\nlaughed,\\nPoured maddening from the rocky\\ndoor,\\nAnd parted to return no more\\nThey found in Rokeby vaults their\\ndoom,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nA bloody death, a burning tomb\\nThere his own peasant dress he\\nspies,\\nDoffed to assume that quaint dis-\\nguise, 120\\nAnd shuddering thought upon his\\nglee\\nWhen pranked in garb of min-\\nstrelsy.\\nO, be the fatal art accurst,\\nHe cried, that moved my folly\\nfirst,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0391.jp2"}, "390": {"fulltext": "370\\nROKEBY\\nTill, bribed by bandits base ap-\\nplause,\\nI burst through God s and Na-\\nture s laws\\nThree summer days are scantly\\npast\\nSince I have trod this cavern last,\\nA thoughtless wretch, and prompt\\nto err\\nBut 0, as yet no murderer 130\\nEven now I list my comrades\\ncheer.\\nThat general laugh is in mine ear\\nWhich raised my pulse and steeled\\nmy heart,\\nAs I rehearsed my treacherous\\npart\\nAnd would that all since then\\ncould seem\\nThe phantom of a fever s dream\\nBut fatal memory notes too well\\nThe horrors of the dying yell\\nFrom my despairing mates that\\nbroke\\nWhen flashed the fire and rolled\\nthe smoke, 140\\nWhen the avengers shouting came\\nAnd hemmed us twixt the sword\\nand flame\\nMy frantic flight\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the lifted\\nbrand\\nThat angel s interposing hand!\\nIf for my life from slaughter freed\\nI yet could pay some grateful\\nmeed\\nPerchance this object of my quest\\nMay aid he turned nor spoke\\nthe rest.\\nVI\\nDue northward from the rugged\\nhearth\\nWith paces five he meets the\\nearth, 150\\nThen toiled with mattock to ex-\\nplore\\nThe entrails of the cavern floor,\\nNor paused till deep beneath the\\nground\\nHis search a small steel casket\\nfound.\\nJust as he stooped to loose its\\nhasp\\nHis shoulder felt a giant grasp\\nHe started and looked up aghast,\\nThen shrieked! T was Bertram\\nheld him fast.\\nFear not he said but who\\ncould hear\\nThat deep stern voice and cease\\nto fear 160\\nFear not By heaven, he shakes\\nas much\\nAs partridge in the falcon s\\nclutch\\nHe raised him and unloosed his\\nhold,\\nWhile from the opening casket\\nrolled\\nA chain and reliquaire of gold.\\nBertram beheld it with surprise,\\nGazed on its fashion and device,\\nThen, cheering Edmund as he\\ncould,\\nSomewhat he smoothed his rugged\\nmood,\\nFor still the youth s half-lifted eye\\nQuivered with terror s agony, 171\\nAnd sidelong glanced as to ex-\\nplore\\nIn meditated flight the door.\\nSit, Bertram said, from danger\\nfree\\nThou canst not and thou shalt not\\nflee.\\nChance brings me hither hill and\\nplain\\nI ve sought for refuge-place in\\nvain.\\nAnd tell me now, thou aguish boy,\\nWhat makest thou here? w T hat\\nmeans this toy\\nDenzil and thou, I marked, were\\nta en 180\\nWhat lucky chance unbound your\\nchain\\nI deemed, long since on BalioPs\\ntower,\\nYour heads were warped with sun\\nand shower.\\nTell me the whole and mark!\\nnaught e er", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0392.jp2"}, "391": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n371\\nChafes me like falsehood or like\\nfear.\\nGathering his courage to his aid\\nBut trembling still, the youth\\nobeyed.\\nVII\\nDenzil and I two nights passed\\no er\\nIn fetters on the dungeon floor.\\nA guest the third sad morrow\\nbrought 190\\nOur hold, dark Oswald Wye I iff e\\nsought,\\nAnd eyed my comrade long\\naskance\\nWith fixed and penetrating glance.\\nGuy Denzil art thou called?\\nThe same.\\nAt Court who served wild Buck-\\ningham e\\nThence banished, won a keeper s\\nplace,\\nSo Villiers willed, in Marwood-\\nchase\\nThat lost\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I need not tell thee\\nwhy\\nThou madest thy wit thy wants\\nsupply,\\nThen fought for Rokeby: have\\nI guessed 200\\nMy prisoner right At thy\\nbehest.\\nHe paused awhile, and then went\\non\\nWith low and confidential tone\\nMe, as I judge, not then he saw\\nClose nestled in my couch of\\nstraw.\\nList to me, Guy. Thou know st\\nthe great\\nHave frequent need of what they\\nhate\\nHence, in their favor oft we see\\nUnscrupled, useful men like thee.\\nWere I disposed to bid thee live,\\nWhat pledge of faith hast thou to\\ngive?\\nVIII\\n1 The ready fiend who never yet\\nHath failed to sharpen Denzil s wit\\nPrompted his lie His only child\\nShould rest his pledge. The\\nbaron smiled,\\nAnd turned to me Thou art\\nhis son?\\nI bowed our fetters were un-\\ndone,\\nAnd we were led to hear apart\\nA dreadful lesson of his art.\\nWilfrid, he said, his heir and son,\\nHad fair Matilda s favor won; 221\\nAnd long since had their union\\nbeen\\nBut for her father s bigot spleen,\\nWhose brute and blindfold party-\\nrage\\nWould, force perforce, her hand\\nengage\\nTo a base kern of Irish earth,\\nUnknown his lineage and his birth,\\nSave that a dying ruffian bore\\nThe infant brat to Rokeby door.\\nGentle restraint, he said, would\\nlead 230\\nOld Rokeby to enlarge his creed\\nBut fair occasion be must find\\nFor such restraint well meant and\\nkind,\\nThe knight being rendered to his\\ncharge\\nBut as a prisoner at large.\\nIX\\nHe schooled us in a well-forged\\ntale\\nOf scheme the castle walls to\\nscale,\\nTo which was leagued each Cava-\\nlier\\nThat dwells upon the Tyne and\\nWear, 239\\nThat Rokeby, his parole forgot,\\nHad dealt with us to aid the plot.\\nSuch was the charge which Den-\\nzil s zeal\\nOf hate to Rokeby and O Neale\\nProffered as witness to make good,\\nEven though the forfeit were their\\nblood.\\nI scrupled until o er and o er\\nHis prisoners safety Wycliffe\\nswore", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0393.jp2"}, "392": {"fulltext": "372\\nROKEBY\\nAnd then alas what needs there\\nmore\\nI knew I should not live to say\\nThe proffer I refused that day 250\\nAshamed to live, yet loath to die,\\nI soiled me with their infamy\\n1 Poor youth said Bertram, wa-\\nvering still,\\nUnfit alike for good or ill\\nBut what fell next Soon as\\nat large\\nWas scrolled and signed our fatal\\ncharge,\\nThere never yet on tragic stage\\nWas seen so well a painted rage\\nAs Oswald s showed With loud\\nalarm\\nHe called his garrison to arm 260\\nFrom tower to tower, from post to\\npost,\\nHe hurried as if all were lost\\nConsigned to dungeon and to chain\\nThe good old knight and all his\\ntrain\\nWarned each suspected Cavalier\\nWithin his limits to appear\\nTo-morrow at the hour of noon\\nIn the high church of Eglistone.\\nx\\n1 Of Eglistone Even now I\\npassed,\\nSaid Bertram, as the night closed\\nfast 270\\nTorches and cressets gleamed\\naround,\\nI heard the saw and hammer\\nsound,\\nAnd I could mark they toiled to\\nraise\\nA scaffold, hung with sable baize,\\nWhich the grim headsman s scene\\ndisplayed,\\nBlock, axe, and sawdust ready laid.\\nSome evil deed will there be done\\nUnless Matilda wed his son\\nShe loves him not t is shrewdly\\nguessed\\nThat Redmond rules the damsel s\\nbreast. 280\\nThis is a turn of Oswald s skill\\nBut I may meet, and foil him\\nstill\\nHow earnest thou to thy free-\\ndom There\\nLies mystery more dark and rare.\\nIn midst of Wycliffe s well-feigned\\nrage,\\nA scroll was offered by a page,\\nWho told a muffled horseman late\\nHad left it at the Castle-gate.\\nHe broke the seal his cheek\\nshowed change,\\nSudden, portentous, wild, and\\nstrange 290\\nThe mimic passion of his eye\\nWas turned to actual agony\\nHis hand like summer sapling\\nshook,\\nTerror and guilt w 7 ere in his look.\\nDenzil he judged in time of need\\nFit counsellor for evil deed\\nAnd thus apart his counsel broke,\\nWhile with a ghastly smile he\\nspoke\\nXI\\nAs in the pageants of the stage\\nThe dead awake in this wild age,\\nMortham whom all men deemed\\ndecreed 301\\nIn his own deadly snare to bleed,\\nSlain by a bravo whom o er sea\\nHe trained to aid in murdering\\nme,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMortham has scaped! The cow-\\nard shot\\nThe steed but harmed the rider\\nnot.\\nHere with an execration fell\\nBertram leaped up and paced the\\ncell:\\nThine own gray head or bosom\\ndark,\\nHe muttered, may be surer\\nmark! 310\\nThen sat and signed to Edmund,\\npale\\nWith terror, to resume his tale.\\nWycliffe went on Mark with\\nwhat flights\\nOf wildered reverie he writes", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0394.jp2"}, "393": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n373\\nTHE LETTER\\nRuler of Mortham s destiny\\nThough dead, thy victim lives to\\nthee.\\nOnce had he all that binds to life,\\nA lovely child, a lovelier wife\\nWealth, fame, and friendship were\\nhis own\\nThou gavest the word and they\\nare flown. 320\\nMark how he pays thee to thy\\nhand\\nHe yields his honors and his land,\\nOne boon premised; restore his\\nchild\\nAnd, from his native land exiled,\\nMortham no more returns to claim\\nHis lands, his honors, or his name\\nRefuse him this and from the slain\\nThou shalt see Mortham rise\\nagain.\\nXII\\nThis billet while the baron read,\\nHis faltering accents showed his\\ndread 330\\nHe pressed his forehead with his\\npalm,\\nThen took a scornful tone and\\ncalm\\nWild as the winds, as billows\\nwild!\\nWhat wot I of his spouse or child\\nHither he brought a joyous dame,\\nUnknown her lineage or her name\\nHer in some frantic fit he slew\\nThe nurse and child in fear with\\ndrew.\\nHeaven be my witness, wist I\\nwhere\\nTo find this youth, my kinsman s\\nheir, 340\\nUnguerdoned I would give with\\njoy\\nThe father s arms to fold his boy,\\nAnd Mortham s lands and towers\\nresign\\nTo the just heirs of Mortham s\\nline.\\nThou know st that scarcely e en\\nhis fear\\nSuppresses Denzil s cynic sneer\\nThen happy is thy vassal s part,\\nHe said, to ease his patron s\\nheart\\nIn thine own jailer s watchful care\\nLies Mortham s just and rightful\\nheir; 350\\nThy generous wish is fully won,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nRedmond O Neale is Mortham s\\nson.\\nXIII\\nUp starting with a frenzied look,\\nHis clenched hand the baron\\nshook\\nIs Hell at work or dost thou\\nrave,\\nOr darest thou palter with me,\\nslave\\nPerchance thou wot st not, Bar-\\nnard s towers\\nHave racks of strange and ghastly\\npowers.\\nDenzil, who well his safety knew,\\nFirmly rejoined, I tell thee true.\\nThy racks could give thee but to\\nknow 361\\nThe proofs which I, untortured,\\nshow.\\nIt chanced upon a winter night\\nWhen early snow made Stanmore\\nwhite,\\nThat very night when first of all\\nRedmond O Neale saw Rokeby-\\nhall,\\nIt was my goodly lot to gain\\nA reliquary and a chain,\\nTwisted and chased of massive\\ngold. 369\\nDemand not how the prize I hold\\nIt was not given nor lent nor sold.\\nGilt tablets to the chain were hung\\nWith letters in the Irish tongue.\\nI hid my spoil, for there was need\\nThat I should leave the land with\\nspeed,\\nNor then I deemed it safe to bear\\nOn mine own person gems so rare.\\nSmall heed I of the tablets took,\\nBut since have spelled them by\\nthe book 379", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0395.jp2"}, "394": {"fulltext": "374\\nROKEBY\\nWhen some sojourn in Erin s land\\nOf their wild speech had given\\ncommand.\\nBut darkling was the sense the\\nphrase\\nAnd language those of other days,\\nInvolved of purpose, as to foil\\nAn interloper s prying toil.\\nThe words but not the sense I\\nknew,\\nTill fortune gave the guiding clue.\\nXIV\\n4 Three days since, was that clue\\nrevealed\\nIn Thorsgill as I lay concealed,\\nAnd heard at full when Rokeby s\\nmaid 390\\nHer uncle s history displayed\\nAnd now I can interpret well\\nEach syllable the tablets tell.\\nMark, then: fair Edith was the\\njoy\\nOf old O Neale of Clandeboy\\nBut from her sire and country\\nfled\\nIn secret Mortham s lord to wed.\\nO Neale, his first resentment o er,\\nDespatched his son to Greta s\\nshore,\\nEnjoining he should make him\\nknown\u00e2\u0080\u0094 400\\nUntil his farther will were shown\\nTo Edith, but to her alone.\\nWhat of their ill-starred meeting\\nfell\\nLord Wycliffe knows, and none so\\nwell.\\nxv\\n1 u O Neale it was who in despair\\nEobbed Mortham of his infant\\nheir;\\nHe bred him in their nurture wild,\\nAnd called him murdered Connel s\\nchild.\\nSoon died the nurse the clan be-\\nlieved\\nWhat from their chieftain they re-\\nceived. 4 IQ\\nHis purpose was that ne er again\\nThe boy should cross the Irish\\nmain,\\nBut, like his mountain sires, enjoy\\nThe woods and wastes of Clande-\\nboy.\\nThen on the land wild troubles\\ncame,\\nAnd stronger chieftains urged a\\nclaim,\\nAnd wrested from the old man s\\nhands\\nHis native towers, his father s\\nlands.\\nUnable then amid the strife\\nTo guard young Redmond s rights\\nor life, 420\\nLate and reluctant he restores\\nThe infant to his native shores,\\nWith goodly gifts and letters\\nstored,\\nWith many a deep conjuring word,\\nTo Mortham and to Rokeby s lord.\\nNaught knew the clod of Irish\\nearth,\\nWho was the guide, of Redmond s\\nbirth,\\nBut deemed his chief s commands\\nwere laid\\nOn both, by both to be obeyed. 429\\nHow he was wounded by the way\\nI need not, and I list not say.\\nXVI\\nA wondrous tale and, grant it\\ntrue,\\nWhat, Wycliffe answered, might\\nI do?\\nHeaven knows, as willingly as\\nnow\\nI raise the bonnet from my brow,\\nWould I my kinsman s manors\\nfair\\nRestore to Mortham or his heir\\nBut Mortham is distraught\\nO Neale\\nHas drawn for tyranny his steel,\\nMalignant to our rightful cause\\nAnd trained in Rome s delusive\\nlaws. 44 1\\nHark thee apart They whis-\\npered long,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0396.jp2"}, "395": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n375\\nTill Denzil s voice grew bold and\\nstrong\\nMy proofs I never will, he said,\\nShow mortal man wheje they\\nare laid.\\nNor hope discovery to foreclose\\nBy giving me to feed the crows\\nFor I have mates at large who\\nknow\\nWhere I am wont such toys to\\nstow.\\nFree me from peril and from\\nband, 45\u00c2\u00b0\\nThese tablets are at thy com-\\nmand\\nNor were it hard to form some\\ntrain,\\nTo wile old Mortham o er the\\nmain.\\nThen, lunatic s nor papist s hand\\nShould wrest from thine the good-\\nly land.\\nI like thy wit, said Wycliffe,\\nwell;\\nBut here in hostage shalt thou\\ndwell.\\nThy son, unless my purpose err,\\nMay prove the trustier messenger.\\nA scroll to Mortham shall he bear\\nFrom me, and fetch these tokens\\nrare. 461\\nGold shalt thou have, and that\\ngood store,\\nAnd freedom, his commission o er\\nBut if his faith should chance to\\nfail,\\nThe gibbet frees thee from the\\njail.\\nxvn\\nMeshed in the net himself had\\ntwined,\\nWhat subterfuge could Denzil\\nfind?\\nHe told me with reluctant sigh\\nThat hidden here the tokens lie,\\nConjured my swift return and aid,\\nBy all he scoffed and disobeyed, 471\\nAnd looked as if the noose were\\ntied\\nAnd I the priest who left his side.\\nThis scroll for Mortham Wycliffe\\ngave,\\nWhom I must seek by Greta s\\nwave,\\nOr in the hut where chief he hides,\\nWhere Thorsgill s forester re-\\nsides.\\nThence chanced it, wandering in\\nthe glade,\\nThat he descried our ambus-\\ncade. 479\\nI was dismissed as evening fell,\\nAnd reached but now this rocky\\ncell.\\nGive Oswald s letter. Bertram\\nread,\\nAnd tore it fiercely shred by\\nshred\\nAll lies and villany to blind\\nHis noble kinsman s generous\\nmind,\\nAnd train him on from day to day,\\nTill he can take his life away.\\nAnd now, declare thy purpose,\\nyouth,\\nNor dare to answer, save the\\ntruth\\nIf aught I mark of Denzil s art, 490\\nI 11 tear the secret from thy\\nheart\\nXVIII\\n4 It needs not. I renounce, he\\nsaid,\\nMy tutor and his deadly trade.\\nFixed was my purpose to declare\\nTo Mortham, Redmond is his heir\\nTo tell him in what risk he stands,\\nAnd yield these tokens to his\\nhands.\\nFixed was my purpose to atone,\\nFar as I may, the evil done\\nAnd fixed it rests if I survive\\nThis night, and leave this cave\\nalive. 501\\n4 And Denzil? Let them ply\\nthe rack,\\nEven till his joints and sinews\\ncrack\\nIf Oswald tear him limb from\\nlimb,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0397.jp2"}, "396": {"fulltext": "376\\nROKEBY\\nWhat ruth can Denzil claim from\\nhim\\nWhose thoughtless youth he led\\nastray\\nAnd damned to this unhallowed\\nway?\\nHe schooled me, faith and vows\\nwere vain\\nNow let my master reap his\\ngain.\\n1 True, answered Bertram, 4 t is\\nhis meed; 510\\nThere s retribution in the deed.\\nBut thou thou art not for our\\ncourse,\\nHast fear, hast pity, hast remorse\\nAnd he with us the gale who\\nbraves\\nMust heave such cargo to the\\nwaves,\\nOr lag with overloaded prore\\nWhile barks unburdened reach\\nthe shore.\\nXIX\\nHe paused and, stretching him at\\nlength,\\nSeemed to repose his bulky\\nstrength. 519\\nCommuning with his secret mind,\\nAs half he sat and half reclined,\\nOne ample hand his forehead\\npressed,\\nAnd one was dropped across his\\nbreast.\\nThe shaggy eyebrows deeper came\\nAbove his eyes of swarthy flame\\nHis lip of pride awhile forbore\\nThe haughty curve till then it\\nwore;\\nThe unaltered fierceness of his\\nlook\\nA shade of darkened sadness\\ntook,\\nFor dark and sad a presage\\npressed 530\\nResistlessly on Bertram s breast,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd when he spoke, his wonted\\ntone,\\nSo fierce, abrupt, and briejf, was\\ngone.\\nHis voice was steady, low, and\\ndeep,\\nLike distant waves when breezes\\nsleep\\nAnd so#row mixed with Edmund s\\nfear,\\nIts low unbroken depth to hear.\\nxx\\nEdmund, in thy sad tale I find\\nThe woe that warped my patron s\\nmind;\\nT would wake the fountains of\\nthe eye 540\\nIn other men, but mine are dry.\\nMortham must never see the fool\\nThat sold himself base Wycliffe s\\ntool,\\nYet less from thirst of sordid gain\\nThan to avenge supposed disdain.\\nSay Bertram rues his fault a\\nword\\nTill now from Bertram never\\nheard\\nSay, too, that Mortham s lord he\\nprays\\nTo think but on their former days\\nOn Quariana s beach and rock, 550\\nOn Cayo s bursting battle-shock,\\nOn Darien s sands and deadly dew,\\nAnd on the dart Tlatzeca threw\\nPerchance my patron yet may\\nhear\\nMore that may grace his comrade s\\nbier.\\nMy soul hath felt a secret weight,\\nA warning of approaching fate\\nA priest had said, Heturn, re-\\npent\\nAs well to bid that rock be rent.\\nFirm as that flint I face mine\\nend 560\\nMy heart may burst but cannot\\nbend.\\nXXI\\nThe dawning of my youth with\\nawe\\nAnd prophecy the Dalesmen saw\\nFor over Redesdale it came,\\nAs bodeful as their beacon-flame.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0398.jp2"}, "397": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n377\\nEdmund, thy years were scarcely\\nmine\\nWhen, challenging the Clans of\\nTyne\\nTo bring their best my brand to\\nprove.\\nO er Hexham s altar hung my\\nglove\\nBut Tynedale, nor in tower nor\\ntown, 570\\nHeld champion meet to take it\\ndown.\\nMy noontide India may declare\\nLike her fierce sun, I fired the air\\nLike him, to wood and cave bade\\nfly\\nHer natives from mine angry eye.\\nPanama s maids shall long look\\npale\\nWhen Risingham inspires the tale\\nChili s dark matrons long shall\\ntame\\nThe froward child with Bertram s\\nname.\\nAnd now, my race of terror run, 580\\nMine be the eve of tropic sun\\nNo pale gradations quench his\\nray,\\nNo twilight dews his wrath allay\\nWith disk like battle-target red\\nHe rushes to his burning bed,\\nDyes the wide wave with bloody\\nlight,\\nThen sinks at once and all is\\nnight.\\nXXII\\n1 Now to thy mission, Edmund.\\nFly,\\nSeek Mortham out, and bid him\\nhie\\nTo Richmond where his troops are\\nlaid, 590\\nAnd lead his force to Redmond s\\naid.\\nSay till he reaches Eglistone\\nA friend will watch to guard his\\nson.\\nNow, fare thee well for night\\ndraws on,\\nAnd I would rest me here alone.\\nDespite his ill-dissembled fear,\\nThere swam in Edmund s eye a\\ntear;\\nA tribute to the courage high\\nWhich stooped not in extremity,\\nBut strove, irregularly great, 600\\nTo triumph o er approaching fate\\nBertram beheld the dewdrop start,\\nIt almost touched his iron heart\\nI did not think there lived, he\\nsaid,\\nOne who would tear for Bertram\\nshed.\\nHe loosened then his baldric s\\nhold,\\nA buckle broad of massive gold\\nOf all the spoil that paid his\\npains\\nBut this with Risingham remains\\nAnd this, dear Edmund, thou shalt\\ntake, 610\\nAnd wear it long for Bertram s\\nsake.\\nOnce more to Mortham speed\\namain;\\nFarewell and turn thee not again.\\nXXIII\\nThe night has yielded to the morn,\\nAnd far the hours of prime are\\nworn.\\nOswald, who since the dawn of\\nday\\nHad cursed his messenger s de-\\nlay,\\nImpatient questioned now his\\ntrain,\\nWas Denzil s son returned\\nagain?\\nIt chanced there answered of the\\ncrew 620\\nA menial whom young Edmund\\nknew\\n1 No son of Denzil this, he said\\nA peasant boy from Winston\\nglade,\\nFor song and minstrelsy renowned\\nAnd knavish pranks the hamlets\\nround.\\n1 Not Denzil s son from Win.\\nston vale 1", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0399.jp2"}, "398": {"fulltext": "378\\nROKEBY\\nThen it was false, that specious\\ntale;\\nOr worse he hath despatched\\nthe youth\\nTo show to Mortham s lord its\\ntruth.\\nFool that I was but t is too\\nlate 630\\nThis is the very turn of fate\\nThe tale, or true or false, relies\\nOn Denzil s evidence He dies\\nHo Provost Marshal instantly\\nLead Denzil to the gallows-tree\\nAllow him not a parting word\\nShort be the shrift and sure the\\ncord\\nThen let his gory head appall\\nMarauders from the castle-wall.\\nLead forth thy guard, that duty\\ndone, 640\\nWith best despatch to Egli-\\nstone.\\nBasil, tell Wilfrid he must straight\\nAttend me at the castle-gate.\\nXXIV\\n1 Alas the old domestic said,\\nAnd shook his venerable head,\\n1 Alas, my lord full ill to-day\\nMay my young master brook the\\nway!\\nThe leech has spoke with grave\\nalarm\\nOf unseen hurt, of secret harm,\\nOf sorrow lurking at the heart, 650\\nThat mars and lets his healing\\nart.\\n1 Tush tell not me Komantic\\nboys\\nPine themselves sick for airy toys,\\nI will find cure for Wilfrid soon\\nBid him for Eglistone be boune,\\nAnd quick I hear the dull\\ndeath-drum\\nTell Denzil s hour of fate is come. 5\\nHe paused with scornful smile,\\nand then\\nResumed his train of thought agen.\\nNow comes my fortune s crisis\\nnear 660\\nEntreaty boots not instant fear,\\nNaught else, can bend Matilda s\\npride\\nOr win her to be Wilfrid s bride.\\nBut when she sees the scaffold\\nplaced,\\nWith axe and block and headsman\\ngraced,\\nAnd when she deems that to deny\\nDooms Redmond and Tier sire to\\ndie,\\nShe must give way. Then, were\\nthe line\\nOf Rokeby once combined with\\nmine,\\nI gain the weather-gage of fate\\nIf Mortham come, he comes too\\nlate, 671\\nWhile I, allied thus and prepared,\\nBid him defiance to his beard.\\nIf she prove stubborn, shall I\\ndare\\nTo drop the axe Soft pause\\nwe there.\\nMortham still lives yon youth\\nmay tell\\nHis tale and Fairfax loves him\\nwell\\nElse, wherefore should I now de-\\nlay\\nTo sweep this Redmond from my\\nway?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nBut she to piety perforce 680\\nMust yield. Without there I\\nSound to horse\\nXXV\\nT was bustle in the court below,\\n1 Mount, and march forward\\nForth they go\\nSteeds neigh and trample all\\naround,\\nSteel rings, spears glimmer, trump-\\nets sound.\\nJust then was sung his parting\\nhymn\\nAnd Denzil turned his eyeballs\\ndim,\\nAnd, scarcely conscious what he\\nsees,\\nFollows the horsemen clown the\\nTees;", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0400.jp2"}, "399": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n\\\\79\\nAnd scarcely conscious what be\\nhears, 690\\nThe trumpets tingle in his ears.\\nO er the long bridge they re\\nsweeping now,\\nThe van is hid by greenwood\\nbough\\nBut ere the rearward had passed j\\no er,\\nGuy Denzil heard and saw no\\nmore\\nOne stroke upon the castle bell\\nTo Oswald rung his dying knell.\\nXXVI\\nO, for that pencil, erst profuse\\nOf chivalry s emblazoned hues,\\nThat traced of old in Woodstock\\nbower 700\\nThe pageant of the Leaf and\\nFlower,\\nAnd bodied forth the tourney high\\nHeld for the hand of Emily\\nThen might I paint the tumult\\nbroad\\nThat to the crowded abbey flowed,\\nAnd poured, as with an ocean s\\nsound,\\nInto the church s ample bound\\nThen might I show each varying\\nmien,\\nExulting, woful, or serene 709\\nIndifference, with his idiot stare,\\nAnd Sympathy, with anxious air\\nPaint the dejected Cavalier,\\nDoubtful, disarmed, and sad of\\ncheer\\nAnd his proud foe, whose formal\\neye\\nClaimed conquest now and mas-\\ntery;\\nAnd the brute crowd, whose envi-\\nous zeal\\nHuzzas each turn of Fortune s\\nwheel,\\nAnd loudest shouts when lowest\\nlie\\nExalted worth and station high. 719\\nYet what may such a wish avail\\nTis mine to tell an onward tale,\\nHurrying, as best I can, along\\nThe hearers and the hasty song\\nLike traveller when approaching\\nhome,\\nWho sees the shades of evening\\ncome,\\nAnd must not now his course de-\\nlay,\\nOr choose the fair but winding\\nway;\\nNay, scarcely may his pace sus-\\npend,\\nWhere o er his head the wildings\\nbend,\\nTo bless the breeze that cools his\\nbrow 730\\nOr snatch a blossom from the\\nbough.\\nXXYII\\nThe reverend pile lay wild and\\nwaste,\\nProfaned, dishonored, and defaced.\\nThrough storied lattices no more\\nIn softened light the sunbeams\\npour,\\nGilding the Gothic sculpture rich\\nOf shrine and monument and\\nniche.\\nThe civil fury of the time\\nMade sport of sacrilegious crime\\nFor dark fanaticism rent 740\\nAltar and screen and ornament,\\nAnd peasant hands the tombs o er-\\nthrew\\nOf Bowes, of Ptokeby, and Fitz-\\nHugh,\\nAnd now was seen, unwonted\\nsight,\\nIn holy walls a scaffold dight\\nWhere once the priest of grace di-\\nvine\\nDealt to his flock the mystic sign.\\nThere stood the block displayed,\\nand there\\nThe headsman grim his hatchet\\nbare,\\nAnd for the word of hope and\\nfaith 750\\nResounded loud a doom of death.\\nThrice the fierce trumpet s breath\\nwas heard,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0401.jp2"}, "400": {"fulltext": "3 8o\\nROKEBY\\nAnd echoed thrice the herald s\\nword,\\nDooming, for breach of martial\\nlaws\\nAnd treason to the Commons\\ncause,\\nThe Knight of Rokeby, and\\nO Neale,\\nTo stoop their heads to block and\\nsteel.\\nThe trumpets flourished high and\\nshrill,\\nThen was a silence dead and still\\nAnd silent prayers to Heaven\\nwere cast, 760\\nAnd stifled sobs were burstingfast,\\nTill from the crowd begun to rise\\nMurmurs of sorrow or surprise,\\nAnd from the distant isles there\\ncame\\nDeep-muttered threats with Wy.\\ncliffe s name.\\nXXVIII\\nBut Oswald, guarded by his band,\\nPowerful in evil, waved his hand,\\nAnd bade sedition s voice be dead,\\nOn peril of the murmurer s head.\\nThen first his glance sought Roke-\\nby s Knight, 770\\nWho gazed on the tremendous\\nsight\\nAs calm as if he came a guest\\nTo kindred baron s feudal feast,\\nAs calm as if that trumpet-call\\nWere summons to the bannered\\nhall;\\nFirm in his loyalty he stood,\\nAnd prompt to seal it with his\\nblood.\\nWith downcast look drew Oswald\\nnigh,\\nHe durst not cope with Rokeby s\\neye!\\nAnd said with low and faltering\\nbreath, 780\\nThou know st the terms of life\\nand death.\\nThe knight then turned and sternly\\nsmiled i\\nThe maiden is mine only child,\\nYet shall my blessing leave her\\nhead\\nIf with a traitor s son she wed.\\nThen Redmond spoke The life\\nof one\\nMight thy malignity atone,\\nOn me be flung a double guilt\\nSpare Rokeby s blood, let mine be\\nspilt\\nWycliffe had listened to his\\nsuit, 790\\nBut dread prevailed and he was\\nmute.\\nXXIX\\nAnd now he pours his choice of\\nfear\\nIn secret on Matilda s ear\\n4 An union formed with me and\\nmine\\nEnsures the faith of Rokeby s line.\\nConsent, and all this dread array\\nLike morning dream shall pass\\naway;\\nRefuse, and by my duty pressed\\nI give the word thou know st\\nthe rest.\\nMatilda, still and motionless, 800\\nWith terror heard the dread ad-\\ndress,\\nPale as the sheeted maid who dies\\nTo hopeless love a sacrifice\\nThen wrung her hands in agony,\\nAnd round her cast bewildered\\neye,\\nNow on the scaffold glanced, and\\nnow\\nOn Wyciiffe s unrelenting brow.\\nShe veiled her face, and with a\\nvoice\\nScarce audible, I make my choice\\nSpare but their lives for aught\\nbeside 810\\nLet Wilfrid s doom my fate de-\\ncide.\\nHe once was generous As she\\nspoke,\\nDark Wyciiffe s joy in triumph\\nbroke\\nWilfrid, where loitered ye so late?\\nWhy upon Basil rest thy weight?", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0402.jp2"}, "401": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\ni8 1\\nArt spell-bound by enchanter s\\nwand\\nKneel, kneel, and take her yielded\\nhand\\nThank her with raptures, simple\\nboy\\nShould tears and trembling speak\\nthy joy\\n1 hush, my sire To prayer and\\ntear 820\\nOf mine thou hast refused thine\\near\\nBut now the awful hour draws\\non\\nWhen truth must speak in loftier\\ntone.\\nXXX\\nHe took Matilda s hand: Dear\\nmaid,\\nCouldst thou so injure me, he said,\\nOf thy poor friend so basely deem\\nAs blend with him this barbarous\\nscheme\\nAlas my efforts made in vain\\nMight well have saved this added\\npain.\\nBut now, bear witness earth and\\nheaven 830\\nThat ne er was hope to mortal\\ngiven\\nSo twisted with the strings of life\\nAs this to call Matilda wife\\nI bid it now forever part,\\nAnd with the effort bursts my\\nheart.\\nHis feeble frame was worn so\\nlow,\\nWith wounds, w T ith watching, and\\nwith woe\\nThat nature could no more sus-\\ntain\\nThe agony of mental pain.\\nHe kneeled\u00e2\u0080\u0094 his lip her hand had\\npressed, 840\\nJust then he felt the stern arrest.\\nLower and lower sunk his head,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThey raised him, but the life w r as\\nfled!\\nThen first alarmed his sire and\\ntrain\\nTried every aid, but tried in vain.\\nThe soul, too soft its ills to bear,\\nHad left our mortal hemisphere,\\nAnd sought in better world the\\nmeed\\nTo blameless life by Heaven de-\\ncreed. 849\\nXXXI\\nThe wretched sire beheld aghast\\nWith Wilfrid all his projects past,\\nAll turned and centred on his\\nson,\\nOn Wilfrid all and he was gone.\\nAnd I am childless now r he said\\n1 Childless, through that relentless\\nmaid!\\nA lifetime s arts in vain essayed\\nAre bursting on their artist s head\\nHere lies my Wilfrid dead and\\nthere\\nComes hated Mortham for his heir,\\nEager to knit in happy band 860\\nWith Rokeby s heiress Redmond s\\nhand.\\nAnd shall their triumph soar o er\\nall\\nThe schemes deep-laid to work\\ntheir fall?\\nNo deeds w T hich prudence might\\nnot dare\\nAppall not vengeance and despair.\\nThe murderess weeps upon his\\nbier\\nI ll change to real that feigned\\ntear!\\nThey all shall share destruction s\\nshock\\nHo lead the captives to the block\\nBut ill his provost could divine 870\\nHis feelings, and forbore the sign.\\nSlave to the block or I or\\nthey\\nShall face the judgment-seat this\\nday!\\nXXXII\\nThe outmost crowd have heard a\\nsound\\nLike horse s hoof on hardened\\nground", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0403.jp2"}, "402": {"fulltext": "382\\nROKEBY\\nNearer it came, and yet more\\nnear,\\nThe very death s-men paused to\\nhear.\\nT is in the churchyard now the\\ntread\\nHath waked the dwelling of the\\ndead 879\\nFresh sod and old sepulchral stone\\nReturn the tramp in varied tone.\\nAll eyes upon the gateway hung,\\nWhen through the Gothic arch\\nthere sprung\\nA horseman armed at headlong\\nspeed\\nSable his cloak, his plume, his\\nsteed.\\nFire from the flinty floor was\\nspurned,\\nThe vaults unwonted clang re-\\nturned\\nOne instant s glance around he\\nthrew,\\nFrom saddlebow his pistol drew.\\nGrimly determined was his look\\nHis charger with the spurs he\\nstrook\u00e2\u0080\u0094 891\\nAll scattered backward as he\\ncame,\\nFor all knew Bertram Risingham\\nThree bounds that noble courser\\ngave;\\nThe first has reached the central\\nnave,\\nThe second cleared the chancel\\nwide,\\nThe third he was at Wycliffe s\\nside.\\nFull levelled at the baron s head,\\nRung the report the bullet\\nsped 899\\nAnd to his long account and last\\nWithout a groan dark Oswald past\\nAll was so quick that it might\\nseem\\nA flash of lightning or a dream.\\nXXXIII\\nWhile yet the smoke the deed\\nconceals,\\nBertram his ready charger wheels\\nBut floundered on the pavement-\\nfloor\\nThe steed and down the rider\\nbore,\\nAnd, bursting in the headlong\\nsway,\\nThe faithless saddle-girths gave\\nway.\\nT was while he toiled him to be\\nfreed, 910\\nAnd with the rein to raise the\\nsteed,\\nThat from amazement s iron trance\\nAll Wycliffe s soldiers waked at\\nonce.\\nSword, halberd, musket-butt, their\\nblows\\nHailed upon Bertram as he rose\\nA score of pikes with each a wound\\nBore down and pinned him to the\\nground\\nBut still his struggling force he\\nrears,\\nGainst hacking brands and stab.\\nbing spears,\\nThrice from assailants shook him\\nfree, 920\\nOnce gained his feet and twice his\\nknee.\\nBy tenfold odds oppressed at\\nlength,\\nDespite his struggles and his\\nstrength,\\nHe took a hundred mortal wounds\\nAs mute as fox mongst mangling\\nhounds;\\nAnd when he died his parting\\ngroan\\nHad more of laughter than of\\nmoan!\\nThey gazed as when a lion dies,\\nAnd hunters scarcely trust their\\neyes,\\nBut bend their weapons on the\\nslain 930\\nLest the grim king should rouse\\nagain\\nThen blow and insult some re-\\nnewed,\\nAnd from the trunk the head had\\nhewed,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0404.jp2"}, "403": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n383\\nBut Basil s voice the deed forbade\\nA mantle o er the corse he laid\\nFell as he was in act and mind,\\nHe left no bolder heart behind\\nThen give him, for a soldier meet\\nA soldier s cloak for winding\\nsheet.\\nxxxiv\\nNo more of death and dying\\npang, 940\\nNo more of trump and bugle clang,\\nThough through the sounding\\nwoods there come\\nBanner and bugle, trump and\\ndrum.\\nArmed with such powers as well\\nhad freed\\nYoung Redmond at his utmost\\nneed,\\nAnd backed with such a band of\\nhorse\\nAs might less ample powers en-\\nforce,\\nPossessed of every proof and sign\\nThat gave an heir to Mortbam s\\nline, 949\\nAnd yielded to a father s arms\\nAn image of his Edith s charms,\\nMortham is come, to hear and see\\nOf this strange morn the history.\\n^SYhat saw he? not the church s\\nfloor,\\nCumbered with dead and stained\\nwith gore\\nWhat heard he? not the clamor-\\nous crowd.\\nThat shout their gratulations\\nloud\\nRedmond he saw and heard alone,\\nClasped him and sobbed, My son\\nmy son\\nXXXV\\nThis chanced upon a summer\\nmorn, 96\u00c2\u00b0\\nWhen yellow waved the heavy\\ncorn:\\nBut when brown August o er the\\nland\\nCalled forth the reaper s busy\\nband,\\nA gladsome sight the sylvan road\\nFrom Eglistone to Mortham\\nshowed,\\nAwhile the hardy rustic leaves\\nThe task to bind and pile the\\nsheaves,\\nAnd maids their sickles fling aside\\nTo gaze on bridegroom and on\\nbride.\\nAnd childhood s wondering group\\ndraws near, 970\\nAnd from the gleaner s hands the\\near\\nDrops while she folds them for a\\nprayer\\nAnd blessing on the lovely pair.\\nTwas then the Maid of Rokeby\\ngave\\nHer plighted troth to Redmond\\nbrave\\nAnd Teesdale can remember yet\\nHow Fate to Virtue paid her\\ndebt.\\nAnd for their troubles bade them\\nprove\\nA lengthened life of peace and\\nlove.\\nTime and Tide had thus their\\nsway. 9S0\\nYielding, like an April day,\\nSmiling noon for sullen morrow,\\nYears of joy for hours of sorrow\\nI", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0405.jp2"}, "404": {"fulltext": "3\u00c2\u00a74\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nOR\\nTHE VALE OF SAINT JOHN\\nA LOVER S TALE\\nINTRODUCTION\\nCome, Lucy while t is morning\\nhour\\nThe woodland brook we needs\\nmust pass\\nSo ere the sun assume his power\\nWe shelter in our poplar bower,\\nWhere dew lies long upon the\\nflower,\\nThough vanished from the velvet\\ngrass.\\nCurbing the stream, this stony\\nridge\\nMay serve us for a sylvan bridge\\nFor here compelled to disunite,\\nRound petty isles the runnels\\nglide, 10\\nAnd chafing off their puny spite,\\nThe shallow murmurers waste\\ntheir might,\\nYielding to footstep free and\\nlight\\nA dry-shod pass from side to\\nside.\\nii\\nNay, why this hesitating pause?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd, Lucy, as thy step withdraws,\\nWhy sidelong eye the streamlet s\\nbrim?\\nTitania s foot without a slip,\\nLike thine, though timid, light,\\nand slim,\\nFrom stone to stone might safely\\ntrip, 20\\nNor risk the glow-worm clasp to\\ndip\\nThat binds her slipper s silken rim.\\nOr trust thy lover s strength nor\\nfear\\nThat this same stalwart arm of\\nmine,\\nWhich could yon oak s prone\\ntrunk uprear,\\nShall shrink beneath the burden\\ndear\\nOf form so slender, light, and\\nfine.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSo now, the danger dared at\\nlast,\\nLook back and smile at perils past\\nin\\nAnd now we reach the favorite\\nglade, 30\\nPaled in by copsewood, cliff, and\\nstone,\\nWhere never harsher sounds in-\\nvade\\nTo break affection s whispering\\ntone\\nThan the deep breeze that waves\\nthe shade,\\nThan the small brooklet s feeble\\nmoan.\\nCome! rest thee on thy wonted\\nseat\\nMossed is the stone, the turf is\\ngreen,\\nA place where lovers best may\\nmeet\\nWho would not that their love\\nbe seen.\\nThe boughs that dim the summer\\nsky 40\\nShall hide us from each lurking spy\\nThat fain would spread the in-\\nvidious tale,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0406.jp2"}, "405": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\n385\\nHow Lucy of the lofty eye,\\nToo oft when through the splen-\\nNoble in birth, in fortunes high,\\ndid hall, 70\\nShe for whom lords and barons\\nThe loadstar of each heart and\\nsigh,\\neye,\\nMeets her poor Arthur in the\\nMy fair one leads the glittering\\ndale.\\nball,\\nWill her stolen glance on Ar-\\nIV\\nthur fall\\nHow deep that blush how deep\\nWith such a blush and such a\\nthat sigh\\nsigh!\\nAnd why does Lucy shun mine\\nThou wouldst not yield for\\neye?\\nwealth or rank\\nIs it because that crimson draws\\nThe heart thy worth and\\nIts color from some secret\\nbeauty won,\\ncause, 50\\nNor leave me on this mossy\\nSome hidden movement of the\\nbank\\nbreast,\\nTo meet a rival on a throne\\nShe would not that her Arthur\\nWhy then should vain repfnings\\nguessed?\\nrise,\\n0, quicker far is lovers ken\\nThat to thy lover fate denies 80\\nThan the dull glance of common\\nA nobler name, a wide domain,\\nmen,\\nA baron s birth, a menial train,\\nAnd by strange sympathy can\\nSince Heaven assigned him for\\nspell\\nhis part\\nThe thoughts the loved one will\\nA lyre, a falchion, and a heart\\nnot tell\\nAnd mine in Lucy s blush saw met\\nVI\\nThe hue of pleasure and regret\\nMy sword its master must be\\nPride mingled in the sigh her\\ndumb;\\nvoice,\\nBut when a soldier names my\\nAnd shared with Love the\\nname,\\ncrimson glow, 60\\nApproach, my Lucy! fearless\\nWell pleased that thou art Ar-\\ncome,\\nthur s choice,\\nNor dread to hear of Arthur s\\nYet shamed thine own is\\nshame.\\nplaced so low\\nMy heart mid all yon courtly\\nThou turn st thy self -confessing\\ncrew\\ncheek,\\nOf lordly rank and lofty line, 90\\nAs if to meet the breezes cool-\\nIs there to love and honor true,\\ning;\\nThat boasts a pulse so warm\\nThen, Lucy, hear thy tutor\\nas mine\\nspeak,\\nThey praised thy diamonds lustre\\nFor Love too has his hours of\\nrare\\nschooling.\\nMatched with thine eyes, I\\nthought it faded\\nV\\nThey praised the pearls that bound\\nToo oft my anxious eye has spied\\nthy hair\\nThat secret grief thou fain\\nI only saw the locks they\\nwouldst hide,\\nbraided\\nThe passing pang of humbled\\nThey talked of wealthy dower and\\npride\\nland,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0407.jp2"}, "406": {"fulltext": "386\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nAnd titles of high birth the\\ntoken\\nI thought of Lucy s heart and\\nhand,\\nNor knew the sense of what was\\nspoken. ioo\\nAnd yet, if ranked in Fortune s\\nroll,\\nI might have learned their choice\\nunwise\\nWho rate the dower above the\\nsoul\\nAnd Lucy s diamonds o er her\\neyes.\\nVII\\nMy lyre it is an idle toy\\nThat borrows accents not its\\nown,\\nLike warbler of Colombian sky\\nThat sings but in a mimic tone.\\nNe er did it sound o er sainted\\nwell,\\nNor boasts it aught of Border\\nspell; no\\nIts strings no feudal slogan pour,\\nIts heroes draw no broad clay-\\nmore\\nNo shouting clans applauses raise\\nBecause it sung their fathers\\npraise\\nOn Scottish moor, or English down,\\nIt ne er was graced with fair re-\\nnown;\\nNor won best meed to minstrel\\ntrue\\nOne favoring smile from fair Buc-\\ncleuch!\\nBy one poor streamlet sounds its\\ntone,\\nAnd heard by one dear maid\\nalone. 120\\nVIII\\nBut, if thou bid st, these tones\\nshall tell\\nOf errant knight, and damoselle\\nOf the dread knot a wizard tied\\nIn punishment of maiden s pride,\\nIn notes of marvel and of fear\\nThat best may charm romantic\\near.\\nFor Lucy loves like Collins,\\nill-starred name\\nWhose lay s requital was that\\ntardy Fame,\\nWho bound no laurel round his\\nliving head,\\nShould hang it o er his monument\\nwhen dead, 130\\nFor Lucy loves to tread enchanted\\nstrand,\\nAnd thread like him the maze of\\nFairy-land\\nOf golden battlements to view the\\ngleam,\\nAnd slumber soft by some Elysian\\nstream\\nSuch lays she loves and, such\\nmy Lucy s choice,\\nWhat other song can claim her\\nPoet s voice\\nCANTO FIRST\\nWheee is the maiden of mortal\\nstrain\\nThat may match with the Baron\\nof Triermain\\nShe must be lovely and constant\\nand kind,\\nHoly and pure and humble of\\nmind,\\nBlithe of cheer and gentle of mood,\\nCourteous and generous and noble\\nof blood\\nLovely as the sun s first ray\\nWhen it breaks the clouds of an\\nApril day\\nConstant and true as the widowed\\ndove,\\nKind as a minstrel that sings of\\nlove 10\\nPure as the fountain in rocky cave\\nWhere never sunbeam kissed the\\nwave\\nHumble as maiden that loves in\\nvain,\\nHoly as hermit s vesper strain\\nGentle as breeze that but whispers\\nand dies,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0408.jp2"}, "407": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n387\\nYet blithe as the light leaves that\\ndance in its sighs\\nCourteous as monarch the morn he\\nis crowned,\\nGenerous as spring dews that\\nbless the glad ground\\nNoble her blood as the currents\\nthat met\\nIn the veins of the noblest Planta-\\ngenet 20\\nSuch must her form be, her mood,\\nand her strain,\\nThat shall match with Sir Roland\\nof Triermain.\\n11\\nSir Roland de Vaux he hath laid\\nhim to sleep,\\nHis blood it was fevered, his\\nbreathing was deep.\\nHe had been pricking against the\\nScot,\\nThe foray was long and the skir-\\nmish hot\\nHis dinted helm and his buckler s\\nplight\\nBore token of a stubborn fight.\\nAll in the castle must hold them\\nstill, 29\\nHarpers must lull him to his rest\\nWith the slow soft tunes he loves\\nthe best\\nTill sleep sink down upon his\\nbreast,\\nLike the dew on a summer hill.\\nin\\nIt was the dawn of an autumn\\nday;\\nThe sun was struggling with frost-\\nfog gray\\nThat like a silvery crape was\\nspread\\nRound Skiddaw s dim and distant\\nhead,\\nAnd faintly gleamed each painted\\npane\\nOf the lordly halls of Triermain,\\nWhen that baron bold awoke. 40\\nStarting he woke and loudly did\\ncall,\\nRousing his menials in bower and\\nhall\\nWhile hastily he spoke.\\nIV\\nHearken, my minstrels Which\\nof ye all\\nTouched his harp with that dying\\nfall,\\nSo sweet, so soft, so faint,\\nIt seemed an angel s whispered\\ncall\\nTo an expiring saint?\\nAnd hearken, my merry-men!\\nWhat time or where\\nDid she pass, that maid with her\\nheavenly brow, 50\\nWith her look so sweet and her\\neyes so fair,\\nAnd her graceful step and her an-\\ngel air,\\nAnd the eagle plume in her dark-\\nbrown hair,\\nThat passed from my bower e en\\nnow!\\nAnswered him Richard de Bret-\\nville he\\nWas chief of the baron s min-\\nstrelsy,\\n4 Silent, noble chieftain, we\\nHave sat since midnight close,\\nWhen such lulling sounds as the\\nbrooklet sings\\nMurmured from our melting\\nstrings, 60\\nAnd hushed you to repose.\\nHad a harp-note sounded here,\\nIt had caught my watchful ear,\\nAlthough it fell as faint and shy\\nAs bashful maiden s half-formed\\nsigh\\nWhen she thinks her lover near.\\nAnswered Philip of Fasthwaite\\ntall;\\nHe kept guard in the outer-hall,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\n1 Since at eve our watch took post,\\nNot a foot has thy portal crossed\\nElse had I heard the steps,\\nthough low 71", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0409.jp2"}, "408": {"fulltext": "3\u00c2\u00ab8\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nAnd light they fell as when earth\\nreceives\\nIn morn of frost the withered\\nleaves\\nThat drop when no winds blow.\\nVI\\n*Then come thou hither, Henry,\\nmy page,\\nWhom I saved from the sack of\\nHermitage,\\nWhen that dark castle, tower, and\\nspire,\\nHose to the skies a pile of fire,\\nAnd reddened all the Nine-stane\\nHill,\\nAnd the shrieks of death, that\\nwildly broke 80\\nThrough devouring flame and\\nsmothering smoke,\\nMade the warrior s heart-blood\\nchill.\\nThe trustiest thou of all my train,\\nMy fleetest courser thou must\\nrein,\\nAnd ride to Lyulph s tower,\\nAnd from the Baron of Triermain\\nGreet well that sage of power.\\nHe is sprung from Druid sires\\nAnd British bards that tuned their\\nlyres\\nTo Arthur s and Pendragon s\\npraise, 90\\nAnd his who sleeps at Dunmail-\\nraise.\\nGifted like his gifted race,\\nHe the characters can trace\\nGraven deep in elder time\\nUpon Hellvellyn s cliffs sublime;\\nSign and sigil well doth he know,\\nAnd can bode of weal and woe,\\nOf kingdoms fall and fate of wars,\\nFrom mystic dreams and course\\nof stars.\\nHe shall tell if middle earth 100\\nTo that enchanting shape gave\\nbirth,\\nOr if t was but an airy thing\\nSuch as fantastic slumbers bring,\\nFramed from the rainbow s vary-\\ning dyes\\nOr fading tints of western skies.\\nFor, by the blessed rood I swear,\\nIf that fair form breathe vital\\nair,\\nNo other maiden by my side\\nShall ever rest De Vaux s bride\\nVII\\nThe faithful page he mounts his\\nsteed, no\\nAnd soon he crossed green Irth-\\ning s mead,\\nDashed o er Kirkoswald s verdant\\nplain,\\nAnd Eden barred his course in\\nvain.\\nHe passed red Penrith s Table\\nKound,\\nFor feats of chivalry renowned,\\nLeft Mayburgh s mound and\\nstones of power,\\nBy Druids raised in magic hour,\\nAnd traced the Eamont s winding\\nway n8\\nTill Ulfo s lake beneath him lay.\\nVIII\\nOnward he rode, the pathway still\\nWinding betwixt the lake and hill\\nTill, on the fragment of a rock\\nStruck from its base by lightning\\nshock,\\nHe saw the hoary sage\\nThe silver moss and lichen twined,\\nWith fern and deer-hair checked\\nand lined,\\nA cushion fit for age\\nAnd o er him shook the aspen-tree,\\nA restless rustling canopy.\\nThen sprung young Henry from\\nhis selle 130\\nAnd greeted Lyulph grave,\\nAnd then his master s tale did\\ntell,\\nAnd then for counsel crave.\\nThe man of years mused long and\\ndeep,\\nOf time s lost treasures taking\\nkeep,\\nAnd then, as rousing from a sleep,\\nHis solemn answer gave.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0410.jp2"}, "409": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n389\\nIX\\n1 That maid is born of middle earth\\nAnd may of man be won,\\nThough there have glided since\\nher birth 140\\nFive hundred years and one.\\nBut where s the knight in all the\\nnorth,\\nThat dare the adventure follow\\nforth,\\nSo perilous to knightly worth,\\nIn the valley of Saint John\\nListen, youth, to what I tell,\\nAnd bind it on thy memory well\\nNor muse that I commence the\\nrhyme\\nFar distant mid the wrecks of\\ntime.\\nThe mystic tale by bard and sage\\nIs handed down from Merlin s\\nage. 151\\nLYULPH S TALE\\nKing Arthur has ridden from\\nmerry Carlisle\\nWhen Pentecost was o er\\nHe journeyed like errant-knight\\nthe while,\\nAnd sweetly the summer sun did\\nsmile\\nOn mountain, moss, and moor.\\nAbove his solitary track\\nRose Glaramara s ridgy back,\\nAmid whose yawning gulfs the sun\\nCast umbered radiance red and\\ndun, 160\\nThough never sunbeam could dis-\\ncern\\nThe surface of that sable tarn,\\nIn whose black mirror you may\\nspy\\nThe stars while noontide lights\\nthe sky.\\nThe gallant king he skirted still\\nThe margin of that mighty hill\\nRock upon rocks incumbent hung,\\nAnd torrents, down the gullies\\nflung,\\nJoined the rude river that brawled\\non,\\nRecoiling now from crag and\\nstone, 170\\nNow diving deep from human\\nken,\\nAnd raving down its darksome\\nglen.\\nThe monarch judged this desert\\nwild,\\nWith such romantic ruin piled,\\nWas theatre by Nature s hand\\nFor feat of high achievement\\nplanned.\\nXI\\n1 0, rather he chose, that monarch\\nbold,\\nOn venturous quest to ride\\nIn plate and mail by wood and\\nwold\\nThan, with ermine trapped and\\ncloth of gold, 180\\nIn princely bower to bide\\nThe bursting crash of a foeman s\\nspear,\\nAs it shivered against his mail,\\nWas merrier music to his ear\\nThan courtier s whispered tale\\nAnd the clash of Caliburn more\\ndear,\\nWhen on the hostile casque it\\nrung,\\nThan all the lays\\nTo the monarch s praise\\nThat the harpers of Reged sung.\\nHe loved better to rest by wood or\\nriver 191\\nThan in bower of his bride, Dame\\nGuenever,\\nFor he left that lady so lovely of\\ncheer\\nTo follow adventures of danger\\nand fear\\nAnd the frank-hearted monarch\\nfull little did wot\\nThat she smiled in his absence on\\nbrave Lancelot.\\nXII\\n1 He rode till over down and dell\\nThe shade more broad and deeper\\nfell;", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0411.jp2"}, "410": {"fulltext": "390\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nAnd though around the moun-\\ntain s head\\nFlowed streams of purple and gold\\nand red, 200\\nDark at the base, unblest by\\nbeam t\\nFrowned the black rocks and\\nroared the stream.\\nWith toil the king his way pur-\\nsued\\nBy lonely Threlkeld s waste and\\nwood,\\nTill on his course obliquely shone\\nThe narrow valley of Saint John,\\nDown sloping to the western sky\\nWhere lingering sunbeams love to\\nlie.\\nRight glad to feel those beams\\nagain,\\nThe king drew up his charger s\\nrein; 210\\nWith gauntlet raised he screened\\nhis sight,\\nAs dazzled with the level light,\\nAnd from beneath his glove of\\nmail\\nScanned at his ease the lovely\\nvale,\\nWhile gainst the sun his armor\\nbright\\nGleamed ruddy like the beacon s\\nlight.\\nXIII\\nPaled in by many a lofty hill,\\nThe narrow dale lay smooth and\\nstill,\\nAnd, down its verdant bosom led,\\nA winding brooklet found its\\nbed. 220\\nBut midmost of the vale a mound\\nArose with airy turrets crowned,\\nButtress, and rampire s circling\\nbound,\\nAnd mighty keep and tower;\\nSeemed some primeval giant s\\nhand\\nThe castle s massive walls had\\nplanned,\\nA ponderous bulwark to with-\\nstand\\nAmbitious Nimrod s power.\\nAbove the moated entrance slung,\\nThe balanced drawbridge trem-\\nbling hung, 230\\nAs jealous of a foe\\nWicket of oak, as iron hard,\\nWith iron studded, clenched, and\\nbarred,\\nAnd pronged portcullis, joined to\\nguard\\nThe gloomy pass below.\\nBut the gray walls no banners\\ncrowned,\\nUpon the watchtower s airy round\\nNo warder stood his horn to\\nsound,\\nNo guard beside the bridge was\\nfound,\\nAnd where the Gothic gateway\\nfrowned 240\\nGlanced neither bill nor bow.\\nXIV\\n1 Beneath the castle s gloomy pride,\\nIn ample round did Arthur ride\\nThree times nor living thing he\\nspied,\\nNor heard a living sound,\\nSave that, awakening from her\\ndream,\\nThe owlet now began to scream\\nIn concert with the rushing stream\\nThat washed the battled mound.\\nHe lighted from his goodly steed,\\nAnd he left him to graze on bank\\nand mead 251\\nAnd slowly he climbed the narrow\\nway\\nThat reached the entrance grim\\nand gray,\\nAnd he stood the outward arch\\nbelow,\\nAnd his bugle-horn prepared to\\nblow\\nIn summons blithe and bold,\\nDeeming to rouse from iron sleep\\nThe guardian of this dismal keep,\\nWhich well he guessed the hold\\nOf wizard stern, or goblin grim, 260\\nOr pagan of gigantic limb,\\nThe tyrant of the wold.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0412.jp2"}, "411": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n39i\\nxv\\nThe ivory bugle s golden tip\\nTwice touched the monarch s man-\\nly lip,\\nAnd twice his hand withdrew.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThink not but Arthur s heart was\\ngood!\\nHis shield was crossed by the\\nblessed rood\\nHad a pagan host before him\\nstood,\\nHe had charged them through\\nand through\\nYet the silence of that ancient\\nplace 270\\nSunk on his heart, and he paused\\na space\\nEre yet his horn he blew.\\nBut, instant as its larum rung,\\nThe castle gate was open flung,\\nPortcullis rose with crashing\\ngroan\\nFull harshly up its groove of\\nstone\\nThe balance-beams obeyed the\\nblast,\\nAnd down the trembling draw-\\nbridge cast\\nThe vaulted arch before him lay\\nWith naught to bar the gloomy\\nway, 280\\nAnd onward Arthur paced with\\nhand\\nOn Catiburn s resistless brand.\\nXVI\\n4 A hundred torches flashing\\nbright\\nDispelled at once the gloomy\\nnight\\nThat loured along the walls,\\nAnd showed the king s astonished\\nsight\\nThe inmates of the halls.\\nNor wizard stern, nor goblin grim,\\nNor giant huge of form and limb,\\nNor heathen knight, was there\\nBut the cressets which odors flung\\naloft 291\\nShowed by their yellow light and\\nsoft\\nA band of damsels fair.\\nOnward they came, like summer\\nwave\\nThat dances to the shore\\nAn hundred voices welcome gave,\\nAnd welcome o er and o er!\\nAn hundred lovely hands assail\\nThe bucklers of the monarch s\\nmail,\\nAnd busy labored to unhasp 300\\nRivet of steel and iron clasp.\\nOne w r rapped him in a mantle fair,\\nAnd one flung odors on his hair\\nHis short curled ringlets one\\nsmoothed down,\\nOne wreathed them with a myrtle\\ncrown.\\nA bride upon her wedding-day\\nWas tended ne er by troop so\\ngay.\\nXVII\\nLoud laughed they all, the king\\nin vain\\nWith questions tasked the giddy\\ntrain\\nLet him entreat or crave or call,\\nT was one reply loud laughed\\nthey all. 3 1 1\\nThen o er him mimic chains they\\nfling\\nFramed of the fairest flowers of\\nspring\\nWhile some their gentle force\\nunite\\nOnward to drag the wondering\\nknight,\\nSome bolder urge his pace with\\nblows,\\nDealt with the lily or the rose.\\nBehind him were in triumph borne\\nThe warlike arms he late had\\nworn. 3 19\\nFour of the train combined to rear\\nThe terrors of Tintadgel s spear\\nTwo, laughing at their lack of\\nstrength,\\nDragged Caliburn in cumbrous\\nlength\\nOne, while she aped a martial\\nstride,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0413.jp2"}, "412": {"fulltext": "392\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nPlaced on her brows the helmet s\\npride\\nThen screamed twixt laughter\\nand surprise\\nTo feel its depth o erwhelm her\\neyes.\\nWith revel- shout and triumph-\\nsong\\nThus gayly marched the giddy\\nthrong.\\nXVIII\\nThrough many a gallery and hall\\nThey led, I ween, their royal\\nthrall; 331\\nAt length, beneath a fair arcade\\nTheir march and song at once\\nthey staid.\\nThe eldest maiden of the band\\nThe lovely maid was scarce\\neighteen\\nRaised with imposing air her hand,\\nAnd reverent silence did com-\\nmand\\nOn entrance of their Queen,\\nAnd they were mute. But as a\\nglance\\nThey steal on Arthur s counte-\\nnance 340\\nBewildered with surprise,\\nTheir smothered mirth again gan\\nspeak\\nIn archly dimpled chin and cheek\\nAnd laughter-lighted eyes.\\nXIX\\nThe attributes of those high days\\nNow only live in minstrel-lays\\nFor Nature, now exhausted, still\\nWas then profuse of good and\\nill.\\nStrength was gigantic, valor high,\\nAnd wisdom soared beyond the\\nsky, 350\\nAnd beauty had such matchless\\nbeam\\nAs lights not now a lover s dream.\\nYet e en in that romantic age\\nNe er were such charms by\\nmortal seen\\nAs Arthur s dazzled eyes engage,\\nWhen forth on that enchanted\\nstage\\nWith glittering train of maid and\\npage\\nAdvanced the castle s queen\\nWhile up the hall she slowly\\npassed, 359\\nHer dark eye on the king she cast\\nThat flashed expression strong\\nThe longer dwelt that lingering\\nlook,\\nHer cheek the livelier color took,\\nAnd scarce the shame-faced king\\ncould brook\\nThe gaze that lasted long.\\nA sage who had that look espied,\\nWhere kindling passion strove\\nwith pride,\\nHad whispered, Prince, be-\\nware!\\nFrom the chafed tiger rend the\\nprey,\\nRush on the lion when at bay, 370\\nBar the fell dragon s blighted way,\\nBut shun that lovely snare\\nxx\\nAt once, that inward strife sup-\\npressed,\\nThe dame approached her warlike\\nguest,\\nWith greeting in that fair degree\\nWhere female pride and courtesy\\nAre blended with such passing art\\nAs awes at once and charms the\\nheart.\\nA courtly welcome first she gave,\\nThen of his goodness gan to crave\\nConstruction fair and true 381\\nOf her light maidens idle mirth,\\nWho drew from lonely glens their\\nbirth\\nNor knew to pay to stranger worth\\nAnd dignity their due\\nAnd then she prayed that he would\\nrest\\nThat night her castle s honored\\nguest.\\nThe monarch meetly thanks ex-\\npressed\\nThe banquet rose at her behest,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0414.jp2"}, "413": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n393\\nWith lay and tale, and laugh and\\njest, 390\\nApace the evening flew.\\nXXI\\nThe lady sate the monarch by,\\nNow in her turn abashed and\\nshy,\\nAnd with indifference seemed to\\nhear\\nThe toys he whispered in her\\near.\\nHer bearing modest was and fair,\\nYet shadows of constraint were\\nthere\\nThat showed an over-cautious care\\nSome inward thought to hide\\nOft did she pause in full reply, 400\\nAnd oft cast down her large dark\\neye,\\nOft checked the soft voluptuous\\nsigh\\nThat heaved her bosom s pride.\\nSlight symptoms these, but shep-\\nherds know\\nHow hot the mid-day sun shall\\nglow\\nFrom the mist of morning sky\\nAnd so the wily monarch guessed\\nThat this assumed restraint ex-\\npressed\\nMore ardent passions in the breast\\nThan ventured to the eye. 410\\nCloser he pressed while beakers\\nrang,\\nWhile maidens laughed and min-\\nstrels sang,\\nStill closer to her ear\\nBut why pursue the common tale\\nOr wherefore show how knights\\nprevail\\nWhen ladies dare to hear?\\nOr wherefore trace from what\\nslight cause\\nIts source one tyrant passion\\ndraws,\\nTill, mastering all within,\\nWhere lives the man that has not\\ntried 420\\nHow mirth can into folly glide\\nAnd folly into sin\\nCANTO SECOND\\nLYULPH S TALE CONTINUED\\nAnother day, another day,\\nAnd yet another, glides away\\nThe Saxon stern, the pagan Dane,\\nMaraud on Britain s shores again.\\nArthur, of Christendom the flower,\\nLies loitering in a lady s bower;\\nThe horn that foemen wont to fear\\nSounds but to wake the Cumbrian\\ndeer,\\nAnd Caliburn, the British pride,\\nHangs useless by a lover s side. 10\\n11\\nAnother day, another day,\\nAnd yet another, glides away.\\nHeroic plans in pleasure drowned,\\nHe thinks not of the Table Round\\nIn lawless love dissolved his life,\\nHe thinks not of his beauteous\\nwife\\nBetter he loves to snatch a flower\\nFrom bosom of his paramour\\nThan from a Saxon knight to wrest\\nThe honors of his heathen crest;\\nBetter to wreathe mid tresses\\nbrown 21\\nThe heron s plume her hawk struck\\ndown\\nThan o er the altar give to flow\\nThe banners of a Paynim foe.\\nThus week by week and day by\\nday\\nHis life inglorious glides away\\nBut she that soothes his dream\\nwith fear\\nBeholds his hour of waking near.\\nin\\nMuch force have mortal charms\\nto stay 29\\nOur pace in Virtue s toilsome way\\nBut Guendolen s might far out-\\nshine\\nEach maid of merely mortal line.\\nHer mother was of human birth,\\nHer sire a Genie of the earth,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0415.jp2"}, "414": {"fulltext": "394\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nIn days of old deemed to preside\\nO er lovers wiles and beauty s\\npride,\\nBy youths and virgins worshipped\\nlong\\nWith festive dance and choral\\nsong,\\nTill, when the cross to Britain\\ncame, 39\\nOn heathen altars died the flame.\\nNow, deep in Wastdale solitude,\\nThe downfall of his rights he rued,\\nAnd born of his resentment heir,\\nHe trained to guile that lady fair,\\nTo sink in slothful sin and shame\\nThe champions of the Christian\\nname.\\nWell skilled to keep vain thoughts\\nalive,\\nAnd all to promise, naught to give,\\nThe timid youth had hope in store,\\nThe bold and pressing gained no\\nmore. 50\\nAs wildered children leave their\\nhome\\nAfter the rainbow s arch to roam,\\nHer lovers bartered fair esteem,\\nFaith, fame, and honor, for a\\ndream.\\nIV\\nHer sire s soft arts the soul to\\ntame\\nShe practised thus till Arthur\\ncame;\\nThen frail humanity had part,\\nAnd all the mother claimed her\\nheart.\\nForgot each rule her father gave,\\nSunk from a princess to a slave, 60\\nToo late must Guendolen deplore,\\nHe that has all can hope no more\\nNow must she see her lover strain\\nAt every turn her feeble chain,\\nWatch to new-bind each knot and\\nshrink\\nTo view each fast-decaying link.\\nArt she invokes to Nature s aid,\\nHer vest to zone, her locks to braid\\nEach varied pleasure heard her\\ncall,\\nThe feast, the tourney, and the\\nball 70\\nHer storied lore she next applies,\\nTaxing her mind to aid her eyes\\nNow more than mortal wise and\\nthen\\nIn female softness sunk again\\nNow raptured with each wish com-\\nplying,\\nWith feigned reluctance now deny-\\ning;\\nEach charm she varied to retain\\nA varying heart and all in vain\\n1 Thus in the garden s narrow\\nbound\\nFlanked by some castle s Gothic\\nround, 80\\nFain would the artist s skill pro-\\nvide\\nThe limits of his realms to hide.\\nThe walks in labyrinths he twines,\\nShade after shade with skill com-\\nbines\\nWith many a varied flowery knot\\nAnd copse and arbor decks the\\nspot,\\nTempting the hasty foot to stay\\nAnd linger on the lovely way\\nVain art vain hope t is fruitless\\nall!\\nAt length we reach the bounding\\nwall, 90\\nAnd, sick of flower and trim-\\ndressed tree,\\nLong for rough glades and forest\\nfree.\\nVI\\n1 Three summer months had scantly\\nflown\\nWhen Arthur in embarrassed\\ntone\\nSpoke of his liegemen and his\\nthrone\\nSaid all too long had been his stay,\\nAnd duties which a monarch sway,\\nDuties unknown to humbler men,\\nMust tear her knight from Guen-\\ndolen.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0416.jp2"}, "415": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n395\\nShe listened silently the while, ioo\\nHer mood expressed in bitter\\nsmile\\nBeneath her eye must Arthur\\nquail\\nAnd oft resume the unfinished\\ntale,\\nConfessing by his downcast eye\\nThe wrong he sought to*justify.\\nHe ceased. A moment mute she\\ngazed,\\nAnd then her looks to heaven she\\nraised\\nOne palm her temples veiled to\\nhide\\nThe tear that sprung in spite of\\npride 109\\nThe other for an instant pressed\\nThe foldings of her silken vest\\nVII\\n1 At her reproachful sign and look,\\nThe hint the monarch s conscience\\ntook.\\nEager he spoke No, lady, no\\nDeem not of British Arthur so,\\nNor think he can deserter prove\\nTo the dear pledge of mutual love.\\nI swear by sceptre and by sword,\\nAs belted knight and Britain s\\nlord, 119\\nThat if a boy shall claim my care,\\nThat boy is born a kingdom s heir\\nBut, if a maiden Fate allows,\\nTo choose that mate a fitting\\nspouse,\\nA summer-day in lists shall strive\\nMy knights the bravest knights\\nalive\\nAnd he, the best and bravest tried,\\nShall Arthur s daughter claim for\\nbride.\\nHe spoke with voice resolved and\\nhigh\\nThe lady deigned him not reply.\\nVIII\\n4 At dawn of morn ere on the\\nbrake 130\\nHis matins did a warbler make\\nOr stirred his wing to brush away\\nA single dewdrop from the spray,\\nEre yet a sunbeam through the\\nmist\\nThe castle-battlements had kissed,\\nThe gates revolve, the drawbridge\\nfalls,\\nAnd Arthur sallies from the walls.\\nDoffed his soft garb of Persia s\\nloom,\\nAnd steel from spur to helmet\\nplume,\\nHis Lybian steed full proudly\\ntrode, 140\\nAnd joyful neighed beneath his\\nload.\\nThe monarch gave a passing sigh\\nTo penitence and pleasures by,\\nWhen, lo to his astonished ken\\nAppeared the form of Guendolen.\\nIX\\nBeyond the outmost wall she\\nstood,\\nAttired like huntress of the wood\\nSandalled her feet, her ankles\\nbare,\\nAnd eagle plumage decked her\\nhair\\nFirm was her look, her bearing\\nbold, 150\\nAnd in her hand a cup of gold.\\nThou goest she said, and\\nne er again\\nMust we two meet in joy or pain.\\nFull fain would I this hour delay,\\nThough weak the wish yet wilt\\nthou stay\\nNo! thou look st forward. Still\\nattend,\\nPart we like lover and like friend.\\nShe raised the cup Not this the\\njuice\\nThe sluggish vines of earth pro-\\nduce;\\nPledge we at parting in the\\ndraught 160\\nWhich Genii love she said\\nand quaffed\\nAnd strange unwonted lustres fly\\nFrom her flushed cheek and spar-\\nkling eye.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0417.jp2"}, "416": {"fulltext": "39^\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nThe courteous monarch bent him\\nlow\\nAnd, stooping down from saddle-\\nbow,\\nLifted the cup in act to drink.\\nA drop escaped the goblet s\\nbrink\\nIntense as liquid fire from hell,\\nUpon the charger s neck it fell.\\nScreaming with agony and fright,\\nHe bolted twenty feet upright\\nThe peasant still can show the\\ndint 172\\nWhere his hoofs lighted on the\\nflint.\\nFrom Arthur s hand the goblet\\nflew,\\nScattering a shower of fiery dew\\nThat burned and blighted where\\nit fell\\nThe frantic steed rushed up the\\ndell,\\nAs whistles from the bow the\\nreed;\\nNor bit nor rein could check his\\nspeed\\nUntil he gained the hill 180\\nThen breath and sinew failed\\napace,\\nAnd, reeling from the desperate\\nrace,\\nHe stood exhausted, still.\\nThe monarch, breathless and\\namazed,\\nBack on the fatal castle gazed\\nNor tower nor donjon could he\\nspy,\\nDarkening against the morning\\nsky;\\nBut on the spot where once they\\nfrowned\\nThe lonely streamlet brawled\\naround\\nA tufted knoll, where dimly shone\\nFragments of rock and rifted\\nstone. 191\\nMusing on this strange hap the\\nwhile,\\nThe king wends back to fair Car-\\nlisle\\nAnd cares that cumber royal sway\\nWore memory of the past away.\\nXI\\n1 Full fifteen years and more were\\nsped,\\nEach brought new wreaths to\\nArthur s head.\\nTwelve bloody fields with glory\\nfought\\nThe Saxons to subjection brought\\nRython, the mighty giant, slain 200\\nBy his good brand, relieved Bre-\\ntagne\\nThe Pictish Gillamore in fight\\nAnd Roman Lucius owned his\\nmight\\nAnd wide were through the world\\nrenowned\\nThe glories of his Table Round.\\nEach knight who sought adven-\\nturous fame\\nTo the bold court of Britain came,\\nAnd all who suffered causeless\\nwrong,\\nFrom tyrant proud or faitour\\nstrong,\\nSought Arthur s presence to com-\\nplain, 210\\nNor there for aid implored in vain.\\nXII\\n1 For this the king with pomp and\\npride\\nHeld solemn court at Whitsun-\\ntide,\\nAnd summoned prince and peer,\\nAll who owed homage for their\\nland,\\nOr who craved knighthood from\\nhis hand,\\nOr who had succour to demand,\\nTo come from far and near.\\nAt such high tide were glee and\\ngame\\nMingled with feats of martial\\nfame, 220\\nFor many a stranger champion\\ncame\\nIn lists to break a spear\\nAnd not a knight of Arthur s host,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0418.jp2"}, "417": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n397\\nSave that he trode some foreign\\ncoast,\\nBut at this feast of Pentecost\\nBefore him must appear.\\nAh, minstrels when the Table\\nRound\\nArose with all its warriors\\ncrowned,\\nThere was a theme for bards to\\nsound\\nIn triumph to their string 230\\nFive hundred years are past and\\ngone,\\nBut time shall draw his dying\\ngroan\\nEre he behold the British throne\\nBegirt with such a ring\\nXIII\\n1 The heralds named the appointed\\nspot,\\nAs Caerleon or Camelot,\\nOr Carlisle fair and free.\\nAt Penrith now the feast was set,\\nAnd in fair Eamont s vale were\\nmet\\nThe flower of chivalry. 240\\nThere Galahad sate with manly\\ngrace,\\nYet maiden meekness in his face\\nThere Morolt of the iron mace,\\nAnd love-lorn Tristrem there\\nAnd Dinadam with lively glance,\\nAnd Lanval with the fairy lance,\\nAnd Mordred with his look\\naskance,\\nBrunor and Bevidere.\\nWhy should I tell of numbers\\nmore?\\nSir Cay, Sir Bannier, and Sir\\nBore, 250\\nSir Carodac the keen,\\nThe gentle Gawain s courteous\\nlore,\\nHector de Mares and Pellinore,\\nAnd Lancelot, that evermore\\nLooked stolen-wise on the queen.\\nxrv\\nWhen wine and mirth did most\\nabound\\nAnd harpers played their blithest\\nround,\\nA shrilly trumpet shook the\\nground\\nAnd marshals cleared the ring\\nA maiden on a palfrey white, 260\\nHeading a band of damsels bright,\\nPaced through the circle to alight\\nAnd kneel before the king.\\nArthur with strong emotion saw\\nHer graceful boldness checked by\\nawe,\\nHer dress like huntress of the\\nwold,\\nHer bow and baldric trapped with\\ngold,\\nHer sandalled feet, her ankles\\nbare,\\nAnd the eagle-plume that decked\\nher hair.\\nGraceful her veil she backward\\nflung 270\\nThe king, as from his seat he\\nsprung,\\nAlmost cried, Guendolen\\nBut t was a face more frank and\\nwild,\\nBetwixt the woman and the child,\\nWhere less of magic beauty smiled\\nThan of the race of men\\nAnd in the forehead s haughty\\ngrace\\nThe lines of Britain s royal race,\\nPendragon s you might ken.\\nxv\\nFaltering, yet gracefully she\\nsaid 280\\nGreat Prince behold an orphan\\nmaid,\\nIn her departed mother s name,\\nA father s vowed protection claim\\nThe vow was sworn in desert\\nlone\\nIn the deep valley of Saint John.\\nAt once the king the suppliant\\nraised,\\nAnd kissed her brow, her beauty\\npraised\\nHis vow, he said, should well be\\nkept,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0419.jp2"}, "418": {"fulltext": "398\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nEre in the sea the sun was\\ndipped,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThen conscious glanced upon his\\nqueen: 290\\nBut she, unruffled at the scene\\nOf human frailty construed mild,\\nLooked upon Lancelot and smiled.\\nXVI\\nUp up each knight of gallant\\ncrest\\nTake buckler, spear, and brand\\nHe that to-day shall bear him best\\nShall win my Gyneth s hand.\\nAnd Arthur s daughter when a\\nbride\\nShall bring a noble dower,\\nBoth fair Strath-Clyde and Reged\\nwide, 300\\nAnd Carlisle town and tower.\\nThen might you hear each valiant\\nknight\\nTo page and squire that cried,\\nBring my armor bright and my\\ncourser wight\\nT is not each day that a warrior s\\nmight\\nMay win a royal bride.\\nThen cloaks and caps of mainte-\\nnance\\nIn haste aside they fling\\nThe helmets glance and gleams\\nthe lance,\\nAnd the steel-weaved hauberks\\nring. 310\\nSmall care had they of their peace-\\nful array,\\nThey might gather it that wolde\\nFor brake and bramble glittered\\ngay\\nWith pearls and cloth of gold.\\nXVII\\nWithin trumpet sound of the Ta-\\nble Round,\\nWere fifty champions free,\\nAnd they all arise to fight that\\nprize,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThey all arise but three.\\nNor love s fond troth nor wedlock s\\noath\\nOne gallant could withhold, 320\\nFor priests will allow of a broken\\nvow\\nFor penance or for gold.\\nBut sigh and glance from ladies\\nbright\\nAmong the troop were thrown,\\nTo plead their right and true-love\\nplight,\\nAnd plain of honor flown.\\nThe knights they busied them so\\nfast\\nWith buckling spur and belt\\nThat sigh and look by ladies cast\\nWere neither seen nor felt. 330\\nFrom pleading or upbraiding\\nglance\\nEach gallant turns aside,\\nAnd only thought, If speeds my\\nlance,\\nA queen becomes my bride\\nShe has fair Strath-Clyde and\\nReged wide,\\nAnd Carlisle tower and town\\nShe is the loveliest maid, beside,\\nThat ever heired a crown.\\nSo in haste their coursers they be-\\nstride\\nAnd strike their visors down. 340\\nXVIII\\nThe champions, armed in martial\\nsort,\\nHave thronged into the list,\\nAnd but three knights of Arthur s\\ncourt\\nAre from the tourney missed.\\nAnd still these lovers fame sur-\\nvives\\nFor faith so constant shown,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThere were two who loved their\\nneighbors wives,\\nAnd one who loved his own.\\nThe first was Lancelot de Lac,\\nThe second Tristrem bold, 350\\nThe third was valiant Carodac,\\nWho won the cup of gold,\\nWhat time, of all King Arthur s\\ncrew\\nThereof came jeer and laugh\\nHe, as the mate of lady true,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0420.jp2"}, "419": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n399\\nAlone the cup could quaff.\\nThough envy s tongue would fain\\nsurmise\\nThat, but for very shame,\\nSir Carodac to fight that prize\\nHad given both cup and dame,\\nYet, since but one of that fair\\ncourt 361\\nWas due to wedlock s shrine,\\nBrand him who will with base re-\\nport,\\nHe shall be free from mine.\\nXIX\\nNow caracoled the steeds in air,\\nNow plumes and pennons wan-\\ntoned fair,\\nAs all around the lists so wide\\nIn panoply the champions ride.\\nKing Arthur saw with startled\\neye\\nThe flower of chivalry march by,\\nThe bulwark of the Christian\\ncreed, 371\\nThe kingdom s shield in hour of\\nneed.\\nToo late he thought him of the woe\\nMight from their civil conflict flow\\nFor well he knew they would not\\npart\\nTill cold was many a gallant heart.\\nHis hasty vow he gan to rue,\\nAnd Gyneth then apart he drew\\nTo her his leading-staff resigned,\\nBut added caution grave and kind.\\nxx\\nThou see st, my child, as pro-\\nmise-bound, 381\\nI bid the trump for tourney sound.\\nTake thou my warder as the queen\\nAnd umpire of the martial scene\\nBut mark thou this as Beauty\\nbright\\nIs polar star to valiant knight,\\nAs at her word his sword he draws,\\nHis fairest guerdon her applause,\\nSo gentle maid should never ask\\nOf knighthood vain and dangerous\\ntask 390\\nAnd Beauty s eyes should ever be\\nLike the twin stars that soothe\\nthe sea,\\nAnd Beauty s breath should whis-\\nper peace\\nAnd bid the storm of battle cease.\\nI tell thee this lest all too far\\nThese knights urge tourney into\\nwar.\\nBlithe at the trumpet let them go,\\nAnd fairly counter blow for\\nblow;\\nNo striplings these, who succor\\nneed 399\\nFor a razed helm or falling steed.\\nBut, Gyneth, when the strife grows\\nwarm\\nAnd threatens death or deadly\\nharm,\\nThy sire entreats, thy king com-\\nmands,\\nThou drop the warder from thy\\nhands.\\nTrust, thou thy father with thy\\nfate,\\nDoubt not he choose thee fitting\\nmate;\\nNor be it said through Gyneth s\\npride\\nA rose of Arthur s chaplet died.\\nXXI\\nA proud and discontented glow\\nO ershadowed Gyneth s brow of\\nsnow 410\\nShe put the warder by,:\\nReserve thy boon, my liege, she\\nsaid,\\nThus chaffered down and limited,\\nDebased and narrowed for a maid\\nOf less degree than I.\\nNo petty chief but holds his heir\\nAt a more honored price and rare\\nThan Britain s King holds me\\nAlthough the sun-burned maid for\\ndower\\nHas but her father s rugged tower,\\nHis barren hill and lee. 421\\nKing Arthur swore, By crown\\nand sword,\\nAs belted knight and Britain s\\nlord,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0421.jp2"}, "420": {"fulltext": "400\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nThat a whole summer s day should\\nstrive\\nHis knights, the bravest knights\\nalive!\\nKecall thine oath! and to her\\nglen\\nPoor Gyneth can return agen\\nNot on thy daughter will the stain\\nThat soils thy sword and crown\\nremain.\\nBut think not she will e er be bride\\nSave to the bravest, proved and\\ntried; 431\\nPendragon s daughter will not fear\\nFor clashing sword or splintered\\nspear,\\nNor shrink though blood should\\nflow;\\nAnd all too well sad Guendolen\\nHath taught the faithlessness of\\nmen\\nThat child of hers should pity when\\nTheir meed they undergo.\\nXXII\\n1 He frowned and sighed, the mon-\\narch bold\\nI give what I may not with-\\nhold 440\\nFor, not for danger, dread, or\\ndeath,\\nMust British Arthur break his\\nfaith.\\nToo late I mark thy mother s art\\nHath taught thee this relentless\\npart.\\nI blame her not, for she had wrong,\\nBut not to these my faults be-\\nlong.\\nUse then the warder as thou wilt\\nBut trust me that, if life be spilt,\\nIn Arthur s love, in Arthur s\\ngrace,\\nGyneth shall lose a daughter s\\nplace. 450\\nWith that he turned his head\\naside,\\nNor brooked to gaze upon her\\npride,\\nAs with the truncheon raised she\\nsate\\nThe arbitress of mortal fate\\nNor brooked to mark in ranks dis-\\nposed\\nHow the bold champions stood op-\\nposed,\\nFor shrill the trumpet-flourish fell\\nUpon his ear like passing bell\\nThen first from sight of martial\\nfray\\nDid Britain s hero turn away. 460\\nXXIII\\n1 But Gyneth heard the clangor\\nhigh\\nAs hears the hawk the partridge\\ncry.\\n0, blame her not the blood was\\nhers\\nThat at the trumpet s summons\\nstirs\\nAnd e en the gentlest female eye\\nMight the brave strife of chivalry\\nAwhile untroubled view\\nSo well accomplished was each\\nknight\\nTo strike and to defend in fight,\\nTheir meeting was a goodly sight\\nWhile plate and mail held true.\\nThe lists with painted plumes were\\nstrown, 472\\nUpon the wind at random thrown,\\nBut helm and breastplate bloodless\\nshone,\\nIt seemed their feathered crests\\nalone\\nShould this encounter rue.\\nAnd ever, as the combat grows,\\nThe trumpet s cheery voice arose,\\nLike lark s shrill song the flourish\\nflows,\\nHeard while the gale of April\\nblows 480\\nThe merry greenwood through.\\nxxrv\\nBut soon to earnest grew their\\ngame,\\nThe spears drew blood, the swords\\nstruck flame,\\nAnd, horse and man, to ground\\nthere came", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0422.jp2"}, "421": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n401\\nKnights who shall rise no\\nmore\\nGone was the pride the war that\\ngraced,\\nGay shields were cleft and crests\\ndefaced,\\nAnd steel coats riven and helms\\nunbraced,\\nAnd pennons streamed with\\ngore.\\nGone too were fence and fair ar-\\nray, 490\\nAnd desperate strength made\\ndeadly way\\nAt random through the bloody\\nfray,\\nAnd blows were dealt with head-\\nlong sway,\\nUnheeding where they fell\\nAnd now the trumpet s clamors\\nseem\\nLike the shrill sea-bird s wailing\\nscream\\nHeard o er the whirlpool s gulfing\\nstream,\\nThe sinking seaman s knell!\\nXXV\\nSeemed in this dismal hour that\\nFate\\nWould Camlan s ruin antedate, 500\\nAnd spare dark Mordred s crime\\nAlready gasping on the ground\\nLie twenty of the Table Round,\\nOf chivalry the prime.\\nArthur in anguish tore away\\nFrom head and beard his tresses\\ngray,\\nAnd she, proud Gyneth, felt dis-\\nmay\\nAnd quaked with ruth and fear\\nBut still she deemed her mother s\\nshade\\nHung o er the tumult, and for-\\nbade 510\\nThe sign that had the slaughter\\nstaid,\\nAnd chid the rising tear.\\nThen Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell,\\nHelias the White, and Lionel,\\nAnd many a champion more\\nRochement and Dinadam are\\ndown,\\nAnd Ferrand of the Forest Brown\\nLies gasping in his gore.\\nVanoc, by mighty Morolt pressed\\nEven to the confines of the list, 520\\nYoung Vanoc of the beardless\\nface\\nFame spoke the youth of Merlin s\\nrace\\nO erpowered at Gyneth s footstool\\nbled,\\nHis heart s-blood dyed her sandals\\nred.\\nBut then the sky was overcast,\\nThen howled at once a whirlwind s\\nblast,\\nAnd, rent by sudden throes,\\nYawned in mid lists the quaking\\nearth,\\nAnd from the gulf tremendous\\nbirth!\\nThe form of Merlin rose. 530\\nXXVI\\nSternly the Wizard Prophet eyed\\nThe dreary lists with slaughter\\ndyed,\\nAnd sternly raised his hand\\nMadmen, he said, your strife\\nforbear\\nAnd thou, fair cause of mischief,\\nhear\\nThe doom thy fates demand\\nLong shall close in stony sleep\\nEyes for ruth that would not weep;\\nIron lethargy shall seal 539\\nHeart that pity scorned to feel.\\nYet, because thy mother s art\\nWarped thine unsuspicious heart,\\nAnd for love of Arthur s race\\nPunishment is blent with grace,\\nThou shalt bear thy penance lone\\nIn the valley of Saint John,\\nAnd this weird shall overtake\\nthee\\nSleep until a knight shall wake\\nthee,\\nFor feats of arms as far renowned\\nAs warrior of the Table Round.\\nLong endurance of thy slumber", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0423.jp2"}, "422": {"fulltext": "402\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nWell may teach the world to\\nnumber 552\\nAll their woes from Gyneth s\\npride,\\nWhen the Eed Cross champions\\ndied.\\nXXVII\\n*As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth s\\neye\\nSlumber s load begins to lie\\nFear and anger vainly strive\\nStill to keep its light alive.\\nTwice with effort and with pause\\nO er her brow her hand she\\ndraws 560\\nTwice her strength in vain she\\ntries\\nFrom the fatal chair to rise\\nMerlin s magic doom is spoken,\\nVanoc s death must now be wro-\\nken.\\nSlow the dark-fringed eyelids fall,\\nCurtaining each azure ball,\\nSlowly as on summer eves\\nViolets fold their dusky leaves.\\nThe weighty baton of command\\nNow bears down her sinking\\nhand, 570\\nOn her shoulder droops her head\\nNet of pearl and golden thread\\nBursting gave her locks to flow\\nO er her arm and breast of snow.\\nAnd so lovely seemed she there,\\nSpell-bound in her ivory chair,\\nThat her angry sire repenting\\nCraved stern Merlin for relenting,\\nAnd the champions for her sake\\nWould again the contest wake 580\\nTill in necromantic night\\nGyneth vanished from their sight.\\nXXVIII\\nStill she bears her weird alone\\nIn the Valley of Saint John\\nAnd her semblance oft will seem,\\nMingling in a champion s dream,\\nOf her weary lot to plain\\nAnd crave his aid to burst her\\nchain.\\nWhile her wondrous tale was new\\nWarriors to her rescue drew, 590\\nEast and west,and south and north,\\nFrom the Liffy, Thames, and\\nForth.\\nMost have sought in vain the glen,\\nTower nor castle could they ken\\nNot at every time or tide,\\nNor by every eye, descried.\\nFast and vigil must be borne,\\nMany a night in watching worn,\\nEre an eye of mortal powers\\nCan discern those magic towers.\\nOf the persevering few 601\\nSome from hopeless task with-\\ndrew\\nWhen they read the dismal threat\\nGraved upon the gloomy gate.\\nFew have braved the yawning\\ndoor,\\nAnd those few returned no more.\\nIn the lapse of time forgot,\\nWellnigh lost is Gyneth s lot;\\nSound her sleep as in the tomb\\nTill wakened by the trump of\\ndoom. 610\\nEND OF LYULPH S TALE\\nHere pause, my tale for all too\\nsoon,\\nMy Lucy, comes the hour of noon.\\nAlready from thy lofty dome\\nIts courtly inmates gin to roam,\\nAnd each, to kill the goodly day\\nThat God has granted them, his\\nway\\nOf lazy sauntering has sought\\nLordlings and witlings not a\\nfew,\\nIncapable of doing aught,\\nYet ill at ease with naught to\\ndo. 620\\nHere is no longer place for me\\nFor, Lucy, thou wouldst blush to\\nsee\\nSome phantom fashionably thin,\\nWith limb of lath and kerchiefed\\nchin\\nAnd lounging gape or sneering\\ngrin,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0424.jp2"}, "423": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n403\\nSteal sudden on our privacy.\\nAnd how should I, so humbly\\nhorn,\\nEndure the graceful spectre s\\nscorn\\nFaith ill, I fear, while conjuring\\nwand 629\\nOf English oak is hard at hand.\\n11\\nOr grant the hour be all too soon\\nFor Hessian boot and pantaloon,\\nAnd grant the lounger seldom\\nstrays\\nBeyond the smooth and gravelled\\nmaze,\\nLaud we the gods that Fashion s\\ntrain\\nHolds hearts of more adventurous\\nstrain.\\nArtists are hers who scorn to\\ntrace\\nTheir rules from Nature s bound-\\nless grace,\\nBut their right paramount assert\\nTo limit her by pedant art, 640\\nDamning whate er of vast and fair\\nExceeds a canvas three feet\\nsquare.\\nThis thicket, for their gumption\\nfit,\\nMay furnish such a happy bit.\\nBards too are hers, wont to recite\\nTheir own sw r eet lays by waxen\\nlight.\\nHalf in the salver s tingle drowned,\\nWhile the chasse-cafe glides\\naround\\nAnd such may hither secret stray\\nTo labor an extempore 650\\nOr sportsman with his boisterous\\nhollo\\nMay here his wiser spaniel follow,\\nOr stage-struck Juliet may pre-\\nsume\\nTo choose this bower for tiring-\\nroom\\nAnd we alike must shun regard\\nFrom painter, player, sportsman,\\nbard.\\nInsects that skim in fashion s sky,\\nWasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly,\\nLucy, have all alarms for us, 659\\nFor all can hum and all can buzz.\\nin\\nBut 0, my Lucy, say how long\\nWe still must dread this trifling\\nthrong,\\nAnd stoop to hide with coward art\\nThe genuine feelings of the heart\\nNo parents thine whose just com-\\nmand\\nShould rule their child s obedient\\nhand;\\nThy guardians with contending\\nvoice\\nPress each his individual choice.\\nAnd which is Lucy s Can it be\\nThat puny fop, trimmed cap-a-\\npie, 670\\nWho loves in the saloon to show\\nThe arms that never knew a foe\\nWhose sabre trails along the\\nground,\\nWhose legs in shapeless boots are\\ndrowned\\nA new Achilles, sure the steel\\nFled from his breast to fence his\\nheel;\\nOne, for the simple manly grace\\nThat wont to deck our martial\\nrace, 678\\nWho comes in foreign trashery\\nOf tinkling chain and spur,\\nA walking haberdashery\\nOf feathers, lace, and fur\\nIn Rowley s antiquated phrase,\\nHorse-milliner of modern days\\nIV\\nOr is it he, the wordy youth,\\nSo early trained for states-\\nman s part,\\nWho talks of honor, faith and\\ntruth,\\nAs themes that he has got by\\nheart\\nWhose ethics Chesterfield can\\nteach,\\nWhose logic is from Single\\nspeech 690", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0425.jp2"}, "424": {"fulltext": "404\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nWho scorns the meanest thought\\nto vent\\nSave in the phrase of Parliament\\nWho, in a tale of cat and mouse,\\nCalls order, and divides the\\nhouse.\\nWho craves permission to reply,\\nWhose noble friend is in his eye\\nWhose loving tender some have\\nreckoned\\nA motion you should gladly\\nsecond\\nv\\nWhat, neither? Can there be a\\nthird,\\nTo such resistless swains pre-\\nferred? 700\\nO why, my Lucy, turn aside\\nWith that quick glance of injured\\npride\\nForgive me, love, I cannot bear\\nThat altered and resentful air.\\nWere all the wealth of Eussel\\nmine\\nAnd all the rank of Howard s\\nline,\\nAll would I give for leave to dry\\nThat dewdrop trembling in thine\\neye.\\nThink not I fear such fops can\\nwile\\nFrom Lucy more than careless\\nsmile; 710\\nBut yet if wealth and high de-\\ngree\\nGive gilded counters currency,\\nMust I not fear when rank and\\nbirth\\nStamp the pure ore of genuine\\nworth\\nNobles there are whose martial\\nfires\\nRival the fame that raised their\\nsires,\\nAnd patriots, skilled through\\nstorms of fate\\nTo guide and guard the reeling\\nstate.\\nSuch, such there are. If such\\nshould come, 719\\nArthur must tremble and be dumb,\\nSelf -exiled seek some distant\\nshore,\\nAnd mourn till life and grief are\\no er.\\nVI\\nWhat sight, what signal of alarm,\\nThat Lucy clings to Arthur s arm\\nOr is it that the rugged way\\nMakes Beauty lean on lover s\\nstay?\\nO, no for on the vale and brake\\nNor sight nor sounds of danger\\nwake,\\nAnd this trim sward of velvet\\ngreen\\nWere carpet for the Fairy Queen.\\nThat pressure slight was but to\\ntell 73 x\\nThat Lucy loves her Arthur well,\\nAnd fain would banish from his\\nmind\\nSuspicious fear and doubt unkind.\\nVII\\nBut wouldst thou bid the demons\\nfly\\nLike mist before the dawning\\nsky,\\nThere is but one resistless spell\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSay, wilt thou guess or must I\\ntell?\\nTwere hard to name in minstrel\\nphrase 739\\nA landaulet and four blood-bays,\\nBut bards agree this wizard band\\nCan but be bound in Northern\\nland.\\nTis there nay, draw not back\\nthy hand\\nTis there this slender finger\\nround\\nMust golden amulet be bound,\\nWhich, blessed with many a holy\\nprayer,\\nCan change to rapture lovers\\ncare,\\nAnd doubt and jealousy shall\\ndie,\\nAnd fears give place to ecstasy.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0426.jp2"}, "425": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n405\\nVIII\\nNow, trust me, Lucy, all too long,\\nHas been thy lover s tale and\\nsong. 751\\n0, why so silent, love, I pray\\nHave I not spoke the livelong day\\nAnd will not Lucy deign to say\\nOne word her friend to bless\\nI ask but one a simple sound,\\nWithin three little letters bound\\nO, let the word be YES\\nCANTO THIRD\\nINTRODUCTION\\nLong loved, long wooed, and lately\\nwon,\\nMy life s best hope, and now mine\\nown!\\nDoth not this rude and Alpine glen\\nRecall our favorite haunts agen\\nA wild resemblance we can trace,\\nThough reft of every softer grace,\\nAs the rough warrior s brow may\\nbear\\nA likeness to a sister fair.\\nFull well advised our Highland\\nhost\\nThat this wild pass on foot be\\ncrossed, 10\\nWhile round Ben-Cruach s mighty\\nbase\\nWheel the slow steeds and linger-\\ning chase.\\nThe keen old carle, with Scottish\\npride\\nHe praised his glen and mountains\\nwide;\\nAn eye he bears for nature s face,\\nAy, and for woman s lovely grace.\\nEven in such mean degree we find\\nThe subtle Scot s observing mind\\nFor nor the chariot nor the train\\nCould gape of vulgar wonder gain,\\nBut when old Allan would ex-\\npound 21\\nOf Beal-na-paish the Celtic sound,\\nHis bonnet doffed and.bow applied\\nHis legend to my bonny bride\\nWhile Lucy blushed beneath his\\neye,\\nCourteous and cautious, shrewd\\nand sly.\\n11\\nEnough of him. Now, ere we\\nlose,\\nPlunged in the vale, the distant\\nviews,\\nTurn thee, my love! look back\\nonce more 29\\nTo the blue lake s retiring shore.\\nOn its smooth breast the shadows\\nseem\\nLike objects in a morning dream,\\nWhat time the slumberer is aware\\nHe sleeps and all the vision s air\\nEven so on yonder liquid lawn,\\nIn hues of bright reflection drawn,\\nDistinct the shaggy mountains lie,\\nDistinct the rocks, distinct the sky\\nThe summer-clouds so plain we\\nnote\\nThat we might count each dappled\\nspot 40\\nWe gaze and we admire, yet know\\nThe scene is all delusive show.\\nSuch dreams of bliss would Arthur\\ndraw\\nWhen first his Lucy s form he saw,\\nYet sighed and sickened as he\\ndrew,\\nDespairing they could e er prove\\ntrue!\\nin\\nBut, Lucy, turn thee now to view\\nUp the fair glen our destined\\nway:\\nThe fairy path that we pursue, 49\\nDistinguished but by greener hue,\\nWinds round the purple brae,\\nWhile Alpine flowers of varied dye\\nFor carpet serve or tapestry.\\nSee how the little runnels leap\\nIn threads of silver down the steep\\nTo swell the brooklet s moan\\nSeems that the Highland Naiad\\ngrieves,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0427.jp2"}, "426": {"fulltext": "406\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nFantastic while her crown she\\nweaves\\nOf rowan, birch, and alder leaves,\\nSo lovely and so lone. 60\\nThere s no illusion there; these\\nflowers,\\nThat wailing brook, these lovely\\nbowers,\\nAre, Lucy, all our own\\nAnd, since thine Arthur called thee\\nwife,\\nSuch seems the prospect of his life,\\nA lovely path on-winding still\\nBy gurgling brook and sloping hill.\\nT is true that mortals cannot tell\\nWhat waits them in the distant\\ndell;\\nBut be it hap or be it harm, 70\\nWe tread the pathway arm in arm.\\nIV\\nAnd now, my Lucy, wot st thou\\nwhy\\nI could thy bidding twice deny,\\nWhen twice you prayed I would\\nagain\\nResume the legendary strain\\nOf the bold knight of Triermain\\nAt length yon peevish vow you\\nswore\\nThat you would sue to me no more,\\nUntil the minstrel fit drew near 79\\nAnd made me prize a listening ear.\\nBut, loveliest, when thou first didst\\npray\\nContinuance of the knightly lay,\\nWas it not on the happy day\\nThat made thy hand mine own\\nWhen, dizzied with mine ecstasy,\\nNaught past, or present, or to be,\\nCould I or think on, hear, or see,\\nSave, Lucy, thee alone\\nA giddy draught my rapture was\\nAs ever chemist s magic gas. 90\\nAgain the summons I denied\\nIn yon fair capital of Clyde\\nMy harp or let me rather choose\\nThe good old classic form my\\nMuse\\nFor harp s an over scutched\\nphrase,\\nWorn out by bards of modern\\ndays\\nMy Muse, then\u00e2\u0080\u0094 seldom will she\\nwake,\\nSave by dim wood and silent\\nlake\\nShe is the wild and rustic maid\\nWhose foot unsandalled loves to\\ntread 100\\nWhere the soft greensward is in-\\nlaid\\nWith varied moss and thyme\\nAnd, lest the simple lily-braid,\\nThat coronets her temples fade,\\nShe hides her still in greenwood\\nshade\\nTo meditate her rhyme.\\nVI\\nAnd now she comes The murmur\\ndear\\nOf the wild brook hath caught her\\near,\\nThe glade hath won her eye\\nShe longs to join with each blithe\\nrill no\\nThat dances down the Highland\\nhill\\nHer blither melody.\\nAnd now my Lucy s way to cheer\\nShe bids Ben-Cruach s echoes hear\\nHow closed the tale my love\\nwhilere\\nLoved for its chivalry.\\nList how she tells in notes of flame\\nChild Roland to the dark tower\\ncame\\nBewcastle now must keep the\\nhold,\\nSpeir-Adam s steeds must bide\\nin stall,\\nOf Hartley-burn the bowmen bold\\nMust only shoot from battled\\nwall;\\nAnd Liddesdale may buckle spur,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0428.jp2"}, "427": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n407\\nAnd Teviot now may belt the\\nbrand,\\nTarras and Ewes keep nightly stir,\\nAnd Eskdale foray Cumberland.\\nOf wasted fields and plundered\\nflocks\\nThe Borderers bootless may\\ncomplain; 10\\nThey lack the sword of brave De\\nVaux,\\nThere comes no aid from Trier-\\nmain.\\nThat lord on high adventure bound\\nHad wandered forth alone,\\nAnd day and night keeps watchful\\nround\\nIn the valley of Saint John.\\n11\\nWhen first began his vigil bold\\nThe moon twelve summer nights\\nwas old\\nAnd shone both fair and full\\nHigh in the vault of cloudless\\nblue, 20\\nO er streamlet, dale, and rock, she\\nthrew\\nHer light composed and cool.\\nStretched on the brown hill s\\nheathy breast,\\nSir Roland eyed the vale\\nChief where, distinguished from\\nthe rest,\\nThose clustering rocks upreared\\ntheir crest,\\nThe dwelling of the fair distressed,\\nAs told gray Lyulph s tale.\\nThus as he lay, the lamp of night\\nWas quivering on his armor\\nbright 30\\nIn beams that rose and fell,\\nAnd danced upon his buckler s\\nboss\\nThat lay beside him on the moss\\nAs on a crystal well.\\nin\\nEver he watched and oft he\\ndeemed,\\nWhile on the mound the moonlight\\nstreamed,\\nIt altered to his eyes\\nFain would he hope the rocks gan\\nchange\\nTo buttressed walls their shape-\\nless range,\\nFain think by transmutation\\nstrange 40\\nHe saw gray turrets rise.\\nBut scarce his heart with hope\\nthrobbed high\\nBefore the wild illusions fly\\nWhich fancy had conceived,\\nAbetted by an anxious eye\\nThat longed to be deceived.\\nIt was a fond deception all,\\nSuch as in solitary hall\\nBeguiles the musing eye 49\\nWhen, gazing on the sinking fire,\\nBulwark, and battlement, and\\nspire\\nIn the red gulf we spy.\\nFor, seen by moon of middle night,\\nOr by the blaze of noontide bright,\\nOr by the dawn of morning light,\\nOr evening s western flame,\\nIn every tide, at every hour,\\nIn mist, in sunshine, and in shower,\\nThe rocks remained the same.\\nIV\\nOft has he traced the charmed\\nmound, 60\\nOft climbed its crest or paced it\\nround,\\nYet nothing might explore.\\nSave that the crags so rudely piled,\\nAt distance seen, resemblance\\nwild\\nTo a rough fortress bore.\\nYet still his watch the warrior\\nkeeps,\\nFeeds hard and spare, and seldom\\nsleeps,\\nAnd drinks but of the well\\nEver by day he walks the hill, 69\\nAnd when the evening gale is chill\\nHe seeks a rocky cell,\\nLike hermit poor to bid his bead,\\nAnd tell his Ave and his Creed,\\nInvoking every saint at need\\nFor aid to burst his spell.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0429.jp2"}, "428": {"fulltext": "408\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nAnd now the moon her orb has hid\\nAnd dwindled to a silver thread,\\nDim seen in middle heaven,\\nWhile o er its curve careering fast\\nBefore the fury of the blast 80\\nThe midnight clouds are driven.\\nThe brooklet raved, for on the hills\\nThe upland showers had swoln the\\nrills\\nAnd down the torrents came\\nMuttered the distant thunder\\ndread,\\nAnd frequent o er the vale was\\nspread\\nA sheet of lightning flame.\\nDe Vaux within his mountain\\ncave\\nNo human step the storm durst\\nbrave\\nTo moody meditation gave 90\\nEach faculty of soul,\\nTill, lulled by distant torrent sound\\nAnd the sad winds that whistled\\nround,\\nUpon his thoughts in musing\\ndrowned\\nA broken slumber stole.\\nVI\\nTwas then was heard a heavy\\nsound\\nSound, strange and fearful there\\nto hear,\\nMongst desert hills where leagues\\naround\\nDwelt but the gorcock and the\\ndeer. 99\\nAs, starting from his couch of fern,\\nAgain he heard in clangor stern\\nThat deep and solemn swell,\\nTwelve times in measured tone it\\nspoke,\\nLike some proud minster s pealing\\nclock\\nOr city s larum-bell.\\nWhat thought was Roland s first\\nwhen fell\\nIn that deep wilderness the knell\\nUpon his startled ear\\nTo slander warrior were I loath,\\nYet must I hold my minstrel\\ntroth\u00e2\u0080\u0094 IIO\\nIt was a thought of fear.\\nVII\\nBut lively was the mingled thrill\\nThat chased that momentary chill,\\nFor Love s keen wish was there 1\\nAnd eager Hope, and Valor higb,\\nAnd the proud glow of Chivalry\\nThat burned to do and dare.\\nForth from the cave the warrior\\nrushed,\\nLong ere the mountain-voice was\\nhushed\\nThat answered to the knell 120\\nFor long and far the unwonted\\nsound,\\nEddying in echoes round and\\nround,\\nWas tossed from fell to fell\\nAnd Glaramara answer flung,\\nAnd Grisdale pike responsive\\nrung,\\nAnd Legbert heights their echoes\\nswung\\nAs far as Derwent s dell.\\nVIII\\nForth upon trackless darkness\\ngazed\\nThe knight, bedeafened and\\namazed.\\nTill all was hushed and still, 130\\nSave the swoln torrent s sullen\\nroar,\\nAnd the night -blast that wildly\\nbore\\nIts course along the hill.\\nThen on the northern sky there\\ncame\\nA light as of reflected flame,\\nAnd over Legbert-head,\\nAs if by magic art controlled,\\nA mighty meteor slowly rolled\\nIts orb of fiery red\\nThou wouldst have thought some\\ndemon dire 140\\nCame mounted on that car of fire\\nTo do his errand dread.\\nFar on the sloping valley s course,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0430.jp2"}, "429": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n409\\nOn thicket, rock, and torrent\\nhoarse,\\nShingle and Scrae, and Fell and\\nForce,\\nA dusky light arose\\nDisplayed, yet altered was the\\nscene\\nDark rock, and brook of silver\\nsheen,\\nEven the gay thicket s summer\\ngreen,\\nIn bloody tincture glows. 150\\nIX\\nDe Vaux had marked the sun-\\nbeams set\\nAt eve upon the coronet\\nOf that enchanted mound,\\nAnd seen but crags at random\\nflung,\\nThat, o er the brawling torrent\\nhung,\\nIn desolation frowned.\\nWhat sees he by that meteor s\\nlour?\\nA bannered castle, keep, and tower\\nKeturn the lurid gleam,\\nWith battled walls and buttress\\nfast, 160\\nAnd barbican and ballium vast,\\nAnd airy flanking towers that cast\\nTheir shadows on the stream.\\nT is no deceit! distinctly clear\\nCrenell and parapet appear,\\nWhile o er the pile that meteor\\ndrear\\nMakes momentary pause\\nThen forth its solemn path it drew,\\nAnd fainter yet and fainter grew\\nThose gloomy towers upon the\\nview, 170\\nAs its wild light withdraws.\\nForth from the cave did Eoland\\nrush,\\nO er crag and stream, through\\nbrier and bush\\nYet far he had not sped\\nEre sunk was that portentous light\\nBehind the hills and utter night\\nWas on the valley spread.\\nHe paused perforce and blew his\\nhorn,\\nAnd, on the mountain echoes\\nborne, 179\\nWas heard an answering sound,\\nA wild and lonely trumpet note,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nIn middle air it seemed to float\\nHigh o er the battled mound\\nAnd sounds were heard as when a\\nguard\\nOf some proud castle, holding\\nward,\\nPace forth their nightly round.\\nThe valiant Knight of Triermain\\nKung forth his challenge- blast\\nagain,\\nBut answer came there none\\nAnd mid the mingled wind and\\nrain 190\\nDarkling he sought the vale in\\nvain,\\nUntil the dawning shone\\nAnd when it dawned that won-\\ndrous sight\\nDistinctly seen by meteor light,\\nIt all had passed away\\nAnd that enchanted mount once\\nmore\\nA pile of granite fragments bore\\nAs at the close of day. i\\nXI\\nSteeled for the deed, De Vaux s\\nheart\\nScorned from his vent rous quest\\nto part, 200\\nHe walks the vale once more\\nBut only sees by night or day\\nThat shattered pile of rocks so\\ngray,\\nHears but the torrent s roar\\nTill when, through hills of azure\\nborne,\\nThe moon renewed her silver horn,\\nJust at the time her waning ray\\nHad faded in the dawning day,\\nA summer mist arose 209\\nAdown the vale the vapors float,\\nAnd cloudy undulations moat\\nThat tufted mound of mystic note,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0431.jp2"}, "430": {"fulltext": "4io\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nAs round its base they close.\\nAnd higher now the fleecy tide\\nAscends its stern and shaggy side,\\nUntil the airy billows bide\\nThe rock s majestic isle\\nIt seemed a veil of filmy lawn,\\nBy some fantastic fairy drawn\\nAround enchanted pile. 220\\nXII\\nThe breeze came softly down the\\nbrook,\\nAnd, sighing as it blew,\\nThe veil of silver mist it shook\\nAnd to De Vaux s eager look\\nRenewed that wondrous view.\\nFor, though the loitering vapor\\nbraved\\nThe gentle breeze, yet oft it waved\\nIts mantle s dewy fold\\nAnd still when shook that filmy\\nscreen\\nWere towers and bastions dimly\\nseen, 230\\nAnd Gothic battlements between\\nTheir gloomy length unrolled.\\nSpeed, speed, De Vaux, ere on\\nthine eye\\nOnce more the fleeting vision\\ndie!\\nThe gallant knight gan speed\\nAs prompt and light as, when the\\nhound\\nIs opening and the horn is wound,\\nCareers the hunter s steed.\\nDown the steep dell his course\\namain\\nHath rivalled archer s shaft -,240\\nBut ere the mound he could attain\\nThe rocks their shapeless form re-\\ngain,\\nAnd, mocking loud his labor vain,\\nThe mountain spirits laughed.\\nFar up the echoing dell was borne\\nTheir wild unearthly shout of\\nscorn.\\nXIII\\nWroth waxed the warrior. 4 Am\\nI then\\nFooled by the enemies of men,\\nLike a poor hind whose homeward\\nway\\nIs haunted by malicious fay 250\\nIs Triermain become your taunt,\\nDe Vaux your scorn False fiends,\\navaunt\\nA weighty curtal-axe he bare\\nThe baleful blade so bright and\\nsquare,\\nAnd the tough shaft of heben\\nwood,\\nWere oft in Scottish gore imbrued.\\nBackward his stately form he\\ndrew,\\nAnd at the rocks the weapon\\nthrew\\nJust where one crag s projected\\ncrest\\nHung proudly balanced o er the\\nrest. 260\\nHurled with main force the wea-\\npon s shock\\nRent a huge fragment of the rock.\\nIf by mere strength, t were hard\\nto tell,\\nOr if the blow dissolved some spell,\\nBut down the headlong ruin came\\nWith cloud of dust and flash of\\nflame.\\nDown bank, o er bush, its course\\nwas borne,\\nCrushed lay the copse, the earth\\nwas torn,\\nTill staid at length the ruin dread\\nCumbered the torrent s rocky bed,\\nAnd bade the waters high-swoln\\ntide 271\\nSeek other passage for its pride.\\nXIV\\nWhen ceased that thunder Trier-\\nmain\\nSurveyed the mound s rude front\\nagain\\nAnd lo the ruin had laid bare,\\nHewn in the stone, a winding stair\\nWhose mossed and fractured steps\\nmight lend\\nThe means the summit to ascend\\nAnd by whose aid the brave De\\nVaux", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0432.jp2"}, "431": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n411\\nBegan to scale these magic rocks,\\nAnd soon a platform won 281\\nWhere, the wild witchery to close,\\nWithin three lances length arose\\nThe Castle of Saint John\\nNo misty phantom of the air,\\nNo meteor blazoned show was\\nthere\\nIn morning splendor full and fair\\nThe massive fortress shone.\\nxv\\nEmbattled high and proudly tow-\\nered,\\nShaded by ponderous flankers,\\nlowered 290\\nThe portal s gloomy w r ay.\\nThough for six hundred years and\\nmore\\nIts strength had brooked the tem-\\npest s roar,\\nThe scutcheoned emblems which\\nit bore\\nHad suffered no decay\\nBut from the eastern battlement\\nA turret had made sheer descent,\\nAnd, down in recent ruin rent,\\nIn the mid torrent lay.\\nElse, o er the castle s brow sub-\\nlime, 300\\nInsults of violence or of time\\nUnfelt had passed away.\\nIn shapeless characters of yore,\\nThe gate this stern inscription\\nbore\\nXVI\\nINSCRIPTION\\nPatience waits the destined day,\\nStrength can clear the cumbered\\nway.\\nWarrior, who hast waited long,\\nFirm of soul, of sinew strong,\\nIt is given to thee to gaze\\nOn the pile of ancient days. 310\\nNever mortal builder s hand\\nThis enduring fabric planned\\nSign and sigil, word of power,\\nFrom the earth raised keep and\\ntower.\\nView it o er and pace it round,\\nRampart, turret, battled mound.\\nDare no more To cross the\\ngate\\nWere to tamper with thy fate\\nStrength and fortitude were vain,\\nView it o er and turn again. 320\\nXVII\\nThat would I, said the warrior\\nbold,\\nIf that my frame were bent and\\nold,\\nAnd my thin blood dropped slow\\nand cold\\nAs icicle in thaw\\nBut while my heart can feel it\\ndance\\nBlithe as the sparkling wine of\\nFrance,\\nAnd this good arm wields sword\\nor lance,\\nI mock these words of awe\\nHe said the wicket felt the sway\\nOf his strong hand and straight\\ngave way, 330\\nAnd with rude crash and jarring\\nbray\\nThe rusty bolts withdraw\\nBut o er the threshold as he strode\\nAnd forward took the vaulted\\nroad,\\nAn unseen arm with force amain\\nThe ponderous gate flung close\\nagain,\\nAnd rusted bolt and bar\\nSpontaneous took their place once\\nmore\\nWhile the deep arch with sullen\\nroar\\nReturned their surly jar. 340\\nNow closed is the gin and the\\nprey within,\\nBy the Eood of Lanercost\\nBut he that would win the war-\\nwolf s skin\\nMay rue him of his boast.\\nThus muttering on the warrior\\nwent\\nBy dubious light down steep de-\\nscent.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0433.jp2"}, "432": {"fulltext": "412\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nXVIII\\nUnbarred, unlocked, unwatched, a\\nport\\nLed to the castle s outer court\\nThere the main fortress, broad\\nand tall,\\nSpread its long range of bower\\nand hall 350\\nAnd towers of varied size,\\nWrought with each ornament ex-\\ntreme\\nThat Gothic art in wildest dream\\nOf fancy could devise\\nBut full between the warrior s\\nway\\nAnd the main portal arch there lay\\nAn inner moat\\nNor bridge nor boat\\nAffords De Vaux the means to\\ncross\\nThe clear, profound, and silent\\nfosse. 360\\nHis arms aside in haste he flings,\\nCuirass of steel and hauberk rings,\\nAnd down falls helm and down the\\nshield,\\nRough with the dints of many a\\nfleld.\\nFair was his manly form and fair\\nHis keen dark eye and close curled\\nhair,\\nWhen all unarmed save that the\\nbrand\\nOf well-proved metal graced his\\nhand,\\nWith naught to fence his daunt-\\nless breast 369\\nBut the close gipon s under-vest,\\nWhose sullied buff the sable stains\\nOf hauberk and of mail retains,\\nRoland De Vaux upon the brim\\nOf the broad moat stood prompt\\nto swim.\\nXIX\\nAccoutred thus he dared the tide,\\nAnd soon he reached the farther\\nside\\nAnd entered soon the hold,\\nAnd paced a hall whose walls so\\nwide\\nWere blazoned all with feats of\\npride\\nBy warriors done of old. 380\\nIn middle lists they countered here\\nWhile trumpets seemed to blow\\nAnd there in den or desert drear\\nThey quelled gigantic foe,\\nBraved the fierce griffon in his ire,\\nOr faced the dragon s breath of\\nfire.\\nStrange in their arms and strange\\nin face,\\nHeroes they seemed of ancient\\nrace,\\nWhose deeds of arms and race\\nand name,\\nForgotten long by later fame, 390\\nWere here depicted to appall\\nThose of an age degenerate\\nWhose bold intrusion braved their\\nfate\\nIn this enchanted hall.\\nFor some short space the ventur-\\nous knight\\nWith these high marvels fed his\\nsight,\\nThen sought the chamber s upper\\nend\\nWhere three broad easy steps as-\\ncend\\nTo an arched portal door,\\nIn whose broad folding leaves of\\nstate 400\\nWas framed a wicket window-\\ngrate\\nAnd ere he ventured more,\\nThe gallant knight took earnest\\nview\\nThe grated wicket window\\nthrough.\\nxx\\n0, for his arms Of martial weed\\nHad never mortal knight such\\nneed!\\nHe spied a stately gallery all\\nOf snow-white marble was the\\nwall,\\nThe vaulting, and the floor; 409\\nAnd, contrast strange! on either\\nhand", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0434.jp2"}, "433": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n413\\nThere stood arrayed in sable band\\nFour maids whom Afric bore\\nAnd each a Lybian tiger led,\\nHeld by as bright and frail a\\nthread\\nAs Lucy s golden hair.\\nFor the leash that bound these\\nmonsters dread\\nWas but of gossamer.\\nEach maiden s short barbaric\\nvest\\nLeft all unclosed the knee and\\nbreast\\nAnd limbs of shapely jet 420\\nWhite was their vest and turban s\\nfold,\\nOn arms and ankles rings of gold\\nIn savage pomp were set\\nA quiver on their shoulders lay,\\nAnd in their hand an assagay.\\nSuch and so silent stood they\\nthere\\nThat Roland wellnigh hoped\\nHe saw a band of statues rare,\\nStationed the gazer s soul to scare\\nBut when the wicket oped 430\\nEach grisly beast gan upward\\ndraw,\\nRolled his grim eye, and spread\\nhis claw,\\nScented the air, and licked his\\njaw:\\nWhile these weird maids in Moor-\\nish tongue\\nA wild and dismal warning sung.\\nXXI\\nRash adventurer, bear thee back\\nDread the spell of Dahomay\\nFear the race of Zaharak\\nDaughters of the burning day\\nWhen the whirlwind s gusts are\\nwheeling, 440\\nOurs it is the dance to braid\\nZarah s sands in pillars reeling\\nJoin the measure that we tread,\\nWhen the Moon has donned her\\ncloak\\nAnd the stars are red to see,\\nShrill when pipes the sad Siroc,\\nMusic meet for such as we.\\n1 Where the shattered columns lie,\\nShowing Carthage once had\\nbeen,\\nIf the wandering Santon s eye 450\\nOur mysterious rites hath seen,\\nOft he cons the prayer of death,\\nTo the nations preaches doom,\\nAzraeFs brand hath left the\\nsheath\\nMoslems, think upon the tomb\\nOurs the scorpion, ours the snake,\\nOurs the hydra of the fen,\\nOurs the tiger of the brake,\\nAll that plague the sons of men.\\nOurs the tempest s midnight\\nwrack, 460\\nPestilence that wastes by day\\nDread the race of Zaharak\\nFear the spell of Dahomay\\nXXII\\nUncouth and strange the accents\\nshrill\\nRung those vaulted roofs among,\\nLong it was ere faint and still\\nDied the far-resounding song.\\nWhile yet the distant echoes roll,\\nThe warrior communed with his\\nsoul.\\nWhen first I took this ventur-\\nous quest, 470\\nI swore upon the rood\\nNeither to stop nor turn nor rest,\\nFor evil or for good.\\nMy forward path too well I ween\\nLies yonder fearful ranks be-\\ntween;\\nFor man unarmed tis bootless\\nhope\\nWith tigers and with fiends to\\ncope\\nYet, if I turn, what waits me there\\nSave famine dire and fell de-\\nspair?\\nOther conclusion let me try, 480\\nSince, choose howe er I list, I die.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0435.jp2"}, "434": {"fulltext": "4H\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nForward lies faith and knightly\\nfame;\\nBehind are perjury and shame.\\nIn life or death I hold my word\\nWith that he drew his trusty\\nsword,\\nCaught down a banner from the\\nwall,\\nAnd entered thus the fearful hall.\\nXXIII\\nOn high each wayward maiden\\nthrew\\nHer swarthy arm with wild hal-\\nloo 489\\nOn either side a tiger sprung\\nAgainst the leftward foe he flung\\nThe ready banner to engage\\nWith tangling folds the brutal\\nrage;\\nThe right-hand monster in mid air\\nHe struck so fiercely and so fair\\nThrough gullet and through spinal\\nbone\\nThe trenchant blade hath sheerly\\ngone.\\nHis grisly brethren ramped and\\nyelled,\\nBut the slight leash their rage\\nwithheld,\\nWhilst twixt their ranks the dan-\\ngerous road 500\\nFirmly though swift the champion\\nstrode.\\nSafe to the gallery s bound he\\ndrew,\\nSafe passed an open portal\\nthrough\\nAnd when against pursuit he flung\\nThe gate, judge if the echoes rung\\nOnward his daring course he bore,\\nWhile, mixed with dying growl\\nand roar,\\nWild jubilee and loud hurra\\nPursued him on his venturous\\nway.\\nXXIV\\nHurra, hurra! Our watch is\\ndone! 510\\nWe hail once more the tropic sun.\\nPallid beams of northern day,\\nFarewell, farewell Hurra, hurra\\n1 Five hundred years o er this cold\\nglen\\nHath the pale sun come round\\nagen\\nFoot of man till now hath ne er\\nDared to cross the Hall of Fear.\\nWarrior thou whose dauntless\\nheart\\nGives us from our ward to part,\\nBe as strong in future trial 520\\nWhere resistance is denial.\\n1 Now for Afric s glowing sky,\\nZwenga wide and Atlas high,\\nZaharak and Dahomay\\nMount the winds Hurra, hurra\\nxxv\\nThe wizard song at distance died,\\nAs if in ether borne astray,\\nWhile through waste halls and\\nchambers wide\\nThe knight pursued his steady\\nway\\nTill to a lofty dome he came 530\\nThat flashed with such a brilliant\\nflame\\nAs if the wealth of all the world\\nWere there in rich confusion\\nhurled.\\nFor here the gold in sandy heaps\\nWith duller earth incorporate\\nsleeps\\nWas there in ingots piled, and\\nthere\\nCoined badge of empery it bare\\nYonder, huge bars of silver lay,\\nDimmed by the diamond s neigh-\\nboring ray,\\nLike the pale moon in morning\\nday 540\\nAnd in the midst four maidens\\nstand,\\nThe daughters of some distant\\nland.\\nTheir hue was of the dark-red dye\\nThat fringes oft a thunder sky", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0436.jp2"}, "435": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n415\\nTheir hands palmetto baskets\\nbare,\\nAnd cotton fillets bound their hair\\nSlim was their form, their mien\\nwas shy,\\nTo earth they bent the humbled\\neye,\\nFolded their arms, and suppliant\\nkneeled,\\nAnd thus their proffered gifts re-\\nvealed. 550\\nXXVI\\nCHORUS\\n1 See the treasures Merlin piled,\\nPortion meet for Arthur s child.\\nBathe in Wealth s unbounded\\nstream,\\nWealth that Avarice ne er could\\ndream\\nFIRST MAIDEN\\nSee these clots of virgin gold\\nSevered from the sparry mould,\\nNature s mystic alchemy\\nIn the mine thus bade them lie\\nAnd their orient smile can win\\nKings to stoop and saints to sin.\\nSECOND MAIDEN\\nSee these pearls that long have\\nslept; 561\\nThese were tears by Naiads wept\\nFor the loss of Marinel.\\nTritons in the silver shell\\nTreasured them till hard and\\nwhite\\nAs the teeth of Amphitrite.\\nTHIRD MAIDEN\\nDoes a livelier hue delight?\\nHere are rubies blazing bright,\\nHere the emerald s fairy green,\\nAnd the topaz glows between\\nHere their varied hues unite\\nIn the changeful chrysolite. 572\\nFOURTH MAIDEN\\n1 Leave these gems of poorer shine,\\nLeave them all and look on mine\\nWhile their glories I expand\\nShade thine eyebrows with thy\\nhand.\\nMid-day sun and diamond s blaze\\nBlind the rash beholder s gaze.\\nCHORUS\\n1 Warrior, seize the splendid store\\nWould twere all our mountains\\nbore 580\\nWe should ne er in future story\\nBead, Peru, thy perished glory\\nxxvn\\nCalmly and unconcerned the\\nknight\\nWaved aside the treasures\\nbright\\nGentle Maidens, rise, I pray\\nBar not thus my destined way.\\nLet these boasted brilliant toys\\nBraid the hair of girls and boys\\nBid your streams of gold expand\\nO er proud London s thirsty land.\\nDe Vaux of wealth saw never\\nneed 591\\nSave to purvey him arms and\\nsteed,\\nAnd all the ore he deigned to\\nhoard\\nInlays his helm and hilts his\\nsword.\\nThus gently parting from their\\nhold,\\nHe left unmoved the dome of gold.\\nXXVIII\\nAnd now the morning sun was\\nhigh,\\nDe Vaux was weary, faint, and\\ndry;\\nWhen, lo! a plashing sound he\\nhears, 599\\nA gladsome signal that he nears\\nSome frolic water-run\\nAnd soon he reached a courtyard\\nsquare\\nWhere, dancing in the sultry air,\\nTossed high aloft a fountain fair\\nWas sparkling in the sun.\\nOn right and left a fair arcade", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0437.jp2"}, "436": {"fulltext": "416\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nIn long perspective view displayed\\nAlleys and bowers for sun or\\nshade\\nBut full in front a door,\\nLow-browed and dark, seemed as\\nit led 610\\nTo the lone dwelling of the dead\\nWhose memory was no more.\\nXXIX\\nHere stopped De Vaux an instant s\\nspace\\nTo bathe his parched lips and face,\\nAnd marked with well-pleased\\neye,\\nRefracted on the fountain stream,\\nIn rainbow hues the dazzling beam\\nOf that gay summer sky.\\nHis senses felt a mild control,\\nLike that which lulls the weary\\nsoul, 620\\nFrom contemplation high\\nRelaxing, when the ear receives\\nThe music that the greenwood\\nleaves\\nMake to the breezes sigh.\\nXXX\\nAnd oft in such a dreamy mood\\nThe half-shut eye can frame\\nFair apparitions in the wood,\\nAs if the Nymphs of field and\\nflood\\nIn gay procession came. 629\\nAre these of such fantastic mould,\\nSeen distant down the fair ar-\\ncade,\\nThese maids enlinked in sister-\\nfold,\\nWho, late at bashful distance\\nstaid,\\nNow tripping from the green-\\nwood shade,\\nNearer the musing champion draw\\nAnd in a pause of seeming awe\\nAgain stand doubtful now\\nAh, that sly pause of witching\\npowers\\nThat seems to say, To please be\\nours,\\nBe yours to tell us how. 640\\nTheir hue was of the golden glow\\nThat suns of Candahar bestow,\\nO er which in slight suffusion flows\\nA frequent tinge of paly rose\\nTheir limbs were fashioned fair\\nand free\\nIn nature s justest symmetry;\\nAnd, wreathed with flowers, with\\nodors graced,\\nTheir raven ringlets reached the\\nwaist 648\\nIn eastern pomp its gilding pale\\nThe henna lent each shapely nail,\\nAnd the dark sumah gave the eye\\nMore liquid and more lustrous dye.\\nThe spotless veil of misty lawn,\\nIn studied disarrangement drawn\\nThe form and bosom o er,\\nTo win the eye or tempt the touch\\nFor modesty showed all too\\nmuch\\nToo much yet promised more.\\nXXXI\\nGentle knight, awhile delay/\\nThus they sung, thy toilsome\\nway, 660\\nWhile we pay the duty due\\nTo our Master and to you.\\nOver Avarice, over Fear,\\nLove triumphant led thee here\\nWarrior, list to us, for we\\nAre slaves to Love, are friends to\\nthee.\\nThough no treasured gems have\\nwe\\nTo proffer on the bended knee,\\nThough we boast nor arm nor\\nheart\\nFor the assagay or dart, 670\\nSwains allow each simple girl\\nRuby lip and teeth of pearl\\nOr, if dangers more you prize,\\nFlatterers find them in our eyes.\\nStay, then, gentle warrior, stay,\\nRest till evening steal on day;\\nStay, O, stay in yonder bowers\\nWe will braid thy locks with flow-\\ners, 678\\nSpread the feast and fill the wine,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0438.jp2"}, "437": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n417\\nCharm thy ear with sounds divine,\\nWeave our dances till delight 681\\nYield to languor, day to night.\\nThen shall she you most approve\\nSing the lays that best you love,\\nSoft thy mossy couch shall spread,\\nWatch thy pillow, prop thy head,\\nTill the weary night be o er\\nGentle warrior, wouldst thou more\\nWouldst thou more, fair warrior,\\nshe 689\\nIs slave to Love and slave to thee\\nXXXII\\n0, do not hold it for a crime\\nIn the bold hero of my rhyme,\\nFor Stoic look\\nAnd meet rebuke\\nHe lacked the heart or time\\nAs round the band of sirens trip,\\nHe kissed one damsel s laughing\\nlip,\\nAnd pressed another s proffered\\nhand,\\nSpoke to them all in accents bland,\\nBut broke their magic circle\\nthrough 700\\n1 Kind maids, he said, adieu,\\nadieu\\nMy fate, my fortune, forward lies,\\nHe said and vanished from their\\neyes;\\nBut, as he dared that darksome\\nway,\\nStill heard behind their lovely lay\\n1 Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart!\\nGo where the feelings of the heart\\nWith the warm pulse in concord\\nmove\\nGo where Virtue sanctions Love\\nXXXIII\\nDownward De Vaux through\\ndarksome ways 710\\nAnd ruined vaults has gone,\\nTill issue from their wildered\\nmaze\\nOr safe retreat seemed none,\\nAnd e en the dismal path he\\nstrays\\nGrew worse as he went on.\\nFor cheerful sun, for living air,\\nFoul vapors rise and mine-fires\\nglare,\\nWhose fearful light the dangers\\nshowed\\nThat dogged him on that dreadful\\nroad. 719\\nDeep pits and lakes of waters dun\\nThey showed, but showed not how\\nto shun.\\nThese scenes of desolate despair,\\nThese smothering clouds of poi-\\nsoned air,\\nHow gladly had De Vaux ex-\\nchanged,\\nThough t were to face yon tigers\\nranged\\nXay, soothful bards have said,\\nSo perilous his state seemed now\\nHe wished him under arbor bough\\nWith Asia s willing maid.\\nWhen, joyful sound! at distance\\nnear 730\\nA trumpet fl ourished loud and clear,\\nAnd as it ceased a lofty lay\\nSeemed thus to chide his lagging\\nway.\\nXXXIV\\nSon of Honor, theme of story,\\nThink on the reward before ye\\nDanger, darkness, toil despise\\nT is Ambition bids thee rise.\\nHe that would her heights ascend,\\nMany a weary step must wend\\nHand and foot and knee he tries\\nThus Ambition s minions rise. 741\\nLag not now, though rough the\\nway,\\nFortune s mood brooks no delay\\nGrasp the boon that s spread be-\\nfore ye,\\nMonarch s power and Conqueror s\\nglory\\nIt ceased. Advancing on the\\nsound,\\nA steep ascent the wanderer found,\\nAnd then a turret stair", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0439.jp2"}, "438": {"fulltext": "4i8\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nNor climbed he far its steepy\\nround\\nTill fresher blew the air, 750\\nAnd next a welcome glimpse was\\ngiven\\nThat cheered him with the light\\nof heaven.\\nAt length his toil had won\\nA lofty hall with trophies dressed,\\nWhere as to greet imperial guest\\nFour maidens stood whose crim-\\nson vest\\nWas bound with golden zone.\\nXXXV\\nOf Europe seemed the damsels all\\nThe first a nymph of lively Gaul\\nWhose easy step and laughing eye\\nHer borrowed air of awe belie\\nThe next a maid of Spain, 762\\nDark-eyed, dark-haired, sedate yet\\nbold;\\nWhite ivory skin and tress of gold\\nHer shy and bashful comrade told\\nFor daughter of Almaine.\\nThese maidens bore a royal robe,\\nWith crown, with sceptre, and\\nwith globe,\\nEmblems of empery\\nThe fourth a space behind them\\nstood, 770\\nAnd leant upon a harp in mood\\nOf minstrel ecstasy.\\nOf merry England she, in dress\\nLike ancient British Druidess,\\nHer hair an azure fillet bound,\\nHer graceful vesture swept the\\nground,\\nAnd in her hand displayed\\nA crown did that fourth maiden\\nhold,\\nBut unadorned with gems and\\ngold,\\nOf glossy laurel made. 780\\nXXXVI\\nAt once to brave De Vaux knelt\\ndown\\nThese foremost maidens three,\\nAnd proffered sceptre, robe, and\\ncrown,\\nLiegedom and seignorie\\nO er many a region wide and fair,\\nDestined, they said, for Arthur s\\nheir\\nBut homage would he none\\n1 Rather, he said, 4 De Vaux would\\nride,\\nA warden of the Border-side\\nIn plate and mail than, robed in\\npride, 790\\nA monarch s empire own\\nRather, far rather, would he be\\nA free-born knight of England free\\nThan sit on despot s throne.\\nSo passed he on, when that fourth\\nmaid,\\nAs starting from a trance,\\nUpon the harp her finger laid\\nHer magic touch the chords\\nobeyed,\\nTheir soul awaked at once 799\\nSONG OF THE FOURTH MAIDEN\\n4 Quake to your foundations deep,\\nStately towers, and bannered keep,\\nBid your vaulted echoes moan,\\nAs the dreaded step they own.\\nFiends, that wait on Merlin s\\nspell,\\nHear the foot-fall mark it well\\nSpread your dusky wings abroad,\\nBoune ye for your homeward road\\nIt is His, the first who e er\\nDared the dismal Hall of Fear\\nHis, who hath the snares defied\\nSpread by Pleasure, Wealth, and\\nPride. 81 1\\nQuake to your foundations deep,\\nBastion huge, and turret steep\\nTremble, keep and totter, tower\\nThis is Gyneth s waking hour.\\nXXXVII\\nThus while she sung the venturous\\nknight\\nHas reached a bower where milder\\nlight", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0440.jp2"}, "439": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n419\\nThrough crimson curtains fell\\nSuch softened shade the hill re-\\nceives,\\nHer purple veil when twilight\\nleaves 820\\nUpon its western swell.\\nThat bower, the gazer to bewitch,\\nHad wondrous store of rare and\\nrich\\nAs e er was seen with eye\\nFor there by magic skill, I wis,\\nForm of each thing that living is\\nWas limned in proper dye.\\nAll seemed to sleep the timid\\nhare\\nOn form, the stag upon his lair,\\nThe eagle in her eyrie fair 830\\nBetween the earth and sky,\\nBut what of pictured rich and\\nrare\\nCould win De Vaux s eye-glance,\\nwhere,\\nDeep slumbering in the fatal chair,\\nHe saw King Arthur s child!\\nDoubt and anger and dismay\\nFrom her brow had passed away,\\nForgot was that fell tourney-day,\\nFor as she slept she smiled\\nIt seemed that the repentant Seer\\nHer sleep of many a hundred year\\nWith gentle dreams beguiled. 842\\nXXXVIII\\nThat form of maiden loveliness,\\nTwixt childhood and twixt\\nyouth,\\nThat ivory chair, that sylvan dress,\\nThe arms and ankles bare, express\\nOf Lyulph s tale the truth.\\nStill upon her garment s hem\\nVanoc s blood made purple gem,\\nAnd the warder of command 850\\nCumbered still her sleeping hand\\nStill her dark locks dishevelled\\nflow\\nFrom net of pearl o er breast of\\nsnow\\nAnd so fair the slumberer seems\\nThat De Vaux impeached his\\ndreams,\\nVapid all and void of might,\\nHiding half her charms from sight.\\nMotionless awhile he stands,\\nFolds his arms and clasps his\\nhands,\\nTrembling in his fitful joy, 860\\nDoubtful how he should destroy\\nLong-enduring spell\\nDoubtful too, when slowly rise\\nDark-fringed lids of Gyneth s eyes,\\nWhat these eyes shall tell.\\n1 Saint George Saint Mary can\\nit be\\nThat they will kindly look on\\nme\\nXXXIX\\nGently, lo the warrior kneels,\\nSoft that lovely hand he steals,\\nSoft to kiss and soft to clasp 870\\nBut the warder leaves her grasp;\\nLightning flashes, rolls the thun-\\nder!\\nGyneth startles from her sleep,\\nTotters tower, and trembles keep,\\nBurst the castle-walls asutnder\\nFierce and frequent were the\\nshocks,\\nMelt the magic halls away\\nBut beneath their mystic rocks,\\nIn the arms of bold De Vaux\\nSafe the princess lay 880\\nSafe and free from magic power,\\nBlushing like the rose s flower\\nOpening to the day\\nAnd round the champion s brows\\nwere bound\\nThe crown that Druidess had\\nwound\\nOf the green laurel-bay.\\nAnd this was what remained of\\nall\\nThe wealth of each enchanted\\nhall,\\nThe Garland and the Dame\\nBut where should warrior seek\\nthe meed 890\\nDue to high worth for daring\\ndeed\\nExcept from Love and Fame", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0441.jp2"}, "440": {"fulltext": "420\\nTHE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN\\nCONCLUSION\\nMy Lucy, when the maid is won\\nThe minstrel s task, thou know st,\\nis done;\\nAnd to require of bard\\nThat to his dregs the tale should\\nrun\\nWere ordinance too hard.\\nOur lovers, briefly be it said,\\nWedded as lovers wont to wed,\\nWhen tale or play is o er\\nLived long and blest, loved fond\\nand true,\\nAnd saw a numerous race renew 10\\nThe honors that they bore.\\nKnow too that when a pilgrim\\nstrays\\nIn morning mist or evening maze\\nAlong the mountain lone,\\nThat fairy fortress often mocks\\nHis gaze upon the castled rocks\\nOf the valley of Saint John\\nBut never man since brave De\\nVaux\\nThe charmed portal won.\\nT is now a vain illusive show 20\\nThat melts whene er the sunbeams\\nglow,\\nOr the fresh breeze hath blown.\\n11\\nBut see, my love, where far below\\nOur lingering wheels are moving\\nslow,\\nThe whiles, up-gazing still,\\nOur menials eye our steepy way,\\nMarvelling perchance what whim\\ncan stay\\nOur steps when eve is sinking\\ngray\\nOn this gigantic hill.\\nSo think the vulgar Life and\\ntime 30\\nRing all their joys in one dull\\nchime\\nOf luxury and ease\\nAnd O, beside these simple knaves,\\nHow many better born are slaves\\nTo such coarse joys as these,\\nDead to the nobler sense that\\nglows\\nWhen nature s grander scenes un-\\nclose\\nBut, Lucy, we will love them yet,\\nThe mountain s misty coronet,\\nThe greenwood and the wold 40\\nAnd love the more that of their\\nmaze\\nAdventure high of other days\\nBy ancient bards is told,\\nBringing perchance, like my poor\\ntale,\\nSome moral truth in fiction s veil\\nNor love them less that o er the\\nhill\\nThe evening breeze as now comes\\nchill\\nMy love shall wrap her warm,\\nAnd, fearless of the slippery way\\nWhile safe she trips the heathy\\nbrae, 50\\nShall hang on Arthur s arm.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0442.jp2"}, "441": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST 421\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nA POEM IN SIX CANTOS\\nADVERTISEMENT\\nThe Scene of this Poem lies, at first, in the Castle of Artornish, on the coast\\nof Argyleshire and, afterwards, in the Islands of Skye and Arran, and upon\\nthe coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The story opens in the\\nspring of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven out of Scotland by the\\nEnglish, and the Barons who adhered to that foreign interest, returned from\\nthe Island of Rachrin on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the\\nScottish crown. Many of the personages and incidents introduced are of his-\\ntorical celebrity. The authorities used are chiefly those of the venerable\\nLord Hailes, as well entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as\\nBruce the restorer of Scottish Monarchy and of Archdeacon Barbour a cor-\\nrect edition of whose Metrical History of Robert Bruce will soon, I trust, appear,\\nunder the care of my learned friend, the Rev. Dr. Jamieson.\\nAbbotspord, 10^ December, 1814.\\nCANTO FIRST\\nAutumn departs but still his mantle s fold\\nRests on the groves of noble Somerville,\\nBeneath a shroud of russet drooped with gold\\nTweed and his tributaries mingle still\\nHoarser the wind and deeper sounds the rill,\\nYet liugering notes of sylvan music swell,\\nThe deep-toned cushat and the redbreast shrill;\\nAnd yet some tints of summer splendor tell\\nWhen the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick s western fell.\\nAutumn departs from Gala s fields no more\\nCome rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer\\nBlent with the stream and gale that wafts it o er,\\nNo more the distant reaper s mirth we hear.\\nThe last blithe shout hath died upon our ear,\\nAnd harvest-home hath hushed the clanging wain,\\nOn the waste hill no forms of life appear,\\nSave where, sad laggard of the autumnal train,\\nSome age- struck wanderer gleans few ears of scattered grain.\\nDeem st thou these saddened scenes have pleasure still,\\nLov st thou through Autumn s fading realms to stray,\\nTo see the heath-flower withered on the hill,\\nTo listen to the woods expiring lay,\\nTo note the red leaf shivering on the spray,\\nTo mark the last bright tints the mountain stain,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0443.jp2"}, "442": {"fulltext": "422\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nOn the waste fields to trace the gleaner s way,\\nAnd moralize on mortal joy and pain\\nO, if such scenes thou lov st, scorn not the minstrel strain!\\nNo do not scorn, although its hoarser note\\nScarce with the cushat s homely song can vie,\\nThough faint its beauties as the tints remote 30\\nThat gleam through mist in autumn s evening sky\\nAnd few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry,\\nWhen wild November hath his bugle wound\\nNor mock my toil a lonely gleaner I\\nThrough fields time-wasted, on sad inquest bound\\nWhere happier bards of yore have richer harvest found.\\nSo shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved,\\nTo a wild tale of Albyn s warrior day\\nIn distant lands, by the rough West reproved,\\nStill live some relics of the ancient lay. 4\u00c2\u00b0\\nFor, when on Coolin s hills the lights decay,\\nWith such the Seer of Skye the eve beguiles\\nT is known amid the pathless wastes of Reay,\\nIn Harries known and in Iona s piles,\\nWhere rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles.\\n4 Wake, Maid of Lorn the min-\\nstrels sung.\\nThy rugged halls, Artornish, rung,\\nAnd the dark seas thy towers that\\nlave\\nHeaved on the beach a softer\\nwave, 49\\nAs mid the tuneful choir to keep\\nThe diapason of the deep.\\nLulled were the winds on Innin-\\nmore\\nAnd green Loch-Alline s woodland\\nshore,\\nAs if wild woods and waves had\\npleasure\\nIn listing to the lovely measure.\\nAnd ne er to symphony more sweet\\nGave mountain echoes answer\\nmeet\\nSince, met from mainland and from\\nisle,\\nRoss, Arran, Islay, and Argyle,\\nEach minstrel s tributary lay 60\\nPaid homage to the festal day.\\nDull and dishonored were the\\nbard,\\nWorthless of guerdon and regard,\\nDeaf to the hope of minstrel fame,\\nOr lady s smiles, his noblest aim,\\nWho on that morn s resistless\\ncall\\nWas silent in Artornish hall.\\n11\\nWake, Maid of Lorn t was\\nthus they sung,\\nAnd yet more proud the descant\\nrung,\\n4 Wake, Maid of Lorn high right\\nis ours 70\\nTo charm dull sleep from Beauty s\\nbowers\\nEarth, ocean, air, have naught so\\nshy\\nBut owns the power of minstrelsy.\\nIn Lettermore the timid deer\\nWill pause the harp s wild chime\\nto hear\\nRude Heiskar s seal through\\nsurges dark\\nWill long pursue the minstrel s\\nbark\\nTo list his notes the eagle proud", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0444.jp2"}, "443": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n423\\nWill poise him on Ben-Cailliach s\\ncloud\\nThen let not maiden s ear dis-\\ndain 80\\nThe summons of the minstrel train,\\nBut while our harps wild music\\nmake,\\nEdith of Lorn, awake, awake\\nin\\n4 wake while Dawn with dewy\\nshine\\nWakes Nature s charms to vie\\nwith thine\\nShe bids the mottled thrush re-\\njoice\\nTo mate thy melody of voice\\nThe dew that on the violet lies\\nMocks the dark lustre of thine\\neyes;\\nBut, Edith, wake, and all we see\\nOf sweet and fair shall yield to\\nthee! 9 1\\nShe comes not yet, gray Ferrand\\ncried\\nBrethren, let softer spell he tried,\\nThose notes prolonged, that sooth-\\ning theme,\\nWhich best may mix with Beauty s\\ndream,\\nAnd whisper with their silvery\\ntone\\nThe hope she loves yet fears to\\nown.\\nHe spoke, and on the harp-strings\\ndied\\nThe strains of flattery and of\\npride\\nMore soft, more low, more tender\\nfell 100\\nThe lay of love he bade them tell.\\nrv\\n1 Wake, Maid of Lorn! the mo-\\nments fly\\nWhich yet that maiden name\\nallow\\nWake, Maiden, wake the hour is\\nnigh\\nWhen love shall claim a plighted\\nvow.\\nBy Fear, thy bosom s fluttering\\nguest,\\nBy Hope, that soon shall fears\\nremove,\\nWe bid thee break the bonds of\\nrest,\\nAnd wake thee at the call of\\nLove!\\nWake, Edith, wake in yonder\\nbay no\\nLies many a galley gayly man-\\nned,\\nWe hear the merry pibroch s play,\\nWe see the streamers silken\\nband.\\nWhat chieftain s praise these pi-\\nbrochs swell,\\nWhat crest is on these banners\\nwove,\\nThe harp, the minstrel, dare not\\ntell\\nThe riddle must be read by\\nLove.*\\nRetired her maiden train among,\\nEdith of Lorn received the song,\\nBut tamed the minstrel s pride\\nhad been 120\\nThat had her cold demeanor seen\\nFor not upon her cheek awoke\\nThe glow of pride when Flattery\\nspoke,\\nNor could their tenderest numbers\\nbring\\nOne sigh responsive to the string.\\nAs vainly had her maidens vied\\nIn skill to deck the princely bride.\\nHer locks in dark-brown length\\narrayed,\\nCathleen of Ulne, t was thine to\\nbraid\\nYoung Eva with meet reverence\\ndrew 130\\nOn the light foot the silken shoe,\\nWhile on the ankle s slender round\\nThose strings of pearl fair Bertha\\nwound\\nThat, bleached Lochryan s depths\\nwithin,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0445.jp2"}, "444": {"fulltext": "424\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nSeemed dusky still on Edith s skin.\\nBut Einion, of experience old,\\nHad weightiest task the man-\\ntle s fold\\nIn many an artful plait she tied\\nTo show the form it seemed to\\nhide,\\nTill on the floor descending rolled\\nIts waves of crimson blent with\\ngold. 141\\nVI\\nO, lives there now so cold a maid,\\nWho thus in beauty s pomp ar-\\nrayed,\\nIn beauty s proudest pitch of\\npower,\\nAnd conquest won the bridal\\nhour\\nWith every charm that wins the\\nheart,\\nBy Nature given, enhanced by\\nArt,\\nCould yet the fair reflection view\\nIn the bright mirror pictured true,\\nAnd not one dimple on her cheek\\nA telltale consciousness be-\\nspeak? 151\\nLives still such maid Fair dam-\\nsels, say,\\nFor further vouches not my lay\\nSave that such lived in Britain s\\nisle\\nWhen Lorn s bright Edith scorned\\nto smile.\\nVII\\nBut Morag, to whose fostering\\ncare\\nProud Lorn had given his daugh-\\nter fair,\\nMorag, who saw a mother s aid\\nBy all a daughter s love repaid\\nStrict was that bond, most kind of\\nall, 160\\nInviolate in Highland hall\\nGray Morag sate a space apart,\\nIn Edith s eyes to read her heart.\\nIn vain the attendant s fond ap-\\npeal\\nTo Morag s skill, to Morag s zeal\\nShe marked her child receive their\\ncare,\\nCold as the image sculptured\\nfair\\nForm of some sainted patroness\\nWhich cloistered maids combine\\nto dress\\nShe marked and knew her nurs-\\nling s heart 170\\nIn the vain pomp took little part.\\nWistful awhile she gazed then\\npressed\\nThe maiden to her anxious breast\\nIn finished loveliness and led\\nTo where a turret s airy head,\\nSlender and steep and battled\\nround,\\nO erlooked, dark Mull, thy mighty\\nSound,\\nWhere thwarting tides with min-\\ngled roar\\nPart thy swarth hills from Mor-\\nen s shore.\\nVIII\\nDaughter, she said, these seas\\nbehold, 180\\nRound twice a hundred islands\\nrolled,\\nFrom Hirt that hears their north-\\nern roar\\nTo the green Hay s fertile shore\\nOr mainland turn where many a\\ntower\\nOwns thy bold brother s feudal\\npower,\\nEach on its own dark cape re-\\nclined\\nAnd listening to its own wild wind,\\nFrom where Mingarry sternly\\nplaced\\nO erawes the woodland and the\\nwaste,\\nTo where Dunstaffnage hears the\\nraging 190\\nOf Connal with its rocks engaging.\\nThink st thou amid this ample\\nround\\nA single brow but thine has\\nfrowned,\\nTo sadden this auspicious morn", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0446.jp2"}, "445": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n425\\nThat bids the daughter of high\\nLorn\\nImpledge her spousal faith to wed\\nThe heir of mighty Somerled\\nRonald, from many a hero sprung,\\nThe fair, the valiant, and the\\nyoung,\\nLord of the Isles, whose lofty\\nname 200\\nA thousand bards have given to\\nfame,\\nThe mate of monarchs, and allied\\nOn equal terms with England s\\npride,\\nFrom chieftain s tower to bonds-\\nman s cot,\\nWho hears the tale, and triumphs\\nnot?\\nThe damsel dons her best attire,\\nThe shepherd lights his beltane\\nfire,\\nJoy! joy! each warder s horn hath\\nsung,\\nJoy! joy! each matin bell hath\\nrung 209\\nThe holy priest says grateful mass,\\nLoud shouts each hardy galla-\\nglass,\\nNo mountain den holds outcast\\nboor\\nOf heart so dull, of soul so poor,\\nBut he hath flung his task aside,\\nAnd claimed this morn for holy-\\ntide;\\nYet, empress of this joyful day,\\nEdith is sad while all are gay.\\nIX\\nProud Edith s soul came to her\\neye,\\nResentment checked the struggling\\nsigh. 219\\nHer hurrying hand indignant dried\\nThe burning tears of injured\\npride\\nMorag, forbear or lend thy praise\\nTo swell yon hireling harpers lays\\nMake to yon maids thy boast of\\npower,\\nThat they may waste a wondering\\nhour\\nTelling of banners proudly borne,\\nOf pealing bell and bugle horn,\\nOr, theme more dear, of robes of\\nprice,\\nCrownlets and gauds of rare device.\\nBut thou, experienced as thou art,\\nThink st thou with these to cheat\\nthe heart 23 1\\nThat, bound in strong affection s\\nchain,\\nLooks for return and looks in vain\\nNo! sum thine Edith s wretched\\nlot\\nIn these brief words He loves\\nher not\\nDebate it not too long I strove\\nTo call his cold observance love,\\nAll blinded by the league that\\nstyled\\nEdith of Lorn while yet a child\\nShe tripped the heath by Morag s\\nside 240\\nThe brave Lord Ronald s destined\\nbride.\\nEre yet I saw him, while afar\\nHis broadsword blazed in Scot-\\nland s war,\\nTrained to believe our fates the\\nsame,\\nMy bosom throbbed when Ronald s\\nname\\nCame gracing Fame s heroic tale,\\nLike perfume on the summer gale.\\nWhat pilgrim sought our halls nor\\ntold\\nOf Ronald s deeds in battle bold\\nWho touched the harp to heroes\\npraise 250\\nBut his achievements swelled the\\nlays\\nEven Morag not a tale of fame\\nWas hers but closed with Ronald s\\nname.\\nHe came and all that had been\\ntold\\nOf his high worth seemed poor and\\ncold,\\nTame, lifeless, void of energy,\\nUnjust to Ronald and to me", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0447.jp2"}, "446": {"fulltext": "426\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nXI\\nSince then, what thought had\\nEdith s heart\\nAnd gave not plighted love its\\npart 259\\nAnd what requital? cold delay\\nExcuse that shunned the spousal\\nday.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nIt dawns and Ronald is not\\nhere!\\nHunts he Bentalla s nimble deer,\\nOr loiters he in secret dell\\nTo bid some lighter love farewell,\\nAnd swear that though he may not\\nscorn\\nA daughter of the House of Lorn,\\nYet, when these formal rites are\\no er,\\nAgain they meet to part no more\\nXII\\nHush, daughter, hush thy doubts\\nremove, 270\\nMore nobly think of Ronald s love.\\nLook, where beneath the castle\\ngray\\nHis fleet unmoor from Aros bay\\nSee st not each galley s topmast\\nbend\\nAs on the yards the sails ascend\\nHiding the dark-blue land they\\nrise,\\nLike the white clouds on April\\nskies\\nThe shouting vassals man the\\noars,\\nBehind them sink Mull s mountain\\nshores,\\nOnward their merry course they\\nkeep 280\\nThrough whistling breeze and\\nfoaming deep.\\nAnd mark the headmost, seaward\\ncast,\\nStoop to the freshening gale her\\nmast,\\nAs if she veiled its bannered pride\\nTo greet afar her prince s bride\\nThy Ronald comes, and while in\\nspeed\\nHis galley mates the flying steed,\\nHe chides her sloth Fair Edith\\nsighed,\\nBlushed, sadly smiled, and thus\\nreplied\\nXIII\\nSweet thought, but vain! No,\\nMorag! mark, 290\\nType of his course, yon lonely bark,\\nThat oft hath shifted helm and\\nsail\\nTo win its way against the gale.\\nSince peep of morn my vacant\\neyes\\nHave viewed by fits the course she\\ntries\\nNow, though the darkening scud\\ncomes on,\\nAnd dawn s fair promises be gone,\\nAnd though the weary crew may\\nsee\\nOur sheltering haven on their lee,\\nStill closer to the rising wind 300\\nThey strive her shivering sail to\\nbind,\\nStill nearer to the shelves dread\\nverge\\nAt every tack her course they urge,\\nAs if they feared Artornish more\\nThan adverse winds and breakers\\nroar.\\nXIV\\nSooth spoke the maid. Amid the\\ntide\\nThe skiff she marked lay tossing\\nsore,\\nAnd shifted oft her stooping side,\\nIn weary tack from shore to\\nshore.\\nYet on her destined course no\\nmore 310\\nShe gained of forward way\\nThan what a minstrel may com-\\npare\\nTo the poor meed which peasants\\nshare\\nWho toil the livelong day\\nAnd such the risk her pilot\\nbraves\\nThat oft, before she wore,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0448.jp2"}, "447": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n427\\nHer boltsprit kissed the broken\\nwaves\\nWhere in white foam the ocean\\nraves\\nUpon the shelving shore.\\nYet, to their destined purpose\\ntrue, 3 2\\nUndaunted toiled her hardy\\ncrew,\\nNor looked where shelter lay,\\nNor for Artornish Castle drew,\\nNor steered for Aros bay.\\nxv\\nThus while they strove with wind\\nand seas,\\nBorne onward by the willing\\nbreeze,\\nLord Ronald s fleet swept by,\\nStreamered with silk and tricked\\nwith gold,\\nManned with the noble and the\\nbold\\nOf Island chivalry. 330\\nAround their prows the ocean\\nroars,\\nAnd chafes beneath their thousand\\noars,\\nYet bears them on their way\\nSo chafes the war-horse in his\\nmight\\nThat fieldward bears some valiant\\nknight,\\nChamps till both bit and boss are\\nwhite,\\nBut foaming must obey.\\nOn each gay deck they might be-\\nhold\\nLances of steel and crests of gold,\\nAnd hauberks with their burnished\\nfold 340\\nThat shimmered fair and free\\nAnd each proud galley as she\\npassed\\nTo the wild cadence of the blast\\nGave wilder minstrelsy.\\nFull many a shrill triumphant note\\nSaline and Scallastle bade float\\nTheir misty shores around\\nAnd Morven s echoes answered\\nwell, 348\\nAnd Duart heard the distant swell\\nCome down the darksome Sound.\\nXVI\\nSo bore they on with mirth and\\npride,\\nAnd if that laboring bark they\\nspied,\\nT was with such idle eye\\nAs nobles cast on lowly boor\\nWhen, toiling in his task obscure,\\nThey pass him careless by.\\nLet them sweep on with heedless\\neyes\\nBut had they known what mighty\\nprize\\nIn that frail vessel lay,\\nThe famished wolf that prowls the\\nwold 360\\nHad scathless passed the un-\\nguarded fold,\\nEre, driftiug by these galleys bold,\\nUnchallenged were her way\\nAnd thou, Lord Ronald, sweep\\nthou on\\nWith mirth and pride and minstrel\\ntone!\\nBut hadst thou known who sailed\\nso nigh,\\nFar other glance were in thine\\neye\\nFar other flush were on thy brow,\\nThat, shaded by the bonnet, now\\nAssumes but ill the blithesome\\ncheer 370\\nOf bridegroom when the bride is\\nnear!\\nXVII\\nYes, sweep they on I We will not\\nleave,\\nFor them that triumph, those who\\ngrieve.\\nWith that armada gay\\nBe laughter loud and jocund shout,\\nAnd bards to cheer the wassail\\nrout\\nWith tale, romance, and lay\\nAnd of wild mirth each clamorous\\nart,\\nWhich, if it cannot cheer the heart,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0449.jp2"}, "448": {"fulltext": "428\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nMay stupefy and stun its smart 380\\nFor one loud busy day.\\nYes, sweep they on! But with\\nthat skiff\\nAbides the minstrel tale,\\nWhere there was dread of surge\\nand cliff,\\nLabor that strained each sinew\\nstiff.\\nAnd one sad maiden s wail.\\nXVIII\\nAll day with fruitless strife they\\ntoiled,\\nWith eve the ebbing currents\\nboiled\\nMore fierce from strait and lake\\nAnd midway through the channel\\nmet 390\\nConflicting tides that foam and\\nfret,\\nAnd high their mingled billows\\njet,\\nAs spears that in the battle set\\nSpring upward as they break.\\nThen too the lights of eve were\\npast,\\nAnd louder sung the western blast\\nOn rocks of Inninmore\\nRent was the sail, and strained\\nthe mast,\\nAnd many a leak was gaping fast,\\nAnd the pale steersman stood\\naghast 400\\nAnd gave the conflict o er.\\nXIX\\nT was then that One whose lofty\\nlook\\nNor labor dulled nor terror shook\\nThus to the leader spoke\\nBrother, how hop st thou to\\nabide\\nThe fury of this wildered tide,\\nOr how avoid the rock s rude side\\nUntil the day has broke\\nDidst thou not mark the vessel\\nreel\\nWith quivering planks and groan-\\ning keel 410\\nAt the last billow s shock?\\nYet how of better counsel tell,\\nThough here thou see st poor\\nIsabel\\nHalf dead with want and fear\\nFor look on sea, or look on land,\\nOr yon dark sky, on every hand\\nDespair and death are near.\\nFor her alone I grieve on me\\nDanger sits light by land and sea,\\nI follow where thou wilt 420\\nEither to bide the tempest s lour,\\nOr wend to yon unfriendly tower,\\nOr rush amid their naval power,\\nWith war-cry wake their wassail-\\nhour,\\nAnd die with hand on hilt.\\nxx\\nThat elder leader s calm reply\\nIn steady voice was given,\\nIn man s most dark extremity\\nOft succor dawns from heaven.\\nEdward, trim thou the shattered\\nsail, 430\\nThe helm be mine, and down the\\ngale\\nLet our free course be driven\\nSo shall we scape the western\\nbay,\\nThe hostile fleet, the unequal fray\\nSo safely hold our vessel s way\\nBeneath the castJe wall\\nFor if a hope of safety rest,\\nT is on the sacred name of guest,\\nWho seeks for shelter storm-dis-\\ntressed\\nWithin a chieftain s hall. 440\\nIf not it best beseems our\\nworth,\\nOur name, our right, our lofty\\nbirth,\\nBy noble hands to fall.\\nXXI\\nThe helm, to his strong arm con-\\nsigned,\\nGave the reefed sail to meet the\\nwind,\\nAnd on her altered way\\nFierce bounding forward sprung\\nthe ship,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0450.jp2"}, "449": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n429\\nLike greyhound starting from the\\nslip\\nTo seize his flying prey.\\nAwaked before the rushing\\nprow 450\\nThe mimic fires of ocean glow,\\nThose lightnings of the wave\\nWild sparkles crest the broken\\ntides,\\nAnd flashing round the vessel s\\nsides\\nWith elfish lustre lave,\\nWhile far behind their livid light\\nTo the dark billows of the night\\nA gloomy splendor gave.\\nIt seems as if old Ocean shakes\\nFrom his dark brow the lucid\\nflakes 460\\nIn envious pageantry,\\nTo match the meteor-light that\\nstreaks\\nGrim Hecla s midnight sky.\\nXXII\\nNor lacked they steadier light to\\nkeep\\nTheir course upon the darkened\\ndeep;\\nArtornish, on her frowning steep\\nTwixt cloud and ocean hung,\\nGlanced with a thousand lights of\\nglee,\\nAnd landward far and far to sea\\nHer festal radiance flung. 470\\nBy that blithe beacon-light they\\nsteered,\\nWhose lustre mingled well\\nWith the pale beam that now ap-\\npeared,\\nAs the cold moon her head up-\\nreared\\nAbove the eastern felL\\nXXIII\\nThus guided, on their course they\\nbore\\nUntil they neared the mainland\\nshore,\\nWhen frequent on the hollow blast\\nWild shouts of merriment were\\ncast,\\nAnd wind and wave and sea-birds\\ncry 480\\nWith wassail sounds in concert\\nvie,\\nLike funeral shrieks with revelry,\\nOr like the battle-shout\\nBy peasants heard from cliffs on\\nhigh\\nWhen Triumph, Kage, and Agony\\nMadden the fight and rout.\\nNow nearer yet through mist and\\nstorm\\nDimly arose the castle s form\\nAnd deepened shadow made,\\nFar lengthened on the main be-\\nlow, 490\\nWhere dancing in reflected glow\\nA hundred torches played,\\nSpangling the wave with lights as\\nvain\\nAs pleasures in this vale of pain,\\nThat dazzle as they fade.\\nxxiv\\nBeneath the castle s sheltering lee\\nThey staid their course in quiet\\nsea.\\nHewn in the rock, a passage there\\nSought the dark fortress by a\\nstair,\\nSo strait, so high, so steep, 500\\nWith peasant s staff one valiant\\nhand\\nMight well the dizzy pass have\\nmanned\\nGainst hundreds armed with\\nspear and brand\\nAnd plunged them in the deep.\\nHis bugle then the helmsman\\nwound\\nLoud answered every echo round\\nFrom turret, rock, arid bay\\nThe postern s hinges crash and\\ngroan,\\nAnd soon the warder s cresset\\nshone\\nOn those rude steps of slippery\\nstone, 510\\nTo light the upward way.\\nThrice welcome, holy Sire he\\nsaid;", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0451.jp2"}, "450": {"fulltext": "430\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nFull long the spousal train have\\nstaid.\\nAnd, vexed at thy delay,\\nFeared lest amidst these wildering\\nseas\\nThe darksome night and freshen-\\ning breeze\\nHad driven thy bark astray/\\nxxv\\nWarder, the younger stranger\\nsaid,\\nThine erring guess some mirth\\nhad made\\nIn mirthful hour but nights like\\nthese, 520\\nWhen the rough winds wake west-\\nern seas,\\nBrook not of glee. We crave some\\naid\\nAnd needful shelter for this maid\\nUntil the break of day\\nFor to ourselves the deck s rude\\nplank\\nIs easy as the mossy bank\\nThat s breathed upon by May.\\nAnd for our storm-tossed skiff we\\nseek\\nShort shelter in this leeward\\ncreek,\\nPrompt when the dawn the east\\nshall streak 530\\nAgain to bear away.\\nAnswered the warder, In what\\nname\\nAssert ye hospitable claim?\\nWhence come or whither bound\\nHath Erin seen your parting sails,\\nOr come ye on Norweyan gales\\nAnd seek ye England s fertile\\nvales,\\nOr Scotland s mountain ground\\nXXVI\\nWarriors for other title none\\nFor some brief space we list to\\nown, 540\\nBound by a vow warriors are\\nwe;\\nIn strife by land and storm by sea\\nWe have been known to fame\\nAnd these brief words have import\\ndear,\\nWhen sounded in a noble ear,\\nTo harbor safe and friendly cheer\\nThat gives us rightful claim.\\nGrant us the trivial boon we seek,\\nAnd we in other realms will speak\\nFair of your courtesy 550\\nDeny and be your niggard hold\\nScorned by the noble and the bold,\\nShunned by the pilgrim on the\\nwold\\nAnd wanderer on the lea\\nXXVII\\nBold stranger, no gainst claim\\nlike thine\\nNo bolt revolves by hand of mine,\\nThough urged in tone that more\\nexpressed\\nA monarch than a suppliant guest.\\nBe what ye will, Artornish Hall\\nOn this glad eve is free to all. 560\\nThough ye had drawn a hostile\\nsword\\nGainst our ally, great England s\\nLord,\\nOr mail upon your shoulders borne\\nTo battle with the Lord of Lorn,\\nOr outlawed dwelt by greenwood\\ntree\\nWith the fierce Knight of Ellers-\\nlie,\\nOr aided even the murderous\\nstrife\\nWhen Comyn fell beneath the\\nknife\\nOf that fell homicide the Bruce,\\nThis night had been a term of\\ntruce. 570\\nHo, vassals! give these guests\\nyour care,\\nAnd show the narrow postern\\nstair.\\nXXVIII\\nTo land these two bold brethren\\nleapt\\nThe weary crew their vessel\\nkept\\nAnd, lighted by the torches flare", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0452.jp2"}, "451": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n431\\nThat seaward flung their smoky\\nglare,\\nThe younger knight that maiden\\nbare\\nHalf lifeless up the rock\\nOn his strong shoulder leaned her\\nhead,\\nAnd down her long dark tresses\\nshed, 580\\nAs the wild vine in tendrils spread\\nDroops from the mountain oak.\\nHim followed close that elder lord,\\nAnd in his hand a sheathed sword\\nSuch as few arms could wield\\nBut when he bouned him to such\\ntask\\nWell could it cleave the strongest\\ncasque\\nAnd rend the surest shield.\\nXXIX\\nThe raised portcullis arch they\\npass,\\nThe wicket with its bars of brass,\\nThe entrance long and low, 591\\nFlanked at each turn by loop-holes\\nstrait,\\nWhere bowmen might in ambush\\nwait\\nIf force or fraud should burst the\\ngate\\nTo gall an entering foe.\\nBut every jealous post of ward\\nWas now defenceless and un-\\nbarred,\\nAnd all the passage free\\nTo one low-browed and vaulted\\nroom\\nWhere squire and yeoman, page\\nand groom, 600\\nPlied their loud revelry.\\nXXX\\nAnd Rest ye here, the warder\\nbade,\\n1 Till to our lord your suit is said.\\nAnd, comrades, gaze not on the\\nmaid\\nAnd on these men who ask our\\naid,\\nAs if ye ne er had seen\\nA damsel tired of midnight bark\\nOr wanderers of a moulding stark\\nAnd bearing martial mien.\\nBut not for Eachin s reproof 610\\nWould page or vassal stand aloof,\\nBut crowded on to stare,\\nAs men of courtesy untaught,\\nTill fiery Edward roughly caught\\nFrom one the foremost there\\nHis chequered plaid, and in its\\nshroud,\\nTo hide her from the vulgar crowd,\\nInvolved his sister fair.\\nHis brother, as the clansman bent\\nHis sullen brow in discontent, 620\\nMade brief and stern excuse\\nVassal, were thine the cloak of\\npall\\nThat decks thy lord in bridal\\nhall,\\n*T were honored by her use.*\\nXXXI\\nProud was his tone but calm his\\neye\\nHad that compelling dignity,\\nHis mien that bearing naught and\\nhigh,\\nWhich common spirits fear\\nNeeded nor word nor signal more,\\nNod, wink, and laughter, all were\\no er 630\\nUpon each other back they bore\\nAnd gazed like startled deer.\\nBut now appeared the seneschal,\\nCommissioned by his lord to call\\nThe strangers to the baron s hall,\\nWhere feasted fair and free\\nThat Island Prince in nuptial tide\\nWith Edith there his lovely bride,\\nAnd her bold brother by her side,\\nAnd many a chief, the flower and\\npride 640\\nOf Western land and sea.\\nHere pause we, gentles, for a\\nspace\\nAnd, if our tale hath won your\\ngrace,\\nGrant us brief patience and again\\nWe will renew the minstrel strain.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0453.jp2"}, "452": {"fulltext": "43 2\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nCANTO SECOND\\nFill the bright goblet, spread\\nthe festive board\\nSummon the gay, the noble, and\\nthe fair\\nThrough the loud hall in joyous\\nconcert poured,\\nLet mirth and music sound the\\ndirge of Care\\nBut ask thou not if Happiness\\nbe there,\\nIf the loud laugh disguise con-\\nvulsive throe,\\nOr if the brow the heart s true\\nlivery wear\\nLift not the festal mask!\\nenough to know,\\nNo scene of mortal life but teems\\nwith mortal woe.\\nii\\nWith beakers clang, with harpers\\nlay, 10\\nWith all that olden time deemed\\ngay,\\nThe Island Chieftain feasted high\\nBut there was in his troubled eye\\nA gloomy fire, and on his brow\\nNow sudden flushed and faded\\nnow\\nEmotions such as draw their birth\\nFrom deeper source than festal\\nmirth.\\nBy fits he paused, and harper s\\nstrain\\nAnd jester s tale went round in\\nvain,\\nOr fell but on his idle ear 20\\nLike distant sounds which dream-\\ners hear.\\nThen would he rouse him, and em-\\nploy\\nEach art to aid the clamorous\\njoy,\\nAnd call for pledge and lay,\\nAnd for brief space of all the\\ncrowd,\\nAs he was loudest of the loud,\\nSeem gayest of the gay.\\nin\\nYet naught amiss the bridal\\nthrong\\nMarked in brief mirth or musing\\nlong;\\nThe vacant brow, the unlistening\\near, 30\\nThey gave to thoughts of raptures\\nnear,\\nAnd his fierce starts of sudden\\nglee\\nSeemed bursts of bridegroom s\\necstasy.\\nNor thus alone misjudged the\\ncrowd,\\nSince lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud,\\nAnd jealous of his honored line,\\nAnd that keen knight, De Argen-\\ntine\\nFrom England sent on errand\\nhigh\\nThe western league more firm to\\ntie\\nBoth deemed in Ronald s mood to\\nfind 40\\nA lover s transport-troubled mind.\\nBut one sad heart, one tearful eye,\\nPierced deeper through the mys-\\ntery,\\nAnd watched with agony and fear\\nHer wayward bridegroom s varied\\ncheer.\\nIV\\nShe watched yet feared to meet\\nhis glance,\\nAnd he shunned hers till when\\nby chance\\nThey met, the point of foeman s\\nlance\\nHad given a milder pang\\nBeneath the intolerable smart 50\\nHe writhed then sternly manned\\nhis heart\\nTo play his hard but destined\\npart,\\nAnd from the table sprang.\\nFill me the mighty cup, he said,\\nErst owned by royal Somerledl\\nFill it, till on the studded brim\\nIn burning gold the bubbles swim,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0454.jp2"}, "453": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n433\\nAnd every gem of varied shine\\nGlow doubly bright in rosy wine\\nTo you, brave lord, and brother\\nmine, 60\\nOf Lorn, this pledge I drink\\nThe Union of Our House with\\nthine,\\nBy this fair bridal-link\\n1 Let it pass round quoth he of\\nLorn,\\n4 And in good time that winded\\nhorn\\nMust of the abbot tell\\nThe laggard monk is come at last.\\nLord Ronald heard the bugle-\\nblast,\\nAnd on the floor at random cast\\nThe untasted goblet fell. 70\\nBut when the warder in his ear\\nTells other news, his blither cheer\\nReturns like sun of May\\nWhen through a thunder-cloud it\\nbeams\\nLord of two hundred isles, he\\nseems\\nAs glad of brief delay\\nAs some poor criminal might feel\\nWhen from the gibbet or the\\nwheel\\nRespited for a day.\\nVI\\nBrother of Lorn, with hurried\\nvoice 80\\nHe said, and you, fair lords, re-\\njoice\\nHere, to augment our glee,\\nCome wandering knights from\\ntravel far,\\nWell proved, they say, in strife of\\nwar\\nAnd tempest on the sea.\\nHo give them at your board such\\nplace\\nAs best their presences may grace,\\nAnd bid them welcome free I\\nWith solemn step and silver wand,\\nThe seneschal the presence\\nscanned 90\\nOf these strange guests, and well\\nhe knew\\nHow to assign their rank its due\\nFor though the costly furs\\nThat erst had decked their caps\\nwere torn,\\nAnd their gay robes were over-\\nworn,\\nAnd soiled their gilded spurs,\\nYet such a high commanding grace\\nWas in their mien and in their face\\nAs suited best the princely dais\\nAnd royal canopy 100\\nAnd there he marshalled them\\ntheir place,\\nFirst of that company.\\nVII\\nThen lords and ladies spake aside,\\nAnd angry looks the error chide\\nThat gave to guests unnamed, un-\\nknown,\\nA place so near their prince s\\nthrone;\\nBut Owen Erraught said,\\n1 For forty years a seneschal,\\nTo marshal guests in bovver and\\nhall\\nHas been my honored trade, na\\nWorship and birth to me are\\nknown,\\nBy look, by bearing, and by tone,\\nNot by furred robe or broidered\\nzone\\nAnd gainst an oaken bough\\nI 11 gage my silver wand of state\\nThat these three strangers oft\\nhave sate\\nIn higher place than now.\\nVIII\\nI too, the aged Ferrand said,\\nAm qualified by minstrel trade\\nOf rank and place to tell 120\\nMarked ye the younger stranger s\\neye,\\nMy mates, how quick, how keen,\\nhow high,\\nHow fierce its flashes fell,\\nGlancing among the noble rout\\nAs if to seek the noblest out,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0455.jp2"}, "454": {"fulltext": "434\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nBecause the owner might not\\nbrook\\nOn any save his peers to look?\\nAnd yet it moves me more,\\nThat steady, calm, majestic brow,\\nWith which the elder chief even\\nnow 130\\nScanned the gay presence o er,\\nLike being of superior kind,\\nIn whose high-toned impartial\\nmind\\nDegrees of mortal rank and state\\nSeem objects of indifferent weight.\\nThe lady too though closely\\ntied\\nThe mantle veil both face and\\neye,\\nHer motions grace it could not\\nhide,\\nNor cloud her form s fair sym-\\nmetry.\\nIX\\nSuspicious doubt and lordly scorn\\nLoured on the haughty front of\\nLorn. 141\\nFrom underneath his brows of\\npride\\nThe stranger guests he sternly\\neyed,\\nAnd whispered closely what the\\near\\nOf Argentine alone might hear\\nThen questioned, high and brief,\\nIf in their voyage aught they knew\\nOf the rebellious Scottish crew\\nWho to Rath-Erin s shelter drew\\nWith Carrick s outlawed Chief?\\nAnd if, their winter s exile o er,\\nThey harbored still by Ulster s\\nshore, 152\\nOr launched their galleys on the\\nmain\\nTo vex their native land again\\nThat younger stranger, fierce and\\nhigh,\\nAt once confronts the chieftain s\\neye\\nWith look of equal scorn\\n1 Of re bels have we naught to show\\nBut if of royal Bruce thou dst\\nknow,\\nI warn thee he has sworn, 160\\nEre thrice three days shall come\\nand go,\\nHis banner Scottish winds shall\\nblow,\\nDespite each mean or mighty\\nfoe,\\nFrom England s every bill and bow\\nTo Allaster of Lorn.\\nKindled the mountain chieftain s\\nire,\\nBut Ronald quenched the rising\\nfire:\\n1 Brother, it better suits the time\\nTo chase the night with Ferrand s\\nrhyme\\nThan wake midst mirth and wine\\nthe jars 170\\nThat flow from these unhappy\\nwars.\\nContent, said Lorn; and spoke\\napart\\nWith Ferrand, master of his art,\\nThen whispered Argentine,\\n1 The lay I named will carry smart\\nTo these bold strangers haughty\\nheart,\\nIf right this guess of mine.\\nHe ceased, and it was silence all\\nUntil the minstrel waked the hall.\\nXI\\nTHE BROOCH OF LORN\\nWhence the brooch of burning\\ngold 180\\nThat clasps the chieftain s mantle-\\nfold,\\nWrought and chased with rare de-\\nvice,\\nStudded fair with gems of price,\\nOn the varied tartans beaming,\\nAs, through night s pale rainbow\\ngleaming,\\nFainter now, now seen afar,\\nFitful shines the northern star", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0456.jp2"}, "455": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n435\\n1 Gem ne er wrought on Highland\\nmountain,\\nDid the fairy of the fountain\\nOr the mermaid of the wave 190\\nFrame thee in some coral cave\\nDid, in Iceland s darksome mine,\\nDwarf s swart hands thy metal\\ntwine\\nOr, mortal-moulded, comest thou\\nhere\\nFrom England s love or France s\\nfear?\\nXII\\nSONG CONTINUED\\n4 No thy splendors nothing tell\\nForeign art or faery spell.\\nMoulded thou for monarch s use,\\nBy the overweening Bruce,\\nWhen the royal robe he tied 200\\nO er a heart of wrath and pride\\nThence in triumph wert thou torn\\nBy the victor hand of Lorn\\nWhen the gem was won and\\nlost,\\nWidely was the war-cry tossed\\nRung aloud Bendourish fell,\\nAnswered Douchart s sounding\\ndell,\\nFled the deer from wild Teyndrum,\\nWhen the homicide o ercome\\nHardly scaped with scathe and\\nscorn, 210\\nLeft the pledge with conquering\\nLorn\\nXIII\\nSONG CONCLUDED\\nVain was then the Douglas\\nbrand,\\nVain the Campbell s vaunted hand,\\nVain Kirkpatrick s bloody dirk,\\nMaking sure of murder s work;\\nBarendown fled fast away,\\nFled the fiery De la Haye,\\nWhen this brooch triumphant\\nborne\\nBeamed upon the breast of Lorn.\\n1 Farthest fled its former lord, 220\\nLeft his men to brand and cord,\\nBloody brand of Highland steel,\\nEnglish gibbet, axe, and wheel.\\nLet him fly from coast to coast,\\nDogged by Comyn s vengeful\\nghost,\\nWhile his spoils in triumph worn\\nLong shall grace victorious Lorn\\nXIV\\nAs glares the tiger on his foes,\\nHemmed in by hunters, spears,\\nand bows, 229\\nAnd, ere he bounds upon the ring,\\nSelects the object of his spring,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNow on the bard, now on his lord,\\nSo Edward glared and grasped his\\nsword\\nBut stern his brother spoke, Be\\nstill.\\nWhat art thou yet so wild of will,\\nAfter high deeds and sufferings\\nlong,\\nTo chafe thee for a menial s\\nsong?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWell hast thou framed, old man,\\nthy strains,\\nTo praise the hand that pays thy\\npains,\\nYet something might thy song\\nhave told 240\\nOf Lorn s three vassals, true and\\nbold,\\nWho rent their lord from Bruce s\\nhold\\nAs underneath his knee he lay,\\nAnd died to save him in the fray.\\nI ve heard the Bruce s cloak and\\nclasp\\nWas clenched within their dying\\ngrasp,\\nWhat time a hundred f oemen more\\nRushed in and back the victor\\nbore,\\nLong after Lorn had left the strife,\\nFull glad to scape with limb and\\nlife. 250\\nEnough of this and, minstrel,\\nhold\\nAs minstrel-hire this chain of gold,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0457.jp2"}, "456": {"fulltext": "436\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nFor future lays a fair excuse\\nTo speak more nobly of the\\nBruce.\\nxv\\nNow, by Columba s shrine, I\\nswear,\\nAnd every saint that s buried\\nthere,\\nT is he himself! Lorn sternly\\ncries,\\nAnd for my kinsman s death he\\ndies.\\nAs loudly Ronald calls, 4 Forbear\\nNot in my sight while brand I\\nwear, 260\\nO ermatched by odds, shall war-\\nrior fall,\\nOr blood of stranger stain my hall\\nThis ancient fortress of my race\\nShall be misfortune s resting-\\nplace,\\nShelter and shield of the dis-\\ntressed,\\nNo slaughter-house for ship-\\nwrecked guest\\n1 Talk not to me, fierce Lorn re-\\nplied,\\n4 Of odds or match when Comyn\\ndied,\\nThree daggers clashed within his\\nside 269\\nTalk not to me of sheltering hall,\\nThe Church of God saw Comyn\\nfall!\\nOn God s own altar streamed his\\nblood,\\nWhile o er my prostrate kinsman\\nstood\\nThe ruthless murderer e en as\\nnow\\nWith armed hand and scornful\\nbrow\\nUp, all who love me blow on blow\\nAnd lay the outlawed felons low\\nXVI\\nThen up sprang many a mainland\\nlord,\\nObedient to their chieftain s word.\\nBarcaldine s arm is high in air, 280\\nAnd Kinloch-Alline s blade is bare,\\nBlack Murthok s dirk has left its\\nsheath,\\nAnd clenched is Dermid s hand of\\ndeath.\\nTheir muttered threats of ven-\\ngeance swell\\nInto a wild and warlike yell\\nOnward they press with weapons\\nhigh,\\nThe affrighted females shriek and\\nfly,\\nAnd, Scotland, then thy brightest\\nray 288\\nHad darkened ere its noon of\\nday,\\nBut every chief of birth and fame\\nThat from the Isles of Ocean came\\nAt Ronald s side that hour with-\\nstood\\nFierce Lorn s relentless thirst for\\nblood.\\nXVII\\nBrave Torquil from Dunvegan\\nhigh,\\nLord of the misty hills of Skye,\\nMac Niel, wild Bara s ancient\\nthane,\\nDuart of bold Clan-Gillian s strain,\\nFergus of Canna s castled bay,\\nMac-Duffith, Lord of Colonsay,\\nSoon as they saw the broadswords\\nglance, 300\\nWith ready weapons rose at once,\\nMore prompt that many an ancient\\nfeud,\\nFull oft suppressed, full oft re-\\nnewed,\\nGlowed twixt the chieftains of\\nArgyle,\\nAnd many a lord of ocean s isle.\\nWild was the scene each sword\\nwas bare,\\nBack streamed each chieftain s\\nshaggy hair,\\nIn gloomy opposition set,\\nEyes, hands, and brandished wea-\\npons met\\nBlue gleaming o er the social\\nboard, 310", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0458.jp2"}, "457": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n437\\nFlashed to the torches many a\\nsword\\nAnd soon those bridal lights may\\nshine\\nOn purple blood for rosy wine.\\nXVIII\\nWhile thus for blows and death\\nprepared,\\nEach heart was up, each weapon\\nbared,\\nEach foot advanced, a surly\\npause\\nStill reverenced hospitable laws.\\nAll menaced violence, but alike\\nReluctant each the first to strike\\nFor aye accursed in minstrel line\\nIs he w T ho brawls mid song and\\nwine, 3 21\\nAnd, matched in numbers and in\\nmight,\\nDoubtful and desperate seemed\\nthe fight.\\nThus threat and murmur died\\naway,\\nTill on the crowded hall there lay\\nSuch silence as the deadly still\\nEre bursts the thunder on the hill.\\nWith blade advanced, each chief-\\ntain bold\\nShowed like the Sworder s form of\\nold, 329\\nAs wanting still the torch of life\\nTo wake the marble into strife.\\nXIX\\nThat awful pause the stranger\\nmaid\\nAnd Edith seized to pray for aid.\\nAs to De Argentine she clung,\\nAway her veil the stranger flung,\\nAnd, lovely mid her wild despair,\\nFast streamed her eyes, wide\\nflowed her hair\\n0 thou, of knighthood once the\\nflower,\\nSure refuge in distressful hour,\\nThou who in Judah well hast\\nfought 340\\nFor our dear faith and oft hast\\nsought\\nRenown in knightly exercise\\nWhen this poor hand has dealt the\\nprize,\\nSay, can thy soul of honor brook\\nOn the unequal strife to look,\\nWhen, butchered thus in peaceful\\nhall,\\nThose once thy friends, my bre-\\nthren, fall\\nTo Argentine she turned her word,\\nBut her eye sought the Island\\nLord.\\nA flush like evening s setting\\nflame 350\\nGlowed on his cheek his hardy\\nframe\\nAs with a brief convulsion shook\\nWith hurried voice and eager look,\\nFear not, he said, my Isabel\\nWhat said I Edith all is\\nwell\\nNay, fear not I will well provide\\nThe safety of my lovely bride\\nMy bride but there the accents\\nclung\\nIn tremor to his faltering tongue.\\nxx\\nNow rose De Argentine to claim\\nThe prisoners in his sovereign s\\nname 361\\nTo England s crown, who, vassals\\nsworn,\\nGainst their liege lord had wea-\\npon borne\\nSuch speech, I ween, was but to\\nhide\\nHis care their safety to provide\\nFor knight more true in thought\\nand deed\\nThan Argentine ne er spurred a\\nsteed\\nAnd Ronald who his meaning\\nguessed\\nSeemed half to sanction the re-\\nquest. 369\\nThis purpose fiery Torquil broke\\n1 Somewhat we ve heard of Eng-\\nland s yoke,\\nHe said, and in our islands Fame\\nHath w r hispered of a lawful claim", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0459.jp2"}, "458": {"fulltext": "43\u00c2\u00bb\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nThat calls the Bruce fair Scotland s\\nlord,\\nThough dispossessed by foreign\\nsword.\\nThis craves reflection hut\\nthough right\\nAnd just the charge of England s\\nKnight,\\nLet England s crown her rebels\\nseize\\nWhere she has power in towers\\nlike these,\\nMidst Scottish chieftains sum-\\nmoned here 380\\nTo bridal mirth and bridal cheer,\\nBe sure, with no consent of mine\\nShall either Lorn or Argentine\\nWith chains or violence, in our\\nsight,\\nOppress a brave and banished\\nknight.\\nXXI\\nThen waked the wild debate again\\nWith brawling threat and clamor\\nvain.\\nVassals and menials thronging in\\nLent their brute rage to swell the\\ndin; 389\\nWhen far and wide a bugle-clang\\nFrom the dark ocean upward rang.\\nThe abbot comes they cry at\\nonce,\\nThe holy man, whose favored\\nglance\\nHath sainted visions known\\nAngels have met him on the way,\\nBeside the blessed martyr s bay,\\nAnd by Columba s stone.\\nHis monks have heard their hymn-\\nings high\\nSound from the summit of Dun-Y,\\nTo cheer his penance lone, 400\\nWhen at each cross, on girth and\\nwold\\nTheir number thrice a hundred-\\nfold-\\nHis prayer he made, his beads he\\ntold,\\nWith Aves many a one\\nHe comes our feuds to reconcile,\\nA sainted man from sainted isle\\nWe will his holy doom abide,\\nThe abbot shall our strife decide.\\nXXII\\nScarcely this fair accord was o er\\nWhen through the wide revolving\\ndoor 410\\nThe black-stoled brethren wind\\nTwelve sandalled monks who re-\\nlics bore,\\nWith many a torch-bearer before\\nAnd many a cross behind.\\nThen sunk each fierce uplifted\\nhand,\\nAnd dagger bright and flashing\\nbrand\\nDropped swiftly at the sight\\nThey vanished from the Church-\\nman s eye,\\nAs shooting stars that glance and\\ndie\\nDart from the vault of night. 420\\nXXIII\\nThe abbot on the threshold stood,\\nAnd in his hand the holy rood\\nBack on his shoulders flowed his\\nhood,\\nThe torch s glaring ray\\nShowed in its red and flashing\\nlight\\nHis withered cheek and amice\\nwhite,\\nHis blue eye glistening cold and\\nbright,\\nHis tresses scant and gray.\\nFair Lords, he said, Our Lady s\\nlove,\\nAnd peace be with you from above,\\nAnd Benedicite!\u00e2\u0080\u0094 431\\nBut what means this? no peace\\nis here\\nDo dirks unsheathed suit bridal\\ncheer?\\nOr are these naked brands\\nA seemly show for Churchman s\\nsight\\nWhen he comes summoned to\\nunite\\nBetrothed hearts and hands", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0460.jp2"}, "459": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n4391\\nxxrv\\nThen, cloaking hate with fiery zeal,\\nProud Lorn first answered the ap-\\npeal:\\n4 Thou com st, O holy man, 440\\nTrue sons of blessed church to\\ngreet.\\nBut little deeming here to meet\\nA wretch beneath the ban\\nOf Pope and Church for murder\\ndone\\nEven on the sacred altar-stone\\nWell mayst thou wonder we should\\nknow\\nSuch miscreant here, nor lay him\\nlow,\\nOr dream of greeting, peace, or\\ntruce,\\nWith excommunicated Bruce 449\\nYet well I grant, to end debate,\\nThy sainted voice decide his fate.\\nXXV\\nThen Roland pled the stranger s\\ncause,\\nAnd knighthood s oath and honor s\\nlaws\\nAnd Isabel on bended knee\\nBrought prayers and tears to back\\nthe plea\\nAnd Edith lent her generous aid,\\nAnd wept, and Lorn for mercy\\nprayed.\\n1 Hence, he exclaimed, degener-\\nate maid\\nWas t not enough to Ronald s\\nbower 459\\nI brought thee, like a paramour,\\nOr bond-maid at her master s gate,\\nHis careless cold approach to\\nwait?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nBut the bold Lord of Cumberland,\\nThe gallant Clifford, seeks thy\\nhand;\\nHis it shall be Nay, no reply\\nHence! till those rebel eyes be\\ndry.\\nWith grief the abbot heard and\\nsaw,\\nYet naught relaxed his brow of\\nawe.\\nXXVI\\nThen Argentine, in England s\\nname,\\nSo highly urged his sovereign s\\nclaim 470\\nHe waked a spark that long sup-\\npressed\\nHad smouldered in Lord Ronald s\\nbreast\\nAnd now, as from the flint the\\nfire,\\nFlashed forth at once his generous\\nire.\\nEnough of noble blood, he said,\\nBy English Edward had been\\nshed,\\nSince matchless Wallace first had\\nbeen\\nIn mockery crowned with wreaths\\nof green,\\nAnd done to death by felon hand\\nFor guarding well his father s\\nland. 480\\nWhere s Nigel Bruce and De la\\nHaye,\\nAnd valiant Seton where are\\nthey\\nWhere Somerville, the kind and\\nfree?\\nAnd Fraser, flower of chivalry\\nHave they not been on gibbet\\nbound,\\nTheir quarters flung to hawk and\\nhound,\\nAnd hold we here a cold debate\\nTo yield more victims to their\\nfate?\\nWhat can the English Leopard s\\nmood\\nNever be gorged with northern\\nblood 490\\nWas not the life of Athole shed\\nTo soothe the tyrant s sickened\\nbed?\\nAnd must his word till dying day\\nBe naught but quarter, hang, and\\nslay\\nThou frown st, De Argentine,\\nmy gage\\nIs prompt to prove the strife I\\nwage.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0461.jp2"}, "460": {"fulltext": "440\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nXXVII\\n1 Nor deem/ said stout Dunvegan s\\nknight,\\n4 That thou shalt brave alone the\\nfight\\nBy saints of isle and mainland\\nboth,\\nBy Woden wild my grandsire s\\noath 500\\nLet Eome and England do their\\nworst,\\nHowe er attainted or accursed,\\nIf Bruce shall e er find friends\\nagain\\nOnce more to brave a battle-plain,\\nIf Douglas couch again his lance,\\nOr Randolph dare another chance,\\nOld Torquil will not be to lack\\nWith twice a thousand at his\\nback.\\nNay, chafe not at my bearing bold,\\nGood abbot for thou know st of\\nold, 510\\nTorquil s rude thought and stub-\\nborn will\\nSmack of the wild Norwegian still\\nNor will I barter Freedom s cause\\nFor England s wealth or Rome s\\napplause.*\\nXXVIII\\nThe abbot seemed with eye severe\\nThe hardy chieftain s speech to\\nhear;\\nThen on King Robert turned the\\nmonk,\\nBut twice his courage came and\\nsunk,\\nConfronted with the hero s look\\nTwice fell his eye, his accents\\nshook 520\\nAt length, resolved in tone and\\nbrow,\\nSternly he questioned him And\\nthou,\\nUnhappy what hast thou to plead,\\nWhy I denounce not on thy deed\\nThat awful doom which canons\\ntell\\nShuts paradise and opens hell\\nAnathema of power so dread,\\nIt blends the living with the dead,\\nBids each good angel soar away\\nAnd every ill one claim his prey\\nExpels thee from the church s\\ncare 53 1\\nAnd deafens Heaven against thy\\nprayer\\nArms every hand against thy life,\\nBans all who aid thee in the strife,\\nNay, each whose succor, cold and\\nscant,\\nWith meanest alms relieves thy\\nwant;\\nHaunts thee while living, and\\nwhen dead\\nDwells on thy yet devoted head,\\nRends Honor s scutcheon from thy\\nhearse, 539\\nStills o er thy bier the holy verse,\\nAnd spurns thy corpse from hal-\\nlowed ground,\\nFlung like vile carrion to the\\nhound\\nSuch is the dire and desperate\\ndoom\\nFor sacrilege, decreed by Rome\\nAnd such the well-deserved meed\\nOf thine unhallowed, ruthless\\ndeed.\\nXXIX\\n1 Abbot the Bruce replied, thy\\ncharge\\nIt boots not to dispute at large.\\nThis much, howe er, I bid thee\\nknow,\\nNo selfish vengeance dealt the\\nblow, 550\\nFor Comyn died his country s foe.\\nNor blame I friends whose ill-\\ntimed speed\\nFulfilled my soon-repented deed,\\nNor censure those from whose\\nstern tongue\\nThe dire anathema has rung.\\nI only blame mine own wild ire,\\nBy Scotland s wrongs incensed to\\nfire.\\nHeaven knows my purpose to\\natone,\\nFar as I may, the evil done,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0462.jp2"}, "461": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n441\\nAnd hears a penitent s appeal 560\\nFrom papal curse and prelate s\\nzeal.\\nMy first and dearest task achieved,\\nFair Scotland from her thrall re-\\nlieved,\\nShall many a priest in cope and\\nstole\\nSay requiem for Red Comyn s soul,\\nWhile I the blessed cross advance\\nAnd expiate this unhappy chance\\nIn Palestine with sword and lance.\\nBut, while content the Church\\nshould know\\nMy conscience owns the debt I\\nowe, 570\\nUnto De Argentine and Lorn\\nThe name of traitor I return,\\nBid them defiance stern and high,\\nAnd give them in their throats the\\nlie!\\nThese brief words spoke, I speak\\nno more.\\nDo what thou wilt my shrift is\\no er.\\nXXX\\nLike man by prodigy amazed,\\nUpon the king the abbot gazed\\nThen o er his pallid features\\nglance\\nConvulsions of ecstatic trance. 580\\nHis breathing came more thick\\nand fast,\\nAnd from his pale blue eyes were\\ncast\\nStrange rays of wild and wander-\\ning light\\nUprise his locks of silver white,\\nFlushed is his brow, through every\\nvein\\nIn azure tide the currents strain,\\nAnd undistinguished accents broke\\nThe awful silence ere he spoke.\\nXXXI\\nDe Bruce! I rose with purpose\\ndread 589\\nTo speak my curse upon thy head,\\nAnd give thee as an outcast o er\\nTo him who burns to shed thy\\ngore;\\nBut, like the Midianite of old\\nWho stood on Zophim, Heaven-\\ncontrolled,\\nI feel within mine aged breast\\nA power that will not be repressed.\\nIt prompts my voice, it swells my\\nveins,\\nIt burns, it maddens, it con-\\nstrains\\nDe Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow\\nHath at God s altar slain thy\\nfoe:\\nO ermastered yet by high behest,\\nI bless thee, and thou shalt be\\nblessed 602\\nHe spoke, and o er the astonished\\nthrong\\nWas silence, awful, deep, and long.\\nXXXII\\nAgain that light has fired his eye,\\nAgain his form swells bold and\\nhigh,\\nThe broken voice of age is gone,\\nT is vigorous manhood s lofty\\ntone\\n1 Thrice vanquished on the battle-\\nplain,\\nThy followers slaughtered, fled, or\\nta en, 610\\nA hunted wanderer on the wild,\\nOn foreign shores a man exiled,\\nDisowned, deserted, and dis-\\ntressed,\\nI bless thee, and thou shalt be\\nblessed\\nBlessed in the hall and in the field,\\nUnder the mantle as the shield.\\nAvenger of thy country s shame,\\nRestorer of her injured fame,\\nBlessed in thy sceptre and thy\\nsword,\\nDe Bruce, for Scotland s rightful\\nlord, 620\\nBlessed in thy deeds and in thy\\nfame,\\nWhat lengthened honors wait thy\\nname\\nIn distant ages sire to son\\nShall tell thy tale of freedom\\nwon,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0463.jp2"}, "462": {"fulltext": "442\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nAnd teach his infants in the use\\nOf earliest speech to falter Bruce.\\nGo, then, triumphant sweep along\\nThy course, the theme of many a\\nsong\\nThe Power whose dictates swell\\nmy breast\\nHath blessed thee, and thou shalt\\nbe blessed 630\\nEnough my short-lived strength\\ndecays,\\nAnd sinks the momentary blaze.\\nHeaven hath our destined purpose\\nbroke,\\nNot here must nuptial vow be\\nspoke\\nBrethren, our errand here is o er,\\nOur task discharged. Unmoor,\\nunmoor\\nHis priests received the exhausted\\nmonk,\\nAs breathless in their arms he\\nsunk.\\nPunctual his orders to obey,\\nThe train refused all longer stay,\\nEmbarked, raised sail, and bore\\naway. 64 1\\nCANTO THIRD\\nHast thou not marked when\\no er thy startled head\\nSudden and deep the thunder-\\npeal has rolled,\\nHow, when its echoes fell, a si-\\nlence dead\\nSunk on the wood, the meadow,\\nand the wold\\nThe rye-grass shakes not on the\\nsod-built fold,\\nThe rustling aspen s leaves are\\nmute and still,\\nThe wall-flower waves not on\\nthe ruined hold,\\nTill, murmuring distant first,\\nthen near and shrill,\\nThe savage whirlwind wakes and\\nsweeps the groaning hill.\\nii\\nArtornish such a silence sunk 10\\nUpon thy halls, when that gray\\nmonk\\nHis prophet-speech had spoke\\nAnd his obedient brethren s sail\\nWas stretched to meet the south-\\nern gale\\nBefore a whisper woke.\\nThen murmuring sounds of doubt\\nand fear,\\nClose poured in many an anxious\\near,\\nThe solemn stillness broke\\nAnd still they gazed with eager\\nguess\\nWhere in an oriel s deep recess 20\\nThe Island Prince seemed bent to\\npress\\nWhat Lorn, by his impatient cheer\\nAnd gesture fierce, scarce deigned\\nto hear.\\nin\\nStarting at length with frowning\\nlook,\\nHis hand he clenched, his head he\\nshook,\\nAnd sternly flung apart\\n1 And deem st thou me so mean of\\nmood\\nAs to forget the mortal feud,\\nAnd clasp the hand with blood\\nimbrued 29\\nFrom my dear kinsman s heart?\\nIs this thy rede a due return\\nFor ancient league and friendship\\nsworn\\nBut well our mountain proverb\\nshows\\nThe faith of Islesmen ebbs and\\nflows.\\nBe it even so believe ere^ long\\nHe that now bears shall wreak the\\nwrong.\\nCall Edith call the Maid of\\nLorn!\\nMy sister, slaves! for further\\nscorn,\\nBe sure nor she nor I will stay.\\nAway, Pe Argentine, away 40", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0464.jp2"}, "463": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n443\\nWe nor ally nor brother know\\nIn Bruce s friend or England s\\nfoe.\\nIV\\nBut who the chieftain s rage can\\ntell\\nWhen, sought from lowest dun-\\ngeon cell\\nTo highest tower the castle round,\\nNo Lady Edith was there found\\nHe shouted, Falsehood treach-\\nery!\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nRevenge and blood a lordly\\nmeed\\nTo him that will avenge the deed\\nA baron s lands His frantic\\nmood 50\\nWas scarcely by the news with-\\nstood\\nThat Morag shared his sister s\\nflight,\\nAnd that in hurry of the night,\\nScaped noteless and without re-\\nmark,\\nTwo strangers sought the abbot s\\nbark.\\n4 Man every galley fly pur-\\nsue!\\nThe priest his treachery shall rue\\nAy, and the time shall quickly\\ncome\\nWhen we shall hear the thanks\\nthat Rome\\nWill pay his feigned prophecy 60\\nSuch was fierce Lorn s indignant\\ncry;\\nAnd Cormac Doil in haste obeyed,\\nHoisted his sail, his anchor\\nweighed\\nFor, glad of each pretext for spoil,\\nA pirate sworn was Cormac Doil.\\nBut others, lingering, spoke apart,\\nThe maid has given her maiden\\nheart\\nTo Ronald of the Isles,\\nAnd, fearful lest her brother s\\nword 69\\nBestow her on that English lord,\\nShe seeks Iona s piles,\\nAnd wisely deems it best to dwell\\nA votaress in the holy cell\\nUntil these feuds so fierce and\\nfell\\nThe abbot reconciles.\\nAs, impotent of ire, the hall\\nEchoed to Lorn s impatient call\\nMy horse, my mantle, and my\\ntrain\\nLet none who honors Lorn re-\\nmain\\nCourteous but stern, a bold re-\\nquest 80\\nTo Bruce De Argentine ex-\\npressed\\nLord Earl, he said, I cannot\\nchuse\\nBut yield such title to the Bruce,\\nThough name and earldom both\\nare gone\\nSince he braced rebel s armor\\non\\nBut, earl or serf rude phrase\\nwas thine\\nOf late, and launched at Argen-\\ntine;\\nSuch as compels me to demand\\nRedress of honor at thy hand.\\nWe need not to each other tell 90\\nThat both can wield their weapons\\nwell\\nThen do me but the soldier grace\\nThis glove upon thy helm to place\\nWhere we may meet in fight\\nAnd I will say, as still I ve said,\\nThough by ambition far misled,\\nThou art a noble knight.\\nVI\\nAnd I, the princely Bruce re-\\nplied,\\nMight term it stain on knight-\\nhood s pride\\nThat the bright sword of Argen-\\ntine 100\\nShould in a tyrant s quarrel shine\\nBut, for your brave request,\\nBe sure the honored pledge you\\ngave\\nIn every battle-field shall wave", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0465.jp2"}, "464": {"fulltext": "444\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nUpon my helmet-crest\\nBelieve that if my hasty tongue\\nHath done thine honor causeless\\nwrong,\\nIt shall be well redressed.\\nNot dearer to my soul was glove\\nBestowed in youth by lady s love\\nThan this which thou hast\\ngiven in\\nThus then my noble foe I greet\\nHealth and high fortune till we\\nmeet,\\nAnd then what pleases Hea-\\nven.\\nVII\\nThus parted they for now, with\\nsound\\nLike waves rolled back from rocky\\nground,\\nThe friends of Lorn retire\\nEach mainland chieftain with his\\ntrain\\nDraws to his mountain towers\\nagain,\\nPondering how mortal schemes\\nprove vain 120\\nAnd mortal hopes expire.\\nBut through the castle double\\nguard\\nBy Ronald s charge kept wakeful\\nward,\\nWicket and gate were trebly\\nbarred\\nBy beam and bolt and chain\\nThen of the guests in courteous\\nsort\\nHe prayed excuse for mirth broke\\nshort,\\nAnd bade them in Artornish fort\\nIn confidence remain.\\nNow torch and menial tendance\\nled 130\\nChieftain and knight to bower and\\nbed,\\nAnd beads were told and Aves\\nsaid,\\nAnd soon they sunk away\\nInto such sleep as wont to shed\\nOblivion on the weary head\\nAfter a toilsome day.\\nVIII\\nBut soon uproused, the monarch\\ncried\\nTo Edward slumbering by his\\nside,\\nAwake, or sleep for aye\\nEven now there jarred a secret\\ndoor 140\\nA taper-light gleams on the floor\\nUp, Edward up, I say\\nSome one glides in like midnight\\nghost\\nNay, strike not! tis our noble\\nhost/\\nAdvancing then his taper s flame,\\nRonald stept forth, and with him\\ncame\\nDunvegan s chief each bent\\nthe knee\\nTo Bruce in sign of fealty\\nAnd proffered him his sword,\\nAnd hailed him in a monarch s\\nstyle 150\\nAs king of mainland and of isle\\nAnd Scotland s rightful lord.\\nAnd O, said Ronald, Owned of\\nHeaven\\nSay, is my erring youth forgiven,\\nBy falsehood s arts from duty\\ndriven,\\nWho rebel falchion drew,\\nYet ever to thy deeds of fame,\\nEven while I strove against thy\\nclaim,\\nPaid homage just and true\\n4 Alas dear youth, the unhappy\\ntime, 160\\nAnswered the Bruce, must bear\\nthe crime\\nSince, guiltier far than you,\\nEven I \u00e2\u0080\u0094he paused; for Falkirk s\\nwoes\\nUpon his conscious soul arose.\\nThe chieftain to his breast he\\npressed,\\nAnd in a sigh concealed the rest.\\nIX\\nThey proffered aid by arms and\\nmight\\nTo repossess him in his right", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0466.jp2"}, "465": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n445\\nBut well their counsels must be\\nweighed\\nEre banners raised and musters\\nmade, 170\\nFor English hire and Lorn s in-\\ntrigues\\nBound many chiefs in southern\\nleagues.\\nIn answer Bruce his purpose bold\\nTo his new vassals frankly told\\n1 The winter worn in exile o er,\\nI longed for Carrick s kindred\\nshore.\\nI thought upon my native Ayr\\nAnd longed to see the burly fare\\nThat Clifford makes, whose lordly\\ncall\\nNow echoes through my father s\\nhall. 180\\nBut first my course to Arran led\\nWhere valiant Lennox gathers\\nhead,\\nAnd on the sea by tempest tossed,\\nOur barks dispersed, our purpose\\ncrossed,\\nMine own, a hostile sail to shun,\\nFar from her destined course had\\nrun,\\nWhen that wise will which masters\\nours\\nCompelled us to your friendly\\ntowers.\\nThen Torquil spoke: The time\\ncraves speed 189\\nWe must not linger in our deed,\\nBut instant pray our sovereign\\nliege\\nTo shun the perils of a siege.\\nThe vengeful Lorn with all his\\npowers\\nLies but too near Artornish tow-\\ners,\\nAnd England s light-armed vessels\\nride\\nNot distant far the waves of Clyde,\\nPrompt at these tidings to unmoor,\\nAnd sweep each strait and guard\\neach shore. 198\\nThen, till this fresh alarm pass by,\\nSecret and safe my liege must lie\\nIn the far bounds of friendly Skye,\\nTorquil thy pilot and thy guide.\\nNot so, brave chieftain, Ronald\\ncried\\nMyself will on my sovereign wait,\\nAnd raise in arms the men of\\nSleate,\\nWhilst thou, renowned where\\nchiefs debate,\\nShalt sway their souls by council\\nsage\\nAnd awe them by thy locks of\\nage.\\nAnd if my words in weight shall\\nfail,\\nThis ponderous sword shall turn\\nthe scale. 210\\nXI\\nThe scheme, said Bruce, Con-\\ntents me well\\nMeantime, t were best that Isabel\\nFor safety with my bark and crew\\nAgain to friendly Erin drew.\\nThere Edward too shall with her\\nwend,\\nIn need to cheer her and defend\\nAnd muster up each scattered\\nfriend.\\nHere seemed it as Lord Ronald s\\near\\nWould other counsel gladlier hear\\nBut, all achieved as soon as\\nplanned, 220\\nBoth barks, in secret armed and\\nmanned,\\nFrom out the haven bore\\nOn different voyage forth they ply,\\nThis for the coast of winged Skye\\nAnd that for Erin s shore.\\nXII\\nWith Bruce and Ronald bides the\\ntale.\\nTo favoring winds they gave the\\nsail\\nTill Mull s dark headlands scarce\\nthey knew\\nAnd Ardnamurchan s hills were\\nblue.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0467.jp2"}, "466": {"fulltext": "446\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nBut then the squalls blew close\\nand hard, 230\\nAnd, fain to strike the galley s\\nyard\\nAnd take them to the oar,\\nWith these rude seas in weary\\nplight\\nThey strove the livelong day and\\nnight,\\nNor till the dawning had a sight\\nOf Skye s romantic shore.\\nWhere Coolin stoops him to the\\nwest,\\nThey saw upon his shivered crest\\nThe sun s arising gleam\\nBut such the labor and delay, 240\\nEre they were moored in Scavigh\\nbay\\nFor calmer heaven compelled to\\nstay\\nHe shot a western beam.\\nThen Ronald said, If true mine\\neye,\\nThese are the savage wilds that\\nlie\\nNorth of Strathnardill and Dun-\\nskye\\nNo human foot comes here,\\nAnd, since these adverse breezes\\nblow,\\nIf my good liege love hunter s\\nbow,\\nWhat hinders that on land we\\ngo 250\\nAnd strike a mountain-deer\\nAllan, my page, shall with us\\nwend;\\nA bow full deftly can he bend,\\nAnd, if we meet a herd, may\\nsend\\nA shaft shall mend our cheer.\\nThen each took bow and bolts in\\nhand,\\nTheir row-boat launched and leapt\\nto land,\\nAnd left their skiff and train,\\nWhere a wild stream with head-\\nlong shock\\nCame brawling down its bed of\\nrock 260\\nTo mingle with the main.\\nXIII\\nAwhile their route they silent\\nmade,\\nAs men who stalk for mountain-\\ndeer,\\nTill the good Bruce to Ronald\\nsaid,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSaint Mary! what a scene is\\nhere\\nI ve traversed many a mountain-\\nstrand,\\nAbroad and in my native land,\\nAnd it has been my lot to tread\\nWhere safety more than pleasure\\nled;\\nThus, many a waste I ve wandered\\no er, 270\\nClomb many a crag, crossed many\\na moor,\\nBut, by my halidQme,\\nA scene so rude, so wild as this,\\nYet so sublime in barrenness,\\nNe er did my wandering footsteps\\npress\\nWhere er I happed to roam.\\nXIV\\nNo marvel thus the monarch\\nspake\\nFor rarely human eye has known\\nA scene so stern as that dread\\nlake\\nWith its dark ledge of barren\\nstone. 280\\nSeems that primeval earthquake s\\nsway\\nHath rent a strange and shattered\\nway\\nThrough the rude bosom of the\\nhill,\\nAnd that each naked precipice,\\nSable ravine, and dark abyss,\\nTells of the outrage still.\\nThe wildest glen but this can show\\nSome touch of Nature s genial\\nglow;\\nOn high Benmore green mosses\\ngrow,\\nAnd heath-bells bud in deep Glen-\\ncroe, 290\\nAnd copse on Cruchan-Ben", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0468.jp2"}, "467": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n447\\nBut here, above, around, below,\\nOn mountain or in glen,\\nNor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor\\nflower,\\nNor augbt of vegetative power,\\nThe weary eye may ken.\\nFor all is rocks at random thrown,\\nBlack waves, bare crags, and banks\\nof stone,\\nAs if were here denied\\nThe summer sun, the spring s\\nsweet dew 300\\nThat clothe with many a varied\\nhue\\nThe bleakest mountain-side.\\nxv\\nAnd wilder, forward as they wound,\\nWere the proud cliffs and lake pro.\\nfound.\\nHuge terraces of granite black\\nAfforded rude and cumbered track\\nFor from the mountain hoar,\\nHurled headlong in some night of\\nfear,\\nWhen yelled the wolf and fled the\\ndeer, 309\\nLoose crags had toppled o er\\nAnd some, chance-poised and bal-\\nanced, lay\\nSo that a stripling arm might sway\\nA mass no host could raise,\\nIn Nature s rage at random thrown\\nYet trembling like the Druid s\\nstone\\nOn its precarious base.\\nThe evening mists with ceaseless\\nchange\\nNow clothed the mountains lofty\\nrange,\\nNow left their foreheads bare,\\nAnd round the skirts their. mantle\\nfurled, 320\\nOr on the sable waters curled,\\nOr on the eddying breezes whirled,\\nDispersed in middle air.\\nAnd oft condensed at once they\\nlower\\nWhen, brief and fierce, the moun-\\ntain shower\\nPours like a torrent down,\\nAnd when return the sun s glad\\nbeams,\\nWhitened with foam a thousand\\nstreams\\nLeap from the mountain s crown.\\nXVI\\nThis lake, said Bruce, 4 whose bar-\\nriers drear 330\\nAre precipices sharp and sheer,\\nYielding no track for goat or\\ndeer\\nSave the black shelves we tread,\\nHow term you its dark waves and\\nhow\\nYon northern mountain s pathless\\nbrow,\\nAnd yonder peak of dread\\nThat to the evening sun uplifts\\nThe griesly gulfs and slaty rifts\\nWhich seam its shivered\\nhead\\nCoriskin call the dark lake s\\nname, 340\\nCoolin the ridge, as bards proclaim,\\nFrom old Cuchullin, chief of fame.\\nBut bards, familiar in our isles\\nRather with Nature s frowns than\\nsmiles,\\nFull oft their careless humors\\nplease\\nBy sportive names from scenes\\nlike these.\\nI would old Torquil were to show\\nHis Maidens with their breasts of\\nsnow,\\nOr that my noble liege were nigh\\nTo hear his Nurse sing lullaby\\nThe Maids tall cliffs with break-\\ners white, 351\\nThe Nurse a torrent s roaring\\nmight\\nOr that your eye could see the\\nmood\\nOf Corryvrekin s whirlpool rude,\\nWhen dons the Hag her whitened\\nhood\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nT is thus our islesmen s fancy\\nframes\\nFor scenes so stern fantastic\\nnames.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0469.jp2"}, "468": {"fulltext": "448\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nXVII\\nAnswered the Bruce, And musing\\nmind\\nMight here a graver moral find.\\nThese mighty cliffs that heave on\\nhigh 360\\nTheir naked brows to middle\\nsky,\\nIndifferent to the sun or snow,\\nWhere naught can fade and naught\\ncan blow,\\nMay they not mark a monarch s\\nfate,\\nRaised high mid storms of strife\\nand state,\\nBeyond life s lowlier pleasures\\nplaced,\\nHis soul a rock, his heart a waste\\nO er hope and love and fear aloft\\nHigh rears his crowned head But\\nSOft 369\\nLook, underneath yon jutting crag\\nAre hunters and a slaughtered\\nstag.\\nWho may they be? But late you\\nsaid\\nNo steps these desert regions\\ntread?\\nXVIII\\n4 So said I and believed in sooth,\\nHonald replied, I spoke the truth.\\nYet now I spy, by yonder stone,\\nFive men they mark us and\\ncome on\\nAnd by their badge on bonnet\\nborne\\nI guess them of the land of Lorn,\\nFoes to my liege. So let it\\nbe; 380\\nI ve faced worse odds than five to\\nthree\\nBut the poor page can little aid\\nThen be our battle thus arrayed,\\nIf our free passage they contest\\nCope thou with two, I 11 match\\nthe rest.\\nNot so, my liege for, by my\\nlife,\\nThis sword shall meet the treble\\nstrife\\nMy strength, my skill in arms,\\nmore small,\\nAnd less the loss should Ronald\\nfall.\\nBut islesmen soon to soldiers\\ngrow, 390\\nAllan has sword as well as bow,\\nAnd were my monarch s order\\ngiven,\\nTwo shafts should make our num-\\nber even.\\nNo not to save my life he\\nsaid;\\nEnough of blood rests on my\\nhead\\nToo rashly spilled we soon shall\\nknow,\\nWhether they come as friend or\\nfoe.\\nXIX\\nNigh came the strangers and more\\nnigh\\nStill less they pleased the mon-\\narch s eye.\\nMen were they all of evil mien, 400\\nDown-looked, unwilling to be seen\\nThey moved with half-resolved\\npace,\\nAnd bent on earth each gloomy\\nface.\\nThe foremost two were fair ar-\\nrayed\\nWith brogue and bonnet, trews\\nand plaid,\\nAnd bore the arms of mountain-\\neers,\\nDaggers and broadswords, bows\\nand spears.\\nThe three that lagged small space\\nbehind\\nSeemed serfs of more degraded\\nkind\\nGoat-skins or deer-hides o er them\\ncast 410\\nMade a rude fence against the\\nblast\\nTheir arms and feet and heads\\nwere bare,\\nMatted their beards, unshorn their\\nhair", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0470.jp2"}, "469": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n449\\nFor arms the caitiffs bore in hand\\nA club, an axe, a rusty brand.\\nxx\\nOnward still mute, they kept the\\ntrack\\nTell who ye be, or else stand\\nback,\\nSaid Bruce in deserts when they\\nmeet,\\nMen pass not as in peaceful street\\nStill at his stern command they\\nstood, 4 2\\nAnd proffered greeting brief and\\nrude,\\nBut acted courtesy so ill\\nAs seemed of fear and not of will.\\nWanderers we are, as you may\\nbe;\\nMen hither driven by wind and sea,\\nWho, if you list to taste our cheer,\\nWill share with you this fallow\\ndeer.\\n1 If from the sea, where lies your\\nbark?\\n1 Ten fathom deep in ocean dark\\nWrecked yesternight but w 7 e are\\nmen 430\\nWho little sense of peril ken.\\nThe shades come down the day\\nis shut\\nWill you go with us to our\\nhut?\\n1 Our vessel w T aits us in the bay\\nThanks for your proffer have\\ngood-day.\\nWas that your galley, then, which\\nrode\\nNot far from shore when evening\\nglowed\\nIt was, Then spare your need-\\nless pain,\\nThere will she now be sought in\\nvain.\\nWe saw her from the mountain\\nhead 440\\nWhen, with Saint George s blazon\\nred\\nA southern vessel bore in sight,\\nAnd yours raised sail and took to\\nflight.\\nXXI\\n1 Now, by the rood, unwelcome\\nnews\\nThus with Lord Ronald communed\\nBruce\\n1 Nor rests there light enough to\\nshow\\nIf this their tale be true or no.\\nj The men seem bred of churlish\\nkind,\\ni Yet mellow nuts have hardest\\nrind\\nj We will go with them \u00e2\u0080\u0094food and\\nfire 450\\nAnd sheltering roof our wants re-\\nquire.\\nSure guard gainst treachery will\\nwe keep,\\nAnd watch by turns our comrades\\nsleep.\\nGood fellows, thanks your guests\\nwe 11 be.\\nAnd well will pay the courtesy.\\nCome, lead us where your lodging\\nlies\\nNay, soft! we mix not compa-\\nnies.\\nShow T us the path o er crag and\\nstone,\\nAnd we will follow you;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 lead\\non/\\nXXII\\nThey reached the dreary cabin,\\nmade 460\\nOf sails against a rock displayed,\\nAnd there on entering found\\nA slender boy, whose form and\\nmien\\n111 suited with such savage scene,\\nIn cap and cloak of velvet green,\\nLow 7 seated on the ground.\\nHis garb was such as minstrels\\nwear,\\nDark was his hue, and dark his\\nhair,\\nHis youthful cheek was marred by\\ncare,\\nHis eyes in sorrow drowned. 470\\nWhence this poor boy As\\nRonald spoke,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0471.jp2"}, "470": {"fulltext": "45\u00c2\u00b0\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nThe voice his trance of anguish\\nbroke\\nAs if awaked from ghastly dream,\\nHe raised his head with start and\\nscream,\\nAnd wildly gazed around\\nThen to the wall his face he turned,\\nAnd his dark neck with blushes\\nburned.\\nXXIII\\nWhose is the boy again he said,\\nBy chance of war our captive\\nmade;\\nHe may be yours, if you should\\nhold 480\\nThat music has more charms than\\ngold;\\nFor, though from earliest child-\\nhood mute,\\nThe lad can deftly touch the lute,\\nAnd on the rote and viol play,\\nAnd well can drive the time away\\nFor those who love such glee\\nFor me the favoring breeze,\\nwhen loud\\nIt pipes upon the galley s\\nshroud,\\nMakes blither melody.\\nHath he, then, sense of spoken\\nsound 490\\nAy; so his mother bade us\\nknow,\\nA crone in our late shipwreck\\ndrowned,\\nAnd hence the silly stripling s\\nwoe.\\nMore of the youth I cannot say,\\nOur captive but since yesterday\\nWhen wind and weather waxed so\\ngrim,\\nWe little listed think of him.\\nBut why waste time in idle words\\nSit to your cheer unbelt your\\nswords.\\nSudden the captive turned his\\nhead, 500\\nAnd one quick glance to Ronald\\nsped.\\nIt was a keen and warning look,\\nAnd well the chief the signal took.\\nXXIV\\n1 Kind host, he said, our needs re-\\nquire\\nA separate board and separate\\nfire;\\nFor know that on a pilgrimage\\nWend I, my comrade, and this\\npage.\\nAnd, sworn to vigil and to fast\\nLong as this hallowed task shall\\nlast,\\nWe never doff the plaid or\\nsword, 510\\nOr feast us at a stranger s board,\\nAnd never share one common\\nsleep,\\nBut one must still his vigil keep.\\nThus, for our separate use, good\\nfriend,\\nWe 11 hold this hut s remoter\\nend.\\nA churlish vow, the elder said,\\n1 And hard, methinks, to be obeyed.\\nHow say you, if, to wreak the\\nscorn\\nThat pays our kindness harsh re-\\nturn,\\nWe should refuse to share our\\nmeal? 520\\nThen say we that our swords are\\nsteel\\nAnd our vow binds us not to\\nfast\\nWhere gold or force may buy re-\\npast.\\nTheir host s dark brow grew keen\\nand fell,\\nHis teeth are clenched, his features\\nswell\\nYet sunk the felon s moody ire\\nBefore Lord Ronald s glance of\\nfire,\\nNor could his craven courage brook\\nThe monarch s calm and dauntless\\nlook.\\nWith laugh constrained Let\\nevery man 530\\nFollow the fashion of his clan!\\nEach to his separate quarters\\nkeep,\\nAnd feed or fast, or wake or sleep;", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0472.jp2"}, "471": {"fulltext": "CAXTO THIRD\\n45*\\nXXV\\nTlieir fire at separate distance\\nburns,\\nBy turns they eat, keep guard by\\nturns\\nFor evil seemed that old man s\\neye,\\nDark and designing, fierce yet shy.\\nStill he avoided forward look,\\nBut slow and circumspectly took\\nA circling, never-ceasing glance,\\nBy doubt and cunuing marked at\\nonce, 541\\nWhich shot a mischief -boding\\nray\\nFrom under eyebrows shagged and\\ngray.\\nThe younger, too, who seemed his\\nson,\\nHad that dark look the timid\\nshun;\\nThe half-clad serfs behind them\\nsate,\\nAnd scowled a glare twixt fear\\nand hate\\nTill all, as darkness onward crept.\\nCouched down, and seemed to\\nsleep or slept.\\nNor he, that boy, whose powerless\\ntongue 550\\nMust trust his eyes to wail his\\nwrong,\\nA longer watch of sorrow made,\\nBut stretched his limbs to 3lumber\\nlaid.\\nXXVI\\nNot in his dangerous host confides\\nThe king, but wary watch pro-\\nvides.\\nRonald keeps ward till midnight\\npast,\\nThen wakes the king, young Allan\\nlast;\\nThus ranked, to give the youthful\\npage\\nThe rest required by tender age.\\nWhat is Lord Ronald s wakeful\\nthought 560\\nTo chase the languor toil had\\nbrought\\nFor deem not that he deigned to\\nthrow\\nMuch care upon such coward\\nfoe\\nJ He thinks of lovely Isabel\\nWhen at her foeman s feet she fell,\\nNor less when, placed in princely\\nselle,\\nShe glanced on him with favoring\\neyes\\nAt Woodstock when he won the\\nprize.\\nNor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair, 569\\nIn pride of place as mid despair,\\nMust she alone engross his care.\\nHis thoughts to his betrothed\\nbride,\\nTo Edith, turn 0, how decide,\\nWhen here his love and heart are\\ngiven,\\nAnd there his faith stands plight\\nto Heaven\\nNo drowsy ward t is his to keep.\\nFor seldom lovers long for sleep.\\nTill sung his midnight hymn the\\nowl,\\nAnswered the dog-fox with his\\nhowl,\\nThen waked the king at his re-\\nquest, 580\\nLord Ronald stretched himself to\\nrest.\\nXXVII\\nWhat spell was good King Rob-\\nert s, say,\\nTo drive the weary night away\\nHis was the patriot s burning\\nthought\\nOf freedom s battle bravely fought.\\nI Of castles stormed, of cities freed.\\nj Of deep design and daring deed,\\nOf England s roses reft and torn,\\nI And Scotland s cross in triumph\\nworn,\\nOf rout and rally, war and truce,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI As heroes think, so thought the\\nBruce. 591\\nNo marvel, mid such musings high\\nSleep shunned the monarch s\\nthoughtful eye.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0473.jp2"}, "472": {"fulltext": "452\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nNow over Coolin s eastern head\\nThe grayish light begins to spread,\\nThe otter to his cavern drew,\\nAnd clamored shrill the wakening\\nmew;\\nThen watched the page to need-\\nful rest\\nThe king resigned his anxious\\nbreast.\\nXXVITI\\nTo Allan s eyes was harder task\\nThe weary watch their safeties\\nask. 601\\nHe trimmed the fire and gave to\\nshine\\nWith bickering light the splintered\\npine;\\nThen gazed awhile where silent\\nlaid\\nTheir hosts were shrouded by the\\nplaid.\\nBut little fear waked in his mind,\\nFor he was bred of martial kind,\\nAnd, if to manhood he arrive,\\nMay match the boldest knight\\nalive.\\nThen thought he of his mother s\\ntower, 610\\nHis little sister s greenwood\\nbower,\\nHow there the Easter gambols\\npass,\\nAnd of Dan Joseph s lengthened\\nmass.\\nBut still before his weary eye\\nIn rays prolonged the blazes die\\nAgain he roused him on the lake\\nLooked forth where now the twi-\\nlight-flake\\nOf pale cold dawn began to wake.\\nOn Coolin s cliffs the mist lay\\nfurled,\\nThe morning breeze the lake had\\ncurled, 620\\nThe short dark waves, heaved to\\nthe land,\\nWith ceaseless plash kissed cliff\\nor sand\\nIt was a slumbrous sound he\\nturned\\nTo tales at which his youth had\\nburned,\\nOf pilgrim s path by demon\\ncrossed,\\nOf sprightly elf or yelling ghost,\\nOf the wild witch s baneful cot,\\nAnd mermaid s alabaster grot,\\nWho bathes her limbs in sunless\\nwell\\nDeep in Strathaird s enchanted\\ncell. 630\\nThither in fancy rapt he flies,\\nAnd on his sight the vaults arise\\nThat hut s dark walls he sees no\\nmore,\\nHis foot is on the marble floor,\\nAnd o er his head the dazzling\\nspars\\nGleam like a firmament of stars\\nHark hears he not the sea-nymph\\nspeak\\nHer anger in that thrilling\\nshriek\\nNo! all too late, with Allan s\\ndream\\nMingled the captive s warning\\nscream. 640\\nAs from the ground he strives to\\nstart,\\nA ruffian s dagger finds his heart\\nUpwards he casts his dizzy eyes\\nMurmurs his master s name and\\ndies!\\nXXIX\\nNot so awoke the king his hand\\nSnatched from the flame a knotted\\nbrand,\\nThe nearest weapon of his wrath\\nWith this he crossed the murder-\\ner s path\\nAnd venged young Allan well\\nThe spattered brain and bubbling\\nblood 650\\nHissed on the half -extinguished\\nwood,\\nThe miscreant gasped and fell!\\nNor rose in peace the Island Lord\\nOne caitiff died upon his sword,\\nAnd one beneath his grasp lies\\nprone", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0474.jp2"}, "473": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n453\\nIn mortal grapple overthrown.\\nBut while Lord Ronald s dagger\\ndrank\\nThe life-blood from his panting\\nflank,\\nThe father-ruffian of the band\\nBehind him rears a coward hand\\nO for a moment s aid, 66 1\\nTill Bruce, who deals no double\\nblow,\\nDash to the earth another foe,\\nAbove his comrade laid\\nAnd it is gained the captive\\nsprung\\nOn the raised arm and closely\\nclung,\\nAnd, ere he shook him loose,\\nThe mastered felon pressed the\\nground,\\nAnd gasped beneath a mortal\\nwound, 669\\nWhile o er him stands the Bruce.\\nXXX\\n1 Miscreant while lasts thy flitting\\nspark,\\nGive me to know the purpose\\ndark\\nThat armed thy hand with mur-\\nderous knife\\nAgainst offenceless stranger s\\nlife?\\nXo stranger thou with accent\\nfell,\\nMurmured the wretch I know\\nthee well,\\nAnd know thee for the foeman\\nsworn\\nOf my high chief, the mighty\\nLorn.\\n4 Speak yet again, and speak the\\ntruth\\nFor thy soul s sake \u00e2\u0080\u0094from whence\\nthis youth? 680\\nHis country, birth, and name de-\\nclare,\\nAnd thus one evil deed repair.\\nVex me no more my blood\\nruns cold\\nXo more I know than I have\\ntold.\\nWe found him in a bark we sought\\nWith different purpose and I\\nthought\\nFate cut him short; in blood and\\nbroil,\\nAs he had lived, died Cormac Doil.\\nXXXI\\n1 Then resting on his bloody blade,\\nThe valiant Bruce to Ronald said,\\n1 Xow shame upon us both that\\nboy 691\\nLifts his mute face to heaven\\nAnd clasps his hands, to testify\\nHis gratitude to God on high\\nFor strange deliverance given.\\nHis speechless gesture thanks\\nhath paid,\\nWhich our free tongues have left\\nunsaid\\nHe raised the youth with kindly\\nword,\\nBut marked him shudder at the\\nsword\\nHe cleansed it from its hue of\\ndeath, 700\\nAnd plunged the weapon in its\\nsheath.\\nAlas, poor child unfitting part\\nFate doomed when with so soft a\\nheart\\nAnd form so slight as thine\\nShe made thee first a pirate s\\nslave,\\nThen in his stead a patron gave\\nOf wayward lot like mine\\nA landless prince, whose wander-\\ning life\\nIs but one scene of blood and\\nstrife\\nYet scant of friends the Bruce\\nshall be, 710\\nBut he 11 find resting-place for\\nthee.\\nCome, noble Ronald! o er the\\ndead\\nEnough thy generous grief is paid,\\nAnd well has Allan s fate been\\nwroke\\nCome, wend we hence the day\\nhas broke.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0475.jp2"}, "474": {"fulltext": "454\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nSeek we our bark I trust the\\ntale\\nWas false that she had hoisted\\nsail/\\nXXXII\\nYet, ere they left that charnel-cell,\\nThe Island Lord bade sad fare-\\nwell\\nTo Allan Who shall tell this\\ntale, 720\\nHe said, in halls of Donagaile\\nO, who his widowed mother tell\\nThat, ere his bloom, her fairest\\nfell?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nRest thee, poor youth and trust\\nmy care\\nFor mass and knell and funeral\\nprayer\\nWhile o er those caitiffs where\\nthey lie\\nThe wolf shall snarl, the raven\\ncry!\\nAnd now the eastern mountain s\\nhead\\nOn the dark lake threw lustre red\\nBright gleams of gold and purple\\nstreak 730\\nRavine and precipice and peak\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSo earthly power at distance\\nshows\\nReveals his splendor, hides his\\nwoes.\\nO er sheets of granite, dark and\\nbroad,\\nRent and unequal, lay the road.\\nIn sad discourse the warriors\\nwind,\\nAnd the mute captive moves be-\\nhind.\\nCANTO FOURTH\\nI\\nStranger if e er thine ardent\\nstep hath traced\\nThe northern realms of ancient\\nCaledon,\\nWhere the proud Queen of Wil-\\nderness hath placed\\nBy lake and cataract her lonely\\nthrone,\\nSublime but sad delight thy soul\\nhath known,\\nGazing on pathless glen and\\nmountain high,\\nListing where from the cliffs the\\ntorrents thrown\\nMingle their echoes with the\\neagle s cry,\\nAnd with the sounding lake and\\nwith the moaning sky.\\nYes t was sublime, but sad.\\nThe loneliness 10\\nLoaded thy heart, the desert\\ntired thine eye\\nAnd strange and awful fears be-\\ngan to press\\nThy bosom with a stern solem-\\nnity.\\nThen hast thou wished some\\nwoodman s cottage nigh,\\nSomething that showed of life,\\nthough low and mean\\nGlad sight, its curling wreath of\\nsmoke to spy,\\nGlad sound, its cock s blithe\\ncarol would have been,\\nOr children whooping wild beneath\\nthe willows green.\\nSuch are the scenes where sav-\\nage grandeur wakes\\nAn awful thrill that softens into\\nsighs 20\\nSuch feelings rouse them by dim\\nRannoch s lakes,\\nIn dark Glencoe such gloomy\\nraptures rise\\nOr farther, where beneath the\\nnorthern skies\\nChides wild Loch-Eribol his cav-\\nerns hoar\\nBut, be the minstrel judge, they\\nyield the prize\\nOf desert dignity to that dread\\nshore\\nThat sees grim Coolin rise and\\nhears Coriskin roar.", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0476.jp2"}, "475": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n455\\nii\\nThrough such wild scenes the\\nchampion passed,\\nWhen bold halloo and bugle-blast\\nUpon the breeze came loud and\\nfast. 30\\nThere, said the Bruce, rung Ed-\\nward s horn\\nWhat can have caused such brief\\nreturn?\\nAnd see, brave Ronald, see him\\ndart\\nO er stock and stone like hunted\\nhart,\\nPrecipitate, as is the use,\\nIn war or sport, of Edward Bruce.\\nHe marks us, and his eager cry\\nWill tell his news ere he be nigh.\\nin\\nLoud Edward shouts, What\\nmake ye here, 39\\nWarring upon the mountain-deer,\\nWhen Scotland wants her king?\\nA bark from Lennox crossed our\\ntrack,\\nWith her in speed I hurried back,\\nThese joyful news to bring\\nThe Stuart stirs in Teviotdale,\\nAnd Douglas wakes his native\\nvale\\nThy storm-tossed fleet hath won\\nits way\\nWith little loss to Brodick-Bay,\\nAnd Lennox with a gallant band\\nWaits but thy coming and com-\\nmand 50\\nTo waft them o er to Carrick\\nstrand.\\nThere are blithe news but mark\\nthe close\\nEdward, the deadliest of our foes,\\nAs with his host he northward\\npassed,\\nHath on the borders breathed his\\nlast\\nIV\\nStill stood the Bruce his steady\\ncheek\\nWas little wont his joy to speak,\\nBut then his color rose\\nNow, Scotland! shortly shalt thou\\nsee,\\nWith God s high will, thy children\\nfree 60\\nAnd vengeance on thy foes\\nYet to no sense of selfish wrongs,\\nBear witness with me, Heaven, be-\\nlongs\\nMy joy o er Edward s bier\\nI took my knighthood at his hand,\\nAnd lordship held of him and land,\\nAnd well may vouch it here,\\nThat, blot the story from his page\\nOf Scotland ruined in his rage,\\nYou read a monarch brave and\\nsage 70\\nAnd to his people dear.\\nLet London s burghers mourn her\\nlord\\nAnd Croydon monks his praise re-\\ncord,\\nThe eager Edward said\\nEternal as his own, my hate\\nSurmounts the bounds of mortal\\nfate\\nAnd dies not with the dead\\nSuch hate was his on Sol way s\\nstrand\\nWhen vengeance clenched his pal-\\nsied hand, 79\\nThatpointed yetto Scotland s land,\\nAs his last accents prayed\\nDisgrace and curse upon his heir\\nIf he one Scottish head should\\nspare\\nTill stretched upon the bloody lair\\nEach rebel corpse was laid\\nSuch hate was his when his last\\nbreath\\nRenounced the peaceful house of\\ndeath,\\nAnd bade his bones to Scotland s\\ncoast\\nBe borne by his remorseless host,\\nAs if his dead and stony eye 90\\nCould still enjoy her misery\\nSuch hate was his dark, deadly,\\nlong;\\nMine as enduring, deep, and\\nstrong", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0477.jp2"}, "476": {"fulltext": "456\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nLet women, Edward, war with\\nwords,\\nWith curses monks, but men with\\nswords\\nNor doubt of living foes to sate\\nDeepest revenge and deadliest\\nhate.\\nNow to the seal Behold the\\nbeach,\\nAnd see the galley s pendants\\nstretch\\nTheir fluttering length down favor-\\ning gale ioo\\nAboard, aboard and hoist the\\nsail,\\nHold we our way for Arran first,\\nWhere meet in arms our friends\\ndispersed\\nLennox the loyal, De la Haye,\\nAnd Boyd the bold in battle\\nfray.\\nI long the hardy band to head,\\nAnd see once more my standard\\nspread.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nDoes noble Ronald share our\\ncourse,\\nOr stay to raise his island\\nforce\\n4 Come weal, come woe, by Bruce 1 s\\nside, no\\nReplied the chief, will Ronald\\nbide.\\nAnd since two galleys yonder ride,\\nBe mine, so please my liege, dis-\\nmissed\\nTo wake to arms the clans of\\nUist,\\nAnd all who hear the Minche s\\nroar\\nOn the Long Island s lonely shore,\\nThe nearer Isles with slight\\ndelay\\nOurselves may summon in our\\nway;\\nAnd soon on Arran s shore shall\\nmeet 119\\nWith Torquil s aid a gallant fleet,\\nIf aught avails their chieftain s\\nhest\\nAmong the islesmen of the west.\\nVI\\nThus was their venturous council\\nsaid.\\nBut, ere their sails the galleys\\nspread,\\nCoriskin dark and Coolin high\\nEchoed the dirge s doleful cry.\\nAlong that sable lake passed\\nslow\\nFit scene for such a sight of woe\\nThe sorrowing islesmen as they\\nbore 129\\nThe murdered Allan to the shore.\\nAt every pause with dismal shout\\nTheir coronach of grief rung out,\\nAnd ever when they moved again\\nThe pipes resumed their clamor-\\nous strain,\\nAnd with the pibroch s shrilling\\nwail\\nMourned the young heir of Dona-\\ngaile.\\nRound and around, from cliff and\\ncave\\nHis answer stern old Coolin gave,\\nTill high upon his misty side\\nLanguished the mournful notes\\nand died. 140\\nFor never sounds by mortal made\\nAttained his high and haggard\\nhead,\\nThat echoes but the tempest s\\nmoan\\nOr the deep thunder s rending\\ngroan.\\nVII\\nMerrily, merrily bounds the bark,\\nShe bounds before the gale,\\nThe mountain breeze from Ben-na-\\ndarch\\nIs joyous in her sail\\nWith fluttering sound like laughter\\nhoarse\\nThe cords and canvas strain, 150\\nThe waves, divided by her force,\\nIn rippling eddies chased her\\ncourse,\\nAs if they laughed again.\\nNot down the breeze more blithely\\nflew,", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0480.jp2"}, "477": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n457\\nSkimming the wave, the light sea-\\nmew\\nThan the gay galley bore\\nHer course upon that favoring\\nwind,\\nAnd Coolin s crest has sunk be-\\nhind\\nAnd Slapin s caverned shore.\\nT was then that warlike signals\\nwake 1 60\\nDunscaith s dark towers and Eis-\\nord s lake,\\nAnd soon from Cavilgarrigh s head\\nThick wraaths of eddying smoke\\nwere spread\\nA summons these of war and\\nwrath\\nTo the brave clans of Sleat and\\nStrath,\\nAnd ready at the sight\\nEach warrior to his weapon\\nsprung\\nAnd targe upon his shoulder flung,\\nImpatient for the fight.\\nMac-Kinnon s chief, in warfare\\ngray, 170\\nHad charge to muster their array\\nAnd guide their barks to Brodick-\\nBay.\\nVIII\\nSignal of Ronald s high command,\\nA beacon gleamed o er sea and\\nland\\nFrom Canna s tower, that, steep\\nand gray,\\nLike falcon -nest o erhangs the\\nbay.\\nSeek not the giddy crag to climb\\nTo view the turret scathed by\\ntime;\\nIt is a task of doubt and fear\\nTo aught but goat or mountain-\\ndeer. 180\\nBut rest thee on the silver\\nbeach\\nAnd let the aged herdsman teach\\nHis tale of former day\\nHis cur s wild clamor he shall\\nchide,\\nAnd for thy seat by ocean s side\\nHis varied plaid display\\nThen tell how with their chief.\\ntain came\\nIn ancient times a foreign dame\\nTo yonder turret gray.\\nStern was her lord s suspicious\\nmind 190\\nWho in so rude a jail confined\\nSo soft and fair a thrall\\nAnd oft when moon on ocean slept\\nThat lovely lady sate and wept\\nUpou the castle- wall,\\nAnd turned her eye to southern\\nclimes,\\nAnd thought perchance of happier\\ntimes,\\nAnd touched her lute by fits, and\\nsung\\nWild ditties in her native tongue.\\nAnd still, when on the cliff and\\nbay 200\\nPlacid and pale the moonbeams\\nplay\\nAnd every breeze is mute,\\nUpon the lone Hebridean s ear\\nSteals a strange pleasure mixed\\nwith fear,\\nWhile from that cliff he seems to\\nhear\\nThe murmur of a lute\\nAnd sounds as of a captive lone\\nThat mourns her woes in tongue\\nunknown.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nStrange is the tale\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -but all too\\nlong\\nAlready hath it staid the song-\\nYet who may pass them by, 211\\nThat crag and tower in ruins gray,\\nNor to their hapless tenant pay\\nThe tribute of a sigh?\\nIX\\nMerrily, merrily bounds the bark\\nO er the broad ocean driven,\\nHer path by Ronin s mountains\\ndark\\nThe steersman s hand hath\\ngiven.\\nAnd Ronin s mountains dark have\\nsent\\nTheir hunters to the shore, 220", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0481.jp2"}, "478": {"fulltext": "458\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nAnd each his ashen bow unbent,\\nAnd gave his pastime o er,\\nAnd at the Island Lord s command\\nFor hunting spear took warrior s\\nbrand.\\nOn Scooreigg next a warning light\\nSummoned her warriors to the\\nfight;\\nA numerous race ere stern Mac-\\nLeod\\nO er their bleak shores in ven-\\ngeance strode,\\nWhen all in vain the ocean-cave\\nIts refuge to his victims gave. 230\\nThe chief, relentless in his wrath,\\nWith blazing heath blockades the\\npath;\\nIn dense and stifling volumes\\nrolled,\\nThe vapor filled the caverned\\nhold!\\nThe warrior. threat, the infant s\\nplain,\\nThe mother s screams, were heard\\nin vain\\nThe vengeful chief maintains his\\nfires\\nTill in the vault a tribe expires\\nThe bones which strew that cav-\\nern s gloom 239\\nToo well attest their dismal doom.\\nMerrily, merrily goes the bark\\nOn a breeze from the northward\\nfree,\\nSo shoots through the morning\\nsky the lark,\\nOr the swan through the sum-\\nmer sea.\\nThe shores of Mull on the east-\\nward lay,\\nAnd Ulva dark and Colonsay,\\nAnd all the group of islets gay\\nThat guard famed Staff a round.\\nThen all unknown its columns\\nrose\\nWhere dark and undisturbed re-\\npose 250\\nThe cormorant had found,\\nAnd the shy seal had quiet home\\nAnd weltered in that wondrous\\ndome\\nWhere, as to shame the temples\\ndecked\\nBy skill of earthly architect,\\nNature herself, it seemed, would\\nraise\\nA minster to her Maker s praise\\nNot for a meaner use ascend\\nHer columns or her arches bend\\nNor of a theme less solemn tells\\nThat mighty surge that ebbs and\\nswells, 261\\nAnd still, between each awful\\npause,\\nFrom the high vault an answer\\ndraws\\nIn varied tone prolonged and high\\nThat mocks the organ s melody.\\nNor doth its entrance front in\\nvain\\nTo old Iona s holy fane,\\nThat Nature s voice might seem\\nto say,\\n1 Well hast thou done, frail child\\nof clay\\nThy humble powers that stately\\nshrine 270\\nTasked high and hard but wit-\\nness mine I\\nXI\\nMerrily, merrily goes the bark,\\nBefore the gale she bounds\\nSo darts the dolphin from the\\nshark,\\nOr the deer before the hounds.\\nThey left Loch-Tua on their lee,\\nAnd they wakened the men of the\\nwild Tiree,\\nAnd the chief of the sandy Coll\\nThey paused not at Columba s\\nisle,\\nThough pealed the bells from the\\nholy pile 280\\nWith long and measured toll\\nNo time for matin or for mass,\\nAnd the sounds of the holy sum-\\nmons pass\\nAway in the billows roll.\\nLochbuie s fierce and warlike lord", "height": "4296", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0482.jp2"}, "479": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n459\\nTheir signal saw and grasped his\\nsword,\\nAnd verdant Islay called her host,\\nAnd the clans of Jura s rugged\\ncoast\\nLord Ronald s call obey,\\nAnd Scarba s isle, whose tortured\\nshore 290\\nStill rings to Corrievreken s roar,\\nAnd lonely Colonsay;\\nScenes sung by him who sings no\\nmore!\\nHis bright and brief career is\\no er,\\nAnd mute his tuneful strains\\nQuenched is his lamp of varied\\nlore\\nThat loved the light of song to\\npour\\nA distant and a deadly shore\\nHas Leydex s cold remains\\nXII\\nEver the breeze blows merrily, 300\\nBut the galley ploughs no more\\nthe sea.\\nLest, rounding wild Cantyre, they\\nmeet\\nThe southern foeman s watchful\\nfleet,\\nThey held unwonted way;\\nUp Tarbat s western lake they\\nbore,\\nThen dragged their bark the isth-\\nmus o er,\\nAs far as Kilmaconnel s shore\\nUpon the eastern bay.\\nIt was a wondrous sight to see 309\\nTopmast and pennon glitter free,\\nHigh raised above the greenwood\\ntree,\\nAs on dry land the galley moves\\nBy cliff and copse and alder groves.\\nDeep import from that selcouth\\nsign\\nDid many a mountain seer divine,\\nFor ancient legends told the Gael\\nThat when a royal bark should\\nsail\\nO er Kilmaconnel moss\\nOld Albyn should in fight prevail,\\nAnd every foe should faint and\\nquail 320\\nBefore her silver Cross.\\nXIII\\nNow launched once more, the in-\\nland sea\\nThey furrow with fair augury,\\nAnd steer for Arran s isle\\nThe sun, ere yet he sunk behind\\nBen-Ghoil, the Mountain of the\\nWind,\\nGave his grim peaks a greeting\\nkind,\\nAnd bade Loch Ranza smile.\\nThither their destined course they\\ndrew\\nIt seemed the isle her monarch\\nknew, 330\\nSo brilliant was the landward view,\\nThe ocean so serene\\nEach puny wave in diamonds\\nrolled\\nO er the calm deep where hues of\\ngold\\nWith azure strove and green.\\nThe hill, the vale, the tree, the\\ntower,\\nGlowed with the tints of evening s\\nhour,\\nThe beach was silver sheen,\\nThe wind breathed soft as lover s\\nsigh, 339\\nAnd oft renewed seemed oft to\\ndie,\\nWith breathless pause between.\\nO, who with speech of war and\\nwoes\\nWould wish to break the soft re-\\npose\\nOf such enchanting scene?\\nXIV\\nIs it of war Lord Ronald speaks?\\nThe blush that dyes his manly\\ncheeks,\\nThe timid look, and downcast eye,\\nAnd faltering voice the theme\\ndeny.\\nAnd good King Robert s brow\\nexpressed", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0483.jp2"}, "480": {"fulltext": "460\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nHe pondered o er some high re-\\nquest, 350\\nAs doubtful to approve\\nYet in his eye and lip the while,\\nDwelt the half-pitying glance\\nand smile\\nWhich manhood s graver mood\\nbeguile\\nWhen lovers talk of love.\\nAnxious his suit Lord Ronald pled\\nAnd for my bride betrothed, he\\nsaid,\\nMy liege has heard the rumor\\nspread\\nOf Edith from Artornish fled.\\nToo hard her fate I claim no\\nright 360\\nTo blame her for her hasty flight\\nBe joy and happiness her lot\\nBut she hath fled the bridal-knot,\\nAnd Lorn recalled his promised\\nplight\\nIn the assembled chieftains\\nsight.\\nWhen, to fulfil our fathers band\\nI proffered all I could my\\nhand\\nI w T as repulsed with scorn\\nMine honor I should ill assert,\\nAnd worse the feelings of my\\nheart, 370\\nIf I should play a suitor s part\\nAgain to pleasure Lorn.\\nXY\\n4 Young Lord, the royal Bruce re-\\nplied,\\nThat question must the Church\\ndecide;\\nYet seems it hard, since rumors\\nstate\\nEdith takes Clifford for her mate,\\nThe very tie which she hath broke\\nTo thee should still be binding\\nyoke.\\nBut, for my sister Isabel\u00e2\u0080\u0094 379 1\\nThe mood of woman who can tell\\nI guess the Champion of the Rock,\\nVictorious in the tourney shock,\\nThat knight unknown to whom the\\nprize\\nShe dealt, had favor in her eyes\\nBut since our brother Nigel s fate,\\nOur ruined house and hapless state,\\nFrom worldly joy and hope es-\\ntranged,\\nJ Much is the hapless mourner\\nchanged.\\nPerchance, here smiled the noble\\nKing,\\nI This tale may other musings\\nbring. 39 o\\nSoon shall we know yon moun-\\ntains hide\\nI The little convent of Saint Bride\\nThere, sent by Edward, she must\\nstay\\nTill fate shall give more prosper-\\nous day\\nAnd thither will I bear thy suit,\\nNor will thine advocate be mute.\\nXVI\\nAs thus they talked in earnest\\nmood,\\nThat speechless boy beside them\\nstood.\\nHe stooped his head against the\\nmast,\\nAnd bitter sobs came thick and\\nfast, 400\\nA grief that would not be repressed\\nBut seemed to burst his youthful\\nbreast.\\nHis hands against his forehead\\nheld\\nAs if by force his tears repelled,\\nBut through his fingers long and\\nslight\\nFast trilled the drops of crystal\\nbright.\\nEdward, who walked the deck\\napart,\\nFirst spied this conflict of the\\nheart.\\nThoughtless as brave, with blunt-\\nness kind\\nHe sought to cheer the sorrower s\\nmind; 410\\nBy force the slender hand he drew\\nFrom those poor eyes that streamed\\nwith dew.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0484.jp2"}, "481": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n461\\nAs in his hold the stripling strove\\nT was a rough grasp, though\\nmeant in love\\nAway his tears the warrior swept,\\nAnd bade shame on him that he\\nwept.\\nI would to Heaven thy helpless\\ntongue\\nCould tell me who hath wrought\\nthee wrong\\nFor, were he of our crew the best,\\nThe insult went not unredressed.\\nCome, cheer thee thou art now of\\nage 421\\nTo be a warrior s gallant page\\nThou shalt be mine! a palfrey\\nfair\\nO er hill and holt my boy shall\\nbear,\\nTo hold my bow in hunting grove,\\nOr speed on errand to my love\\nFor well I wot thou wilt not tell\\nThe temple where my wishes\\ndwell.\\nxvit\\nBruce interposed, Gay Edward,\\nno, 429\\nThis is no youth to hold thy bow,\\nTo fill thy goblet, or to bear\\nThy message light to lighter fair.\\nThou art a patron all too wild\\nAnd thoughtless for this orphan\\nchild.\\nSee st thou not how apart he steals,\\nKeeps lonely couch, and lonely\\nmeals\\nFitter by far in yon calm cell\\nTo tend our sister Isabel,\\nWith father Augustine to share\\nThe peaceful change of convent\\nprayer, 440\\nThan wander wild adventures\\nthrough\\nWith such a reckless guide as\\nyou.\\nThanks, brother Edward an-\\nswered gay,\\n4 For the high laud thy words con-\\nvey!\\nBut we may learn some future day,\\nIf thou or I can this poor boy\\nProtect the best or best employ.\\nMeanwhile, our vessel nears the\\nstrand\\nLaunch we the boat and seek the\\nland.\\nXVIII\\nTo land King Robert lightly\\nspruug, 450\\nAnd thrice aloud his bugle rung\\nWith note prolonged aud varied\\nstrain\\nTill bold Ben-Ghoil replied again.\\nGood Douglas theu and De la\\nHaye\\nHad in a glen a hart at bay,\\nAnd Lennox cheered the laggard\\nhounds,\\nWhen waked that horn the green-\\nwood bounds.\\n4 It is the foe cried Boyd, who\\ncame\\nIn breathless haste with eye of\\nflame, 459\\nIt is the foe Each valiant lord\\nFling by his bow and grasp his\\nsword\\n4 Not so, replied the good Lord\\nJames,\\nThat blast no English bugle\\nclaims.\\nOft have I heard it fire the fight,\\nCheer the pursuit, or stop the\\nflight.\\nDead were my heart and deaf mine\\near,\\nIf Bruce should call nor Douglas\\nhear\\nEach to Loch Eanza s margin\\nspring\\nThat blast was winded by the\\nking\\nXIX\\nFast to their mates the tidings\\nspread, 470\\nAnd fast to shore the warriors\\nsped.\\nBursting from glen and greenwood\\ntree,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0485.jp2"}, "482": {"fulltext": "462\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nHigh waked their loyal jubilee\\nAround the royal Bruce they\\ncrowd,\\nAnd clasped his hands, and wept\\naloud.\\nVeterans of early fields were there,\\nWhose helmets pressed their hoary\\nhair,\\nWhose swords and axes bore a\\nstain\\nFrom life-blood of the red-haired\\nDane\\nAnd boys whose hands scarce\\nbrooked to wield 480\\nThe heavy sword or bossy shield.\\nMen too were there that bore the\\nscars\\nImpressed in Albyn s woful wars,\\nAt Falkirk s fierce and fatal fight,\\nTeyndrum s dread rout, and Meth-\\nven s flight\\nThe might of Douglas there was\\nseen,\\nThere Lennox with his graceful\\nmien;\\nKirkpatrick, Closeburn s dreaded\\nKnight\\nThe Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and\\nlight 489\\nThe heir of murdered De la Haye,\\nAnd Boyd the grave, and Seton\\ngay.\\nAround their king regained they\\npressed,\\nWept, shouted, clasped him to\\ntheir breast.\\nAnd young and old, and serf and\\nlord,\\nAnd he who ne er unsheathed a\\nsword,\\nAnd he in many a peril tried,\\nAlike resolved the brunt to bide,\\nAnd live or die by Bruce s side\\nxx\\nO War! thou hast thy fierce de-\\nlight,\\nThy gleams of joy, intensely\\nbright 500\\nSuch gleams as from thy polished\\nshield\\nFly dazzling o er the battle-field\\nSuch transports wake, severe and\\nhigh,\\nAmid the pealing conquest cry;\\nScarce less, when after battle lost\\nMuster the remnants of a host,\\nAnd as each comrade s name they\\ntell\\nWho in the well-fought conflict\\nfell,\\nKnitting stern brow o er flashing\\neye, 509\\nVow to avenge them or to die\\nWarriors and where are war-\\nriors found,\\nIf not on martial Britain s ground?\\nAnd who, when waked with note\\nof fire,\\nLove more than they the British\\nlyre?\\nKnow ye not, hearts to honor\\ndear!\\nThat joy, deep-thrilling, stern, se-\\nvere,\\nAt which the heartstrings vibrate\\nhigh,\\nAnd wake the fountains of the eye?\\nAnd blame ye then the Bruce if\\ntrace\\nOf tear is on his manly face 520\\nWhen, scanty relics of the train\\nThat hailed at Scone his early\\nreign,\\nThis patriot band around him\\nhung,\\nAnd to his knees and bosom\\nclung?\\nBlame ye the Bruce? His bro-\\nther blamed.\\nBut shared the weakness, while\\nashamed\\nWith haughty laugh his head he\\nturned,\\nAnd dashed away the tear he\\nscorned.\\nXXI\\nT is morning, and the convent bell\\nLong time had ceased its matin\\nknell 530\\nWithin thy walls, Saint Bride", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0486.jp2"}, "483": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n463\\nAn aged sister sought the cell\\nAssigned to Lady Isabel,\\nAnd hurriedly she cried,\\n4 Haste, gentle Lady, haste\\nthere waits\\nA noble stranger at the gates\\nSaint Bride s poor votaress ne er\\nhas seen\\nA knight of such a princely mien\\nHis errand, as he bade me tell,\\nIs with the Lady Isabel. 540\\nThe princess rose, for on her\\nknee\\nLow bent she told her rosary,\\nLet him by thee his purpose\\nteach\\nI may not give a stranger\\nspeech.\\nSaint Bride forefend, thou royal\\nmaid\\nThe portress crossed herself and\\nsaid,\\n1 Not to be Prioress might I\\nDebate his will, his suit deny.\\nHas earthly show then, simple\\nfool,\\nPower o er a sister of thy rule 550\\nAnd art thou, like the worldly\\ntrain,\\nSubdued by splendors light and\\nvain\\nXXII\\n1 No, lady in old eyes like mine,\\nGauds have no glitter, gems no\\nshine\\nNor grace his rank attendants\\nvain,\\nOne youthful page is all his train.\\nIt is the form, the eye, the word,\\nThe bearing of that stranger lord\\nHis stature, manly, bold, and tall,\\nBuilt like a castle s battled wall,\\nYet moulded in such just degrees,\\nHis giant- strength seems light-\\nsome ease. 562\\nClose as the tendrils of the vine\\nHis locks upon his forehead twine,\\nJet-black save where some touch\\nof gray\\nHas ta en the youthful hue away.\\nWeather and war their rougher\\ntrace\\nHave left on that majestic face\\nBut t is his dignity of eye 569\\nThere, if a suppliant, would I\\nfly,\\nSecure, mid danger, wrongs, and\\ngrief,\\nOf sympathy, redress, relief\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThat glance, if guilty, would I\\ndread\\nMore than the doom that spoke me\\ndead\\n4 Enough, enough, the Princess\\ncried,\\nT is Scotland s hope, her joy,\\nher pride\\nTo meaner front was ne er as-\\nsigned\\nSuch mastery o er the common\\nmind\\nBestowed thy high designs to\\naid,\\nHow long, Heaven how long\\ndelayed!\u00e2\u0080\u0094 580\\nHaste, Mona, haste, to introduce\\nMy darling brother, royal Bruce\\nXXIII\\nThey met like friends who part in\\npain,\\nAnd meet in doubtful hope again.\\nBut when subdued that fitful swell,\\nThe Bruce surveyed the humble\\ncell\\nAnd this is thine, poor Isabel\\nThat pallet-couch and naked wall,\\nFor room of state and bed of pall\\nFor costly robes and jewels rare,\\nA string of beads and zone of\\nhair: 591\\nAnd for the trumpet s sprightly\\ncall\\nTo sport or banquet, grove or hall,\\nThe bell s grim voice divides thy\\ncare,\\nTwixt hours of penitence and\\nprayer\\nill for thee, my royal claim\\nFrom the First David s sainted\\nname!", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0487.jp2"}, "484": {"fulltext": "464\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nwoe for thee, that while he\\nsought\\nHis right, thy brother feebly\\nfought\\nXXIV\\n4 Now lay these vain regrets aside,\\nAnd be the unshaken Bruce she\\ncried; 60 1\\nFor more I glory to have shared\\nThe woes thy venturous spirit\\ndared,\\nWhen raising first thy valiant band\\nIn rescue of thy native land,\\nThan had fair Fortune set me\\ndown\\nThe partner of an empire s crown.\\nAnd grieve not that on pleasure s\\nstream\\nNo more I drive in giddy dream,\\nFor Heaven the erring pilot\\nknew, 610\\nAnd from the gulf the vessel drew,\\nTried me with judgments stern\\nand great,\\nMy house s ruin, thy defeat,\\nPoor Nigel s death, till tamed I own\\nMy hopes are fixed on Heaven\\nalone\\nNor e er shall earthly prospects\\nwin\\nMy heart to this vain world of\\nsin.\\nxxv\\n1 Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice\\nFirst wilt thou wait thy brother s\\nvoice; 619\\nThen ponder if in convent scene\\nNo softer thoughts might inter-\\nvene\\nSay they were of that unknown\\nknight,\\nVictor in Woodstock s tourney,\\nfight\\nNay, if his name such blush you\\nowe,\\nVictorious o er a fairer foe\\nTruly his penetrating eye\\nHath caught that blush s passing\\ndye,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nLike the last beam of evening\\nthrown\\nOn a white cloud, just seen and\\ngone.\\nSoon with calm cheek and steady\\neye 630\\nThe princess made composed re-\\nply\\n4 1 guess my brother s meaning\\nwell;\\nFor not so silent is the cell\\nBut we have heard the islemen all\\nArm in thy cause at Ronald s call,\\nAnd mine eye proves that knight\\nunknown\\nAnd the brave Island Lord are\\none.\\nHad then his suit been earlier\\nmade,\\nIn his own name with thee to\\naid\\nBut that his plighted faith for-\\nbade 640\\nI know not But thy page so\\nnear?\\nThis is no tale for menial s ear.\\nXXVI\\nStill stood that page, as far apart\\nAs the small cell would space\\nafford\\nWith dizzy eye and bursting heart\\nHe leant his weight on Bruce s\\nsword,\\nThe monarch s mantle too he bore,\\nAnd drew the fold his visage o er.\\nFear not for him in murderous\\nstrife,\\nSaid Bruce, his warning saved my\\nlife 650\\nFull seldom parts he from my side,\\nAnd in his silence I confide,\\nSince he can tell no tale again.\\nHe is a boy of gentle strain,\\nAnd I have purposed he shall\\ndwell\\nIn Augustine the chaplain s cell\\nAnd wait on thee, my Isabel.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMind not his tears I ve seen\\nthem flow,\\nAs in the thaw dissolves the snow.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0488.jp2"}, "485": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n465\\nT is a kind youth, but fanciful, 660\\nUnfit against the tide to pull,\\nAnd those that with the Bruce\\nwould sail\\nMust learn to strive with stream\\nand gale.\\nBut forward, gentle Isabel\\nMy answer for Lord Ronald tell.\\nXXVII\\nThis answer be to Ronald given\\nThe heart he asks is fixed on\\nheaven.\\nMy love was like a summer flower\\nThat withered in the wintry hour,\\nBorn but of vanity and pride, 670\\nAnd with these sunny visions\\ndied.\\nIf further press his suit\u00e2\u0080\u0094 then\\nsay\\nHe should his plighted troth obey,\\nTroth plighted both with ring and\\nword,\\nAnd sworn on crucifix and\\nsword.\\nO, shame thee, Robert! I have\\nseen\\nThou hast a woman s guardian\\nbeen\\nEven in extremity s dread hour,\\nWhen pressed on thee the South-\\nern power,\\nAnd safety, to all human sight, 6S0\\nWas only found in rapid flight,\\nThou heard st a wretched female\\nplain\\nIn agony of travail-pain,\\nAnd thou didst bid thy little band\\nUpon the instant turn and stand,\\nAnd dare the worst the foe might\\ndo\\nRather than, like a knight un-\\ntrue,\\nLeave to pursuers merciless\\nA woman in her last distress.\\nAnd wilt thou now deny thine\\naid 690\\nTo an oppressed and injured maid,\\nEven plead for Ronald s perfidy\\nAnd press his fickle faith on\\nme\\nSo witness Heaven, as true I vow,\\nHad I those earthly feelings now\\nWhich could my former bosom\\nmove\\nEre taught to set its hopes above,\\nI d spurn each proffer he could\\nbring\\nTill at my feet he laid the ring,\\nThe ring and spousal contract\\nboth, 700\\nAnd fair acquittal of his oath,\\nBy her who brooks his perjured\\nscorn,\\nThe ill-requited Maid of Lorn\\nXXVIII\\nWith sudden impulse forward\\nsprung\\nThe page and on her neck he\\nhung\\nThen, recollected instantly,\\nHis head he stooped and bent his\\nknee,\\nKissed twice the hand of Isabel,\\nArose, and sudden left the cell.\\nThe princess, loosened from his\\nhold, 710\\nBlushed angry at his bearing bold\\nBut good King Robert cried,\\nChafe not by signs he speaks\\nhis mind,\\nHe heard the plan my care de-\\nsigned,\\nNor could his transports hide.\\nBut, sister, now bethink thee well;\\nNo easy choice the convent cell\\nTrust, I shall play no tyrant part,\\nEither to force thy hand or heart,\\nOr suffer that Lord Ronald scorn\\nOr wrong for thee the Maid of Lorn.\\nBut think, not long the time has\\nbeen, 722\\nThat thou wert wont to sigh un-\\nseen,\\nAnd wouldst the ditties best ap-\\nprove\\nThat told some lay of hapless love.\\nNow are thy wishes in thy power,\\nAnd thou art bent on cloister\\nbower\\nO, if our Edward knew the change.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0489.jp2"}, "486": {"fulltext": "4 66\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nHow would his busy satire range,\\nWith many a sarcasm varied\\nstill 730\\nOn woman s wish and woman s\\nwill\\nXXIX\\nBrother, I well believe, she said,\\nEven so would Edward s part be\\nplayed.\\nKindly in heart, in word severe,\\nA foe to thought and grief and\\nfear,\\nHe holds his humor uncontrolled\\nBut thou art of another mould.\\nSay then to Ronald, as I say,\\nUnless before my feet he lay\\nThe ring which bound the faith he\\nswore, 740\\nBy Edith freely yielded o er,\\nHe moves his suit to me no more.\\nNor do I promise, even if now\\nHe stood absolved of spousal vow,\\nThat I would change my purpose\\nmade\\nTo shelter me in holy shade.\\nBrother, for little space, farewell\\nTo other duties warns the bell.\\nXXX\\nLost to the world, King Robert\\nsaid,\\nWhen he had left the royal\\nmaid, 750\\nLost to the world by lot severe,\\nO, what a gem lies buried here,\\nNipped by misfortune s cruel frost,\\nThe buds of fair affection lost\\nBut what have I with love to do\\nFar sterner cares my lot pursue.\\nPent in this isle we may not lie,\\nNor would it long our wants sup-\\nply.\\nRight opposite, the mainland tow-\\ners\\nOf my own Turnberry court our\\npowers\u00e2\u0080\u0094 760\\nMight not my father s beadsman\\nhoar,\\nCuthbert, who dwells upon the\\nshore,\\nKindle a signal-flame to show\\nThe time propitious for the blow\\nIt shall be so some friend shall\\nbear\\nOur mandate with despatch and\\ncare;\\nEdward shall find the messenger.\\nThat fortress ours, the island fleet\\nMay on the coast of Carrick\\nmeet. 769\\nScotland shall it e er be mine\\nTo wreak thy wrongs in battle-\\nline,\\nTo raise my victor-head, and see\\nThy hills, thy dales, thy people\\nfree,\\nThat glance of bliss is all I crave\\nBetwixt my labors and my grave\\nThen down the hill he slowly went,\\nOft pausing on the steep descent,\\nAnd reached the spot where his\\nbold train\\nHeld rustic camp upon the plain.\\nCANTO FIFTH\\nOn fair Loch-Ranza streamed\\nthe early day,\\nThin wreaths of cottage-smoke\\nare upward curled\\nFrom the lone hamlet which her\\ninland bay\\nAnd circliug mountains sever\\nfrom the world.\\nAnd there the fisherman his sail\\nunfurled,\\nThe goat-herd drove his kids to\\nsteep Ben-Ghoil,\\nBefore the hut the dame her spin-\\ndle twirled,\\nCourting the sunbeam as she\\nplied her toil,\\nFor, wake where er he may, man\\nwakes to care and coil.\\nBut other duties called each\\nconvent maid, 10\\nRoused by the summons of the\\nmoss-grown bell", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0490.jp2"}, "487": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n467\\nSung were the matins and the\\nmass was said,\\nAnd every sister sought her sep-\\narate cell,\\nSuch was the rule, her rosary to\\ntell.\\nAnd Isabel has knelt in lonely\\nprayer\\nThe sunbeam through the nar-\\nrow lattice fell\\nUpon the snowy neck and long\\ndark hair,\\nAs stooped her gentle head in\\nmeek devotion there.\\n11\\nShe raised her eyes, that duty\\ndone,\\nWhen glanced upon the pavement\\nstone, 20\\nGemmed and enchased, a golden\\nring,\\nBound to a scroll with silken\\nstring,\\nWith few brief words inscribed to\\ntell,\\nThis for the Lady Isabel.\\nWithin the writing farther bore,\\nT was with this ring his plight he\\nswore,\\nWith this his promise I restore\\nTo her who can the heart com-\\nmand\\nWell may I yield the plighted\\nhand.\\nAnd 0, for better fortune born, 30\\nGrudge not a passing sigh to\\nmourn\\nHer who was Edith once of Lorn\\nOne single flash of glad surprise\\nJust glanced from Isabel s dark\\neyes,\\nBut vanished in the blush of shame\\nThat as its peuance instant came.\\nO thought unworthy of my race\\nSelfish, ungenerous, mean, and\\nbase,\\nA moment s throb of joy to own\\nThat rose upon her hopes o er-\\nthrown 40\\nThou pledge of vows too well be-\\nlieved,\\nOf man ingrate and maid deceived,\\nThink not thy lustre here shall\\ngain\\nAnother heart to hope in vain\\nFor thou shalt rest, thou tempting\\ngaud,\\nWhere worldly thoughts are over-\\nawed,\\nAnd worldly splendors sink de-\\nbased.\\nThen by the cross the ring she\\nplaced.\\nin\\nNext rose the thought, its owner\\nfar,\\nHow came it here through bolt\\nand bar?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 50\\nBut the dim lattice is ajar.\\nShe looks abroad, the morning\\ndew\\nA light short step had brushed\\nanew,\\nAnd there were footprints seen\\nOn the carved buttress rising\\nstill,\\nTill on the mossy window-sill\\nTheir track effaced the green.\\nThe ivy twigs were torn and\\nfrayed,\\nAs if some climber s steps to\\naid.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nBut who the hardy messenger 60\\nWhose venturous path these signs\\ninfer?\\nStrange doubts are mine Mona,\\ndraw nigh\\nNaught scapes old Mona s curious\\neye\\nWhat strangers, gentle mother,\\nsay,\\nHave sought these holy walls to-\\nday?\\n4 Xone, lady, none of note or name\\nOnly your brother s foot-page came\\nAt peep of dawn I prayed him\\npass\\nTo chapel where they said the\\nmass\\nBut like an arrow he shot by. 70\\nAnd tears seemed bursting from\\nhis eye.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0491.jp2"}, "488": {"fulltext": "468\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nIV\\nThe truth at once on Isabel\\nAs darted by a sunbeam fell\\nT is Edith s self her speech-\\nless woe,\\nHer form, her looks, the secret\\nshow\\nInstant, good Mona, to the bay,\\nAnd to my royal brother say,\\nI do conjure him seek my cell\\nWith that mute page he loves so\\nwell.\\n1 What know st thou not his war-\\nlike host 80\\nAt break of day has left our\\ncoast?\\nMy old eyes saw them from the\\ntower.\\nAt eve they couched in greenwood\\nbower,\\nAt dawn a bugle signal made\\nBy their bold lord their ranks ar-\\nrayed\\nUp sprung the spears through\\nbush and tree,\\nNo time for benedicite\\nLike deer that, rousing from their\\nlair,\\nJust shake the dewdrops from\\ntheir hair 89\\nAnd toss their armed crest aloft,\\nSuch matins theirs Good\\nmother, soft\\nWhere does my brother bend his\\nway\\nAs I have heard, for Brodick-Bay,\\nAcross the isle of barks a score\\nLie there, tis said, to waft them\\no er,\\nOn sudden news, to Carrick\\nshore.\\nIf such their purpose, deep the\\nneed,\\nSaid anxious Isabel, of speed\\nCall Father Augustine, good\\ndame. 99\\nThe nun obeyed, the father came.\\nKind father, hie without delay\\nAcross the hills to Brodick-Bay.\\nThis message to the Bruce be\\ngiven\\nI pray him, by his hopes of Hea-\\nven,\\nThat till he speak with me he\\nstay!\\nOr, if his haste brook no delay,\\nThat he deliver on my suit\\nInto thy charge that stripling\\nmute.\\nThus prays his sister Isabel\\nFor causes more than she may\\ntell\u00e2\u0080\u0094 no\\nAway, good father! and take\\nheed\\nThat life and death are on thy\\nspeed.\\nHis cowl the good old priest did\\non,\\nTook his piked staff and sandalled\\nshoon,\\nAnd, like a palmer bent by eld,\\nO er moss and moor his journey\\nheld.\\nVI\\nHeavy and dull the foot of age,\\nAnd rugged was the pilgrimage\\nBut none were there beside whose\\ncare\\nMight such important message\\nbear. 120\\nThrough birchen copse he wan-\\ndered slow,\\nStunted and sapless, thin and low\\nBy many a mountain stream he\\npassed,\\nFrom the tall cliffs in tumult cast,\\nDashing to foam their waters dun\\nAnd sparkling in the summer sun.\\nKound his gray head the wild cur-\\nlew\\nIn many a fearless circle flew.\\nO er chasms he passed where frac-\\ntures wide 129\\nCraved wary eye and ample stride\\nHe crossed his brow beside the\\nstone\\nWhere Druids erst heard victims\\ngroan,\\nAnd at the cairns upon the wild", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0492.jp2"}, "489": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n469\\nO er many a heathen hero piled,\\nHe breathed a timid prayer for\\nthose\\nWho died ere Shiloh s sun arose.\\nBeside Macfarlane s Cross he\\nstaid,\\nThere told his hours within the\\nshade\\nAnd at the stream his thirst al-\\nlayed.\\nThence onward journeying slowly\\nstill, 14\u00c2\u00b0\\nAs evening closed he reached the\\nhill\\nWhere, rising through the wood-\\nland green,\\nOld Brodick s Gothic towers were\\nseen.\\nFrom Hastings late, their English\\nlord,\\nDouglas had won them by the\\nsword.\\nThe sun that sunk behind the isle\\nNow tinged them with a parting\\nsmile.\\nYII\\nBut though the beams of light de-\\ncay\\nT was bustle all in Brodick-Bay.\\nThe Bruce s followers crowd the\\nshore, 150\\nAnd boats and barges some un-\\nmoor,\\nSome raise the sail, some seize\\nthe oar\\nTheir eyes oft turned where glim-\\nmered far\\nWhat might have seemed an early\\nstar\\nOn heaven s blue arch save that\\nits light\\nWas all too flickering, fierce, and\\nbright.\\nFar distant in the south the ray\\nShone pale amid retiring day,\\nBut as, on Carrick shore, 159\\nDim seen in outline faintly blue,\\nThe shades of evening closer\\ndrew,\\nIt kindled more and more.\\nThe monk s slow steps now press\\nthe sands,\\nAnd now amid a scene he stands\\nFull strange to churchman s\\neye;\\nWarriors, who, arming for the\\nfight,\\nKivet and clasp their harness\\nlight,\\nAnd twinkling spears, and axes\\nbright,\\nAnd helmets flashing high.\\nOft too with unaccustomed ears\\nA language much unmeet be\\nhears, 171\\nWhile, hastening all on board,\\nAs stormy as the swelling surge\\nThat mixed its roar, the leaders\\nurge\\nTheir followers to the ocean\\nverge\\nWith many a haughty word.\\nY1II\\nThrough that wild throng the\\nfather passed\\nAnd reached the royal Bruce at\\nlast.\\nHe leant against a stranded boat\\nThat the approaching tide must\\nfloat, 180\\nAnd counted every rippling wave\\nAs higher yet her sides they lave,\\nAnd oft the distant fire he eyed,\\nAnd closer yet his hauberk tied,\\nAnd loosened in its sheath his\\nbrand.\\nEdward and Lennox were at hand,\\nDouglas and Ronald had the care\\nThe soldiers to the barks to\\nshare.\\nThe monk approached and homage\\npaid\\nAnd art thou come, King Robert\\nsaid, 190\\nSo far to bless us ere we part\\nMy liege, and with a loyal heart\\nBut other charge I have to tell,\\nAnd spoke the best of Isabel.\\nNow by Saint Giles, the monarch\\ncried,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0493.jp2"}, "490": {"fulltext": "470\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nThis moves me much! this\\nmorning tide\\nI sent the stripling to Saint Bride\\nWith my commandment there to\\nbide.\\nThither he came the portress\\nshowed,\\nBut there, my liege, made brief\\nabode. 200\\nIX\\nT was 1/ said Edward, found\\nemploy\\nOf nobler import for the boy.\\nDeep pondering in my anxious\\nmind\\nA fitting messenger to find\\nTo bear thy written mandate o er\\nTo Cuthbert on the Carrick shore,\\nI chanced at early dawn to pass\\nThe chapel gate to snatch a mass.\\nI found the stripling on a tomb\\nLow-seated, weeping for the doom\\nThat gave his youth to convent\\ngloom. 2 1 1\\nI told my purpose and his eyes\\nFlashed joyful at the glad sur-\\nprise.\\nHe bounded to the skiff, the sail\\nWas spread before a prosperous\\ngale,\\nAnd well my charge he hath\\nobeyed\\nFor see the ruddy signal made\\nThat Clifford with his merry-men\\nall\\nGuards carelessly our father s\\nhall.\\nx\\n0 wild of thought and hard of\\nheart 220\\nAnswered the monarch, on a\\npart\\nOf such deep danger to employ\\nA mute, an orphan, and a boy\\nUnfit for flight, unfit for strife,\\nWithout a tongue to plead for life\\nNow, were my right restored by\\nHeaven,\\nEdward, my crown I would have\\ngiven\\nEre, thrust on such adventure wild,\\nI perilled thus the helpless child.\\nOffended half and half submiss,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nBrother and liege, of blame like\\nthis, 231\\nEdward replied, I little dreamed.\\nA stranger messenger, I deemed,\\nMight safest seek the beadsman s\\ncell\\nWhere all thy squires are known\\nso well.\\nNoteless his presence, sharp his\\nsense,\\nHis imperfection his defence.\\nIf seen, none can his errand guess\\nIf ta en, his words no tale ex-\\npress\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMethinks, too, yonder beacon s\\nshine 240\\nMight expiate greater fault than\\nmine.\\nRash, said King Robert, was\\nthe deed\\nBut it is done. Embark with\\nspeed\\nGood father, say to Isabel\\nHow this unhappy chance befell\\nIf well we thrive on yonder shore,\\nSoon shall my care her page re-\\nstore.\\nOur greeting to our sister bear,\\nAnd think of us in mass and\\nprayer.\\nXI\\nAy! said the priest, while this\\npoor hand 250\\nCan chalice raise or cross com-\\nmand,\\nWhile my old voice has accents\\nuse,\\nCan Augustine forget the Bruce\\nThen to his side Lord Ronald\\npressed,\\nAnd whispered, Bear thou this\\nrequest,\\nThat when by Bruce s side I fight\\nFor Scotland s crown and free-\\ndom s right,\\nThe princess grace her knight to\\nbear", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0494.jp2"}, "491": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n471\\nSome token of her favoring care\\nIt shall be shown where England s\\nbest 260\\nMay shrink to see it on my crest.\\nAnd for the boy since weightier\\ncare\\nFor royal Bruce the times prepare,\\nThe helpless youth is Ronald s\\ncharge,\\nHis couch my plaid, his fence my\\ntarge.\\nHe ceased; for many an eager\\nhand\\nHad urged the barges from the\\nstrand.\\nTheir number was a score and ten,\\nThey bore thrice threescore chosen\\nmen.\\nWith such small force did Bruce\\nat last 270\\nThe die for death or empire cast\\nXII\\nNow on the darkening main afloat,\\nReady and manned rocks every\\nboat;\\nBeneath their oars the ocean s\\nmight\\nWas dashed to sparks of glimmer-\\ning light.\\nFaint and more faint, as off they\\nbore,\\nTheir armor glanced against the\\nshore,\\nAnd, mingled with the dashing\\ntide,\\nTheir murmuring voices distant\\ndied.\\nGod speed them said the priest,\\nas dark 280\\nOn distant billows glides each\\nbark\\n4 Heaven when swords for free-\\ndom shine\\nAnd monarch s right, the cause is\\nthine\\nEdge doubly every patriot blow\\nBeat down the banners of the foe\\nAnd be it to the nations known,\\nThat victory is from God alone\\nAs up the hill his path he drew.\\nHe turned his blessings to renew,\\nOft turned till on the darkened\\ncoast 290\\nAll traces of their course were\\nlost;\\nThen slowly bent to Brodick\\ntower\\nTo shelter for the evening hour.\\nXIII\\nIn night the fairy prospects sink\\nWhere Cumray s isles with ver-\\ndant link\\nClose the fair entrance of the\\nClyde\\nThe woods of Bute, no more de-\\nscried,\\nAre gone and on the placid\\nsea\\nThe rowers ply their task with\\nglee,\\nWhile hands that knightly lances\\nbore 300\\nImpatient aid the laboring oar.\\nThe half-faced moon shone dim\\nand pale,\\nAnd glanced against the whitened\\nsail;\\nBut on that ruddy beacon-light\\nEach steersman kept the helm\\naright,\\nAnd oft, for such the king s com-\\nmand,\\nThat all at once might reach the\\nstrand,\\nFrom boat to boat loud shout and\\nhail\\nWarned them to crowd or slacken\\nsail.\\nSouth and by west the armada\\nbore, 310\\nAnd near at length the Carrick\\nshore.\\nAs less and less the distance\\ngrows,\\nHigh and more high the beacon\\nrose\\nThe light that seemed a twinkling\\nstar\\nNow blazed portentous, fierce, and\\nfar.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0495.jp2"}, "492": {"fulltext": "472\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nDark -red the heaven above it\\nglowed,\\nDark-red the sea beneath it flowed,\\nRed rose the rocks on ocean s\\nbrim,\\nIn blood-red light her islets swim\\nWild scream the dazzled sea-fowl\\ngave, 320\\nDropped from their crags on plash-\\ning wave.\\nThe deer to distant covert drew,\\nThe black-cock deemed it day and\\ncrew.\\nLike some tall castle given to\\nflame,\\nO er half the land the lustre came.\\n4 Now, good my liege and brother\\nsage,\\nWhat think ye of mine elfin\\npage\\nRow on the noble king replied,\\nWe 11 learn the truth whate er\\nbetide\\nYet sure the beadsman and the\\nchild 330\\nCould ne er have waked that bea-\\ncon wild.\\nXIV\\nWith that the boats approached\\nthe land,\\nBut Edward s grounded on the\\nsand\\nThe eager knight leaped in the\\nsea\\nWaist-deep and first on shore was\\nhe,\\nThough every barge s hardy band\\nContended which should gain the\\nland,\\nWhen that strange light, which\\nseen afar\\nSeemed steady as the polar star,\\nNow, like a prophet s fiery chair,\\nSeemed travelling the realms of\\nair. 341\\nWide o er the sky the splendor\\nglows\\nAs that portentous meteor rose\\nHelm, axe, and falchion glittered\\nbright,\\nAnd in the red and dusky light\\nHis comrade s face each warrior\\nsaw,\\nNor marvelled it was pale with\\nawe.\\nThen high in air the beams were\\nlost,\\nAnd darkness sunk upon the\\ncoast.\\nRonald to Heaven a prayer ad-\\ndressed, 350\\nAnd Douglas crossed his daunt-\\nless breast;\\nSaint James protect us Lennox\\ncried,\\nBut reckless Edward spoke aside,\\nDeem st thou, Kirkpatrick, in\\nthat flame\\nRed Comyn s angry spirit came,\\nOr would thy dauntless heart en-\\ndure\\nOnce more to make assurance\\nsure\\nHush said the Bruce we soon\\nshall know\\nIf this be sorcerer s empty show\\nOr stratagem of southern foe. 360\\nThe moon shines out upon the\\nsand\\nLet every leader rank his band.\\nxv\\nFaintly the moon s pale beams\\nsupply\\nThat ruddy light s unnatural dye\\nThe dubious cold reflection lay\\nOn the wet sands and quiet bay.\\nBeneath the rocks King Robert\\ndrew\\nHis scattered files to order due,\\nTill shield compact and serried\\nspear\\nIn the cool light shone blue and\\nclear. 370\\nThen down a path that sought the\\ntide\\nThat speechless page was seen to\\nglide\\nHe knelt him lowly on the sand,\\nAnd gave a scroll to Robert s\\nhand,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0496.jp2"}, "493": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n473\\n4 A torch, the monarch cried,\\nWhat, ho\\nNow shall we Cuthbert s tidings\\nknow.\\nBut evil news the letters bear,\\nThe Clifford s force was strong and\\nware,\\nAugmented too, that very morn,\\nBy mountaineers who came with\\nLorn. 380\\nLong harrowed by oppressor s\\nhand,\\nCourage and faith had fled the\\nland,\\nAnd over Carrick, dark and deep,\\nHad sunk dejection s iron sleep.\\nCuthbert had seen that beacon\\nflame,\\nUnwitting from what source it\\ncame.\\nDoubtful of perilous event,\\nEdward s mute messenger he sent,\\nIf Bruce deceived should venture\\no er, 389\\nTo warn him from the fatal shore.\\nXVI\\nAs round the torch the leaders\\ncrowd,\\nBruce read these chilling news\\naloud.\\nWhat counsel, nobles, have we\\nnow\\nTo ambush us in greenwood bough,\\nAnd take the chance which fate\\nmay send\\nTo bring our enterprise to end\\nOr shall we turn us to the main\\nAs exiles, and embark again\\nAnswered fierce Edward, Hap\\nwhat may\\nIn Carrick Carrick s lord must\\nstay. 400\\nI would not minstrels told the tale\\nWildfire or meteor made us quail.\\nAnswered the Douglas, If my\\nliege\\nMay win yon walls by storm or\\nsiege,\\nThen were each brave and patriot\\nheart\\nKindled of new for loyal part.\\nAnswered Lord Ronald, Not for\\nshame\\nWould I that aged Torquil came\\nAnd found, for all our empty boast,\\nWithout a blow we fled the coast.\\nI will not credit that this land, 411\\nSo famed for warlike heart and\\nhand,\\nThe nurse of Wallace and of Bruce,\\nWill long with tyrants hold a\\ntruce.\\nProve we our fate the brunt\\nwe 11 bide\\nSo Boyd and Haye and Lennox\\ncried\\nSo said, so vowed the leaders all\\nSo Bruce resolved: And in my\\nhall\\nSince the bold Southern make their\\nhome,\\nThe hour of payment soon shall\\ncome, 420\\nWhen with a rough and rugged\\nhost\\nClifford may reckon to his cost.\\nMeantime, through well-known\\nbosk and dell\\nI ll lead where we may shelter\\nwell.\\nXVII\\nNow ask you whence that won-\\ndrous light,\\nWhose fairy glow beguiled their\\nsight?\\nIt ne er was known yet gray-\\nhaired eld\\nA superstitious credence held\\nThat never did a mortal hand\\nWake its broad glare on Carrick\\nstrand 430\\nNay, and that on the selfsame\\nnight\\nWhen Bruce crossed o er still\\ngleams the light.\\nYearly it gleams o er mount and\\nmoor\\nAnd glittering wave and crin\\nsoned shore\\nBut whether beam celestial, lent", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0497.jp2"}, "494": {"fulltext": "474\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nBy Heaven to aid the king s de-\\nscent,\\nOr fire hell-kindled from beneath\\nTo lure him to defeat and death,\\nOr were it but some meteor strange\\nOf such as oft through midnight\\nrange, 44 o\\nStartling the traveller late and\\nlone,\\nI know not and it ne er was\\nknown.\\nXVIII\\nNow up the rocky pass they drew,\\nAnd Ronald, to his promise true,\\nStill made his arm the stripling s\\nstay,\\nTo aid him on the rugged way.\\n4 Now cheer thee, simple Amadine\\nWhy throbs that silly heart of\\nthine\\nThat name the pirates to their\\nslave\\nIn Gaelic t is the Changeling\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\ngave\u00e2\u0080\u0094 450\\n1 Dost thou not rest thee on my\\narm\\nDo not my plaid-folds hold thee\\nwarm\\nHath not the wild bull s treble hide\\nThis targe for thee and me sup-\\nplied\\nIs not Clan-Colla s sword of steel?\\nAnd, trembler, canst thou terror\\nfeel?\\nCheer thee, and still that throbbing\\nheart\\nFrom Ronald s guard thou shalt\\nnot part\\nO many a shaft at random sent\\nFinds mark the archer little\\nmeant 460\\nAnd many a word at random\\nspoken\\nMay soothe or wound a heart\\nthat s broken\\nHalf soothed, half grieved, half\\nterrified,\\nClose drew the page to Ronald s\\nside\\nA wild delirious thrill of joy\\nWas in that hour of agony,\\nAs up the steepy pass he strove,\\nFear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love\\nXIX\\nThe barrier of that iron shore,\\nThe rock s steep ledge, is now\\nclimbed o er 470\\nAnd from the castle s distant wall,\\nFrom tower to tower the warders\\ncall:\\nThe sound swings over land and\\nsea,\\nAnd marks a watchful enemy.\\nThey gained the Chase, a wide do-\\nmain\\nLeft for the castle s sylvan reign\\nSeek not the scene the axe, the\\nplough,\\nThe boor s dull fence, have marred\\nit now,\\nBut then soft swept in velvet green\\nThe plain with many a glade be-\\ntween, 480\\nWhose tangled alleys far invade\\nThe depth of the brown forest\\nshade.\\nHere the tall fern obscured the\\nlawn,\\nFair shelter for the sportive fawn\\nThere, tufted close with copse-\\nwood green,\\nWas many a swelling hillock seen;\\nAnd all around was verdure meet\\nFor pressure of the fairies feet.\\nThe glossy holly loved the park,\\nThe yew-tree lent its shadow dark,\\nAnd many an old oak, worn and\\nbare, 491\\nWith all its shivered boughs was\\nthere.\\nLovely between, the moonbeams\\nfell\\nOn lawn and hillock, glade and\\ndell.\\nThe gallant monarch sighed to see\\nThese glades so loved in childhood\\nfree,\\nBethinking that as outlaw now\\nHe ranged beneath the forest\\nbough.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0498.jp2"}, "495": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n475\\nxx\\nFast o er the moonlight Chase they\\nsped.\\nWell knew the band that measured\\ntread 500\\nWhen, in retreat or in advance,\\nThe serried warriors move at once\\nAnd evil were the luck if dawn\\nDescried them on the open lawn.\\nCopses they traverse, brooks they\\ncross,\\nStrain up the bank and o er the\\nmoss.\\nFrom the exhausted page s brow\\nCold drops of toil are streaming\\nnow;\\nWith effort faint and lengthened\\npause,\\nHis weary step the stripling draws.\\nNay, droop not yet the warrior\\nsaid 5 1 x\\n1 Come, let me give thee ease and\\naid!\\nStrong are mine arms, and little\\ncare\\nA weight so slight as thine to\\nbear.\\nWhat wilt thou not capricious\\nboy!\\nThen thine own limbs and strength\\nemploy.\\nPass but this night and pass thy\\ncare,\\nI 11 place thee with a lady fair,\\nWhere thou shalt tune thy lute to\\ntell\\nflow Ronald loves fair Isabel 520\\nWorn out, disheartened, and dis-\\nmayed,\\nHere Amadine let go the plaid\\nHis trembling limbs their aid re-\\nfuse,\\nHe sunk among the midnight\\ndews!\\nXXI\\nWhat may be done the night is\\ngone\\nThe Bruce s band moves swiftly\\non\\nEternal shame if at the brunt\\nLord Ronald grace not battle s\\nfront\\n4 See yonder oak within whose\\ntrunk 529\\nDecay a darkened cell hath sunk\\nEnter and rest thee there a space,\\nWrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy\\nface.\\nI will not be, believe me, far,\\nBut must not quit the ranks of\\nwar.\\nWell will I mark the bosky\\nbourne,\\nAnd soon, to guard thee hence, re-\\nturn.\\nNay, weep not so, thou simple boy\\nBut sleep in peace and wake in\\njoy.\\nIn sylvan lodging close bestowed,\\nHe placed the page, and onward\\nstrode 540\\nWith strength put forth o er moss\\nand brook,\\nAnd soon the marching band o er-\\ntook.\\nXXII\\nThus strangely left, long sobbed\\nand wept\\nThe page till wearied out he slept\\nA rough voice waked his dream\\nNay, here,\\nHere by this thicket passed the\\ndeer\\nBeneath that oak old Ryno staid\\nWhat have we here A Scottish\\nplaid\\nAnd in its folds a stripling laid?\\nCome forth thy name and busi-\\nness tell! 550\\nWhat, silent? then I guess thee\\nwell,\\nThe spy that sought old Cuthbert s\\ncell,\\nWafted from Arran yester morn\\nCome, comrades, we will straight\\nreturn.\\nOur Lord may choose the rack\\nshould teach\\nTo this young lurcher use of\\nspeech.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0499.jp2"}, "496": {"fulltext": "476\\nTHE LOkD OF THE ISLES\\nThy bow-string, till I bind him\\nfast.\\n4 Nay, but he weeps and stands\\naghast\\nUnbound we ll lead him, fear it\\nnot;\\nT is a fair stripling, though a\\nScot 560\\nThe hunters to the castle sped,\\nAnd there the hapless captive led.\\nXXIII\\nStout Clifford in the castle-court\\nPrepared him for the morning\\nsport\\nAnd now with Lorn held deep dis-\\ncourse,\\nNow gave command for hound\\nand horse.\\nWar-steeds and palfreys pawed\\nthe ground,\\nAnd many a deer-dog howled\\naround.\\nTo Amadine Lorn s well-known\\nword\\nReplying to that Southern lord, 570\\nMixed with his clanging din, might\\nseem\\nThe phantasm of a fevered dream.\\nThe tone upon his ringing ears\\nCame like the sounds which fancy\\nhears\\nWhen in rude waves or roaring\\nwinds\\nSome words of woe the muser finds,\\nUntil more loudly and more near\\nTheir speech arrests the page s\\near.\\nXXIV\\nAnd was she thus, said Clifford,\\nMost?\\nThe priest should rue it to his\\ncost 580\\nWhat says the monk 4 The\\nholy sire\\nOwns that in masquer s quaint\\nattire\\nShe sought his skiff disguised, un-\\nknown\\nTo all except to him alone.\\nBut, says the priest, a bark from\\nLorn\\nLaid them aboard that very morn,\\nAnd pirates seized her for their\\nprey.\\nHe proffered ransom gold to pay\\nAnd they agreed but ere told\\no er,\\nThe winds blow loud, the billows\\nroar 59 o\\nThey severed and they met no\\nmore.\\nHe deems such tempests vexed\\nthe coast\\nShip, crew, and fugitive were lost.\\nSo let it be, with the disgrace\\nAnd scandal of her lofty race\\nThrice better she had ne er been\\nborn\\nThan brought her infamy on\\nLorn\\nXXV\\nLord Clifford now the captive\\nspied;\\nWhom, Herbert, hast thou there\\nhe cried.\\n1 A spy we seized within the\\nChase, 600\\nA hollow oak his lurking-place.\\n4 What tidings can the youth af-\\nford?\\n4 He plays the mute. 4 Then\\nnoose a cord\\nUnless brave Lorn reverse the\\ndoom\\nFor his plaid s sake. 4 Clan-Col-\\nla s loom,\\nSaid Lorn, whose careless glances\\ntrace\\nRather the vesture than the face,\\n4 Clan-Colla s dames such tartans\\ntwine\\nWearer nor plaid claims care of\\nmine.\\nGive him, if my advice you crave,\\nHis own scathed oak and let him\\nwave 6u\\nIn air unless, by terror wrung,\\nA frank confession find his\\ntongue.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0500.jp2"}, "497": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n477\\nNor shall he die without his rite\\nThou, Angus Roy, attend the sight,\\nAnd give Clan-Colla s dirge thy\\nbreath\\nAs they convey him to his\\ndeath.\\n1 O brother cruel to the last\\nThrough the poor captive s bosom\\npassed\\nThe thought, but, to his purpose\\ntrue, 620\\nHe said not, though he sighed\\nAdieu\\nXXVI\\nAnd will he keep his purpose still\\nIn sight of that last closing ill,\\nWhen one poor breath, one single\\nword,\\nMay freedom, safety, life, afford\\nCan he resist the instinctive call\\nFor life that bids us barter all?\\nLove, strong as death, his heart\\nhath steeled,\\nHis nerves hath strung he will\\nnot yield\\nSince that poor breath, that little\\nword, 630\\nMay yield Lord Ronald to the\\nsword.\\nClan-Colla s dirge is pealing wide,\\nThe griesly headsman s by his\\nside\\nAlong the greenwood Chase they\\nbend,\\nAnd now their march has ghastly\\nend!\\nThat old and shattered oak be-\\nneath,\\nThey destine for the place of\\ndeath.\\nWhat thoughts are his, while all\\nin vain\\nHis eye for aid explores the plain\\nWhat thoughts, w r hile with a dizzy\\near 640\\nHe hears the death-prayer mut-\\ntered near\\nAnd must he die such death ac-\\ncurst,\\nOr will that bosom-secret burst?\\nCold on his brow breaks terror s\\ndew,\\nHis trembling lips are livid blue\\nThe agony of parting life\\nHas naught to match that mo-\\nment s strife\\nXXVII\\nBut other witnesses are nigh,\\nWho mock at fear, and death defy\\nSoon as the dire lament was\\nplayed 650\\nIt waked the lurking ambuscade.\\nThe Island Lord looked forth and\\nspied\\nThe cause, and loud in fury cried,\\nBy Heaven, they lead the page to\\ndie,\\nAnd mock me in his agony\\nThey shall aby it! On his arm\\nBruce laid strong grasp, They\\nshall not harm\\nA ringlet of the stripling s hair\\nBut till I give the word forbear.\\nDouglas, lead fifty of our force 660\\nUp yonder hollow water-course,\\nAnd couch thee midway on the\\nwold,\\nBetween the flyers and their hold\\nA spear above the copse displayed,\\nBe signal of the ambush made.\\nEdward, with forty spearmen\\nstraight\\nThrough yonder copse approach\\nthe gate,\\nAnd when thou hear st the battle-\\ndin\\nRush forward and the passage win,\\nSecure the draw T bridge, storm the\\nport, 670\\nAnd man and guard the castle-\\ncourt.\\nThe rest move slowly forth with\\nme,\\nIn shelter of the forest tree,\\nTill Douglas at his post I see.\\nXXVIII\\nLike war-horse eager to rush on,\\nCompelled to wait the signal\\nblown,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0501.jp2"}, "498": {"fulltext": "478\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nHid, and scarce hid, by greenwood\\nBefore, behind, around it came\\nbough,\\nHalf-armed, surprised, on every\\nTrembling with rage stands Eonald\\nside\\nnow,\\nHemmed in, hewed down, they\\nAnd in his grasp his sword gleams\\nbled and died.\\nblue,\\nDeep in the ring the Bruce en-\\nSoon to be dyed with deadlier\\ngaged,\\nhue. 680\\nAnd fierce Clan-Colla s broadsword\\nMeanwhile the Bruce with steady\\nraged\\neye\\nFull soon the few who fought were\\nSees the dark death-train moving\\nsped,\\nby,\\nNor better was their lot who fled\\nAnd heedful measures oft the\\nAnd met mid terror s wild career\\nspace\\nThe Douglas s redoubted spear!\\nThe Douglas and his band must\\nTwo hundred yeomen on that\\ntrace,\\nmorn 711\\nEre they can reach their destined\\nThe castle left, and none return.\\nground.\\nNow sinks the dirge s wailing\\nXXX\\nsound,\\nNot on their flight pressed Ron-\\nNow cluster round the direful\\nald s brand,\\ntree\\nA gentler duty claimed his hand.\\nThat slow and solemn company,\\nHe raised the page where on the\\nWhile hymn mistuned and mut-\\nplain\\ntered prayer\\nHis fear had sunk him with the\\nThe victim for his fate pre-\\nslain\\npare! 690\\nAnd twice that morn surprise well\\nWhat glances o er the greenwood\\nnear\\nshade\\nBetrayed the secret kept by fear\\nThe spear that marks the ambus-\\nOnce when with life returning\\ncade\\ncame\\n4 Now, noble chief I leave thee\\nTo the boy s lip Lord Ronald s\\nloose\\nname, 720\\nUpon them, Ronald said the\\nAnd hardly recollection drowned\\nBruce.\\nThe accents in a murmuring\\nsound\\nXXIX\\nAnd once when scarce he could re-\\nThe Bruce the Bruce to well-\\nsist\\nknown cry\\nThe chieftain s care to loose the\\nHis native rocks and woods re-\\nvest\\nply.\\nDrawn tightly o er his laboring\\n1 The Bruce the Bruce in that\\nbreast.\\ndread word\\nBut then the Bruce s bugle blew,\\nThe knell of hundred deaths was\\nFor martial work was yet to do.\\nheard.\\nThe astonished Southern gazed at\\nXXXI\\nfirst\\nA harder task fierce Edward waits.\\nWhere the wild tempest was to\\nEre signal given the castle gates\\nburst 700\\nHis fury had assailed 730\\nThat waked in that presaging\\nSuch was his wonted reckless\\nname.\\nmood,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0502.jp2"}, "499": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n479\\nYet desperate valor oft made\\ngood,\\nEven by its daring, venture rude\\nWhere prudence might have\\nfailed.\\nUpon the bridge his strength he\\nthrew,\\nAnd struck the iron chain in two,\\nBy which its planks arose\\nThe warder next his axe s edge\\nStruck down upon the threshold-\\nledge,\\nTwixt door and post a ghastly\\nwedge 74 o\\nThe gate they may not close.\\nWell fought the Southern in the\\nfray,\\nClifford and Lorn fought well that\\nday,\\nBut stubborn Edward forced his\\nway\\nAgainst a hundred foes.\\nLoud came the cry, The Bruce\\nthe Bruce\\nNo hope or in defence or truce,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFresh combatants pour in\\nMad with success and drunk with\\ngore,\\nThey drive the struggling foe\\nbefore 750\\nAnd ward on ward they win.\\nUnsparing was the vengeful\\nsword,\\nAnd limbs were lopped and life-\\nblood poured,\\nThe cry of death ana conflict\\nroared,\\nAnd fearful was the din\\nThe startling horses plunged and\\nflung,\\nClamored the dogs till turrets rung,\\nNor sunk the fearful cry\\nTill not a foeman was there found\\nAlive save those who on the\\nground 760\\nGroaned in their agony\\nXXXII\\nThe valiant Clifford is no more\\nOn Ronald s broadsword streamed\\nhis gore.\\nBut better hap had he of Lorn,\\nWho, by the foeman backward\\nborne,\\nYet gained with slender train the\\nport\\nWhere lay his bark beneath the\\nfort,\\nAnd cut the cable loose.\\nShort were his shrift in that de-\\nbate,\\nThat hour of fury and of fate, 770\\nIf Lorn encountered Bruce\\nThen long and loud the victor\\nshout\\nFrom turret and from tower rung\\nout,\\nThe rugged vaults replied\\nAnd from the donjon tower on\\nhigh\\nThe men of Carrick may descry\\nSaint Andrew s cross in blazonry\\nOf silver waving wide\\nXXXIII\\nThe Bruce hath won his father s\\nhall!\\n1 Welcome, brave friends and com-\\nrades all, 780\\nWelcome to mirth and joy\\nThe first, the last, is welcome here,\\nFrom lord and chieftain, prince\\nand peer,\\nTo this poor speechless boy,\\nGreat God! once more my sire s\\nabode\\nIs mine behold the floor I trode\\nIn tottering infancy\\nAnd there the vaulted arch whose\\nsound\\nEchoed my joyous shout and\\nbound\\nIn boyhood, and that rung around\\nTo youth s unthinking glee 791\\n0, first to thee, all-gracious Hea-\\nven,\\nThen to my friends, my thanks be\\ngiven\\nHe paused a space, his brow he\\ncrossed\\nThen on the board his sword he\\ntossed,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0503.jp2"}, "500": {"fulltext": "480\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nYet steaming hot; with Southern\\nCANTO SIXTH\\ngore\\nFrom hilt to point t was crimsoned\\nI\\no er.\\nwho that shared them ever\\nshall forget\\nXXXIV\\nThe emotions of the spirit-rous-\\n4 Bring here, he said, the mazers\\ning time,\\nfour\\nWhen breathless in the mart the\\nMy noble fathers loved of yore.\\ncouriers met\\nThrice let them circle round the\\nEarly and late, at evening and\\nboard, 800\\nat prime\\nThe pledge, fair Scotland s rights\\nWhen the loud cannon and the\\nrestored\\nmerry chime\\nAnd he whose lip shall touch the\\nHailed news on news, as field on\\nwine\\nfield was won,\\nWithout a vow as true as mine,\\nWhen Hope, long doubtful,\\nTo hold both lands and life at\\nsoared at length sublime,\\nnaught\\nAnd our glad eyes, awake as\\nUntil her freedom shall be\\nday begun,\\nbought,\\nWatched Joy s broad banner rise\\nBe brand of a disloyal Scot\\nto meet the rising sun\\nAnd lasting infamy his lot\\nSit, gentle friends our hour of glee\\nthese were hours when thrill-\\nIs brief, we 11 spend it joyously\\ning joy repaid 10\\nBlithest of all the sun s bright\\nA long, long course of darkness,\\nbeams, 810\\ndoubts, and fears\\nWhen betwixt storm and storm he\\nThe heart-sick faintness of the\\ngleams.\\nhope delayed,\\nWell is our country s work begun,\\nThe waste, the woe, the blood-\\nBut more, far more, must yet be\\nshed, and the tears,\\ndone.\\nThat tracked with terror twenty\\nSpeed messengers the country\\nrolling years,\\nthrough\\nAll was forgot in that blithe\\nArouse old friends and gather\\njubilee\\nnew\\nHer downcast eye even pale\\nAffliction rears,\\nWarn Lanark s knights to gird\\ntheir mail,\\nTo sigh a thankful prayer amid\\nRouse the brave sons of Teviot-\\nthe glee\\ndale,\\nThat hailed the Despot s fall, and\\nLet Ettrick s archers sharp their\\npeace and liberty\\ndarts,\\nThe fairest forms, the truest\\nSuch news o er Scotland s hills\\nhearts\\ntriumphant rode\\nCall all, call all from Reedswair\\nWhen gainst the invaders turned\\nPath 820\\nthe battle s scale, 20\\nTo the wild confines of Cape-\\nWhen Bruce s banner had vic-\\nWrath\\ntorious flowed\\nWide let the news through Scot-\\nO er Loudoun s mountain and in\\nland ring,\\nUry s vale\\nThe Northern Eagle claps his\\nWhen English blood oft deluged\\nwing\\nDouglas-dale,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0504.jp2"}, "501": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n481\\nAnd fiery Edward routed stout\\nSaint John,\\nWhen Randolph s war cry\\nswelled the southern gale,\\nAnd many a fortress, town, and\\ntower was won,\\nAnd Fame still sounded forth fresh\\ndeeds of glory done.\\n11\\nBlithe tidings flew from baron s\\ntower\\nTo peasant s cot, to forest-bower,\\nAnd waked the solitary cell 30\\nWhere lone Saint Bride s recluses\\ndwell.\\nPrincess no more, fair Isabel,\\nA votaress of the order now,\\nSay, did the rule that bid thee\\nwear\\nDim veil and woollen scapulare,\\nAnd reft thy locks of dark-brown\\nhair,\\nThat stern and rigid vow,\\nDid it condemn the transport high\\nWhich glistened in thy watery\\neye\\nWhen minstrel or when palmer\\ntold 40\\nEach fresh exploit of Bruce the\\nbold?\\nAnd whose the lovely form that\\nshares\\nThy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy\\nprayers\\nNo sister she of convent shade\\nSo say these locks in lengthened\\nbraid,\\nSo say the blushes and the sighs,\\nThe tremors that unbidden rise,\\nWhen, mingled with the Bruce s\\nfame,\\nThe brave Lord Ronald s praises\\ncame.\\nin\\nBelieve, his father s castle won 50\\nAnd his bold enterprise begun,\\nThat Bruce s earliest cares restore\\nThe speechless page to Arran s\\nshore\\nNor think that long the quaint dis-\\nguise\\nConcealed her from a sister s\\neyes\\nAnd sister-like in love they dwell\\nIn that lone convent s silent cell.\\nThere Bruce s slow assent allows\\nFair Isabel the veil and vows\\nAnd there, her sex s dress re-\\ngained, 60\\nThe lovely Maid of Lorn re-\\nmained,\\nUnnamed, unknown, while Scot-\\nland far\\nResounded with the din of war\\nAnd many a month and many a\\nday\\nIn calm seclusion wore away.\\nIV\\nThese days, these months, to years\\nhad worn\\nWhen tidings of high weight were\\nborne\\nTo that lone island s shore\\nOf all the Scottish conquests made\\nBy the First Edward s ruthless\\nblade 70\\nHis son retained no more,\\nNorthward of Tweed, but Stirling s\\ntowers,\\nBeleaguered by King Robert s\\npowers\\nAnd they took term of truce,\\nIf England s King should not re-\\nlieve\\nThe siege ere John the Baptist s\\neve,\\nTo yield them to the Bruce.\\nEngland was roused on every\\nside\\nCourier and post and herald hied\\nTo summon prince and peer, 80\\nAt Berwick-bounds to meet their\\nliege,\\nPrepared to raise fair Stirling s\\nsiege\\nWith buckler, brand, and spear.\\nThe term was nigh they mus-\\ntered fast,\\nBy beacon and by bugle-blast", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0505.jp2"}, "502": {"fulltext": "482\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nForth marshalled for the field\\nThere rode each knight of noble\\nname,\\nThere England s hardy archers\\ncame,\\nThe land they trode seemed all on\\nflame 89\\nWith banner, blade, and shield\\nAnd not famed England s powers\\nalone,\\nRenowned in arms, the summons\\nown;\\nFor Neustria s knights obeyed,\\nGascogne hath lent her horsemen\\ngood,\\nAnd Cambria, but of late subdued,\\nSent forth her mountain-multitude,\\nAnd Connoght poured from waste\\nand wood\\nHer hundred tribes, whose sceptre\\nrude\\nDark Eth O Connor swayed.\\nRight to devoted Caledon 100\\nThe storm of war rolls slowly on\\nWith menace deep and dread\\nSo the dark clouds with gathering\\npower\\nSuspend awhile the threatened\\nshower,\\nTill every peak and summit lower\\nRound the pale pilgrim s head.\\nNot with such pilgrim s startled\\neye\\nKing Robert marked the tempest\\nnigh\\nResolved the brunt to bide,\\nHis royal summons warned the\\nland no\\nThat all who owned their king s\\ncommand\\nShould instant take the spear and\\nbrand\\nTo combat at his side.\\nO, who may tell the sons of fame\\nThat at King Robert s bidding\\ncame\\nTo battle for the right\\nFrom Cheviot to the shores of\\nRoss,\\nFrom Solway-Sands to Marshal s-\\nMoss,\\nAll bouned them for the fight.\\nSuch news the royal courier tells\\nWho came to rouse dark Arran s\\ndells; I2 i\\nBut farther tidings must the ear\\nOf Isabel in secret hear.\\nThese in her cloister walk next\\nmorn\\nThus shared she with the Maid of\\nLorn\\nVI\\nMy Edith, can I tell how dear\\nOur intercourse of hearts sincere\\nHath been to Isabel\\nJudge then the sorrow of my heart\\nWhen I must say the words, We\\npart 130\\nThe cheerless convent-cell\\nWas not, sweet maiden, made for\\nthee\\nGo thou where thy vocation free\\nOn happier fortunes fell.\\nNor, Edith, judge thyself betrayed,\\nThough Robert knows that Lorn s\\nhigh maid\\nAnd his poor silent page w r ere one.\\nVersed in the fickle heart of man,\\nEarnest and anxious hath he\\nlooked\\nHow Ronald s heart the message\\nbrooked 140\\nThat gave him with her last fare-\\nwell\\nThe charge of Sister Isabel,\\nTo think upon thy better right\\nAnd keep the faith his promise\\nplight.\\nForgive him for thy sister s sake\\nAt first if vain repinings wake\\nLong since that mood is gone\\nNow dwells he on thy juster claims,\\nAnd oft his breach of faith he\\nblames\u00e2\u0080\u0094 149\\nForgive him for thine own\\nVII\\n1 No never to Lord Ronald s bower\\nWill I again as paramour", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0506.jp2"}, "503": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n483\\n1 Nay, hush thee, too impatient\\nmaid,\\nUntil my final tale be said\\nThe good King Robert would en-\\ngage\\nEdith once more his elfin page,\\nBy her own heart and her own eye\\nHer lover s penitence to try\u00e2\u0080\u0094 158\\nSafe in his royal charge and free,\\nShould such thy final purpose be,\\nAgain unknown to seek the cell,\\nAnd live and die with Isabel.\\nThus spoke the maid King Rob-\\nert s eye\\nMight have some glance of policy\\nDun staff nage had the monarch\\nta en,\\nAnd Lorn had owned King Rob-\\nert s reign\\nHer brother had to England fled,\\nAnd there in banishment was dead\\nAmple, through exile, death, and\\nflight,\\nO er tower and land was Edith s\\nright; 170\\nThis ample right o er tower and\\nland\\nWere safe in Ronald s faithful\\nhand.\\nVIII\\nEmbarrassed eye and blushing\\ncheek\\nPleasure and shame and fear be-\\nspeak\\nYet much the reasoning Edith\\nmade\\nHer sister s faith she must up-\\nbraid,\\nWho gave such secret, dark and\\ndear,\\nIn counsel to another s ear.\\nWhy should she leave the peaceful\\ncell?\\nHow should she part with Isa-\\nbel?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 180\\nHow wear that strange attire\\nagen\\nHow risk herself midst martial\\nmen\\nAnd how be guarded on the way?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAt least she might entreat delay.\\nKind Isabel with secret smile\\nSaw and forgave the maiden s wile,\\nReluctant to be thought to move\\nAt the first call of truant love.\\nIX\\n0, blame her not when zephyrs\\nwake\\nThe aspen s trembling leaves must\\nshake; 190\\nWhen beams the sun through\\nApril s shower\\nIt needs must bloom, the violet\\nflower\\nAnd Love, howe er the maiden\\nstrive,\\nMust with reviving hope revive\\nA thousand soft excuses came\\nTo plead his cause gainst virgin\\nshame.\\nPledged by their sires in earliest\\nyouth,\\nHe had her plighted fafth and\\ntruth\\nThen, t was her liege s strict com-\\nmand,\\nAnd she beneath his royal hand 200\\nA ward in person and in land\\nAnd, last, she was resolved to\\nstay\\nOnly brief space\u00e2\u0080\u0094 one little day\\nClose hidden in her safe disguise\\nFrom all, but most from Ronald s\\neyes\\nBut once to see him more nor\\nblame\\nHer wish to hear him name her\\nname\\nThen to bear back to solitude\\nThe thought he had his falsehood\\nrued!\\nBut Isabel, who long had seen 210\\nHer pallid cheek and pensive\\nmien,\\nAnd well herself the cause might\\nknow,\\nThough innocent, of Edith s woe,\\nJoyed, generous, that revolving\\ntime\\nGave means to expiate the crime.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0507.jp2"}, "504": {"fulltext": "4\u00c2\u00a74\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nHigh glowed her bosom as she\\nsaid,\\n4 Well shall her sufferings be re-\\npaid\\nNow came the parting hour a\\nband\\nFrom Arran s mountains left the\\nland\\nTheir chief, Fitz-Louis, had the\\ncare 220\\nThe speechless Amadine to bear\\nTo Bruce with honor, as behoved\\nTo page the monarch dearly loved.\\nThe king had deemed the maiden\\nbright\\nShould reach him long before the\\nfight,\\nBut storms and fate her course de-\\nlay:\\nIt was on eve of battle-day\\nWhen o er the Gillie s-hill she\\nrode.\\nThe landscape like a furnace\\nglowed, 229\\nAnd far as e er the eye was borne\\nThe lances waved like autumn-\\ncorn.\\nIn battles four beneath their\\neye\\nThe forces of King Robert lie.\\nAnd one below the hill was laid,\\nReserved for rescue and for aid\\nAnd three advanced formed va-\\nward-line,\\nTwixt Bannock s brook and Nini-\\nan s shrine.\\nDetached was each, yet each so\\nnigh\\nAs well might mutual aid supply.\\nBeyond, the Southern host ap-\\npears, 240\\nA boundless wilderness of spears,\\nWhose verge or rear the anxious\\neye\\nStrove far, but strove in vain, to\\nspy.\\nThick flashing in the evening beam,\\nGlaives, lances, bills, and banners\\ngleam\\nAnd where the heaven joined with\\nthe hill,\\nWas distant armor flashing still,\\nSo wide, so far, the boundless host\\nSeemed in the blue horizon lost.\\nXI\\nDown from the hill the maiden\\npassed, 250\\nAt the wild show of war aghast\\nAnd traversed first the rearward\\nhost,\\nReserved for aid where needed\\nmost.\\nThe men of Carrick and of Ayr,\\nLennox and Lanark too, were\\nthere,\\nAnd all the western land\\nWith these the valiant of the Isles\\nBeneath their chieftains ranked\\ntheir files\\nIn many a plaided band. 259\\nThere in the centre proudly raised,\\nThe Bruce s royal standard blazed,\\nAnd there Lord Ronald s banner\\nbore\\nA galley driven by sail and oar.\\nA wild yet pleasing contrast made\\nWarriors in mail and plate arrayed,\\nWith the plumed bonnet and the\\nplaid\\nBy these Hebrideans worn\\nBut 0, unseen for three long years,\\nDear was the garb of mountaineers\\nTo the fair Maid of Lorn 270\\nFor one she looked but he was\\nfar\\nBusied amid the ranks of war\\nYet with affection s troubled eye\\nShe marked his banner boldly fly,\\nGave on the countless foe a glance,\\nAnd thought on battle s desperate\\nchance.\\nXII\\nTo centre of the vaward-line\\nFitz-Louis guided Amadine.\\nArmed all on foot, that host- ap-\\npears\\nA serried mass of glimmering\\nspears. 280", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0508.jp2"}, "505": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n485\\nThere stood the Marchers warlike\\nband,\\nThe warriors there of Lodon s\\nland;\\nEttrick and Liddell bent the yew,\\nA band of archers fierce though\\nfew;\\nThe men of Nith and Annan s vale,\\nAnd the bold Spears of Teviot-\\ndale\\nThe dauntless Douglas these obey,\\nAnd the young Stuart s gentle\\nsway.\\nNortheastward by Saint Ninian s\\nshrine,\\nBeneath fierce Randolph s charge,\\ncombine 290\\nThe warriors whom the hardy\\nNorth\\nFrom Tay to Sutherland sent forth.\\nThe rest of Scotland s war-array\\nWith Edward Bruce to westward\\nlay,\\nWhere Bannock with his broken\\nbank\\nAnd deep ravine protects their\\nflank.\\nBehind them, screened by shelter-\\ning wopd,\\nThe gallant Keith, Lord Marshal,\\nstood\\nHis men-at-arms bare mace and\\nlance,\\nAnd plumes that wave and helms\\nthat glance. 300\\nThus fair divided by the king,\\nCentre and right and leftward wing\\nComposed his front; nor distant\\nfar\\nWas strong reserve to aid the war.\\nAnd t was to front of this array\\nHer guide and Edith made their\\nway.\\nXIII\\nHere must they pause for, in ad-\\nvance\\nAs far as one might pitch a lance,\\nThe monarch rode along the van,\\nThe foe s approaching force to\\nscan, 310\\nHis line to marshal and to range,\\nAnd ranks to square, and fronts\\nto change.\\nAlone he rode from head to\\nheel\\nSheathed in his ready arms of\\nsteel\\nNor mounted yet on war-horse\\nwight,\\nBut, till more near the shock of\\nfight,\\nReining a palfrey low and light.\\nA diadem of gold was set\\nAbove his bright steel basinet,\\nAnd clasped within its glittering\\ntwine 320\\nWas seen the glove of Argentine\\nTruncheon or leading staff he\\nlacks,\\nBearing instead a battle-axe.\\nHe ranged his soldiers for the\\nfight\\nAccoutred thus, in open sight\\nOf either host. Three bowshots\\nfar,\\nPaused the deep front of England s\\nwar,\\nAnd rested on their arms awhile,\\nTo close and rank their warlike\\nfile,\\nAnd hold high council if that night\\nShould view the strife or dawning\\nlight. 33\\nXIV\\nO, gay yet fearful to behold,\\nFlashing with steel and rough\\nwith gold,\\nAnd bristled o er with bills and\\nspears,\\nWith plumes and pennons waving\\nfair,\\nWas that bright battle-front for\\nthere\\nRode England s king and peers\\nAnd who, that saw that monarch\\nride,\\nHis kingdom battled by his side,\\nCould then his direful doom fore-\\ntell!\u00e2\u0080\u0094 340\\nFair was his seat in knightly selle,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0509.jp2"}, "506": {"fulltext": "486\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nAnd in his sprightly eye was set\\nSome spark of the Plantagenet.\\nThough light and wandering was\\nhis glance,\\nIt flashed at sight of shield and\\nlance.\\n1 Know st thou, he said, De Ar.\\ngentine,\\nYon knight who marshals thus\\ntheir line\\n4 The tokens on his helmet tell\\nThe Bruce, my liege I know him\\nwell.\\nAnd shall the audacious traitor\\nbrave 350\\nThe presence where our banners\\nwave?\\n1 So please my liege, said Argen-\\ntine,\\nWere he but horsed on steed like\\nmine,\\nTo give him fair and knightly\\nchance,\\nI would adventure forth my\\nlance.\\nIn battle-day, the king replied,\\nNice tourney rules are set aside.\\nStill must the rebel dare our wrath\\nSet on him Sweep him from our\\npath\\nAnd at King Edward s signal soon\\nDashed from the ranks Sir Henry\\nBoune. 361\\nxv\\nOf Hereford s high blood he came,\\nA race renowned for knightly fame.\\nHe burned before his monarch s\\neye\\nTo do some deed of chivalry.\\nHe spurred his steed, he couched\\nhis lance,\\nAnd darted on the Bruce at once.\\nAs motionless as rocks that bide\\nThe wrath of the advancing tide,\\nThe Bruce stood fast. Each\\nbreast beat high 370\\nAnd dazzled was each gazing\\neye\\nThe heart had hardly time to\\nthink,\\nThe eyelid scarce had time to\\nwink,\\nWhile on the king, like flash of\\nflame,\\nSpurred to full speed the war-horse\\ncame\\nThe partridge may the falcon\\nmock,\\nIf that slight palfrey stand the\\nshock\\nBut, swerving from the knight s\\ncareer,\\nJust as they met, Bruce shunned\\nthe spear.\\nOnward the baffled warrior bore\\nHis course but soon his course\\nwas o er!\u00e2\u0080\u0094 381\\nHigh in his stirrups stood the\\nking,\\nAnd gave his battle-axe the swing.\\nRight on De Boune the whiles he\\npassed\\nFell that stern dint the first\\nthe last\\nSuch strength upon the blow was\\nput\\nThe helmet crashed like hazel-\\nnut\\nThe axe -shaft with its brazen\\nclasp\\nWas shivered to the gauntlet\\ngrasp.\\nSprings from the blow the startled\\nhorse, 390\\nDrops to the plain the lifeless\\ncorse\\nFirst of that fatal field, how soon,\\nHow sudden, fell the fierce De\\nBoune\\nxvi\\nOne pitying glance the monarch\\nsped\\nWhere on the field his foe lay\\ndead;\\nThen gently turned his palfrey s\\nhead,\\nAnd, pacing back his sober way,\\nSlowly he gained his own array.\\nThere round their king the leaders\\ncrowd,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0510.jp2"}, "507": {"fulltext": "CAXTO SIXTH\\n487\\nAnd blame his recklessness aloud\\nThat risked gainst each adventu-\\nrous spear 401\\nA life so valued and so dear.\\nHis broken weapon s shaft sur-\\nveyed\\nThe king, and careless answer\\nmade,\\nMy loss may pay my folly s tax\\nI ve broke my trusty battle-axe.\\nT was then Fitz-Louis bending\\nlow\\nDid Isabel s commission show\\nEdith disguised at distance stands,\\nAnd hides her blushes with her\\nhands. 410\\nThe monarch s brow has changed\\nits hue,\\nAway the gory axe he threw,\\nWhile to the seeming page he\\ndrew,\\nClearing war s terrors from his\\neye.\\nHer hand with gentle ease he took\\nWith such a kind protecting look\\nAs to a weak and timid boy\\nMight speak that elder brother s\\ncare\\nAnd elder brother s love were\\nthere.\\nXVII\\n1 Fear not, he said, young Ama-\\ndine 420\\nThen whispered, Still that name\\nbe thine.\\nFate plays her wonted fantasy,\\nKind Amadine, with thee and me,\\nAnd sends thee here in doubtful\\nhour.\\nBut soon we are beyond her\\npower\\nFor on this chosen battle-plain,\\nVictor or vanquished. I remain.\\nDo thou to yonder hill repair\\nThe followers of our host are\\nthere,\\nAnd all who may not weapons\\nbear.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 430\\nFitz-Louis, have him in thy care-\\nJoyful we meet, if all go well\\nIf not, in Arran s holy cell\\nThou must take part with Isa-\\nbel;\\nFor brave Lord Ronald too hath\\nsworn,\\nNot to regain the Maid of Lorn\\nThe bliss on earth he covets most\\nWould he forsake his battle-post,\\nOr shun the fortune that may fall\\nTo Bruce, to Scotland, and to all.\\nBut, hark some news these trum-\\npets tell; 441\\nForgive my haste farewell\\nfarewell\\nAnd in a lower voice he said,\\nBe of good cheer farewell,\\nsweet maid\\nXVIII\\n1 What train of dust, with trumpet-\\nsound\\nAnd glimmering spears, is wheel-\\ning round\\nOur leftward flank? the mon-\\narch cried\\nTo Moray s Earl who rode beside.\\nLo round thy station pass the\\nfoes!\\nRandolph, thy wreath hath lost a\\nrose. 450\\nThe Earl his visor closed, and said\\nMy wreath shall bloom, or life\\nshall fade.\\nFollow, my household! and they\\ngo\\nLike lightning on the advancing\\nfoe.\\nMy liege, said noble Douglas\\nthen,\\n1 Earl Eandolph has but one to ten\\nLet me go forth his band to aid\\nStir not. The error he hath made,\\nLet him amend it as he may\\nI will not weaken mine array. 460\\nThen loudly rose the conflict-cry,\\nAnd Douglas s brave heart swelled\\nhigh,\\nMy liege, he said, with patient\\near\\nI must not Moray s death-knell\\nhear", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0511.jp2"}, "508": {"fulltext": "4-88\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\n1 Then go but speed thee back\\nagain/\\nForth sprung the Douglas with his\\ntrain\\nBut when they won a rising hill\\nHe bade his followers hold them\\nstill.\\n1 See, see! the routed Southern fly\\nThe Earl hath won the victory. 470\\nLo where yon steeds run master-\\nless,\\nHis banner towers above the press.\\nRein up our presence would im-\\npair\\nThe fame we come too late to\\nshare.*\\nBack to the host the Douglas rode,\\nAnd soon glad tidings are abroad\\nThat, Dayncourt by stout Ran-\\ndolph slain,\\nHis followers fled with loosened\\nrein.\\nThat skirmish closed the busy day,\\nAnd couched in battle s prompt\\narray, 480\\nEach army on their weapons lay.\\nXIX\\nIt was a night of lovely June,\\nHigh rode in cloudless blue the\\nmoon,\\nDemayet smiled beneath her ray\\nOld Stirling s towers arose in light,\\nAnd, twined in links of silver\\nbright,\\nHer winding river lay.\\nAh gentle planet other sight\\nShall greet thee, next returning\\nnight, 489\\nOf broken arms and banners tore,\\nAnd marshes dark with human\\ngore,\\nAnd piles of slaughtered men and\\nhorse,\\nAnd Forth that floats the frequent\\ncorse,\\nAnd many a wounded wretch to\\nplain\\nBeneath thy silver light in vain\\nBut now from England s host the\\ncry\\nThou hear st of wassail revelry,\\nWhile from the Scottish legions\\npass\\nThe murmured prayer, the early\\nmass!\\nHere, numbers had presumption\\ngiven 5 oo\\nThere, bands o er-matched sought\\naid from Heaven.\\nxx\\nOn Gillie s-hill, whose height com-\\nmands\\nThe battle-field, fair Edith stands\\nWith serf and page unfit for war,\\nTo eye the conflict from afar.\\nO, with what doubtful agony\\nShe sees the dawning tint the\\nsky!\\nNow on the Ochils gleams the sun,\\nAnd glistens now Demayet dun\\nIs it the lark that carols shrill,\\nIs it the bittern s early hum\\nNo distant, but increasing\\nstill, 512\\nThe trumpet s sound swells up\\nthe hill,\\nWith the deep murmur of the\\ndrum.\\nResponsive from the Scottish host,\\nPipe-clang and bugle-sound were\\ntossed,\\nHis breast and brow each soldier\\ncrossed\\nAnd started from the ground;\\nArmed and arrayed for instant\\nfight,\\nRose archer, spearman, squire,\\nand knight, 520\\nAnd in the pomp of battle bright\\nThe dread battalia frowned.\\nXXI\\nNow onward and in open view\\nThe countless ranks of England\\ndrew,\\nDark rolling like the ocean-tide\\nWhen the rough west hath chafed\\nhis pride,\\nAnd his deep roar sends challenge\\nwide", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0512.jp2"}, "509": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n489\\nTo all that bars his way\\nIn front the gallant archers trode,\\nThe men-at-arms behind them\\nrode, 530\\nAnd midmost of the phalanx\\nbroad\\nThe monarch held his sway.\\nBeside him many a war-horse\\nfumes,\\nAround him waves a sea of\\nplumes,\\nWhere many a knight in battle\\nknown,\\nAnd some who spurs had first\\nbraced on\\nAnd deemed that fight should see\\nthem won,\\nKing Edward s bests obey.\\nDe Argentine attends his side,\\nWith stout De Valence, Pem-\\nbroke s pride, 540\\nSelected champions from the train\\nTo wait upon his bridle-rein.\\nUpon the Scottish foe he gazed\\nAt once before his sight amazed\\nSunk banner, spear, and shield\\nEach weapon-point is downward\\nsent,\\nEach warrior to the ground is bent.\\n1 The rebels, Argentine, repent\\nFor pardon they have kneeled.\\nAy! but they bend to other\\npowers, 550\\nAnd other pardon sue than ours\\nSee where yon barefoot abbot\\nstands\\nAnd blesses them with lifted\\nhands\\nUpon the spot where they have\\nkneeled\\nThese men will die or win the\\nfield.\\n1 Then prove we if they die or win\\nBid Gloster s Earl the fight begin.\\nXXII\\nEarl Gilbert waved his truncheon\\nhigh\\nJust as the Northern ranks\\narose,\\nSignal for England s archery 560\\nTo halt and bend their bows.\\nThen stepped each yeoman forth\\na pace,\\nGlanced at the intervening space,\\nAnd raised his left hand high\\nTo the right ear the cords they\\nbring\\nAt once ten thousand bow-strings\\nring,\\nTen thousand arrows fly\\nNor paused on the devoted Scot\\nThe ceaseless fury of their shot\\nAs fiercely and as fast 570\\nForth whistling came the gray-\\ngoose wing\\nAs the wild hailstones pelt and\\nring\\nAdown December s blast.\\nNor mountain targe of tough bull-\\nhide,\\nNor lowland mail, that storm may\\nbide;\\nWoe, woe to Scotland s bannered\\npride,\\nIf the fell shower may last\\nUpou the right behind the wood,\\nEach by his steed dismounted\\nstood\\nThe Scottish chivalry 580\\nWith foot in stirrup, hand on mane,\\nFierce Edward Bruce can scarce\\nrestrain\\nHis own keen heart, his eager train,\\nUntil the archers gained the plain\\nThen, Mount, ye gallants free\\nHe cried; and vaulting from the\\nground\\nHis saddle every horseman found.\\nOn high their glittering crests they\\ntoss,\\nAs springs the wild-fire from the\\nmoss;\\nThe shield hangs down on every\\nbreast, 590\\nEach ready lance is in the rest,\\nAnd loud shouts Edward Bruce,\\nForth, Marshal! on the peasant\\nfoe\\nWe ll tame the terrors of their\\nbow,\\nAnd cut the bow-string loose I", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0513.jp2"}, "510": {"fulltext": "490\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nXXIII\\nThen spurs were dashed in\\nchargers flanks,\\nThey rushed among the archer\\nranks,\\nNo spears were there the shock to\\nlet,\\nNo stakes to turn the charge were\\nset,\\nAnd how shall yeoman s armor\\nslight 600\\nStand the long lance and mace of\\nmight\\nOr what may their short swords\\navail\\nGainst barbed horse and shirt of\\nmail?\\nAmid their ranks the chargers\\nsprung,\\nHigh o er their heads the weapons\\nswuug,\\nAnd shriek and groan and venge-\\nful shout\\nGive note of triumph and of rout\\nAwhile with stubborn hardihood\\nTheir English hearts the strife\\nmade good.\\nBorne down at length on every\\nside, 610\\nCompelled to flight they scatter\\nwide.\\nLet stags of Sherwood leap for\\nglee,\\nAnd bound the deer of Dallom-\\nLee!\\nThe broken bows of Bannock s\\nshore\\nShall in the greenwood ring no\\nmore\\nRound Wakefield s merry May-\\npole now\\nThe maids may twine the summer\\nbough,\\nMay northward look with longing\\nglance\\nFor those that wont to lead the\\ndance,\\nFor the blithe archers look in\\nvain 620\\nBroken, dispersed, in flight o er-\\nta en,\\nPierced through, trode down, by\\nthousands slain,\\nThey cumber Bannock s bloody\\nplain.\\nXXIV\\nThe king with scorn beheld their\\nflight.\\nAre these, he said, our yeomen\\nwight\\nEach braggart churl could boast\\nbefore\\nTwelve Scottish lives his baldric\\nbore!\\nFitter to plunder chase or park\\nThan make a manly foe their\\nmark.\\nForward, each gentleman and\\nknight! 630\\nLet gentle blood show generous\\nmight\\nAnd chivalry redeem the fight\\nTo rightward of the wild affray,\\nThe field showed fair and level\\nway;\\nBut in mid-space the Bruce s\\ncare\\nHad bored the ground with many\\na pit,\\nWith turf and brushwood hidden\\nyet,\\nThat formed a ghastly snare.\\nRushing, ten thousand horsemen\\ncame,\\nWith spears in rest and hearts on\\nflame 640\\nThat panted for the shock\\nWith blazing crests and banners\\nspread,\\nAnd trumpet- clang and clamor\\ndread,\\nThe wide plain thundered to their\\ntread\\nAs far as Stirling rock.\\nDown down in headlong over-\\nthrow,\\nHorseman and horse, the foremost\\ngo,\\nWild floundering on the field\\nThe first are in destruction s\\ngorge,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0514.jp2"}, "511": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n49 1\\nTheir followers wildly o er them\\nurge 650\\nThe knightly helm and shield,\\nThe mail, the acton, and the\\nspear,\\nStrong hand, high heart, are use-\\nless here\\nLoud from the mass confused the\\ncry\\nOf dying warriors swells on high,\\nAnd steeds that shriek in agony\\nThey came like mountain-torrent\\nred\\nThat thunders o er its rocky bed\\nThey broke like that same tor-\\nrent s wave\\nWhen swallowed by a darksome\\ncave. 660\\nBillows on billows burst and boil,\\nMaintaining still the stern turmoil,\\nAnd to their wild and tortured\\ngroan\\nEach adds new terrors of his own\\nxxv\\nToo strong in courage and in\\nmight\\nWas England yet to yield the fight.\\nHer noblest all are here\\nNames that to fear were never\\nknown,\\nBold Norfolk s Earl De Brother-\\nton, 669\\nAnd Oxford s famed De Vere.\\nThere Gloster plied the bloody\\nsword,\\nAnd Berkley, Grey, and Hereford,\\nBottetourt and Sanzavere,\\nRoss, Montague, and Mauley\\ncame,\\nAnd Courtenay s pride, and Percy s\\nfame\\nNames known too well in Scot-\\nland s war\\nAt Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar,\\nBlazed broader yet in after years\\nAt Cressy red and fell Poitiers.\\nPembroke with these and Argen-\\ntine 680\\nBrought up the rearward battle-\\nline.\\nWith caution o er the ground they\\ntread,\\nSlippery with blood and piled with\\ndead,\\nTill hand to hand in battle set,\\nThe bills with spears and axes\\nmet,\\nAnd, closing dark on every side,\\nPaged the full contest far and\\nwide.\\nThen was the strength of Douglas\\ntried,\\nThen proved was Randolph s gen-\\nerous pride,\\nAnd well did Stewart s actions\\ngrace 690\\nThe sire of Scotland s royal race\\nFirmly they kept their ground\\nAs firmly England onward pressed,\\nAnd down went many a noble\\ncrest,\\nAnd rent was many a valiant\\nbreast,\\nAnd Slaughter revelled round.\\nXXVI\\nUnflinching foot gainst foot was\\nset,\\nUnceasing blow by blow was met\\nThe groans of those who fell\\nWere drowned amid the shriller\\nclang 700\\nThat from the blades and harness\\nrang,\\nAnd in the battle-yell.\\nYet fast they fell, unheard, forgot,\\nBoth Southern fierce and hardy\\nScot;\\nAnd 0, amid that waste of life\\nWhat various motives fired the\\nstrife!\\nThe aspiring noble bled for fame,\\nThe patriot for his country s claim\\nThis knight his youthful strength\\nto prove, 709\\nAnd that to win his lady s love\\nSome fought from ruffian thirst of\\nblood,\\nFrom habit some or hardihood.\\nBut ruffian stern and soldier good,\\nThe noble and the slave,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0515.jp2"}, "512": {"fulltext": "492\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nFrom various cause the same wild\\nroad,\\nOn the same bloody morning,\\ntrode\\nTo that dark inn, the grave\\nXXVII\\nThe tug of strife to flag begins,\\nThough neither loses yet nor wins.\\nHigh rides the sun, thick rolls the\\ndust, 720\\nAnd feebler speeds the blow and\\nthrust.\\nDouglas leans on his war-sword\\nnow,\\nAnd Randolph wipes his bloody\\nbrow;\\nNor less had toiled each Southern\\nknight\\nFrom morn till mid-day in the\\nfight.\\nStrong Egremont for air must\\ngasp,\\nBeauchamp undoes his visor-clasp,\\nAnd Montague must quit his spear,\\nAnd sinks thy falchion, bold De\\nVere\\nThe blows of Berkley fall less\\nfast, 730\\nAnd gallant Pembroke s bugle\\nblast\\nHath lost its lively tone\\nSinks, Argentine, thy battle-word,\\nAnd Percy s shout was fainter\\nheard,\\n1 My merry-men, fight on\\nXXVIII\\nBruce, with the pilot s wary eye,\\nThe slackening of the storm could\\nspy.\\n4 One effort more and Scotland s\\nfree!\\nLord of the Isles, my trust in\\nthee\\nIs firm as Ailsa Rock 740\\nRush on with Highland sword and\\ntarge,\\nI with my Carrick spearmen\\ncharge\\nNow forward to the shock\\nAt once the spears were forward\\nthrown,\\nAgainst the sun the broadswords\\nshone\\nThe pibroch lent its maddening\\ntone,\\nAnd loud King Robert s voice was\\nknown\\nCarrick, press on they fail, they\\nfail!\\nPress on, brave sons of Innisgail,\\nThe foe is fainting fast 750\\nEach strike for parent, child, and\\nwife,\\nFor Scotland, liberty, and life,\\nThe battle cannot last\\nXXIX\\nThe fresh and desperate onset bore\\nThe foes three furlongs back and\\nmore,\\nLeaving their noblest in their gore.\\nAlone, De Argentine\\nYet bears on high his red-cross\\nshield,\\nGathers the relics of the field,\\nRenews the ranks where they\\nhave reeled, 760\\nAnd still makes good the line.\\nBrief strife but fierce his efforts\\nraise,\\nA bright but momentary blaze.\\nFair Edith heard the Southern\\nshout,\\nBeheld them turning from the\\nrout,\\nHeard the wild call their trumpets\\nsent\\nIn notes twixt triumph and la-\\nment.\\nThat rallying force, combined\\nanew,\\nAppeared in her distracted view\\nTo hem the Islesmen round 770\\nGod the combat they renew,\\nAnd is no rescue found\\nAnd ye that look thus tamely on,\\nAnd see your native land o er-\\nthrown,\\nO, are your hearts of flesh or\\nstone", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0516.jp2"}, "513": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n493\\nXXX\\nThe multitude that watched afar,\\nRejected from the ranks of war,\\nHad not unmoved beheld the fight\\nWhen strove the Bruce for Scot-\\nland s right\\nEach heart had caught the patriot\\nspark, 780\\nOld man and stripling, priest and\\nclerk,\\nBondsman and serf even female\\nhand\\nStretched to the hatchet or the\\nbrand\\nBut when mute Amadine they\\nheard\\nGive to their zeal his signal-word\\nA frenzy fired the throng\\nPortents and miracles impeach\\nOur sloth the dumb our duties\\nteach\\nAnd he that gives the mute his\\nspeech\\nCan bid the weak be strong. 790\\nTo us as to our lords are given\\nA native earth, a promised heaven\\nTo us as to our lords belongs\\nThe vengeance for our nation s\\nwrongs\\nThe choice twixt death or free-\\ndom warms\\nOur breasts as theirs To arms\\nto arms\\nTo arms they flew, axe, club, or\\nspear,\\nAnd mimic ensigns high they rear,\\nAnd, like a bannered host afar,\\nBear down on England s wearied\\nwar. 800\\nXXXI\\nAlready scattered o er the plain,\\nReproof, command, and counsel\\nvain,\\nThe rearward squadrons fled\\namain\\nOr made but doubtful stay\\nBut when they marked the seem-\\ning show\\nOf fresh and fierce and marshalled\\nfoe,\\nThe boldest broke away.\\nO, give their hapless prince his\\ndue!\\nIn vain the royal Edward threw\\nHis person mid the spears, 810\\nCried, Fight to terror and de-\\nspair,\\nMenaced and wept and tore his\\nhair,\\nAnd cursed their caitiff fears\\nTill Pembroke turned his bridle\\nrein\\nAnd forced him from the fatal\\nplain.\\nWith them rode Argentine until\\nThey gained the summit of the\\nhill,\\nBut quitted there the train\\n1 In yonder field a gage I left,\\nI must not live of fame bereft 820\\nI needs must turn again.\\nSpeed hence, my liege, for on your\\ntrace\\nThe fiery Douglas takes the chase,\\nI know his banner well.\\nGod send my sovereign joy and\\nbliss,\\nAnd many a happier field than\\nthis\\nOnce more, my liege, farewell\\nXXXII\\nAgain he faced the battle-field,\\nWildly they fly, are slain, or yield,\\nNow then, he said, and couched\\nhis spear, 830\\nMy course is run, the goal is near\\nOne effort more, one brave career,\\nMust close this race of mine.\\nThen in his stirrups rising high,\\nHe shouted loud his battle-cry,\\n1 Saint James for Argentine\\nAnd of the bold pursuers four\\nThe gallant knight from saddle\\nbore\\nBut not unharmed a lance s\\npoint\\nHas found his breastplate s loos-\\nened joint, 840\\nAn axe has razed his crest\\nYet still on Colon say s fierce lord,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0517.jp2"}, "514": {"fulltext": "494\\nTHE LORD OF THE ISLES\\nWho pressed the chase with gory\\nsword,\\nHe rode with spear in rest,\\nAnd through his bloody tartans\\nbored\\nAnd through his gallant breast.\\nNailed to the earth, the moun-\\ntaineer\\nYet writhed him up against the\\nspear,\\nAnd swung his broadsword\\nround\\nStirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave\\nway 850\\nBeneath that blow s tremendous\\nsway,\\nThe blood gushed from the\\nwound\\nAnd the grim Lord of Colonsay\\nHath turned him on the ground,\\nAnd laughed in death-pang that\\nhis blade\\nThe mortal thrust so well repaid.\\nXXXIII\\nNow toiled the Bruce, the battle\\ndone,\\nTo use his conquest boldly won\\nAnd gave command for horse and\\nspear\\nTo press the Southron* s scattered\\nrear, 860\\nNor let his broken force com-\\nbine,\\nWhen the war-cry of Argentine\\nFell faintly on his ear\\n1 Save, save his life, he cried, 0,\\nsave\\nThe kind, the noble, and the\\nbrave\\nThe squadrons round free passage\\ngave,\\nThe wounded knight drew near\\nHe raised his red-cross shield no\\nmore,\\nHelm, cuish, and breastplate\\nstreamed with gore, 869\\nYet, as he saw the king advance,\\nHe strove even then to couch his\\nlance\\nThe effort was in vain\\nThe spur-stroke failed to rouse the\\nhorse\\nWounded and weary, in mid course\\nHe stumbled on the plain.\\nThen foremost was the generous\\nBruce\\nTo raise his head, his helm to\\nloose;\\nLord Earl, the day is thine\\nMy sovereign s charge and adverse\\nfate\\nHave made our meeting all too\\nlate 880\\nYet this may Argentine\\nAs boon from ancient comrade\\ncrave\\nA Christian s mass, a soldier s\\ngrave.\\nXXXIV\\nBruce pressed his dying hand its\\ngrasp\\nKindly replied but, in his clasp,\\nIt stiffened and grew cold\\nAnd, O farewell the victor cried,\\nOf chivalry the flower and pride,\\nThe arm in battle bold,\\nThe courteous mien, the noble\\nrace, 890\\nThe stainless faith, the manly\\nface\\nBid Ninian s convent light their\\nshrine\\nFor late-wake of De Argentine.\\nO er better knight on death-bier\\nlaid\\nTorch never gleamed nor mass\\nwas said\\nXXXV\\nNor for De Argentine alone\\nThrough Ninian s church these\\ntorches shone\\nAnd rose the death-prayer s awful\\ntone.\\nThat yellow lustre glimmered pale\\nOn broken plate and bloodied\\nmail, 900\\nRent crest and shattered coro-\\nnet,\\nOf baron, earl, and banneret", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0518.jp2"}, "515": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n495\\nAnd the best names that England\\nknew\\nClaimed in the death-prayer dis-\\nmal due.\\nYet mourn not, Land of Fame\\nThough ne er the Leopards on thy\\nshield\\nRetreated from so sad a field\\nSince Norman William came.\\nOft may thine annals justly boast\\nOf battles stern by Scotland lost\\nGrudge not her victory 911\\nWhen for her freeborn rights she\\nstrove\\nEights dear to all who freedom\\nlove,\\nTo none so dear as thee\\nxxxvi\\nTarn we to Bruce whose curious\\near\\nMust from Fitz-Louis tidings hear\\nWith him a hundred voices tell\\nOf prodigy and miracle,\\nFor the mute page had spoke.\\nPage said Fitz-Louis, rather\\nsay Q20\\nAn angel sent from realms of day\\nTo burst the English yoke.\\nI saw his plume and bonnet drop\\nWhen hurrying from the mountain\\ntop;\\nA lovely brow, dark locks that\\nwave,\\nTo his bright eyes new lustre gave,\\nA step as light upon the green,\\nAs if his pinions waved unseen\\nSpoke he with none With\\nnone one word\\nBurst when he saw the Island\\nLord 930\\nReturning from the battle-field.\\nWhat answer made the chief\\n1 He kneeled,\\nDurst not look up, but muttered\\nlow\\nSome mingled sounds that none\\nmight know,\\nAnd greeted him twixt joy and\\nfear\\nAs being of superior sphere.\\nXXXVII\\nEven upon Bannock s bloody plain\\nHeaped then with thousands of the\\nslain,\\nMid victor monarch s musings\\nhigh,\\nMirth laughed in good King Rob-\\nert s eye 940\\n1 And bore he such angelic air,\\nSuch noble front, such waving\\nhair?\\nHath Ronald kneeled to him he\\nsaid;\\nThen must we call the church to\\naid\\nOur will be to the abbot known\\nEre these strange news are wider\\nblown,\\nTo Cambuskenneth straight he\\npass\\nAnd deck the church for solemn\\nmass,\\nTo pay for high deliverance given\\nA nation s thanks to gracious\\nHeaven. 950\\nLet him array besides such state,\\nAs should on princes nuptials\\nwait.\\nOurself the cause, through for-\\ntune s spite,\\nThat once broke short that spousal\\nrite,\\nOurself will grace with early morn\\nThe bridal of the Maid of Lorn.\\nCONCLUSION\\nGo forth, my Song, upon thy\\nventurous way\\nGo boldly forth; nor yet thy\\nmaster blame\\nWho chose no patron for his\\nhumble lay,\\nAnd graced thy numbers with no\\nfriendly name\\nWhose partial zeal might smooth\\nthy path to fame.\\nThere teas and 0, how many\\nsorrows crowd\\nInto these two brief words\\nthere was a claim", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0519.jp2"}, "516": {"fulltext": "496\\nTHE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\nBy generous friendship given\\nhad fate allowed,\\nIt well had bid thee rank the\\nproudest of the proud\\nAll angel now yet little less\\nthan all\\nWhile still a pilgrim in our world\\nbelow\\nWhat vails it us that patience\\nto recall\\nWhich hid its own to soothe all\\nother woe\\nWhat vails to tell how Virtue s\\npurest glow\\nShone yet more lovely in a form\\nso fair\\nAnd, least of all, what vails the\\nworld should know\\nThat one poor garland, twined\\nto deck thy hair,\\nIs hung upon thy hearse to droop\\nand wither there\\nTHE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\nThough Valois braved young Edward s gentle hand,\\nAnd Albert rushed on Henry s way-worn band,\\nWith Europe s chosen sons, in arms renowned,\\nYet not on Vere s bold archers long they looked,\\nNor Audley s squires nor Mowbray s yeomen brooked,\\nThey saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound.\\nAkensidb.\\nTO\\nHER GRACE\\nTHE\\nDUCHESS OF WELLINGTON\\nPRINCESS OF WATERLOO\\nC, C, C,\\nTHE FOLLOWING VERSES\\nARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY\\nTHE AUTHOR\\nADVERTISEMENT\\nIt may be some apology for the imperfections of this poem, that it was com-\\nposed hastily, and during a short tour upon the Continent, when the Author s\\nlabors were liable to frequent interruption but its best apology is, that it was\\nwritten for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subscription.\\nAbbotspobd, 1815.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0520.jp2"}, "517": {"fulltext": "THE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\n497\\nFair Brussels, thou art far be-\\nhind,\\nThough, lingering on the morning\\nwind,\\nWe yet may hear the hour\\nPealed over orchard and canal,\\nWith voice prolonged and mea-\\nsured fall,\\nFrom proud Saint Michael s\\ntower\\nThy wood, dark Soignies, holds us\\nnow,\\nWhere the tall beeches glossy\\nbough\\nFor many a league around,\\nWith birch and darksome oak be-\\ntween, IO\\nSpreads deep and far a pathless\\nscreen\\nOf tangled forest ground.\\nStems planted close by stems defy\\nThe adventurous foot\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the curi-\\nous eye\\nFor access seeks in vain\\nAnd the brown tapestry of leaves,\\nStrewed on the blighted ground,\\nreceives\\nNor sun nor air nor rain.\\nNo opening glade dawns on our\\nway,\\nNo streamlet glancing to the ray\\nOur woodland path has crossed\\nAnd the straight causeway which\\nwe tread 22\\nProlongs a line of dull arcade,\\nUnvarying through the unvaried\\nshade\\nUntil in distance lost.\\n11\\nA brighter, livelier scene suc-\\nceeds\\nIu groups the scattering wood re-\\ncedes,\\nHedge-rows, and huts, and sunny\\nmeads,\\nAnd corn-fields glance between\\nThe peasant at his labor blithe 30\\nPlies the hooked staff and short-\\nened scythe\\nBut when these ears were\\ngreen,\\nPlaced close within destruction s\\nscope,\\nFull little was that rustic s hope\\nTheir ripening to have seen\\nAnd, lo a hamlet and its fane\\nLet not the gazer with disdain\\nTheir architecture view;\\nFor yonder rude ungraceful shrine\\nAnd disproportioned spire are\\nthine, 40\\nImmortal Waterloo\\nin\\nFear not the heat, though full and\\nhigh\\nThe sun has scorched the autumn\\nsky,\\nAnd scarce a forest straggler now\\nTo shade us spreads a greenwood\\nbough\\nThese fields have seen a hotter\\nday\\nThan e er was fired by sunny ray.\\nYet one mile on yon shattered\\nhedge\\nCrests the soft hill whose long\\nsmooth ridge\\nLooks on the field below, 50\\nAnd sinks so gently on the dale\\nThat not the folds of Beauty s veil\\nIn easier curves can flow.\\nBrief space from thence the\\nground again\\nAscending slowly from the plain\\nForms an opposing screen,\\nWhich with its crest of upland\\nground\\nShuts the horizon all around.\\nThe softened vale between\\nSlopes smooth and fair for cours-\\ner s tread 60\\nNot the most timid maid need\\ndread\\nTo give her snow-white palfrey\\nhead\\nOn that wide stubble-ground\\nNor wood nor tree nor bush are\\nthere,\\nHer course to intercept or scare,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0521.jp2"}, "518": {"fulltext": "498\\nTHE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\nNor fosse nor fence are found,\\nSave where from out her shattered\\nbowers\\nRise Hougomont s dismantled\\ntowers.\\nrv\\nNow, see st thou aught in this lone\\nscene\\nCan tell of that which late hath\\nbeen?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 70\\nA stranger might reply,\\nThe bare extent of stubble-plain\\nSeems lately lightened of its grain\\nAnd yonder sable tracks remain\\nMarks of the peasant s ponderous\\nwain\\nWhen harvest home was nigh.\\nOn these broad spots of trampled\\nground\\nPerchance the rustics danced such\\nround\\nAs Teniers loved to draw\\nAnd where the earth seems\\nscorched by flame, 80\\nTo dress the homely feast they\\ncame,\\nAnd toiled the kerchiefed village\\ndame\\nAround her fire of straw.*\\nSodeem stthou so each mortal\\ndeems\\nOf that which is from that which\\nseems:\\nBut other harvest here\\nThan that which peasant s scythe\\ndemands\\nWas gathered in by sterner hands,\\nWith bayonet, blade, and spear.\\nNo vulgar crop was theirs to reap,\\nNo stinted harvest thin and cheap\\nHeroes before each fatal sweep 92\\nFell thick as ripened grain\\nAnd ere the darkening of the\\nday,\\nPiled high as autumn shocks there\\nlay\\nThe ghastly harvest of the fray,\\nThe corpses of the slain.\\nVI\\nAy, look again that line so black\\nAnd trampled marks the biv-\\nouac,\\nYon deep-graved ruts the artil-\\nlery s track, 1 00\\nSo often lost and won;\\nAnd close beside the hardened\\nmud\\nStill shows where, fetlock-deep in\\nblood,\\nThe fierce dragoon through bat-\\ntie s flood\\nDashed the hot war-horse on.\\nThese spots of excavation tell\\nThe ravage of the bursting shell\\nAnd feel st thou not the tainted\\nsteam\\nThat reeks against the sultry\\nbeam 109\\nFrom yonder trenched mound?\\nThe pestilential fumes declare\\nThat Carnage has replenished\\nthere\\nHer garner-house profound.\\nVII\\nFar other harvest-home and feast\\nThan claims the boor from scythe\\nreleased\\nOn these scorched fields were\\nknownj!\\nDeath hovered o er the maddening\\nrout,\\nAnd in the thrilling battle-shout\\nSent for the bloody banquet out\\nA summons of his own. 120\\nThrough rolling smoke the De-\\nmon s eye\\nCould well each destined guest\\nespy,\\nWell could his ear in ecstasy\\nDistinguish every tone\\nThat filled the chorus of the fray\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nFrom cannon -roar and trumpet-\\nbray,\\nFrom charging squadrons wild\\nhurra,\\nFrom the wild clang that marked\\ntheir way,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nDown to the dying groan", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0522.jp2"}, "519": {"fulltext": "THE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\n499\\nAnd the last sob of life s decay 130\\nWhen breath was all but flown.\\nVIII\\nFeast on, stern foe of mortal life,\\nFeast on but think not that a\\nstrife\\nWith such promiscuous carnage\\nrife\\nProtracted space may last\\nThe deadly tug of war at length\\nMust limits find in human strength,\\nAnd cease when these are past.\\nVain hope that morn s o er-\\nclouded sun\\nHeard the wild shout of fight be-\\ngun 140\\nEre he attained his height,\\nAnd through the war-smoke vol-\\numed high\\nStill peals that unremitted cry,\\nThough now he stoops to night.\\nFor ten long hours of doubt and\\ndread,\\nFresh succors from the extended\\nhead\\nOf either hill the contest fed\\nStill down the slope they drew,\\nThe charge of columns paused\\nnot,\\nNor ceased the storm of shell and\\nshot; 150\\nFor all that war could do\\nOf skill and force was proved that\\nday,\\nAnd turned not yet the doubtful\\nfray\\nOn bloody Waterloo.\\nIX\\nPale Brussels then what thoughts\\nwere thine,\\nWhen ceaseless from the distant\\nline\\nContinued thunders came\\nEach burgher held his breath to\\nhear\\nThese forerunners of havoc near,\\nOf rapine and of flame. 160\\nWhat ghastly sights were thine to\\nmeet,\\nWhen, rolling through thy stately\\nstreet,\\nThe wounded showed their man-\\ngled plight\\nIn token of the unfinished fight,\\nAnd from each anguish-laden wain\\nThe blood-drops laid thy dust like\\nrain\\nHow often in the distant drum\\nHeard st thou the fell invader\\ncome,\\nWhile Ruin, shouting to his band,\\nShook high her torch and gory-\\nbrand 170\\nCheer thee, fair city From yon\\nstand\\nImpatient still his outstretched\\nhand\\nPoints to his prey in vain,\\nWhile, maddening in his eager\\nmood\\nAnd all unwont to be withstood.\\nHe fires the fight again.\\nOn On was still his stern ex-\\nclaim\\nConfront the battery s jaws of\\nflame\\nRush on the levelled gun 179\\nMy steel-clad cuirassiers, advance\\nEach Hulan forward with his lance,\\nMy Guard my chosen charge\\nfor France,\\nFrance and Napoleon\\nLoud answered their acclaiming\\nshout,\\nGreeting the mandate which sent\\nout\\nTheir bravest and their best to\\ndare\\nThe fate their leader shunned to\\nshare.\\nBut He, his country s sword and\\nshield,\\nStill in the battle-front revealed\\nWhere danger fiercest swept the\\nfield, 190\\nCame like a beam of light,\\nIn action prompt, in sentence\\n1 brief\u00e2\u0080\u0094", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0523.jp2"}, "520": {"fulltext": "500\\nTHE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\nSoldiers, stand firm exclaimed\\nthe chief,\\n4 England shall tell the fight\\nXI\\nOn came the whirlwind like the\\nlast\\nBut fiercest sweep of tempest-\\nblast\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nOn came the whirlwind steel-\\ngleams broke\\nLike lightning through the rolling\\nsmoke\\nThe war was waked anew,\\nThree hundred cannon mouths\\nroared loud, 200\\nAnd from their throats with flash\\nand cloud\\nTheir showers of iron threw.\\nBeneath their fire in full career\\nRushed ou the ponderous cuiras-\\nsier,\\nThe lancer couched his ruthless\\nspear,\\nAnd hurrying as to havoc near\\nThe cohorts eagles flew.\\nIn one dark torrent broad and\\nstrong\\nThe advancing onset rolled along,\\nForth harbiugered by fierce ac-\\nclaim, 210\\nThat from the shroud of smoke\\nand flame\\nPealed wildly the imperial name.\\nXII\\nBut on the British heart were lost\\nThe terrors of the charging host\\nFor not an eye the storm that\\nviewed\\nChanged its proud glance of forti-\\ntude,\\nNor was one forward footstep\\nstaid,\\nAs dropped the dying and the\\ndead.\\nFast as their ranks the thunders\\ntear,\\nFast they renewed each serried\\nsquare 220\\nAnd on the wounded and the slain\\nClosed their diminished files again,\\nTill from their line scarce spears\\nlengths three\\nEmerging from the smoke they\\nsee\\nHelmet and plume and panoply\\nThen waked their fire at once\\nEach musketeer s revolving knell,\\nAs fast, as regularly fell,\\nAs when they practise to display\\nTheir discipline on festal day. 230\\nThen down went helm and lance,\\nDown were the eagle banners sent,\\nDown reeling steeds and riders\\nwent,\\nCorselets were pierced and pen-\\nnons rent\\nAnd to augment the fray,\\nWheeled full against their stagger-\\ning flanks,\\nThe English horsemen s foaming\\nranks\\nForced their resistless way.\\nThen to the musket-knell succeeds\\nThe clash of swords, the neigh of\\nsteeds 240\\nAs plies the smith his clanging\\ntrade,\\nAgainst the cuirass rang the\\nblade\\nAnd while amid their close array\\nThe well-served cannon rent their\\nway,\\nAnd while amid their scattered\\nband\\nRaged the fierce rider s bloody\\nbrand,\\nRecoiled in common rout and fear\\nLancer and guard and cuirassier,\\nHorsemen and foot, a mingled\\nhost,\\nTheir leaders fallen, their stand-\\nards lost. 250\\nXIII\\nThen, Wellington thy piercing\\neye\\nThis crisis caught of destiny\\nThe British host had stood\\nThat morn gainst charge of sword\\nand lance", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0524.jp2"}, "521": {"fulltext": "THE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\n501\\nAs their own ocean rocks hold\\nstance,\\nBut when thy voice had said, Ad-\\nvance\\nThey were their ocean s flood.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nO thou whose inauspicious aim\\nHath wrought thy host this hour\\nof shame,\\nThink st thou thy broken bands\\nwill bide 260\\nThe terrors of yon rushing tide\\nOr will thy chosen brook to feel\\nThe British shock of levelled\\nsteel\\nOr dost thou turn thine eye\\nWhere coming squadrons gleam\\nafar,\\nAnd fresher thunders wake the\\nwar,\\nAnd other standards fly?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThink not that in yon columns file\\nThy conquering troops from dis-\\ntant Dyle\\nIs Blucher yet unknown? 270\\nOr dwells not in thy memory still,\\nHeard frequent in thine hour of ill,\\nWhat notes of hate and vengeance\\nthrill\\nIn Prussia s trumpet tone?\\nWhat yet remains shall it be\\nthine\\nTo head the relics of thy line\\nIn one dread effort more\\nThe Roman lore thy leisure loved,\\nAnd thou canst tell what fortune\\nproved\\nThat chieftain who of yore 2 So\\nAmbition s dizzy paths essayed,\\nAnd with the gladiators aid\\nFor empire enterprised\\nHe stood the cast his rashness\\nplayed,\\nLeft not the victims he had made,\\nDug his red grave with his own\\nblade,\\nAnd on the field he lost was laid,\\nAbhorred but not despised.\\nXIV\\nBut if revolves thy fainter thought\\nOn safety howsoever bought\\nThen turn thy fearful rein and\\nride, 291\\nThough twice ten thousand men\\nhave died\\nOn this eventful day,\\nTo gild the military fame\\nWhich thou for life in traffic tame\\nWilt barter thus away.\\nShall future ages tell this tale\\nOf inconsistence faint and frail\\nAnd art thou he of Lodi s bridge,\\nMarengo s field, and Wagram s\\nridge 300\\nOr is thy soul like mountain-tide\\nThat, swelled by winter storm and\\nshower,\\nRolls down in turbulence of power\\nA torrent fierce and wide\\nReft of these aids, a rill obscure,\\nShrinking unnoticed, mean and\\npoor,\\nWhose channel shows displayed\\nThe wrecks of its impetuous\\ncourse,\\nBut not one symptom of the force\\nBy which these wrecks were\\nmade! 310\\nxv\\nSpur on thy way since now\\nthine ear\\nHas brooked thy veterans wish to\\nhear,\\nWho as thy flight they eyed\\nExclaimed\u00e2\u0080\u0094 while tears of an-\\nguish came,\\nWrung forth by pride and rage\\nand shame\\n4 O, that he had but died\\nBut yet, to sum this hour of ill,\\nLook ere thou leavest the fatal\\nhill\\nBack on yon broken ranks\\nUpon whose wild confusion gleams\\nThe moon, as on the troubled\\nstreams 321\\nWhen rivers break their banks,\\nAnd to the ruined peasant s eye\\nObjects half seen roll swiftly by,\\nDown the dread current hurled\\nSo mingle banner, wain, and gun,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0525.jp2"}, "522": {"fulltext": "502\\nTHE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\nWhere the tumultuous flight rolls\\non\\nOf warriors who when morn be-\\ngun\\nDefied a banded world.\\nXVI\\nList frequent to the hurrying\\nrout, 330\\nThe stern pursuers vengeful\\nshout\\nTells that upon their broken rear\\nRages the Prussian s bloody spear.\\nSo fell a shriek was none\\nWhen Beresina s icy flood\\nReddened and thawed with flame\\nand blood\\nAnd, pressing on thy desperate\\nway,\\nRaised oft and long their wild\\nhurra\\nThe children of the Don.\\nThine ear no yell of horror cleft\\nSo ominous when, all bereft 341\\nOf aid, the valiant Polack left\\nAy, left by thee found soldier s\\ngrave\\nIn Leipsic s corpse -encumbered\\nwave.\\nFate, in these various perils past,\\nReserved thee still some future\\ncast;\\nOn the dread die thou now hast\\nthrown\\nHangs not a single field alone,\\nNor one campaign thy martial\\nfame,\\nThy empire, dynasty, and name,\\nHave felt the final stroke 351\\nAnd now o er thy devoted head\\nThy last stern vial s wrath is shed,\\nThe last dread seal is broke.\\nXVII\\nSince live thou wilt refuse not\\nnow\\nBefore these demagogues to bow,\\nLate objects of thy scorn and hate,\\nWho shall thy once imperial fate\\nMake wordy theme of vain de-\\nbate.\\nOr shall we say thou stoop st less\\nlow 360\\nIn seeking refuge from the foe,\\nAgainst whose heart in prosper-\\nous life\\nThine hand hath ever held the\\nknife\\nSuch homage hath been paid\\nBy Roman and by Grecian voice,\\nAnd there were honor in the\\nchoice,\\nIf it were freely made.\\nThen safely come in one so\\nlow,\\nSo lost, we cannot own a foe\\nThough dear experience bid us\\nend, 370\\nIn thee we ne er can hail a\\nfriend.\\nCome, howsoe er but do not hide\\nClose in thy heart that germ of\\npride\\nEre while by gifted bard espied,\\nThat yet imperial hope\\nThink not that for a fresh re-\\nbound,\\nTo raise ambition from the ground,\\nWe yield thee means or scope.\\nIn safety come but ne er again\\nHold type of independent reign\\nNo islet calls thee lord, 381\\nWe leave thee no confederate\\nband,\\nNo symbol of thy lost command,\\nTo be a dagger in the hand\\nFrom which we wrenched the\\nsword.\\nXVIII\\nYet, even in yon sequestered spot,\\nMay worthier conquest be thy lot\\nThan yet thy life has known\\nConquest uubought by blood or\\nharm,\\nThat needs nor foreign aid nor\\narm, 390\\nA triumph all thine own.\\nSuch waits thee when thou shalt\\ncontrol\\nThose passions wild, that stub-\\nborn soul,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0526.jp2"}, "523": {"fulltext": "THE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\n503\\nThat marred thy prosperous\\nscene\\nHear this from no unmoved\\nheart.\\nWhich sighs, comparing what\\nTHOU ART\\nWith what thou mightst have\\nBEEN I\\nXIX\\nThou, too, whose deeds of fame\\nrenewed\\nBankrupt a nation s gratitude,\\nTo thine own noble heart must\\nowe 400\\nMore than the meed she can be-\\nstow.\\nFor not a people s just acclaim,\\nNot the full hail of Europe s fame,\\nThy prince s smiles, thy state s\\ndecree,\\nThe ducal rank, the gartered knee,\\nNot these such pure delight afford\\nAs that, when hanging up thy\\nsword,\\nWell mayst thou think, This hon-\\nest steel\\nWas ever drawn for public weal;\\nAnd, such was rightful Heaven s\\ndecree, 410\\nNe er sheathed unless with vic-\\ntory l\\nxx\\nLook forth once more with soft-\\nened heart\\nEre from the field of fame we\\npart\\nTriumph and sorrow border near,\\nAnd joy oft melts into a tear.\\nAlas what links of love that morn\\nHas War s rude hand asunder\\ntorn\\nFor ne er was field so sternly\\nfought,\\nAnd ne er was conquest dearer\\nbought.\\nHere piled in common slaughter\\nsleep 420\\nThose whom affection long shall\\nweep\\nHere rests the sire that ne er shall\\nstrain\\nHis orphans to his heart again;\\nThe son whom on his native shore\\nThe parent s voice shall bless no\\nmore\\nThe bridegroom who has hardly\\npressed\\nHis blushing consort to his breast;\\nThe husband whom through many\\na year\\nLong love and mutual faith en-\\ndear.\\nThou canst not name one tender\\ntie 430\\nBut here dissolved its relics lie\\n0, when thou see st some mourn-\\ner s veil\\nShroud her thin form and visage\\npale,\\nOr mark st the matron s bursting\\ntears\\nStream when the stricken drum\\nshe hears,\\nOr see st how manlier grief sup-\\npressed\\nIs laboring in a father s breast,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWith no inquiry vain pursue\\nThe cause, but think on Waterloo\\nXXI\\nPeriod of honor as of woes, 440\\nWhat bright careers twas thine\\nto close\\nMarked on thy roll of blood what\\nnames\\nTo Briton s memory and to Fame s\\nLaid there their last immortal\\nclaims\\nThou saw st in seas of gore expire\\nRedoubted Picton s soul of fire\\nSaw st in the mingled carnage lie\\nAll that of Poxsoxby could die\\nDe Lance y change Love s bridal-\\nwreath\\nFor laurels from the hand of\\nDeath 450\\nSaw st gallant Miller s failing\\neye\\nStill bent where Albion s banners\\nfly.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0527.jp2"}, "524": {"fulltext": "5\u00c2\u00b04\\nTHE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\nAnd Cameron in the shock of\\nsteel\\nDie like the offspring of Lochiel\\nAnd generous Gordon mid the\\nstrife\\nFall while he watched his leader s\\nlife.\\nAh! though her guardian angel s\\nshield\\nFenced Britain s hero through the\\nfield,\\nFate not the less her power made\\nknown\\nThrough his friends hearts to\\npierce his own 460\\nXXII\\nForgive, brave dead, the imperfect\\nlay!\\nWho may your names, your num-\\nbers, say\\nWhat high-strung harp, what lofty\\nline,\\nTo each the dear-earned praise\\nassign,\\nFrom high-born chiefs of martial\\nfame\\nTo the poor soldier s lowlier name\\nLightly ye rose that dawning day\\nFrom your cold couch of swamp\\nand clay,\\nTo fill before the sun was low\\nThe bed that morning cannot\\nknow. 470\\nOft may the tear the green sod\\nsteep,\\nAnd sacred be the heroes sleep\\nTill time shall cease to run\\nAnd ne er beside their noble grave\\nMay Briton pass and fail to crave\\nA blessing on the fallen brave\\nWho fought with Wellington\\nXXIII\\nFarewell, sad field whose blighted\\nface\\nWears desolation s withering\\ntrace\\nLong shall my memory retain 480\\nThy shattered huts and trampled\\ngrain,\\nWith every mark of martial wrong,\\nThat scathe thy towers, fair Hou-\\ngomont\\nYet though thy garden s green ar-\\ncade\\nThe marksman s fatal post was\\nmade,\\nThough on thy shattered beeches\\nfell\\nThe blended rage of shot and\\nshell,\\nThough from thy blackened por-\\ntals torn\\nTheir fall thy blighted fruit-trees\\nmourn,\\nHas not such havoc bought a\\nname 490\\nImmortal in the rolls of fame\\nYes Agincourt may be forgot,\\nAnd Cressy be an unknown spot,\\nAnd Blenheim s name be new\\nBut still in story and in song,\\nFor many an age remembered long,\\nShall live the towers of Hougo-\\nmont\\nAnd Field of Waterloo.\\nCONCLUSION\\nStern tide of human time that\\nknow st not rest,\\nBut, sweeping from the cradle\\nto the tomb,\\nBear st ever downward on thy\\ndusky breast\\nSuccessive generations to their\\ndoom\\nWhile thy capacious stream has\\nequal room\\nFor the gay bark where Plea-\\nsure s streamers sport\\nAnd for the prison-ship of guilt\\nand gloom,\\nThe fisher-skiff and barge that\\nbears a court,\\nStill wafting onward all to one\\ndark silent port\\nStern tide of time through what\\nmysterious change 10", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0528.jp2"}, "525": {"fulltext": "THE FIELD OF WATERLOO\\n505\\nOf hope and fear have our frail\\nharks been driven\\nFor ne er before vicissitude so\\nstrange\\nWas to one race of Adam s off-\\nspring given.\\nAnd sure such varied change of\\nsea and heaven,\\nSuch unexpected bursts of joy\\nand woe,\\nSuch fearful strife as that where\\nwe have striven,\\nSucceeding ages ne er again shall\\nknow\\nUntil the awful term when thou\\nshalt cease to flow.\\nWell hast thou stood, my Coun-\\ntry the brave fight\\nHast well maintained through\\ngood report and ill 20\\nIn thy just cause and in thy na-\\ntive might,\\nAnd in Heaven s grace and jus-\\ntice constant still\\nWhether the banded prowess,\\nstrength, and skill\\nOf half the world against thee\\nstood arrayed,\\nOr when with better views and\\nfreer will\\nBeside thee Europe s noblest\\ndrew the blade,\\nEach emulous in arms the Ocean\\nQueen to aid.\\nWell art thou now repaid\\nthough slowly rose,\\nAnd struggled long with mists\\nthy blaze of fame,\\nWhile like the dawn that in the\\norient glows 30\\nOn the broad wave its earlier\\nlustre came\\nThen eastern Egypt saw the\\ngrowing flame,\\nAnd Maida s myrtles gleamed\\nbeneath its ray,\\nWhere first the soldier, stung\\nwith generous shame,\\nRivalled the heroes of the wa-\\ntery way,\\nAnd washed in foemen s gore un-\\njust reproach away.\\nNow, Island Empress, wave thy\\ncrest on high,\\nAnd bid the banner of thy Pa-\\ntron flow,\\nGallant Saint George, the flower\\nof chivalry,\\nFor thou hast faced like him a\\ndragon foe, 40\\nAnd rescued innocence from\\noverthrow,\\nAnd trampled down like him\\ntyrannic might,\\nAnd to the gazing world mayst\\nproudly show\\nThe chosen emblem of thy\\nsainted knight,\\nWho quelled devouring pride and\\nvindicated right.\\nYet mid the confidence of just\\nrenown,\\nRenown dear-bought, but dear-\\nest thus acquired,\\nWrite, Britain, write the moral\\nlesson down\\nT is not alone the heart with\\nvalor fired,\\nThe discipline so dreaded and\\nadmired, 50\\nIn many a field of bloody con-\\nquest known;\\nSuch may by fame be lured, by\\ngold be hired\\nT is constancy in the good cause\\nalone\\nBest justifies the meed thy valiant\\nsons have won.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0529.jp2"}, "526": {"fulltext": "506 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nA POEM IN SIX CANTOS\\nINTRODUCTION\\nThere is a mood of mind we all have known\\nOn drowsy eve or dark and lowering day,\\nWhen the tired spirits lose their sprightly tone\\nAnd naught can chase the lingering hours away.\\nDull on our soul falls Fancy s dazzling ray,\\nAnd Wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain,\\nObscured the painting seems, mistimed the lay,\\nNor dare we of our listless load complain,\\nFor who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell of pain\\nThe jolly sportsman knows such drearihood 10\\nWhen bursts in deluge the autumnal rain,\\nClouding that morn which threats the heath-cock s brood\\nOf such in summer s drought the anglers plain,\\nWho hope the soft mild southern shower in vain\\nBut more than all the discontented fair,\\nWhom father stern and sterner aunt restrain\\nFrom county-ball or race occurring rare,\\nWhile all her friends around their vestments gay prepare.\\nEnnui or, as our mothers called thee, Spleen\\nTo thee we owe full many a rare device 20\\nThine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween,\\nThe rolling billiard-ball, the rattling dice,\\nThe turning-lathe for framing gimcrack nice\\nThe amateur s blotched pallet thou mayst claim,\\nRetort, and air-pump, threatening frogs and mice\\nMurders disguised by philosophic name\\nAnd much of trifling grave and much of buxom game.\\nThen of the books to catch thy drowsy glance\\nCompiled, what bard the catalogue may quote\\nPlays, poems, novels, never read but once 30\\nBut not of such the tale fair Edgeworth wrote.\\nThat bears thy name and is thine antidote\\nAnd not of such the strain my Thomson sung,\\nDelicious dreams inspiring by his note,\\nWhat time to Indolence his harp he strung\\n0, might my lay be ranked that happier list among\\nEach hath his refuge whom thy cares assail.\\nFor me, I love my study fire to trim,\\nAnd con right vacantly some idle tale,\\nDisplaying on the couch each listless limb, 40", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0530.jp2"}, "527": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n507\\nTill on the drowsy page the lights grow dim\\nAnd doubtful slumber half supplies the theme\\nWhile antique shapes of knight and giant grim,\\nDamsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam,\\nAnd the romancer s tale becomes the reader s dream.\\nT is thus my malady I well may bear,\\nAlbeit outstretched, like Pope s own Paridel,\\nUpon the rack of a too-easy chair\\nAnd find to cheat the time a powerful spell\\nIn old romaunts of errantry that tell,\\nOr later legends of the Fairy-folk,\\nOr Oriental tale of Afrite fell,\\nOf Genii, Talisman, and broad-winged Roc,\\nThough taste may blush and frown, and sober reason mock.\\nOft at such season too will rhymes unsought\\nArrange themselves in some romantic lay,\\nThe which, as things unfitting graver thought,\\nAre burnt or blotted on some wiser day.\\nThese few survive and, proudly let me say,\\nCourt not the critic s smile nor dread his frown;\\nThey well may serve to while an hour away,\\nNor does the volume ask for more renown\\nThan Ennui s yawning smile, what time she drops it down.\\n50\\n60\\nCANTO FIRST\\nI\\nList to the valorous deeds that\\nwere done\\nBy Harold the Dauntless, Count\\nWitikind s son\\nCount Witikind came of a regal\\nstrain,\\nAnd roved with his Norsemen the\\nlaud and the main.\\nWoe to the realms which he\\ncoasted for there\\nWas shedding of blood and rend-\\ning of hair,\\nRape of maiden and slaughter of\\npriest,\\nGathering of ravens and wolves to\\nthe feast\\nWhen he hoisted his standard\\nblack,\\nBefore him was battle, behind him\\nwrack, 10\\nAnd he burned the churches, that\\nheathen Dane,\\nTo light his band to their barks\\nagain.\\n11\\nOn Erin s shores was his outrage\\nknown,\\nThe winds of France had his ban-\\nners blown\\nLittle was there to plunder, yet\\nstill\\nHis pirates had forayed on Scot-\\ntish hill\\nBut upon merry England s coast\\nMore frequent he sailed, for he\\nwon the most.\\nSo wide and so far his ravage they\\nknew,\\nIf a sail but gleamed white gainst\\nthe welkin blue, 20\\nTrumpet and bugle to arms did\\ncall,\\nBurghers hastened to man the\\nwall,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0531.jp2"}, "528": {"fulltext": "508\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nPeasants fled inland his fury to\\nscape,\\nBeacons were lighted on headland\\nand cape,\\nBells were tolled out, and aye as\\nthey rung\\nFearful and faintly the gray bro-\\nthers sung,\\n1 Bless us, Saint Mary, from flood\\nand from fire,\\nFrom famine and pest, and Count\\nWitikind s ire\\nin\\nHe liked the wealth of fair Eng-\\nland so well\\nThat he sought in her bosom as\\nnative to dwell. 30\\nHe entered the Humber in fearful\\nhour\\nAnd disembarked with his Danish\\npower.\\nThree earls came against him with\\nall their train,\\nTwo hath he taken and one hath\\nhe slain.\\nCount Witikind left the Humber s\\nrich strand,\\nAnd he wasted and warred in\\nNorthumberland.\\nBut the Satfon king was a sire in\\nage,\\nWeak in battle, in council sage\\nPeace of that heathen leader he\\nsought,\\nGifts he gave and quiet he bought\\nAnd the count took upon him the\\npeaceable style 41\\nOf a vassal and liegeman of Brit-\\non s broad isle.\\nIV\\nTime will rust the sharpest sword,\\nTime will consume the strongest\\ncord;\\nThat which moulders hemp and\\nsteel\\nMortal arm and nerve must\\nfeel.\\nOf the Danish band whom Count\\nWitikind led\\nMany waxed aged and many were\\ndead:\\nHimself found his armor full\\nweighty to bear,\\nWrinkled his brows grew and\\nhoary his hair 50\\nHe leaned on a staff when his step\\nwent abroad,\\nAnd patient his palfrey when\\nsteed he bestrode.\\nAs he grew feebler, his wildness\\nceased,\\nHe made himself peace with pre-\\nlate and priest,\\nMade his peace, and stooping his\\nhead\\nPatiently listed the counsel they\\nsaid:\\nSaint Cuthbert s Bishop was holy\\nand grave,\\nWise and good was the counsel he\\ngave.\\nThou hast murdered, robbed, and\\nspoiled,\\nTime it is thy poor soul were as-\\nsoiled 60\\nPriests didst thou slay and\\nchurches burn,\\nTime it is now to repentance to\\nturn\\nFiends hast thou worshipped with\\nfiendish rite,\\nLeave now the darkness and wend\\ninto light\\nO, while life and space are given,\\nTurn thee yet, and think of Hea-\\nven\\nThat stern old heathen his head\\nhe raised,\\nAnd on the good prelate he stead-\\nfastly gazed\\nGive me broad lands on the Wear\\nand the Tyne,\\nMy faith I will leave and I ll\\ncleave unto thine. 7\u00c2\u00b0\\nVI\\nBroad lands he gave him on Tyne\\nand Wear,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0532.jp2"}, "529": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n509\\nTo be held of the church by bridle\\nand spear,\\nPart of Monkwearmouth, of Tyne-\\ndale part,\\nTo better his will and to soften his\\nheart\\nCount Witikind was a joyful man,\\nLess for the faith than the lands\\nthat he wan.\\nThe high church of Durham is\\ndressed for the day,\\nThe clergy are ranked in their sol-\\nemn array\\nThere came the count, in a bear-\\nskin warm,\\nLeaning on Hilda his concubine s\\narm. 80\\nHe kneeled before Saint Cuthbert s\\nshrine\\nWith patience unwonted at rites\\ndivine\\nHe abjured the gods of heathen\\nrace\\nAnd he bent his head at the font\\nof grace.\\nBut such was the grisly old prose-\\nlyte s look,\\nThat the priest who baptized him\\ngrew pale and shook\\nAnd the old monks muttered be-\\nneath their hood,\\n1 Of a stem so stubborn can never\\nspring good\\nVII\\nUp then arose that grim convert-\\nite,\\nHomeward he hied him when\\nended the rite 90\\nThe prelate in honor will with him\\nride\\nAnd feast in his castle on Tyne s\\nfair side.\\nBanners and banderols danced in\\nthe wind,\\nMonks rode before them and spear-\\nmeu behind\\nOnward they passed, till fairly did\\nshine\\nPennon and cross on the bosom of\\nTyne\\nAnd full in front did that fortress\\nlour\\nIn darksome strength with its but-\\ntress and tower\\nAt the castle gate was young Har-\\nold there,\\nCount Witi kind s only offspring\\nand heir. 100\\nVIII\\nYoung Harold was feared for his\\nhardihood,\\nHis strength of frame and his fury\\nof mood.\\nRude he was and wild to be-\\nhold,\\nWore neither collar nor bracelet\\nof gold,\\nCap of vair nor rich array,\\nSuch as should grace that festal\\nday:\\nHis doublet of bull s hide was all\\nunbraced,\\nUncovered his head and his sandal\\nunlaced\\nHis shaggy black locks on his\\nbrow hung low,\\nAnd his eyes glanced through\\nthem a swarthy glow no\\nA Danish club in his hand he\\nbore,\\nThe spikes were clotted with re-\\ncent gore\\nAt his back a she-wolf and her\\nwolf-cubs twain,\\nIn the dangerous chase that morn-\\ning slain.\\nEude was the greeting his father\\nhe made,\\nNone to the bishop, while thus\\nhe said\\nIX\\nWhat priest-led hypocrite art\\nthou\\nWith thy humbled look and thy\\nmonkish brow,\\nLike a shaveling who studies to\\ncheat his vow\\nCanst thou be Witikind the Waster\\nknown, 120", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0533.jp2"}, "530": {"fulltext": "5io\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nRoyal Eric s fearless son,\\nHaughty Gunhilda s haughtier\\nlord,\\nWho won his bride by the axe and\\nsword\\nFrom the shrine of Saint Peter the\\nchalice who tore,\\nAnd melted to bracelets for Freya\\nand Thor\\nWith one blow of his gauntlet who\\nburst the skull,\\nBefore Odin s stone, of the Moun-\\ntain Bull\\nThen ye worshipped with rites\\nthat to war-gods belong,\\nWith the deed of the brave and\\nthe blow of the strong\\nAnd now, in thine age to dotage\\nsunk, 130\\nWilt thou patter thy crimes to a\\nshaven monk,\\nLay down thy mail-shirt for cloth-\\ning of hair,\\nFasting and scourge, like a slave,\\nwilt thou bear?\\nOr, at best, be admitted in slothful\\nbower\\nTo batten with priest and with\\nparamour?\\nO, out upon thine endless shame\\nEach Scald s high harp shall blast\\nthy fame,\\nAnd thy son will refuse thee a\\nfather s name\\nIreful waxed old Witikind s look,\\nHis faltering voice with fury\\nshook 140\\n1 Hear me, Harold of hardened\\nheart\\nStubborn and wilful ever thou\\nwert.\\nThine outrage insane I command\\nthee to cease,\\nFear my wrath and remain at\\npeace\\nJust is the debt of repentance I ve\\npaid,\\nRichly the church has a recom-\\npense made,\\nAnd the truth of her doctrines I\\nprove with my blade,\\nBut reckoning to none of my ac-\\ntions I owe,\\nAnd least to my son such account-\\ning will show.\\nWhy speak I to thee of repentance\\nor truth, 150\\nWho ne er from thy childhood\\nknew reason or ruth?\\nHence to the wolf and the bear\\nin her den\\nThese are thy mates, and not ra-\\ntional men.\\nXI\\nGrimly smiled Harold and coldly\\nreplied,\\nWe must honor our sires, if we\\nfear when they chide.\\nFor me, I am yet what thy lessons\\nhave made,\\nI was rocked in a buckler and fed\\nfrom a blade\\nAn infant, was taught to clasp\\nhands and to shout\\nFrom the roofs of the tower when\\nthe flame had broke out\\nIn the blood of slain foemen my\\nfinger to dip, 160\\nAnd tinge with its purple my\\ncheek and my lip.\\nT is thou know st not truth, that\\nhast bartered in eld\\nFor a price the brave faith that\\nthine ancestors held.\\nWhen this wolf and the carcass\\nhe flung on the plain\\n4 Shall awake and give food to her\\nnurslings again,\\nThe face of his father will Harold\\nreview;\\nTill then, aged heathen, young\\nChristian, adieu\\nXII\\nPriest, monk, and prelate stood\\naghast,\\nAs through the pageant the\\nheathen passed.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0534.jp2"}, "531": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n$ii\\nA cross-bearer out of his saddle\\nhe flung, 170\\nLaid his hand on the pommel and\\ninto it sprung.\\nLoud was the shriek and deep the\\ngroan\\nWhen the holy sign on the earth\\nwas thrown\\nThe fierce old count unsheathed\\nhis brand,\\nBut the calmer prelate stayed his\\nhand.\\nLet him pass free Heaven\\nknows its hour,\\nBut he must own repentance s\\npower,\\nPray and weep, and penance\\nbear,\\nEre he hold land by the Tyne and\\nthe Wear.\\nThus in scorn and in wrath from\\nhis father is gone t8o\\nYoung Harold the Dauntless,\\nCount Witikind s son.\\nXIII\\nHigh was the feasting In Witi-\\nkind s hall,\\nRevelled priests, soldiers, and pa-\\ngans, and all\\nAnd e en the good bishop was fain\\nto endure\\nThe scandal which time and in-\\nstruction might cure\\nIt were dangerous, he deemed, at\\nthe first to restrain\\nIn his wine and his wassail a half-\\nchristened Dane.\\nThe mead flowed around and the\\nale was drained dry,\\nWild was the laughter, the song,\\nand the cry\\nWith Kyrie Eleison came clamor-\\nously in igo\\nThe war-songs of Danesmen, Nor-\\nweyan, and Finn,\\nTill man after man the contention\\ngave o er,\\nOutstretched on the rushes that\\nstrewed the hall floor\\nAnd the tempest within, having\\nceased its wild rout,\\nGave place to the tempest that\\nthundered without.\\nXIV\\nApart from the wassail in turret\\nalone\\nLay flaxen haired Gunnar, old\\nErmengarde s son\\nIn the train of Lord Harold that\\npage was the first,\\nFor Harold in childhood had Er-\\nmengarde nursed\\nAnd grieved was young Gunnar\\nhis master should roam, 200\\nUnhoused and unfriended, an exile\\nfrom home.\\nHe heard the deep thunder, the\\nplashing of rain,\\nHe saw the red lightning through\\nshot-hole and pane\\nAnd said the page, on the\\nshelterless wold\\nLord Harold is wandering in dark-\\nness and cold\\nWhat though he was stubborn and\\nwayward and wild.\\nHe endured me because I was\\nErmengarde s child,\\nAnd often from dawn till the set\\nof the sun\\nIn the chase by his stirrup un-\\nbidden I run\\nI would I were older, and knight-\\nhood could bear, 210\\nI would soon quit the banks of the\\nTyne and the Wear\\nFor my mother s command with\\nher last parting breath\\nBade me follow her nursling in life\\nand to death.\\nxv\\nIt pours and it thunders, it light-\\nens amain,\\nAs if Lok the Destroyer had burst\\nfrom his chain\\nAccursed by the church and ex.\\npelled by his sire,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0535.jp2"}, "532": {"fulltext": "512\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nNor Christian nor Dane give him\\nshelter or fire,\\nAnd this tempest what mortal may\\nhouseless endure\\nUnaided, unmantled, he dies on\\nthe moor\\nWhatever comes of Gunnar, he tar-\\nries not here. 220\\nHe leapt from his couch and he\\ngrasped to his spear,\\nSought the hall of the feast. Un-\\ndisturbed by his tread,\\nThe wassailers slept fast as the\\nsleep of the dead\\nUngrateful and bestial his an-\\nger broke forth,\\nTo forget mid your goblets the\\npride of the North\\nAnd you, ye cowled priests who\\nhave plenty in store,\\nMust give Gunnar for ransom a\\npalfrey and ore.\\nXVI\\nThen, heeding full little of ban or\\nof curse,\\nHe has seized on the Prior of Jor-\\nvaux s purse\\nSaint Meneholt s Abbot next morn-\\ning has missed 23b\\nHis mantle, deep furred from the\\ncape to the wrist\\nThe seneschal s keys from his belt\\nhe has ta en\\nWell drenched on that eve was old\\nHildebrand s brain\\nTo the stable-yard he made his way\\nAnd mounted the bishop s palfrey\\ngay,\\nCastle and hamlet behind him has\\ncast\\nAnd right on his way to the moor-\\nland has passed.\\nSore snorted the palfrey, unused\\nto face\\nA weather so wild at so rash a\\npace;\\nSo long he snorted, so long he\\nneighed, 240\\nThere answered a steed that was\\nbound beside,\\nAnd the red flash of lightning\\nshowed there where lay\\nHis master, Lord Harold, out-\\nstretched on the clay.\\nXVII\\nUp he started and thundered out,\\n1 Stand\\nAnd raised the club in his deadly\\nhand.\\nThe flaxen-haired Gunnar his pur-\\npose told,\\nShowed the palfrey and proffered\\nthe gold.\\nBack, back, and home, thou sim-\\nple boy\\nThou canst not share my grief or\\njoy:\\nHave I not marked thee wail and\\ncry 250\\nWhen thou hast seen a sparrow\\ndie?\\nAnd canst thou, as my follower\\nshould,\\nWade ankle deep through foe-\\nman s blood,\\nDare mortal and immortal foe,\\nThe gods above, the fiends below,\\nAnd man on earth, more hateful\\nstill,\\nThe very fountain-head of ill?\\nDesperate of life and careless of\\ndeath,\\nLover of bloodshed and slaughter\\nand scathe,\\nSuch must thou be with me to\\nroam, 260\\nAnd such thou canst not be\\nback, and home\\nXVIII\\nYoung Gunnar shook like an aspen\\nbough,\\nAs he heard the harsh voice and\\nbeheld the dark brow,\\nAnd half he repented his purpose\\nand vow.\\nBut now to draw back were boot-\\nless shame,\\nAnd he loved his master, so urged\\nhis claim", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0536.jp2"}, "533": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIRST\\n5i3\\nAlas if my arm and my courage\\nbe weak,\\nBear with me awhile for old Er-\\nmengarde s sake\\nNor deem so lightly of Gunnar s\\nfaith\\nAs to fear he would break it for\\nperil of death. 270\\nHave I not risked it to fetch thee\\nthis gold,\\nThis surcoat and mantle to fence\\nthee from cold\\nAnd, did I bear a baser mind,\\nWhat lot remains if I stay be-\\nhind?\\nThe priests revenge, thy father s\\nwrath,\\nA dungeon, and a shameful death.\\nXIX\\nWith gentler look Lord Harold\\neyed\\nThe page, then turned his head\\naside\\nAnd either a tear did his eyelash\\nstain,\\nOr it caught a drop of the passing\\nrain. 280\\nArt thou an outcast, then?\\nquoth he\\n4 The meeter page to follow me.\\nT were bootless to tell what\\nclimes they sought,\\nVentures achieved, and battles\\nfought\\nHow oft with few, how oft alone,\\nFierce Harold s arm the field hath\\nwon.\\nMen swore his eye, that flashed so\\nred\\nWhen each other glance was\\nquenched with dread,\\nBore oft a light of deadly flame\\nThat ne er from mortal courage\\ncame. 290\\nThose limbs so strong, that mood\\nso stern,\\nThat loved the couch of heath and\\nfern,\\nAfar from hamlet, tower, and town,\\nMore than to rest on driven down\\nThat stubborn frame, that sullen\\nmood,\\nMen deemed must come of aught\\nbut good\\nAnd they whispered the great\\nMaster Fiend was at one\\nWith Harold the Dauntless, Count\\nWitikind s son.\\nxx\\nYears after years had gone and\\nfled,\\nThe good old prelate lies lapped\\nin lead 300\\nIn the chapel still is shown\\nHis sculptured form on a marble\\nstone,\\nWith staff and ring and scapu-\\nlaire,\\nAnd folded hands in the act of\\nprayer.\\nSaint Cuthbert s mitre is resting\\nnow\\nOn the haughty Saxon, bold Aldin-\\ngar s brow\\nThe power of his crosier he loved\\nto extend\\nO er whatever would break or\\nwhatever would bend\\nAnd now hath he clothed him in\\ncope and in pall,\\nAnd the Chapter of Durham has\\nmet at his call. 310\\nAud hear ye not, brethren, the\\nproud bishop said,\\nThat our vassal, the Danish Count\\nWitikind s dead?\\nAll his gold and his goods hath he\\ngiven\\nTo holy Church for the love of\\nHeaven,\\nAnd hath founded a chantry with\\nstipend and dole\\nThat priests and that beadsmen\\nmay pray for his soul\\nHarold his son is wandering\\nabroad,\\nDreaded by man and abhorred by\\nGod;\\nMeet it is not that such should\\nheir", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0537.jp2"}, "534": {"fulltext": "SH\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nThe lands of the Church on the\\nThen rears the ash his airy crest,\\nTyne and the Wear, 320\\nThen shines the birch in silver\\nAnd at her pleasure her hallowed\\nvest,\\nhands\\nAnd the beech in glistening leaves\\nMay now resume these wealthy\\nis drest,\\nlands.*\\nAnd dark between shows the oak s\\nproud breast\\nXXI\\nLike a chieftain s frowning\\nAnswered good Eustace, a canon\\ntower;\\nold,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThough a thousand branches join\\n1 Harold is tameless and furious\\ntheir screen, 10\\nand bold\\nYet the broken sunbeams glance\\nEver Renown blows a note of\\nbetween\\nfame\\nAnd tip the leaves with lighter\\nAnd a note of fear when she sounds\\ngreen,\\nhis name\\nWith brighter tints the flower\\nMuch of bloodshed and much of\\nDull is the heart that loves not\\nscathe\\nthen\\nHave been their lot who have\\nThe deep recess of the wildwood\\nwaked his wrath.\\nglen,\\nLeave him these lands and lord-\\nWhere roe and red-deer find shel-\\nships still,\\ntering den\\nHeaven in its hour may change his\\nWhen the sun is in his power.\\nwill; 330\\nBut if reft of gold and of living\\n11\\nbare,\\nLess merry perchance is the fading\\nAn evil counsellor is despair.\\nleaf\\nMore had he said, but the prelate\\nThat follows so soon on the gath-\\nfrowned,\\nered sheaf\\nAnd murmured his brethren who\\nWhen the greenwood loses the\\nsate around,\\nname 20\\nAnd with one consent have they\\nSilent is then the forest bound,\\ngiven their doom\\nSave the redbreast s note and the\\nThat the Church should the lands\\nrustling sound\\nof Saint Cuthbert resume.\\nOf frost-nipt leaves that are drop-\\nSo willed the prelate and canon\\nping round,\\nand dean\\nOr the deep-mouthed cry of the\\nGave to his judgment their loud\\ndistant hound\\namen.\\nThat opens on his game\\nYet then too I love the forest wide,\\nWhether the sun in splendor ride\\nCANTO SECOND\\nAnd gild its many-colored side,\\nOr whether the soft and silvery\\n1\\nhaze\\nTis merry in greenwood thus\\nIn vapory folds o er the landscape\\nruns the old lay\\nstrays, 30\\nIn the gladsome month of lively\\nAnd half involves the woodland\\nMay,\\nmaze,\\nWhen the wild birds song on stem\\nLike an early widow s veil,\\nand spray\\nWhere wimpling tissue from the\\nInvites to forest bower\\ngaze", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0538.jp2"}, "535": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n515\\nThe form half hides and half be-\\ntrays\\nOf beauty wan and pale.\\nin\\nFair Metelill was a woodland maid,\\nHer father a rover of greenwood\\nshade,\\nBy forest statutes undismayed,\\nWho lived by bow and quiver\\nWell known was Wulfstane s\\narchery 40\\nBy merry Tyne both on moor and\\nlea,\\nThrough wooded Weardale s glens\\nso free,\\nWell beside Stanhope s wildwood\\ntree,\\nAnd well on Ganlesse river.\\nYet free though he trespassed on\\nwoodland game,\\nMore known and more feared was\\nthe wizard fame\\nOf Jutta of Kookhope, the Outlaw s\\ndame;\\nFeared when she frowned was her\\neye of flame,\\nMore feared when in wrath she\\nlaughed\\nFor then, twas said, more fatal\\ntrue 50\\nTo its dread aim her spell-glance\\nflew\\nThan when from Wulfstane s\\nbended yew\\nSprung forth the gray-goose\\nshaft.\\nrv\\nYet had this fierce and dreaded\\npair,\\nSo Heaven decreed, a daughter\\nfair;\\nNone brighter crowned the bed,\\nIn Britain s bounds, of peer or\\nprince,\\nNor hath perchance a lovelier\\nsince\\nIn this fair isle been bred. 59\\nAnd naught of fraud or ire or ill\\nWas known to gentle Metelill,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nA simple maiden she\\nThe spells in dimpled smile that\\nhe,\\nAnd a downcast blush, and the\\ndarts that fly\\nWith the sidelong glance of a hazel\\neye,\\nWere her arms and witchery.\\nSo young, so simple was she yet,\\nShe scarce could childhood s joys\\nforget,\\nAnd still she loved, in secret set\\nBeneath the greenwood tree, 70\\nTo plait the rushy coronet\\nAnd braid with flowers her locks\\nof jet,\\nAs when in infancy\\nYet could that heart so simple\\nprove\\nThe early dawn of stealing love\\nAh gentle maid, beware\\nThe power who, now so mild a\\nguest,\\nGives dangerous yet delicious zest\\nTo the calm pleasures of thy\\nbreast,\\nWill soon, a tyrant o er the rest, 80\\nLet none his empire share.\\nOne morn in kirtle green arrayed\\nDeep in the wood the maiden\\nstrayed,\\nAnd where a fountain sprung\\nShe sate her down unseen to thread\\nThe scarlet berry s mimic braid,\\nAnd while the beads she strung,\\nLike the blithe lark whose carol\\ngay\\nGives a good-morrow to the day,\\nSo lightsomely she sung. 90\\nVI\\nSONG\\nLord William was born in gilded\\nbower,\\nThe heir of Wilton s lofty tower;\\nYet better loves Lord William now\\nTo roam beneath wild Kookhope s\\nbrow;", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0539.jp2"}, "536": {"fulltext": "5 i6\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nAnd William has lived where\\nladies fair\\nWith gawds and jewels deck their\\nhair,\\nYet better loves the dewdrops still\\nThat pearl the locks of Metelill.\\nThe pious palmer loves, I wis,\\nSaint Cuthbert s hallowed beads\\nto kiss ioo\\nBut I, though simple girl I be,\\nMight have such homage paid to\\nme;\\nFor did Lord William see me suit\\nThis necklace of the bramble s\\nfruit,\\nHe fain but must not have his\\nwill\\nWould kiss the beads of Metelill.\\nMy nurse has told me many a tale,\\nHow vows of love are weak and\\nfrail\\nMy mother says that courtly youth\\nBy rustic maid means seldom\\nsooth. no\\nWhat should they mean it cannot\\nbe\\nThat such a warning s meant for\\nme,\\nFor naught\u00e2\u0080\u0094 O, naught of fraud\\nor ill\\nCan William mean to Metelill\\nVII\\nSudden she stops and starts to\\nfeel\\nA weighty hand, a glove of steel,\\nUpon her shrinking shoulders\\nlaid;\\nFearful she turned, and saw dis-\\nmayed\\nA knight in plate and mail ar-\\nrayed,\\nHis crest and bearing worn and\\nfrayed, 120\\nHis surcoat soiled and riven,\\nFormed like that giant race of\\nyore\\nWhose long-continued crimes out-\\nwore\\nThe sufferance of Heaven.\\nStern accents made his pleasure\\nknown,\\nThough then he used his gentlest\\ntone\\nMaiden, he said, sing forth thy\\nglee.\\nStart not sing on\u00e2\u0080\u0094 it pleases\\nme.\\nVIII\\nSecured within his powerful hold,\\nTo bend her knee, her hands to\\nfold, 13 o\\nWas all the maiden might\\nAnd O, forgive/ she faintly said,\\nThe terrors of a simple maid,\\nIf thou art mortal wight\\nBut if of such strange tales are\\ntold\\nUnearthly warrior of the wold,\\nThou comest to chide mine accents\\nbold,\\nMy mother, Jutta, knows the spell\\nAt noon and midnight pleasing\\nwell\\nThe disembodied ear 140\\nO, let her powerful charms atone\\nFor aught my rashness may have\\ndone,\\nAnd cease thy grasp of fear/\\nThen laughed the knight his\\nlaughter s sound\\nHalf in the hollow helmet drowned\\nHis barred visor then he raised,\\nAnd steady on the maiden gazed.\\nHe smoothed his brows, as best he\\nmight,\\nTo the dread calm of autumn\\nnight, 149\\nWhen sinks the tempest roar,\\nYet still the cautious fishers eye\\nThe clouds and fear the gloomy\\nsky,\\nAnd haul their barks on shore.\\nIX\\n4 Damsel/ he said, be wise, and\\nlearn\\nMatters of weight and deep con-\\ncern*", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0540.jp2"}, "537": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n517\\nFrom distant realms I come,\\nAnd wanderer long at length have\\nplanned\\nIn this my native Northern land\\nTo seek myself a home. 159\\nNor that alone a mate I seek\\nShe must be gentle, soft, and\\nmeek,\\nNo lordly dame for me\\nMyself am something rough of\\nmood\\nAnd feel the fire of royal blood,\\nAnd therefore do not hold it good\\nTo match in my degree.\\nThen, since coy maidens say my\\nface\\nIs harsh, my form devoid of grace,\\nFor a fair lineage to provide 169\\nT is meet that my selected bride\\nIn lineaments be fair\\nI love thine well till now I ne er\\nLooked patient on a face of fear,\\nBut now that tremulous sob and\\ntear\\nBecome thy beauty rare.\\nOne kiss\u00e2\u0080\u0094 nay, damsel, coy it\\nnot!\\nAnd now go seek thy parents cot,\\nAnd say a bridegroom soon I\\ncome\\nTo woo my love and bear her\\nhome.\\nHome sprung the maid without a\\npause,\\n:8o\\nAs leveret scaped from grey-\\nhound s jaws\\nBut still she iocked, howe er dis-\\ntressed,\\nThe secret in her boding breast\\nDreading her sire, who oft for-\\nbade\\nHer steps should stray to distant\\nglade.\\nNight came to her accustomed\\nnook\\nHer distaff aged Jutta took,\\nAnd by the lamp s imperfect glow\\nRough Wulfstane trimmed his\\nshafts and bow.\\nSudden and clamorous from the\\nground 190\\nUpstarted slumbering brach and\\nhound\\nLoud knocking next the lodge\\nalarms\\nAnd Wulfstane snatches at his\\narms,\\nWhen open flew the yielding door\\nAnd that grim warrior pressed the\\nfloor.\\nXI\\nAll peace be here What none\\nreplies\\nDismiss your fears and your sur-\\nprise.\\nTis I that maid hath told my\\ntale,\\nOr, trembler, did thy courage fail\\nIt recks not it is I demand 200\\nFair Metelill in marriage band\\nHarold the Dauntless I, whose\\nname\\nIs brave men s boast and caitiffs\\nshame.\\nThe parents sought each other s\\neyes\\nWith awe, resentment, and sur-\\nprise\\nWulfstane, to quarrel prompt, be-\\ngan\\nThe stranger s size and thews to\\nscan;\\nBut as he scanned his courage\\nsunk,\\nAnd from unequal strife he shrunk,\\nThen forth to blight and blemish\\nflies 210\\nThe harmful curse from Jutta s\\neyes;\\nYet, fatal howsoe er, the spell\\nOn Harold innocently fell\\nAnd disappointment and amaze\\nWere in the witch s wildered\\ngaze.\\nXII\\nBut soon the wit of woman woke,\\nAnd to the warrior mild she spoke\\n1 Her child was all too young. 4 A\\ntoy,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0541.jp2"}, "538": {"fulltext": "S i8\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nThe refuge of a maiden coy/\\nAgain, A powerful baron s heir\\nClaims in her heart an interest\\nfair.* 221\\nA trifle whisper in his ear\\nThat Harold is a suitor here\\nBaffled at length she sought de-\\nlay\\nWould not the knight till morn-\\ning stay\\nLate was the hour he there\\nmight rest\\nTill morn, their lodge s honored\\nguest.\\nSuch were her words\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -her craft\\nmight cast\\nHer honored guest should sleep\\nhis last\\nNo, not to-night but soon, he\\nswore, 230\\nHe would return, nor leave them\\nmore.\\nThe threshold then his huge stride\\ncrost,\\nAnd soon he was in darkness lost.\\nXIII\\nAppalled awhile the parents stood,\\nThen changed their fear to angry\\nmood,\\nAnd foremost fell their words of ill\\nOn unresisting Metelill:\\nWas she not cautioned and forbid,\\nForewarned, implored, accused,\\nand chid,\\nAnd must she still to greenwood\\nroam 240\\nTo marshal such misfortune\\nhome?\\n1 Hence, minion to thy chamber\\nhence\\nThere prudence learn and peni-\\ntence.\\nShe went her lonely couch to\\nsteep\\nIn tears which absent lovers\\nweep;\\nOr if she gained a troubled sleep,\\nFierce Harold s suit was still the\\ntheme\\nAnd terror of her feverish dream.\\nXIV\\nScarce was she gone, her dame\\nand sire\\nUpon each other bent their ire 250\\n1 A woodsman thou and hast a\\nspear,\\nAnd couldst thou such an insult\\nbear\\nSullen he said, A man contends\\nWith men, a witch with sprites and\\nfiends\\nNot to mere mortal wight belong\\nYon gloomy brow and frame so\\nstrong.\\nBut thou is this thy promise\\nfair,\\nThat your Lord William, wealthy\\nheir\\nTo Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le-\\nWear,\\nShould Metelill to altar bear? 260\\nDo all the spells thou boast st as\\nthine\\nServe but to slay some peasant s\\nkine,\\nHis grain in autumn s storms to\\nsteep,\\nOr thorough fog and fen to sweep\\nAnd hag-ride some poor rustic s\\nsleep?\\nIs such mean mischief worth the\\nfame\\nOf sorceress and witch s name\\nFame, which with all men s wish\\nconspires\\nWith thy deserts and my desires,\\nTo damn thy corpse to penal\\nfires? 270\\nOut on thee, witch aroint aroint\\nWhat now shall put thy schemes\\nin joint?\\nWhat save this trusty arrow s\\npoint,\\nFrom the dark dingle when it flies\\nAnd he who meets it gasps and\\ndies?\\nxv\\nStern she replied, 4 1 will not wage\\nWar with thy folly or thy rage\\nBut ere the morrow s sun be low,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0542.jp2"}, "539": {"fulltext": "CANTO SECOND\\n519\\nWulf stane of Rookhope, thou shalt\\nknow\\nIf I can venge me on a foe. 280\\nBelieve the while that whatsoe er\\nI spoke in ire of bow and spear,\\nIt is not Harold s destiny\\nThe death of pilfered deer to die.\\nBut he, and thou, and yon pale\\nmoon\\nThat shall be yet more pallid\\nsoon,\\nBefore she sink behind the dell\\nThou, she, and Harold too, shall\\ntell\\nWhat Jutta knows of charm or\\nspell.\\nThus muttering, to the door she\\nbent 290\\nHer wayward steps and forth she\\nwent,\\nAnd left alone the moody sire\\nTo cherish or to slake his ire.\\nXVI\\nFar faster than belonged to age\\nHas Jutta made her pilgrimage.\\nA priest has met her as she passed,\\nAnd crossed himself and stood\\naghast\\nShe traced a hamlet not a cur\\nHis throat would ope, his foot\\nwould stir\\nBy crouch, by trembling, and by\\ngroan, 300\\nThey made her hated presence\\nknown\\nBut when she trode the sable fell,\\nWere wilder sounds her way to\\ntell,\\nFor far was heard the fox s yell,\\nThe black-cock waked and faintly\\ncrew,\\nScreamed o er the moss the scared\\ncurlew\\nWhere o er the cataract the oak\\nLay slant, was heard the raven s\\ncroak\\nThe mountain-cat which sought\\nhis prey\\nGlared, screamed, and started from\\nher way. 310\\nSuch music cheered her journey\\nlone\\nTo the deep dell and rocking\\nstone\\nThere with unhallowed hymn ot\\npraise\\nShe called a god of heathen days.\\nXVII\\nINVOCATION\\nFrom thy Pomeranian throne,\\nHewn in rock of living stone,\\nWhere, to thy godhead faithful\\nyet,\\nBend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett,\\nAnd their swords in vengeance\\nwhet, 319\\nThat shall make thine altars wet,\\nWet and red for ages more\\nWith the Christian s hated gore,\\nHear me, Sovereign of the Kock\\nHear me, mighty Zernebock\\nMightiest of the mighty known,\\nHere thy wonders have been\\nshown\\nHundred tribes in various tongue\\nOft have here thy praises sung\\nDown that stone with Runic\\nseamed\\nHundred victims blood hath\\nstreamed! 330\\nNow one woman comes alone\\nAnd but wets it with her own,\\nThe last, the feeblest of thy flock,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nHear\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and be present, Zernebock\\n1 Hark he comes the night-blast\\ncold\\nWilder sweeps along the wold\\nThe cloudless moon grows dark\\nand dim,\\nAnd bristling hair and quaking\\nlimb\\nProclaim the Master Demon\\nnigh,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThose who view his form shall\\n.die! 340\\nLo I stoop and veil my head\\nThou who ridest the tempest dread.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0543.jp2"}, "540": {"fulltext": "520\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nShaking hill and rending oak\\nSpare me spare me, Zernebock\\nHe comes not yet! Shall cold\\ndelay\\nThy votaress at her need repay?\\nThou\u00e2\u0080\u0094 shall I call thee god or\\nfiend?\\nLet others on thy mood attend\\nWith prayer and ritual\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Jutta s\\narms\\nAre necromantic words and\\ncharms; 350\\nMine is the spell that uttered once\\nShall wake thy Master from his\\ntrance,\\nShake his red mansion-house of\\npain\\nAnd burst his seven-times-twisted\\nchain\\nSo! com st thou ere the spell is\\nspoke\\nI own thy presence, Zernebock.\\nXVIII\\nDaughter of dust, the Deep Voice\\nsaid\\nShook while it spoke the vale for\\ndread,\\nRocked on the base that massive\\nstone,\\nThe evil Deity to own,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 360\\nDaughter of dust not mine the\\npower\\nThou seek st on Harold s fatal\\nhour.\\nTwixt heaven and hell there is a\\nstrife\\nWaged for his soul and for his life,\\nAnd fain would we the combat\\nwin\\nAnd snatch him in his hour of sin.\\nThere is a star now rising red\\nThat threats him with an influence\\ndread\\nWoman, thine arts of malice whet,\\nTo use the space before it set. 370\\nInvolve him with the church in\\nstrife,\\nPush on adventurous chance his\\nlife;\\nOurself will in the hour of need,\\nAs best we may, thy counsels\\nspeed.\\nSo ceased the Voice for seven\\nleagues round\\nEach hamlet started at the sound,\\nBut slept again as slowly died\\nIts thunders on the hill s brown\\nside.\\nXIX\\n1 And is this all, said Jutta stern,\\n1 That thou canst teach and I can\\nlearn 380\\nHence! to the land of fog and\\nwaste,\\nThere fittest is thine influence\\nplaced,\\nThou powerless, sluggish Deity\\nBut ne er shall Briton bend the\\nknee\\nAgain before so poor a god.\\nShe struck the altar with her rod\\nSlight was the touch as when at\\nneed\\nA damsel stirs her tardy steed;\\nBut to the blow the stone gave\\nplace,\\nAnd, starting from its balanced\\nbase, 390\\nRolled thundering down the moon-\\nlight dell,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nReechoed moorland, rock, and fell;\\nInto the moonlight tarn it dashed,\\nTheir shores the sounding surges\\nlashed,\\nAnd there was ripple, rage, and\\nfoam;\\nBut on that lake, so dark and lone,\\nPlacid and pale the moonbeam\\nshone\\nAs Jutta hied her home.\\nCANTO THIRD\\nGray towers of Durham there\\nwas once a time\\nI viewed your battlements with\\nsuch vague hope", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0544.jp2"}, "541": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n521\\nAs brightens life in its first\\n11\\ndawning prime\\nFair on the half-seen streams\\nNot that e en then came within\\nthe sunbeams danced,\\nfancy s scope\\nBetraying it beneath the wood-\\nA vision vain of mitre, throne, or\\nland bank,\\ncope;\\nAnd fair between the Gothic\\nYet, gazing on the venerable hall,\\nturrets glanced 30\\nHer flattering dreams would in\\nBroad lights, and shadows fell\\nperspective ope\\non front and flank,\\nSome reverend room, some pre-\\nWhere tower and buttress rose\\nbendary s stall,\\nin martial rank,\\nAnd thus Hope me deceived as she\\nAnd girdled in the massive don-\\ndeceiveth all.\\njon keep,\\nAnd from their circuit pealed\\nWell yet I love thy mixed and\\no er bush and bank\\nmassive piles, 10\\nThe matin bell with summons\\nHalf church of God, half castle\\nlong and deep,\\ngainst the Scot,\\nAnd echo answered still with long-\\nAnd long to roam these vener-\\nresounding sweep.\\nable aisles,\\nWith records stored of deeds\\nin\\nlong since forgot\\nThe morning mists rose from the\\nThere might I share my Surtees\\nground,\\nhappier lot,\\nEach merry bird awakened round\\nWho leaves at will his patrimo-\\nAs if in revelry\\nnial field\\nAfar the bugle s clanging sound 40\\nTo ransack every crypt and hal-\\nCalled to the chase the lagging\\nlowed spot,\\nhound\\nAnd from oblivion rend the\\nThe gale breathed soft and free,\\nspoils they yield,\\nAnd seemed to linger on its way\\nRestoring priestly chant and clang\\nTo catch fresh odors from the\\nof knightly shield.\\nspray,\\nAnd waved it in its wanton play\\nVain is the wish since other\\nSo light and gamesomely.\\ncares demand\\nThe scenes which morning beams\\nEach vacant hour, and in another\\nreveal,\\nclime; 20\\nIts sounds to hear, its gales to\\nBut still that northern harp in-\\nfeel\\nvites my hand\\nIn all their fragrance round him\\nWhich tells the wonder of thine\\nsteal, 49\\nearlier time\\nIt melted Harold s heart of steel,\\nAnd fain its numbers would I\\nAnd, hardly wotting why,\\nnow command\\nHe doffed his helmet s gloomy\\nTo paint the beauties of that\\npride\\ndawning fair\\nAnd hung it on a tree beside,\\nWhen Harold, gazing from its\\nLaid mace and falchion by,\\nlofty stand\\nAnd on the greensward sate him\\nUpon the western heights of\\ndown\\nBeaurepaire,\\nAnd from his dark habitual frown\\nSaw Saxon Eadmer s towers begirt\\nRelaxed his rugged brow\\nby winding Wear,\\nWhoever hath the doubtful task", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0545.jp2"}, "542": {"fulltext": "522\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nFrom that stern Dane a boon to\\nask\\nWere wise to ask it now. 60\\nrv\\nHis place beside young Gunnar\\ntook\\nAnd marked his master s softening\\nlook,\\nAnd in his eye s dark mirror spied\\nThe gloom of stormy thoughts sub-\\nside,\\nAnd cautious watched the fittest\\ntide\\nTo speak a warning word.\\nSo when the torrent s billows\\nshrink,\\nThe timid pilgrim on the brink\\nWaits long to see them wave and\\nsink\\nEre he dare brave the ford, 70\\nAnd often after doubtful pause\\nHis step advances or withdraws\\nFearful to move the slumbering ire\\nOf his stern lord, thus stood the\\nsquire\\nTill Harold raised his eye,\\nThat glanced as when athwart the\\nshroud\\nOf the dispersing tempest-cloud\\nThe bursting sunbeams fly.\\n1 Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde,\\nOffspring of prophetess and bard\\nTake harp and greet this lovely\\nprime 81\\nWith some high strain of Runic\\nrhyme,\\nStrong, deep, and powerful Peal\\nit round\\nLike that loud bell s sonorous\\nsound,\\nYet wild by fits, as when the lay\\nOf bird and bugle hail the day.\\nSuch was my grandsire Eric s\\nsport\\nWhen dawn gleamed on his martial\\ncourt.\\nHeymar the Scald with harp s\\nhigh sound\\nSummoned the chiefs who slept\\naround 9 o\\nCouched on the spoils of wolf and\\nbear,\\nThey roused like lions from their\\nlair,\\nThen rushed in emulation forth\\nTo enhance the glories of the\\nnorth.\\nProud Eric, mightiest of thy race,\\nWhere is thy shadowy resting-\\nplace\\nIn wild Valhalla hast thou quaffed\\nFrom foeman s skull metheglin\\ndraught,\\nOr wanderest where thy cairn was\\npiled\\nTo frown o er oceans wide and\\nwild? 100\\nOr have the milder Christians\\ngiven\\nThy refuge in their peaceful hea-\\nven?\\nWhere er thou art, to thee are\\nknown\\nOur toils endured, our trophies\\nwon,\\nOur wars, our wanderings, and\\nour woes.\\nHe ceased, and Gunnar s song\\narose.\\nVI\\nSONG\\n1 Hawk and osprey screamed for joy\\nO er the beetling cliffs of Hoy,\\nCrimson foam the beach o er-\\nspread,\\nThe heath was dyed with darker\\nred, no\\nWhen o er Eric, Inguar s son,\\nDane and Northman piled the\\nstone,\\nSinging wild the war-song stern,\\nRest thee, Dweller of the Cairn\\nWhere eddying currents foam\\nand boil\\nBy Bersa s burgh and Graemsay s\\nisle,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0546.jp2"}, "543": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n523\\nThe seaman sees a martial form\\nHalf-mingled with the mist and\\nstorm.\\nIn anxious awe he bears away\\nTo moor his bark in Stromna s\\nbay, 120\\nAnd murmurs from the bounding\\nstern,\\nKest thee, Dweller of the Cairn\\nWhat cares disturb the mighty\\ndead?\\nEach honored rite was duly paid\\nNo daring hand thy helm unlaced,\\nThy sword, thy shield, were near\\nthee placed\\nThy flinty couch no tear profaned\\nWithout, with hostile blood t was\\nstained\\nWithin, t was lined with moss and\\nfern,\\nThen rest thee, Dweller of the\\nCairn 130\\nHe may not rest: from realms\\nafar\\nComes voice of battle and of war,\\nOf conquest wrought with bloody\\nhand\\nOn Carmel s cliffs and Jordan s\\nstrand,\\nWhen Odin s warlike son could\\ndaunt\\nThe turbaned race of Terma-\\ngaunt.\\nVII\\nPeace, said the knight, the\\nnoble Scald\\nOur warlike fathers deeds re-\\ncalled,\\nBut never strove to soothe the\\nson\\nWith tales of what himself had\\ndone. 140\\nAt Odin s board the bard sits high\\nWhose harp ne er stooped to flat-\\ntery,\\nBut highest he whose daring lay\\nHath dared unwelcome truths to\\nsay.\\nWith doubtful smile young Gun-\\nnar eyed\\nHis master s looks and naught re-\\nplied\\nBut well that smile his master led\\nTo construe what he left unsaid.\\n1 Is it to me, thou timid youth,\\nThou fear st to speak unwelcome\\ntruth 150\\nMy soul no more thy censure\\ngrieves\\nThan frosts rob laurels of their\\nleaves.\\nSay on and yet beware the\\nrude\\nAnd wild distemper of my blood\\nLoath were I that mine ire should\\nwrong\\nThe youth that bore my shield so\\nlong,\\nAnd who, in service constant still,\\nThough weak in frame, art strong\\nin will.\\nquoth the page, even there\\ndepends\\nMy counsel there my warning\\ntends 160\\nOft seems as of my master s\\nbreast\\nSome demon were the sudden\\nguest\\nThen at-the first misconstrued word\\nHis hand is on the mace and\\nsword,\\nFrom her firm seat his wisdom\\ndriven,\\nHis life to countless dangers given.\\nO, would that Gunnar could suffice\\nTo be the fiend s last sacrifice,\\nSo that, when glutted with my\\ngore,\\nHe fled and tempted thee no\\nmore 170\\nVIII\\nThen waved his hand and shook\\nhis head\\nThe impatient Dane while thus he\\nsaid:\\n1 Profane not, youth it is not\\nthine", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0547.jp2"}, "544": {"fulltext": "5 2 4\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nTo judge the spirit of our line\\nThe bold Berserkar s rage divine,\\nThrough whose inspiring deeds\\nare wrought\\nPast human strength and human\\nthought.\\nWhen full upon his gloomy soul\\nThe champion feels the influence\\nroll,\\nHe swims the lake, he leaps the\\nwall 1 80\\nHeeds not the depth, nor plumbs\\nthe fall\\nUnshielded, mailless, on he goes\\nSingly against a host of foes\\nTheir spears he holds like with-\\nered reeds,\\nTheir mail like maiden s silken\\nweeds;\\nOne gainst a hundred will he\\nstrive,\\nTake countless wounds and yet\\nsurvive.\\nThen rush the eagles to his cry\\nOf slaughter and of victory,\\nAnd blood he quaffs like Odin s\\nbowl, 190\\nDeep drinks his sword, deep\\ndrinks his soul\\nAnd all that meet him in his ire\\nHe gives to ruin, rout, and fire\\nThen, like gorged lion, seeks some\\nden\\nAnd couches till he s man agen.\\nThou know st the signs of look\\nand limb\\nWhen gins that rage to over-\\nbrim\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThou know st when I am moved\\nand why\\nAnd when thou see st me roll mine\\neye,\\nSet my teeth thus, and stamp my\\nfOOt, 200\\nEegard thy safety and be mute\\nBut else speak boldly out what-\\ne er\\nIs fitting that a knight should\\nhear.\\nI love thee, youth. The lay has\\npower\\nUpon my dark and sullen hour\\nSo Christian monks are wont to\\nsay\\nDemons of old were charmed\\naway;\\nThen fear not I will rashly deem\\n111 of thy speech, whate er the\\ntheme.\\nIX\\nAs down some strait in doubt and\\ndread 210\\nThe watchful pilot drops the lead,\\nAnd, cautious in the midst to\\nsteer,\\nThe shoaling channel sounds with\\nfear;\\nSo, lest on dangerous ground he\\nswerved,\\nThe page his master s brow ob-\\nserved,\\nPausing at intervals to fling\\nHis hand on the melodious string,\\nAnd to his moody breast apply\\nThe soothing charm of harmony,\\nWhile hinted half, and half ex-\\nprest, 220\\nThis warning song conveyed the\\nrest.\\nSONG\\n1 111 fares the bark with tackle\\nriven,\\nAnd ill when on the breakers\\ndriven,\\n111 when the storm-sprite shrieks\\nin air,\\nAnd the scared mermaid tears her\\nhair;\\nBut worse when on her helm the\\nhand\\nOf some false traitor holds com-\\nmand.\\n111 fares the fainting palmer,\\nplaced\\nMid Hedron s rocks or Kana s\\nwaste,\\n111 when the scorching sun is\\nhigh, 230", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0548.jp2"}, "545": {"fulltext": "CANTO THIRD\\n525\\nAnd the expected font is dry,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWorse when his guide o er sand\\nand heath,\\nThe barbarous Copt, has planned\\nhis death.\\n111 fares the knight with buckler\\ncleft,\\nAnd ill when of his helm bereft,\\n111 when his steed to earth is flung,\\nOr from his grasp the falchion\\nwrung\\nBut worse, of instant ruin token,\\nWhen he lists rede by woman\\nspoken.\\nx\\n4 How now, fond boy?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Canst\\nthou think 111, 240\\nSaid Harold, of fair Metelill?\\nShe may be fair, the page replied\\nAs through the strings he\\nranged,\\n1 She may be fair but yet, he cried,\\nAnd then the strain he\\nchanged,\\nSONG\\nShe may be fair, he sang, but\\nyet\\nFar fairer have I seen\\nThan she, for all her locks of jet\\nAnd eyes so dark and sheen.\\nWere I a Danish knight in arms,\\nAs one day I may be, 251\\nMy heart should own no foreign\\ncharms\\nA Danish maid for me\\nI love my father s northern land,\\nWhere the dark pine-trees grow,\\nAnd the bold Baltic s echoing\\nstrand\\nLooks o er each grassy oe.\\nI love to mark the lingering sun,\\nFrom Denmark loath to go,\\nAnd leaving on the billows bright,\\nTo cheer the short-lived summer\\nnight, 261\\nA path of ruddy glow.\\nBut most the northern maid I\\nlove,\\nWith breast like Denmark s\\nsnow\\nAnd form as fair as Denmark s\\npine,\\nWho loves with purple heath to\\ntwine\\nHer locks of sunny glow\\nAnd sweetly blend that shade of\\ngold\\nWith the cheek s rosy hue,\\nAnd Faith might for her mirror\\nhold 270\\nThat eye of matchless blue.\\n1 T is hers the manly sports to love\\nThat southern maidens fear,\\nTo bend the bow by stream and\\ngrove,\\nAnd lift the hunter s spear.\\nShe can her chosen champion s\\nflight\\nWith eye undazzled see,\\nClasp him victorious from the\\nstrife,\\nOr on his corpse yield up her life,\\nA Danish maid for me 280\\nXI\\nThen smiled the Dane Thou\\ncanst so well\\nThe virtues of our maidens tell,\\nHalf could I wish my choice had\\nbeen\\nBlue eyes, and hair of golden sheen,\\nAnd lofty soul yet what of ill\\nHast thou to charge on Metelill?\\n4 Nothing on her, young Gunnar\\nsaid,\\nBut her base sire s ignoble trade.\\nHer mother too the general\\nfame\\nHath given to Jutta evil name, 290\\nAnd in her gray eye is a flame\\nArt cannot hide nor fear can\\ntame.\\nThat sordid woodman s peasant\\ncot\\nTwice have thine honored foot-\\nsteps sought,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0549.jp2"}, "546": {"fulltext": "526\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nAnd twice returned with such ill\\nrede\\nAs sent thee on some desperate\\ndeed.\\nXII\\nThou errest Jutta wisely said,\\nHe that comes suitor to a maid,\\nEre linked in marriage, should\\nprovide\\nLands and a dwelling for his\\nbride 300\\nMy father s by the Tyne and Wear\\nI have reclaimed. 4 0, all too\\ndear\\nAnd all too dangerous the prize,\\nE en were it won, young Gunnar\\ncries\\n*And then this Jutta s fresh de-\\nvice,\\nThat thou shouldst seek, a heathen\\nDane,\\nFrom Durham s priests a boon to\\ngain\\nWhen thou hast left their vassals\\nslain\\nIn their own halls Flashed\\nHarold s eye,\\nThundered his voice False\\npage, you lie! 310\\nThe castle, hall and tower, is mine,\\nBuilt by old Witikind on Tyne.\\nThe wild-cat will defend his den,\\nFights for her nest the timid wren\\nAnd think st thou I 11 forego my\\nright\\nFor dread of monk or monkish\\nknight?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nUp and away, that deepening\\nbell\\nDoth of the bishop s conclave\\ntell.\\nThither will I in manner due,\\nAs Jutta bade, my claim to sue 320\\nAnd if to right me they are loath,\\nThen woe to church and chapter\\nboth\\nNow shift the scene and let the\\ncurtain fall,\\nAnd our next entry be Saint Cuth-\\nbert s hall.\\nCANTO FOURTH\\nFull many a bard hath sung\\nthe solemn gloom\\nOf the long Gothic aisle and\\nstone-ribbed roof,\\nO er-canopying shrine and gor-\\ngeous tomb,\\nCarved screen, and altar glim-\\nmering far aloof\\nAnd blending with the shade\\na matchless proof\\nOf high devotion, which hath\\nnow waxed cold\\nYet legends say that Luxury s\\nbrute hoof\\nIntruded oft within such sacred\\nfold,\\nLike step of Bel s false priest\\ntracked in his fane of old.\\nWell pleased am I, howe er, that\\nwhen the route 10\\nOf our rude neighbors whilome\\ndeigned to come,\\nUncalled and eke unwelcome, to\\nsweep out\\nAnd cleanse our chancel from\\nthe rags of Borne,\\nThey spoke not on our ancient\\nfane the doom\\nTo which their bigot zeal gave\\no er their own,\\nBut spared the martyred saint\\nand storied tomb,\\nThough papal miracles had\\ngraced the stone,\\nAnd though the aisles still loved\\nthe organ s swelling tone.\\nAnd deem not, though t is now\\nmy part to paint\\nA prelate swayed by love of\\npower and gold, 20\\nThat all who wore the mitre of\\nour Saint\\nLike to ambitious Aldingar I\\nhold;\\nSince both in modern times and\\ndays of old", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0550.jp2"}, "547": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n527\\nIt sate on those whose virtues\\nin\\nmight atone\\nThe prelate was to speech ad-\\nTheir predecessors frailties\\ndressed,\\ntrebly told\\nEach head sunk reverent on\\nMatthew and Morton we as\\neach breast\\nsuch may own\\nBut ere his voice was heard\\nAnd such if fame speak truth\\nwithout\\nthe honored Barrington.\\nArose a wild tumultuous shout,\\n11\\nOffspring of wonder mixed with\\nfear,\\nSuch as in crowded streets we\\nBut now to earlier and to ruder\\ntimes,\\nhear\\nAs subject meet, I tune my rugged\\nHailing the flames that, bursting\\nrhymes,\\nout,\\nTelling how fairly the chapter\\nAttract yet scare the rabble rout.\\nwas met, 30\\nEre it had ceased a giant hand 60\\nAnd rood and books in seemly\\nShook oaken door and iron band\\norder set\\nTill oak and iron both gave\\nHuge brass-clasped volumes which\\nway,\\nthe hand\\nClashed the long bolts, the\\nOf studious priest but rarely\\nhinges bray,\\nscanned,\\nAnd, ere upon angel or saint they\\nNow on fair carved desk dis-\\ncan call,\\nplayed,\\nStands Harold the Dauntless in\\nT was theirs the solemn scene to\\naid.\\nO erhead with many a scutcheon\\nmidst of the hall.\\nIV\\ngraced\\nNow save ye, my masters, both\\nAnd quaint devices interlaced,\\nrocket and rood,\\nA labyrinth of crossing rows,\\nFrom Bishop with mitre to deacon\\nThe roof in lessening arches\\nwith hood\\nshows\\nFor here stands Count Harold, old\\nBeneath its shade placed proud\\nWitikind s son,\\nand high 40\\nCome to sue for the lands which\\nWith footstool and with canopy,\\nhis ancestors won.\\nSate Aldingar and prelate ne er\\nThe prelate looked round him with\\nMore haughty graced Saint Cuth-\\nsore troubled eye, 70\\nbert s chair\\nUnwilling to grant yet afraid to\\nCanons and deacons were placed\\ndeny;\\nbelow,\\nWhile each canon and deacon who\\nIn due degree and lengthened row.\\nheard the Dane speak,\\nUnmoved and silent each sat\\nTo be safely at home would have\\nthere,\\nfasted a week\\nLike image in his oaken chair\\nThen Aldingar roused him and\\nNor head nor hand nor foot they\\nanswered again,\\nstirred,\\nThou suest for a boon which thou\\nNor lock of hair nor tress of\\ncanst not obtain\\nbeard\\nThe Church hath no fiefs for an\\nAnd of their eyes severe alone 50\\nunchristened Dane.\\nThe twinkle showed they were\\nThy father was wise, and his trea-\\nnot stone.\\nsure hath given", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0551.jp2"}, "548": {"fulltext": "528\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nThat the priests of a chantry might\\nhymn him to heaven\\nAnd the fiefs which whilome he\\npossessed as his due\\nHave lapsed to the Church, and\\nbeen granted anew 80\\nTo Anthony Conyers and Alberic\\nVere,\\nFor the service Saint Cuthbert s\\nblest banner to bear\\nWhen the bands of the North come\\nto foray the Wear\\nThen disturb not our conclave with\\nwrangling or blame,\\nBut in peace and in patience pass\\nhence as ye came.\\nLoud laughed the stern Pagan,\\nThey re free from the care\\nOf fief and of service, both Con-\\nyers and Vere,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSix feet of your chancel is all they\\nwill need,\\nA buckler of stone and a corselet\\nof lead.\\nHo, Gunnar the tokens and,\\nsevered anew, 90\\nA head and a hand on the altar he\\nthrew.\\nThen shuddered with terror both\\ncanon and monk,\\nThey knew the glazed eye and the\\ncountenance shrunk,\\nAnd of Anthony Conyers the half-\\ngrizzled hair,\\nAnd the scar on the hand of Sir\\nAlberic Vere.\\nThere was not a churchman or\\npriest that was there\\nBut grew pale at the sight and be-\\ntook him to prayer.\\nVI\\nCount Harold laughed at their\\nlooks of fear\\nWas this the hand should your\\nbanner bear\\nWas that the head should wear\\nthe casque 100\\nIn battle at the Church s task?\\nWas it to such you gave the place\\nOf Harold with the heavy mace\\nFind me between the Wear and\\nTyne\\nA knight will wield this club of\\nmine,\\nGive him my fiefs, and I will say\\nThere s wit beneath the cowl of\\ngray.\\nHe raised it, rough with many a\\nstain\\nCaught from crushed skull and\\nspouting brain 109\\nHe wheeled it that it shrilly sung\\nAnd the aisles echoed as it swung,\\nThen dashed it down with sheer\\ndescent\\nAnd split King k Osric s monu-\\nment.\\nHow like ye this music? How\\ntrow ye the hand\\nThat can wield such a mace may\\nbe reft of its land?\\nNo answer?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I spare ye a space\\nto agree,\\nAnd Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a\\nsaint if he be.\\nTen strides through your chancel,\\nten strokes on your bell,\\nAnd again I am with you grave\\nfathers, farewell.\\nVII\\nHe turned from their presence, he\\nclashed the oak door, 120\\nAnd the clang of his stride died\\naway on the floor\\nAnd his head from his bosom the\\nprelate uprears\\nWith a ghost-seer s look when the\\nghost disappears\\n1 Ye Priests of Saint Cuthbert, now\\ngive me your rede,\\nFor never of counsel had bishop\\nmore need\\nWere the arch-fiend incarnate in\\nflesh and in bone,\\nThe language, the look, and the\\nlaugh were his own.\\nIn the bounds of Saint Cuthbert\\nthere is not a knight", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0552.jp2"}, "549": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n529\\nDare confront in our quarrel yon\\ngoblin in fight\\nThen rede me aright to his claim\\nto reply, 130\\n\u00c2\u00bbT is unlawful to grant and tis\\ndeath to deny.\\nVIII\\nOn venison and malmsie that morn-\\ning had fed\\nThe Cellarer Vinsauf\u00e2\u0080\u0094 twas thus\\nthat he said\\nDelay till to-morrow the Chapter s\\nreply\\nLet the feast be spread fair and\\nthe wine be poured high\\nIf he s mortal he drinks, if he\\ndrinks, he is ours\\nHis bracelets of iron, his bed\\nin our towers.\\nThis man had a laughing eye,\\nTrust not, friends, when such you\\nspy;\\nA beaker s depth he well could\\ndrain, 140\\nRevel, sport, and jest amain\\nThe haunch of the deer and the\\ngrape s bright dye\\nNever bard loved them better\\nthan I\\nBut sooner than Vinsauf filled me\\nmy wine,\\nPassed me his jest, and laughed at\\nmine,\\nThough the buck were of Bear-\\npark, of Bourdeaux the vine,\\nWith the dullest hermit I d rather\\ndine\\nOn an oaken cake and a draught\\nof the Tyne.\\nIX\\nWalwayn the leech spoke next\\nhe knew\\nEach plant that loves the sun and\\ndew, 150\\nBut special those whose juice can\\ngain\\nDominion o er the blood and brain\\nThe peasant who saw him by pale\\nmoonbeam\\nGathering such herbs by bank and\\nstream\\nDeemed his thin form and sound-\\nless tread\\nWere those of wanderer from the\\ndead.\\nVinsauf, thy wine, he said, hath\\npower,\\nOur gyves are heavy, strong our\\ntower\\nYet three drops from this flask of\\nmine,\\nMore strong than dungeons, gyves,\\nor wine, 160\\nShall give him prison under ground\\nMore dark, more narrow, more pro-\\nfound.\\nShort rede, good rede, let Harold\\nhave\\nA dog s death and a heathen s\\ngrave. 1\\nI have lain on a sick man s bed,\\nWatching for hours for the leech s\\ntread,\\nAs if I deemed that his presence\\nalone\\nWere of power to bid my pain be-\\ngone;\\nI have listed his words of comfort\\ngiven,\\nAs if to oracles from heaven 170\\nI have counted his steps from my\\nchamber door,\\nAnd blessed them when they were\\nheard no more\\nBut sooner than Walwayn my sick\\ncouch should nigh,\\nMy choice were by leech-craft un-\\naided to die.\\n1 Such service done in fervent zeal\\nThe Church may pardon and con-\\nceal,\\nThe doubtful prelate said, but\\nne er\\nThe counsel ere the act should\\nhear.\\nAnselm of Jarrow, advise us now,\\nThe stamp of wisdom is on thy\\nbrow 180", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0553.jp2"}, "550": {"fulltext": "530\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nThy days, thy nights, in cloister\\npent,\\nAre still to mystic learning lent\\nAnselm of Jarrow, in thee is my\\nhope,\\nThou well mayst give counsel to\\nprelate or pope.\\nXI\\nAnswered the prior T is wis-\\ndom s use\\nStill to delay what we dare not re-\\nfuse;\\nEre granting the boon he comes\\nhither to ask,\\nShape for the giant gigantic task\\nLet us see how a step so sounding\\ncan tread\\nIn paths of darkness, danger, and\\ndread 190\\nHe may not, he will not, impugn\\nour decree\\nThat calls but for proof of his\\nchivalry\\nAnd were Guy to return or Sir\\nBevis the Strong,\\nOur wilds have adventure might\\ncumber them long\\nThe Castle of Seven Shields\\nKind Anselm, no more\\nThe step of the Pagan approaches\\nthe door.\\nThe churchmen were hushed. In\\nhis mantle of skin\\nWith his mace on his shoulder\\nCount Harold strode in,\\nThere was foam on his lips, there\\nwas fire in his eye,\\nFor, chafed by attendance, his fury\\nwas nigh. 200\\nHo Bishop, he said, dost thou\\ngrant me my claim\\nOr must I assert it by falchion and\\nflame?\\nXII\\nOn thy suit, gallant Harold, the\\nbishop replied,\\nIn accents which trembled, we\\nmay not decide\\nUntil proof of your strength and\\nyour valor we saw\\nT is not that we doubt them, but\\nsuch is the law.\\n1 And would you, Sir Prelate, have\\nHarold make sport\\nFor the cowls and the shavelings\\nthat herd in thy court?\\nSay what shall he do From the\\nshrine shall he tear\\nThe lead bier of thy patron and\\nheave it in air. 210\\nAnd through the long chancel\\nmake Cuthbert take wing\\nWith the speed of a bullet dis-\\nmissed from the sling?\\nNay, spare such probation, the\\ncellarer said,\\nFrom the mouth of our minstrels\\nthy task shall be read.\\nWhile the wine sparkles high in\\nthe goblet of gold\\nAnd the revel is loudest, thy task\\nshall be told\\nAnd thyself, gallant Harold, shall,\\nhearing it, tell\\nThat the bishop, his cowls, and his\\nshavelings, meant well.\\nXIII\\nLoud revelled the guests and the\\ngoblets loud rang,\\nBut louder the minstrel, Hugh\\nMeneville, sang 220\\nAnd Harold, the hurry and pride\\nof whose soul,\\nE en when verging to fury, owned\\nmusic s control,\\nStill bent on the harper his broad\\nsable eye,\\nAnd often untasted the goblet\\npassed by\\nThan wine or than wassail to him\\nwas more dear\\nThe minstrel s high tale of en-\\nchantment to hear\\nAnd the bishop that day might of\\nVinsauf complain\\nThat his art had but wasted his\\nwine-casks in vain.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0554.jp2"}, "551": {"fulltext": "CANTO FOURTH\\n53i\\nXIV\\nTHE CASTLE OF THE SEVEN\\nSHIELDS\\nA BALLAD\\nThe Druid Urien had daughters\\nseven,\\nTheir skill could call the moon\\nfrom heaven 230\\nSo fair their forms and so high\\ntheir fame\\nThat seven proud kings for their\\nsuitors came.\\nKing Mador and Rhys came from\\nPowis and Wales,\\nUnshorn was their hair and un-\\npruned were their nails\\nFrom Strath-Clyde was Ewain,\\nand Ewain was lame,\\nAnd the red-bearded Donald from\\nGalloway came.\\nLot, King of Lodon, was hunch-\\nhacked from youth\\nDunmail of Cumbria had never a\\ntooth\\nBut Adolf of Bambrough, North-\\numberland s heir,\\nWas gay and was gallant, was\\nyoung and was fair. 240\\nThere was strife mongst the sis-\\nters, for each one would have\\nFor husband King Adolf, the gal-\\nlant and brave\\nAnd envy bred hate, and hate\\nurged them to blows,\\nWhen the firm earth was cleft and\\nthe Arch-fiend arose\\nHe swore to the maidens their\\nwish to fulfil\\nThey swore to the foe they would\\nwork by his will.\\nA spindle and distaff to each hath\\nhe given,\\nNow hearken my spell, said the\\nOutcast of heaven.\\nYe shall ply these spindles at\\nmidnight hour,\\nAnd for every spindle shall rise a\\ntower, 250\\nWhere the right shall be feeble,\\nthe wrong shall have power,\\nAnd there shall ye dwell with your\\nparamour.\\nBeneath the pale moonlight they\\nsate on the wold,\\nAnd the rhymes which they chant-\\ned must never be told\\nAnd as the black wool from the\\ndistaff they sped,\\nWith blood from their bosom they\\nmoistened the thread.\\nAs light danced the spindles be-\\nneath the cold gleam,\\nThe castle arose like the birth of\\na dream\\nThe seven towers ascended like\\nmist from the ground,\\nSeven portals defend them, seven\\nditches surround. 260\\nWithin that dread castle seven\\nmonarchs were wed,\\nBut six of the seven ere the morn-\\ning lay dead\\nWith their eyes all on fire and their\\ndaggers all red,\\nSeven damsels surround the\\nNorthumbrian s bed.\\n1 Six kingly bridegrooms to death\\nwe have done,\\nSix gallant kingdoms King Adolf\\nhath won,\\nSix lovely brides all his pleasure\\nto do,\\nOr the bed of the seventh shall be\\nhusbandless too.\\nWell\\nthe\\nchanced it that Adolf\\nnight when he wed\\nHad confessed and had sained him\\nere boune to his bed 270", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0555.jp2"}, "552": {"fulltext": "532\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nHe sprung from the couch and his\\nbroadsword he drew,\\nAnd there the seven daughters of\\nUrien he slew.\\nThe gate of the castle he bolted\\nand sealed,\\nAnd hung o er each arch-stone a\\ncrown and a shield\\nTo the cells of Saint Dunstan then\\nwended his way,\\nAnd died in his cloister an ancho-\\nrite gray.\\nSeven monarchs wealth in that\\ncastle lies stowed,\\nThe foul fiends brood o er them\\nlike raven and toad.\\nWhoever shall guesten these\\nchambers within,\\nFrom curfew till matins, that trea-\\nsure shall win. 280\\nBut manhood grows faint as the\\nworld waxes old\\nThere lives not in Britain a cham-\\npion so bold,\\nSo dauntless of heart, and so pru-\\ndent of brain,\\nAs to dare the adventure that trea-\\nsure to gain.\\nThe waste ridge of Cheviot shall\\nwave with the rye,\\nBefore the rude Scots shall North-\\numberland fly,\\nAnd the flint cliffs of Bambro\\nshall melt in the sun,\\nBefore that adventure be perilled\\nand won.\\nxv\\n4 And is this my probation wild\\nHarold he said,\\n4 Within a lone castle to press a\\nlone bed 290\\nGood even, my lord bishop,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSaint Cuthbert to borrow,\\nThe Castle of Seven Shields re-\\nceives me to-morrow*\\nCANTO FIFTH\\nI\\nDenmark s sage courtier to her\\nprincely youth,\\nGranting his cloud an ousel or a\\nwhale,\\nSpoke, though unwittingly, a par-\\ntial truth\\nFor Fantasy embroiders Na-\\nture s veil.\\nThe tints of ruddy eve or dawn-\\ning pale,\\nOf the swart thunder-cloud or\\nsilver haze,\\nAre but the ground- work of the\\nrich detail\\nWhich Fantasy with pencil wild\\nportrays,\\nBlending what seems and is in the\\nrapt muser s gaze.\\nNor are the stubborn forms of\\nearth and stone 10\\nLess to the Sorceress s empire\\ngiven;\\nFor not with unsubstantial hues\\nalone,\\nCaught from the varying surge\\nof vacant heaven,\\nFrom bursting sunbeam or from\\nflashing levin,\\nShe limns her pictures: on the\\nearth, as air,\\nArise her castles and her car is\\ndriven\\nAnd never gazed the eye on\\nscene so fair,\\nBut of its boasted charms gave\\nFancy half the share.\\n11\\nUp a wild pass went Harold,\\nbent to prove,\\nHugh Meneville, the adventure\\nof thy lay 20\\nGunnar pursued his steps in\\nfaith and love,\\nEver companion of his master s\\nway.\\nMidward their path, a rock of\\ngranite gray", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0556.jp2"}, "553": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n533\\nFrom the adjoining cliff had\\nmade descent,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nA barren mass yet with her\\ndrooping spray\\nHad a young birch-tree crowned\\nits battlement,\\nTwisting her fibrous roots through\\ncranny, flaw, and rent.\\nThis rock and tree could Gun-\\nnar s thought engage\\nTill Fancy brought the tear-drop\\nto his eye,\\nAnd at his master asked the\\ntimid page, 30\\n1 What is the emblem that a bard\\nshould spy\\nIn that rude rock and its green\\ncanopy\\nAnd Harold said, Like to the\\nhelmet brave\\nOf warrior slain in fight it seems\\nto lie,\\nAnd these same drooping boughs\\ndo o er it wave\\nNot all unlike the plume his lady s\\nfavor gave.\\n1 Ah, no replied the page the\\nill-starred love\\nOf some poor maid is in the em-\\nblem shown,\\nWhose fates are with some hero s\\ninterwove\\nAnd rooted on a heart to love\\nunknown 40\\nAnd as the gentle dews of hea-\\nven alone\\nNourish those drooping boughs,\\nand as the scathe\\nOf the red lightning rends both\\ntree and stone,\\nSo fares it with her unrequited\\nfaith,\\nHer sole relief is tears her only\\nrefuge death.\\nin\\nThou art a fond fantastic boy,\\nHarold replied, to females coy,\\nYet prating still of love 48\\nEven so amid the clash of war\\nI know thou lov st to keep afar,\\nThough destined by thy evil star\\nWith one like me to rove,\\nWhose business and whose joys\\nare found\\nUpon the bloody battle-ground.\\nYet, foolish trembler as thou art.\\nThou hast a nook of my rude\\nheart,\\nAnd thou and I will never part\\nHarold would wrap the world in\\nflame\\nEre injury on Gunnar came. 59\\nIV\\nThe grateful page made no reply,\\nBut turned to heaven his gentle\\neye,\\nAnd clasped his hands, as one\\nwho said,\\n1 My toils my wanderings are\\no erpaid\\nThen in a gayer, lighter strain,\\nCompelled himself to speech\\nagain\\nAnd, as they flowed along,\\nHis words took cadence soft and\\nslow,\\nAnd liquid, like dissolving snow,\\nThey melted into song.\\nWhat though through fields of\\ncarnage wide 70\\nI may not follow Harold s stride,\\nYet who with faithful Gunnar s\\npride\\nLord Harold s feats can see\\nAnd dearer than the couch of\\npride\\nHe loves the bed of gray wolf s\\nhide,\\nWhen slumbering by Lord Har-\\nold s side\\nIn forest, field, or lea.\\nVI\\nBreak off! said Harold, in a\\ntone\\nWhere hurry and surprise were\\nshown, 79", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0557.jp2"}, "554": {"fulltext": "534\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nWith some slight touch of\\nfear,\\nBreak off, we are not here\\nalone\\nA palmer form comes slowly\\non!\\nBy cowl and staff and mantle\\nknown,\\nMy monitor is near.\\nNow mark him, Gunnar, heed-\\nfully;\\nHe pauses by the blighted tree\\nDost see him, youth?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Thou\\ncouldst not see\\nWhen in the vale of Galilee\\nI first beheld his form,\\nNor when we met that other\\nwhile 90\\nIn Cephalonia s rocky isle\\nBefore the fearful storm,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nDost see him now The page,\\ndistraught\\nWith terror, answered, 4 I see\\nnaught,\\nAnd there is naught to see,\\nSave that the oak s scathed\\nboughs fling down\\nUpon the path a shadow brown\\nThat, like a pilgrim s dusky\\ngown,\\nWaves with the waving tree.\\nVII\\nCount Harold gazed upon the\\noak 100\\nAs if his eyestrings would have\\nbroke,\\nAnd then resolvedly said,\\nBe what it will yon phantom\\ngray\\nNor heaven nor hell shall ever\\nsay\\nThat for their shadows from his\\nway\\nCount Harold turned dis-\\nmayed\\nI ll speak him, though his ac-\\ncents fill\\nMy heart with that unwonted\\nthrill\\nWhich vulgar minds call fear.\\nI will subdue it! Forth he\\nstrode, no\\nPaused where the blighted oak-\\ntree showed\\nIts sable shadow on the road,\\nAnd, folding on his bosom broad\\nHis arms, said, Speak I\\nhear.\\nVIII\\nThe Deep Voice said, wild of\\nwill,\\nFurious thy purpose to fulfil\\nHeart-seared and unrepentant\\nstill,\\nHow long, O Harold, shall thy\\ntread\\nDisturb the slumbers of the\\ndead?\\nEach step in thy wild way thou\\nmakest, 120\\nThe ashes of the dead thou\\nwakest\\nAnd shout in triumph o er thy\\npath\\nThe fiends of bloodshed and of\\nwrath.\\nIn this thine hour, yet turn and\\nhear!\\nFor life is brief and judgment\\nnear.\\nIX\\nThen ceased the Voice. The\\nDane replied\\nIn tones where awe and inborn\\npride\\nFor mastery strove, In vain ye\\nchide\\nThe wolf for ravaging the flock,\\nOr with its hardness taunt the\\nrock, 130\\nI am as they my Danish strain\\nSends streams of fire through\\nevery vein.\\nAmid thy realms of goule and\\nghost,\\nSay, is the fame of Eric lost,\\nOr Witikind s the Waster, known", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0558.jp2"}, "555": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n535\\nWhere fame or spoil was to be\\nwon;\\nWhose galleys ne er bore off a\\nshore\\nThey left not black with\\nflame\\nHe was my sire, and, sprung\\nof him, 139\\nThat rover merciless and grim,\\nCan I be soft and tame\\nPart hence and with my crimes no\\nmore upbraid me,\\nI am that Waster s son and am\\nbut what he made me.\\nThe Phantom groaned the\\nmountain shook around,\\nThe fawn and wild-doe started at\\nthe sound,\\nThe gorse and fern did wildly\\nround them wave,\\nAs if some sudden storm the im-\\npulse gave.\\n4 All thou hast said is truth yet\\non the head\\nOf that bad sire let not the charge\\nbe laid\\nThat he, like thee, with unrelent-\\ning pace 150\\nFrom grave to cradle ran the evil\\nrace\\nRelentless in his avarice and ire,\\nChurches and towns he gave to\\nsword and fire\\nShed blood like water, wasted\\nevery land,\\nLike the destroying angel s burn-\\ning brand;\\nFulfilled whate er of ill might be\\ninvented,\\nYes all these things he did he\\ndid, but he repented\\nPerchance it is part of his punish-\\nment still\\nThat his offspring pursues his ex-\\nample of ill. 159\\nBut thou, when thy tempest of\\nwrath shall next shake thee,\\nGird thy loins for resistance, my\\nson, and awake thee\\nIf thou yield st to thy fury, how\\ntempted soever,\\nThe gate of repentance shall ope\\nfor thee never\\nXI\\nHe is gone, said Lord Harold and\\ngazed as he spoke\\nThere is naught on the path but\\nthe shade of the oak.\\nHe is gone whose strange presence\\nmy feeling oppressed,\\nLike the night-hag that sits on the\\nslumberer s breast.\\nMy heart beats as thick as a fugi-\\ntive s tread,\\nAnd cold dews drop from my brow\\nand my head.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nHo! Gunnar, the flasket yon al-\\nmoner gave; 170\\nHe said that three drops would\\nrecall from the grave.\\nFor the first time Count Harold\\nowns leech-craft has power,\\nOr, his courage to aid, lacks the\\njuice of a flower\\nThe page gave the flasket, which\\nWalwayn had filled\\nWith the juice of wild roots that\\nhis heart had distilled\\nSo baneful their influence on all\\nthat had breath,\\nOne drop had been frenzy and two\\nhad been death.\\nHarold took it, but drank not for\\njubilee shrill\\nAnd music and clamor were heard\\non the hill,\\nAnd down the steep pathway o er\\nstock and o er stone 180\\nThe train of a bridal came blithe-\\nsomely on\\nThere was song, there was pipe,\\nthere was timbrel, and still\\nThe burden was, 4 Joy to the fair\\nMetelill\\nXII\\nHarold might see from his high\\nstance,\\nHimself unseen, that train ad-\\nvance", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0559.jp2"}, "556": {"fulltext": "536\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nWith mirth and melody\\nOn horse and foot a mingled\\nthrong,\\nMeasuring their steps to bridal\\nsong\\nAnd bridal minstrelsy;\\nAnd ever when the blithesome\\nrout 190\\nLent to the song their choral\\nshout,\\nRedoubling echoes rolled about,\\nWhile echoing cave and cliff sent\\nout\\nThe answering symphony\\nOf all those mimic notes which\\ndwell\\nIn hollow rock and sounding dell.\\nXIII\\nJoy shook his torch above the\\nband,\\nBy many a various passion\\nfanned;\\nAs elemental sparks can feed\\nOn essence pure and coarsest\\nweed, 200\\nGentle or stormy or refined,\\nJoy takes the colors of the mind.\\nLightsome and pure but unre-\\npressed,\\nHe fired the bridegroom s gallant\\nbreast\\nMore feebly strove with maiden\\nfear,\\nYet still joy glimmered through\\nthe tear\\nOn the bride s blushing cheek that\\nshows\\nLike dewdrop on the budding\\nrose;\\nWhile Wulfstane s gloomy smile\\ndeclared\\nThe glee that selfish avarice\\nshared, 210\\nAnd pleased revenge and malice\\nhigh\\nJoy s semblance took in Jutta s\\neye.\\nOn dangerous adventure sped,\\nThe witch deemed Harold with\\nthe dead,\\nFor thus that morn her demon\\nsaid\\n1 If, ere the set of sun, be tied\\nThe knot twixt bridegroom and\\nhis bride,\\nThe Dane shall have no power of\\nill\\nO er William and o er Metelill.\\nAnd the pleased witch made an-\\nswer, Then 220\\nMust Harold have passed from\\nthe paths of men\\nEvil repose may his spirit have,\\nMay hemlock and mandrake find\\nroot in his grave,\\nMay his death-sleep be dogged by\\ndreams of dismay,\\nAnd his waking be worse at the\\nanswering day\\nXIV\\nSuch was their various mood of\\nglee\\nBlent in one shout of ecstasy.\\nBut still when Joy is brimming\\nhighest,\\nOf sorrow and misfortune nighest,\\nOf Terror with her ague cheek, 230\\nAnd lurking Danger, sages\\nspeak\\nThese haunt each path, but chief\\nthey lay\\nTheir snares beside the primrose\\nway.\\nThus found that bridal band their\\npath\\nBeset by Harold in his wrath.\\nTrembling beneath his maddening\\nmood,\\nHigh on a rock the giant stood\\nHis shout was like the doom of\\ndeath\\nSpoke o er their heads that passed\\nbeneath.\\nHis destined victims might not\\nspy 240\\nThe reddening terrors of his eye,\\nThe frown of rage that writhed\\nhis face,\\nThe lip that foamed like boar s in\\nchase j", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0560.jp2"}, "557": {"fulltext": "CANTO FIFTH\\n537\\nBut all could see and, seeing, all\\nBore back to shun the threatened\\nfall\\nThe fragment which their giant foe\\nRent from the cliff and heaved to\\nthrow.\\nxv\\nBackward they bore\u00e2\u0080\u0094 yet are\\nthere two\\nFor battle who prepare\\nNo pause of dread Lord William\\nknew 250\\nEre his good blade was bare\\nAnd Wulf stane bent his fatal yew,\\nBut ere the silken cord he drew,\\nAs hurled from Hecla s thunder\\nflew\\nThat ruin through the air\\nFull on the outlaw s front it came,\\nAnd all that late had human name,\\nAnd human face, and human\\nframe,\\nThat lived and moved and had free\\nwill\\nTo choose the path of good or ill,\\nIs to its reckoning gone 261\\nAnd naught of Wulf stane rests be-\\nhind\\nSave that beneath that stone,\\nHalf-buried in the dinted clay,\\nA red and shapeless mass there lay\\nOf mingled flesh and bone\\nXVI\\nAs from the bosom of the sky\\nThe eagle darts amain,\\nThree bounds from yonder sum-\\nmit high\\nPlaced Harold on the plain. 270\\nAs the scared wild-fowl scream\\nand fly,\\nSo fled the bridal train\\nAs gainst the eagle s peerless\\nmight\\nThe noble falcon dares the fight,\\nBut dares the fight in vain,\\nSo fought the bridegroom; from\\nhis hand\\nThe Dane s rude mace has struck\\nhis brand,\\nIts glittering fragments strew the\\nsand,\\nIts lord lies on the plain.\\nNow, Heaven! take noble Wil-\\nliam s part, 280\\nAnd melt that yet unmelted heart,\\nOr, ere his bridal hour depart,\\nThe hapless bridegroom s slain\\nXVII\\nCount Harold s frenzied rage is\\nhigh,\\nThere is a death-fire in his eye,\\nDeep furrows on his brow are\\ntrenched,\\nHis teeth are set, his hand is\\nclenched,\\nThe foam upon his lip is white,\\nHis deadly arm is up to smite\\nBut, as the mace aloft he swung,\\nTo stop the blow young Gunnar\\nsprung, 291\\nAround his master s knees he\\nclung,\\nAnd cried, In mercy spare\\nO, think upon the words of fear\\nSpoke by that visionary Seer,\\nThe crisis he foretold is here,\\nGrant mercy, or despair\\nThis word suspended Harold s\\nmood,\\nYet still with arm upraised he\\nstood,\\nAnd visage like the headsman s\\nrude 300\\nThat pauses for the sign.\\nO mark thee with the blessed\\nrood,\\nThe page implored. Speak word\\nof good,\\nResist the fiend or be subdued\\nHe signed the cross divine\\nInstant his eye hath human\\nlight,\\nLess red, less keen, less fiercely\\nbright\\nHis brow relaxed the obdurate\\nfrown,\\nThe fatal mace sinks gently down,\\nHe turns and strides away; 310\\nYet oft, like revellers who leave", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0561.jp2"}, "558": {"fulltext": "538\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nUnfinished feast, looks back to\\ngrieve,\\nAs if repenting the reprieve\\nHe granted to his prey.\\nYet still of forbearance one sign\\nhath he given,\\nAnd fierce Witikind s son made\\none step towards heaven.\\nXVIII\\nBut though his dreaded footsteps\\npart,\\nDeath is behind and shakes his\\ndart\\nLord William on the plain is lying,\\nBeside him Metelill seems dy-\\ning!\u00e2\u0080\u0094 320\\nBring odors essences in haste\\nAnd lo a flasket richly chased,\\nBut Jutta the elixir proves\\nEre pouring it for those she\\nloves\\nThen Walwayn s potion was not\\nwasted,\\nFor when three drops the hag had\\ntasted\\nSo dismal was her yell,\\nEach bird of evil omen woke,\\nThe raven gave his fatal croak,\\nAnd shrieked the night-crow from\\nthe oak, 330\\nThe screech-owl from the thicket\\nbroke,\\nAnd fluttered down the dell\\nSo fearful was the sound and stern,\\nThe slumbers of the full-gorged\\nerne\\nWere startled, and from furze and\\nfern\\nOf forest and of fell\\nThe fox and famished wolf re-\\nplied\\nFor wolves then prowled the Che-\\nviot side\\nFrom mountain head to mountain\\nhead\\nThe unhallowed sounds around\\nwere sped 340\\nBut when their latest echo fled\\nThe sorceress on the ground lay\\ndead.\\nXIX\\nSuch was the scene of blood and\\nwoes\\nWith which the bridal morn arose\\nOf William and of Metelill;\\nBut oft, when dawning gins to\\nspread,\\nThe summer morn peeps dim and\\nred\\nAbove the eastern hill,\\nEre, bright and fair, upon his road\\nThe king of splendor walks\\nabroad; 350\\nSo, when this cloud had passed\\naway,\\nBright was the noontide of their day\\nAnd all serene its setting ray.\\nCANTO SIXTH\\nWELii do I hope that this my\\nminstrel tale\\nWill tempt no traveller from\\nsouthern fields,\\nWhether in tilbury, barouche, or\\nmail,\\nTo view the Castle of these\\nSeven Proud Shields.\\nSmall confirmation its condition\\nyields\\nTo Meneville s high lay, no\\ntowers are seen\\nOn the wild heath but those that\\nFancy builds,\\nAnd, save a fosse that tracks the\\nmoor with green,\\nIs naught remains to tell of what\\nmay there have been.\\nAnd yet grave authors, with the\\nno small waste 10\\nOf their grave time, have digni-\\nfied the spot\\nBy theories, to prove the fortress\\nplaced\\nBy Roman bands to curb the in-\\nvading Scot.\\nHutchinson, Horseley, Camden,\\nI might quote,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0562.jp2"}, "559": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n539\\nBut rather choose the theory\\nless civil\\nOf boors, who, origin of things\\nforgot,\\nRefer still to the origin of evil,\\nAnd for their master-mason choose\\nthat master-fiend the Devil.\\nii\\nTherefore, I say, it was on fiend-\\nbuilt towers\\nThat stout Count Harold bent\\nhis wondering gaze 20\\nWhen evening dew was on the\\nheather flowers,\\nAnd the last sunbeams made the\\nmountain blaze\\nAnd tinged the battlements of\\nother days\\nWith the bright level light ere\\nsinking down.\\nIllumined thus, the dauntless\\nDane surveys\\nThe Seven Proud Shields that\\no er the portal frown,\\nAnd on their blazons traced high\\nmarks of old renown.\\nA wolf North Wales had on his\\narmor-coat,\\nAnd Rhys of Powis-land a couch-\\nant stag\\nStrath-Clwyd s strange emblem\\nwas a stranded boat, 30\\nDonald of Galloway s a trotting\\nnag;\\nA corn -sheaf gilt was fertile\\nLodon s brag\\nA dudgeon-dagger was by Dun-\\nmail worn\\nNorthumbrian Adolf gave a sea-\\nbeat crag\\nSurmounted by a cross such\\nsigns were borne\\nUpon these antique shields, all\\nwasted now and worn.\\nin\\nThese scanned, Count Harold\\nsought the castle-door,\\nWhose ponderous bolts were\\nrusted to decay\\nYet till that hour adventurous\\nknight forbore\\nThe unobstructed passage to\\nessay. 40\\nMore strong than armed ward-\\ners in array,\\nAnd obstacle more sure than\\nbolt or bar,\\nSate in the portal Terror and\\nDismay,\\nWhile Superstition, who forbade\\nto war\\nWith foes of other mould than\\nmortal clay,\\nCast spells across the gate and\\nbarred the onward way.\\nVain now those spells for soon\\nwith heavy clank\\nThe feebly-fastened gate was in-\\nward pushed,\\nAnd, as it oped, through that\\nemblazoned rank\\nOf antique shields the wind of\\nevening rushed 50\\nWith sound most like a groan\\nand then was hushed.\\nIs none who on such spot such\\nsounds could hear\\nBut to his heart the blood had\\nfaster rushed\\nYet to bold Harold s breast that\\nthrob was dear\\nIt spoke of danger nigh, but had\\nno touch of fear.\\nIV\\nYet Harold and his page no\\nsigns have traced\\nWithin the castle that of danger\\nshowed\\nFor still the halls and courts\\nwere wild and waste,\\nAs through their precincts the\\nadventurers trode.\\nThe seven huge towers rose\\nstately, tall, and broad, 60\\nEach tower presenting to their\\nscrutiny\\nA hall in which a king might\\nmake abode,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0563.jp2"}, "560": {"fulltext": "540\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nAnd fast beside, garnished both\\nproud and high,\\nWas placed a bower for rest in\\nwhich a king might lie.\\nAs if a bridal there of late had\\nbeen,\\nDecked stood the table in each\\ngorgeous hall\\nAnd yet it was two hundred\\nyears, I ween,\\nSince date of that unhallowed\\nfestival.\\nFlagons and ewers and standing\\ncups were all\\nOf tarnished gold or silver no-\\nthing clear, 70\\nWith throne begilt and canopy\\nof pall,\\nAnd tapestry clothed the walls\\nwith fragments sear\\nFrail as the spider s mesh did that\\nrich woof appear.\\nIn every bower, as round a\\nhearse, was hung\\nA dusky crimson curtain o er\\nthe bed,\\nAnd on each couch in ghastly\\nwise were flung\\nThe wasted relics of a monarch\\ndead;\\nBarbaric ornaments around were\\nspread,\\nVests twined with gold and\\nchains of precious stone,\\nAnd golden circlets, meet for\\nmonarch s head 80\\nWhile grinned, as if in scorn\\namongst them thrown,\\nThe wearer s fleshless skull, alike\\nwith dust bestrewn.\\nFor these were they who,\\ndrunken with delight,\\nOn pleasure s opiate pillow laid\\ntheir head,\\nFor whom the bride s shy foot-\\nstep, slow and light,\\nWas changed ere morning to the\\nmurderer s tread.\\nFor human bliss and woe in the\\nfrail thread\\nOf human life are all so closely\\ntwined\\nThat till the shears of Fate the\\ntexture shred\\nThe close succession cannot be\\ndisjoined, 9 o\\nNor dare we from one hour judge\\nthat which comes behind.\\nVI\\nBut where the work of ven-\\ngeance had been done,\\nIn that seventh chamber, was a\\nsterner sight,\\nThere of the witch-brides lay\\neach skeleton,\\nStill in the posture as to death\\nwhen dight.\\nFor this lay prone, by one blow\\nslain outright\\nAnd that, as one who struggled\\nlong in dying\\nOne bony hand held knife, as if\\nto smite\\nOne bent on fleshless knees, as\\nmercy crying\\nOne lay across the door, as killed\\nin act of flying. 100\\nThe stern Dane smiled this char-\\nnel-house to see,\\nFor his chafed thought returned\\ntoMetelill:\\nAnd Well, he said, hath wo-\\nman s perfidy,\\nEmpty as air, as water volatile,\\nBeen here avenged. The origin\\nof ill\\nThrough woman rose, the Chris-\\ntian doctrine saith;\\nNor deem I, Gunnar, that thy\\nminstrel skill\\nCan show example where a wo-\\nman s breath\\nHath made a true-love vow, and\\ntempted kept her faith.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0564.jp2"}, "561": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n54i\\nVII\\nWhat maid e er showed such\\nThe minstrel-boy half smiled,\\nconstancy\\nhalf sighed, no\\nIn plighted faith, like thine to\\nAnd his half-filling eyes he dried,\\nme?\\nAnd said, The theme I should\\nBut couch thee, boy the dark-\\nbut wrong,\\nsome shade\\nUnless it were my dying song\\nFalls thickly round, nor be dis-\\nOur Scalds have said, in dying\\nmayed 140\\nhour\\nBecause the dead are by.\\nThe Northern harp has treble\\nThey were as we; our little\\npower\\nday\\nElse could I tell of woman s\\nO erspent, and we shall be as\\nfaith,\\nthey.\\nDefying danger, scorn, and death.\\nYet near me, Gunnar, be thou\\nFirm was that faith as dia-\\nlaid,\\nmond stone\\nThy couch upon my mantle\\nPure and unflawed her love\\nmade,\\nunknown 119\\nThat thou mayst think, should\\nAnd unrequited firm and pure,\\nfear invade,\\nHer stainless faith could all en-\\nThy master slumbers nigh.\\ndure;\\nThus couched they in that dread\\nFrom clime to clime, from place\\nabode,\\nto place,\\nUntil the beams of dawning\\nThrough want and danger and\\nglowed.\\ndisgrace.\\nA wanderer s wayward steps\\nIX\\ncould trace.\\nAn altered man Lord Harold\\nAll this she did, and guerdon\\nrose, 150\\nnone\\nWhen he beheld that dawn un-\\nRequired save that her burial-\\nclose\\nstone\\nThere s trouble in his eyes,\\nShould make at length the secret\\nAnd traces on his brow and\\nknown,\\ncheek\\nThus hath a faithful woman\\nOf mingled awe and wonder\\ndone.\\nspeak\\nNot in each breast such truth is\\n1 My page/ he said, 4 arise\\nlaid, 129\\nLeave we this place, my page.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2But Eivir was a Danish maid.\\nNo more\\nHe uttered till the castle door\\nThey crossed but there he\\nVIII\\npaused and said,\\n1 Thou art a wild enthusiast,\\nMy wildness hath awaked the\\nsaid\\ndead\\nCount Harold, for thy Danish\\nDisturbed the sacred tomb 160\\nmaid;\\nMethought this night I stood on\\nAnd yet, young Gunnar, I will\\nhigh\\nown\\nWhere Hecla roars in middle\\nHers were a faith to rest upon.\\nsky,\\nBut Eivir sleeps beneath her\\nAnd in her caverned gulfs could\\nstone\\nspy\\nAnd all resembling her are gone.\\nThe central place of doom", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0565.jp2"}, "562": {"fulltext": "542\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nAnd there before my mortal\\neye\\nSouls of the dead came flitting\\nby,\\nWhom fiends with many a fiend-\\nish cry\\nBore to that evil den\\nMy eyes grew dizzy and my\\nbrain\\nWas wildered, as the elvish\\ntrain 170\\nWith shriek and howl dragged\\non amain\\nThose who had late been men.\\nWith haggard eyes and stream-\\ning hair,\\nJutta the Sorceress was there,\\nAnd there passed Wulfstane\\nlately slain,\\nAll crushed and foul with bloody\\nstain.\\nMore had I seen, but that uprose\\nA whirlwind wild and swept the\\nsnows\\nAnd with such sound as when\\nat need\\nA champion spurs his horse to\\nspeed, 180\\nThree armed knights rush on\\nwho lead\\nCaparisoned a sable steed.\\nSable their harness, and there\\ncame\\nThrough their closed visors\\nsparks of flame.\\nThe first proclaimed, in sounds\\nof fear,\\nHarold the Dauntless, welcome\\nhere\\nThe next cried, Jubilee we ve\\nwon\\nCount Witikind the Waster s\\nson\\nAnd the third rider sternly\\nspoke,\\nMount, in the name of Zerne-\\nbock 190\\nFrom us, O Harold, were thy\\npowers,\\nThy strength, thy dauntlessness,\\nare ours\\nNor think, a vassal thou of hell,\\nWith hell can strive. The fiend\\nspoke true\\nMy inmost soul the summons\\nknew,\\nAs captives know the knell\\nThat says the headsman s sword\\nis bare\\nAnd with an accent of despair\\nCommands them quit their\\ncell.\\nI felt resistance was in vain, 200\\nMy foot had that fell stirrup\\nta en,\\nMy hand was on the fatal mane,\\nWhen to my rescue sped\\nThat palmer s visionary form,\\nAnd like the passing of a\\nstorm\\nThe demons yelled and fled\\nXI\\n1 His sable cowl flung back re-\\nvealed\\nThe features it before concealed\\nAnd, Gunnar, I could find\\nIn him whose counsels strove to\\nstay 210\\nSo oft my course on wilful way\\nMy father Witikind\\nDoomed for his sins and doomed\\nfor mine\\nA wanderer upon earth to pine\\nUntil his son shall turn to grace\\nAnd smooth for him a resting-\\nplace.\\nGunnar, he must not haunt in\\nvain\\nThis world of wretchedness and\\npain:\\nI 11 tame my wilful heart to live\\nIn peace to pity and forgive\\nAnd thou, for so the Vision\\nsaid 221\\nMust in thy lord s repentance\\naid.\\nThy mother was a prophetess,\\nHe said, who by her skill could\\nguess", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0566.jp2"}, "563": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n543\\nHow close the fatal textures\\njoin\\nWhich knit thy thread of life\\nwith mine\\nThen dark he hinted of disguise\\nShe framed to cheat too curious\\neyes\\nThat not a moment might divide\\nThy fated footsteps from my\\nside. 230\\nMethought while thus my sire\\ndid teach\\nI caught the meaning of his\\nspeech,\\nYet seems its purport doubtful\\nnow.\\nHis hand then sought his\\nthoughtful brow\\nThen first he marked, that in the\\ntower\\nHis glove was left at waking\\nhour.\\nXII\\nTrembling at first and deadly\\npale,\\nHad Gunnar heard the visioned\\ntale;\\nBut when he learned the dubious\\nclose\\nHe blushed like any opening\\nrose, 240\\nAnd, glad to hide his tell-tale\\ncheek,\\nHied back that glove of mail to\\nseek;\\nWhen soon a shriek of deadly\\ndread\\nSummoned his master to his aid.\\nXIII\\nWhat sees Count Harold in that\\nbower\\nSo late his resting-place\\nThe semblance of the Evil\\nPower,\\nAdored by all his race\\nOdin in living form stood there,\\nHis cloak the spoils of Polar\\nbear 250\\nFor plumy crest a meteor shed\\nIts gloomy radiance o er his\\nhead,\\nYet veiled its haggard majesty\\nTo the wild lightnings of his eye.\\nSuch height was his as when in\\nstone\\nO er Upsal s giant altar shown\\nSo flowed his hoary beard\\nSuch was his lance of mountain-\\npine,\\nSo did his sevenfold buckler\\nshine\\nBut when his voice he reared,\\nDeep without harshness, slow\\nand strong, 261\\nThe powerful accents rolled\\nalong,\\nAnd while he spoke his hand\\nwas laid\\nOn captive Gunnar s shrinking\\nhead.\\nxrv\\n1 Harold, he said, what rage is\\nthine\\nTo quit the worship of thy line,\\nTo leave thy Warrior-God\\nWith me is glory or disgrace,\\nMine is the onset and the chase,\\nEmbattled hosts before my face\\nAre withered by a nod. 271\\nWilt thou then forfeit that high\\nseat\\nDeserved by many a dauntless\\nfeat\\nAmong the heroes of thy line,\\nEric and fiery Thorarine?\\nThou wilt not. Only I can give\\nThe joys for which the valiant\\nlive,\\nVictory and vengeance only I\\nCan give the joys for which they\\ndie,\\nThe immortal tilt the banquet\\nfull, 280\\nThe brimming draught from foe-\\nman s skull.\\nMine art thou, witness this thy\\nglove,\\nThe faithful pledge of vassal s\\nlove.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0567.jp2"}, "564": {"fulltext": "544\\nHAROLD THE DAUNTLESS\\nxv\\n1 Tempter, said Harold, firm of\\nheart,\\nI charge thee, hence whatever\\nthou art,\\nI do defy thee and resist\\nThe kindling frenzy of my\\nbreast,\\nWaked by thy words; and of\\nmy mail\\nNor glove nor buckler, splent nor\\nnail,\\nShall rest with thee\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that youth\\nrelease, 290\\nAnd, God or Demon, part in\\npeace.\\n4 Eivir, the Shape replied, is\\nmine,\\nMarked in the birth-hour with\\nmy sign.\\nThink st thou that priest with\\ndrops of spray\\nCould wash that blood-red mark\\naway?\\nOr that a borrowed sex and\\nname\\nCan abrogate a Godhead s\\nclaim\\nThrilled this strange speech\\nthrough Harold s brain,\\nHe clenched his teeth in high\\ndisdain,\\nFor not his new-born faith sub-\\ndued 300\\nSome tokens of his ancient\\nmood.\\nNow, by the hope so lately given\\nOf better trust and purer hea-\\nven,\\nI will assail thee, fiend Then\\nrose\\nHis mace, and with a storm of\\nblows\\nThe mortal and the demon close.\\nXVI\\nSmoke rolled above, fire flashed\\naround,\\nDarkened the sky and shook the\\nground\\nBut not the artillery of hell,\\nThe bickering lightning, nor the\\nrock 3 x\\nOf turrets to the earthquake s\\nshock,\\nCould Harold s courage quell.\\nSternly the Dane his purpose\\nkept,\\nAnd blows on blows resistless\\nheaped,\\nTill quailed that demon form,\\nAnd for his power to hurt or\\nkill\\nWas bounded by a higher will\\nEvanished in a storm.\\nNor paused the Champion of the\\nNorth,\\nBut raised and bore his Eivir\\nforth 320\\nFrom that wild scene of fiendish\\nstrife\\nTo light, to liberty, and life\\nXVII\\nHe placed her on a bank of\\nmoss,\\nA silver runnel bubbled by,\\nAnd new-born thoughts his soul\\nengross,\\nAnd tremors yet unknown across\\nHis stubborn sinews fly,\\nThe while with timid hand the\\ndew\\nUpon her brow and neck he\\nthrew,\\nAnd marked how life with rosy\\nhue 330\\nOn her pale cheek revived anew\\nAnd glimmered in her eye.\\nInly he said, That silken\\ntress\\nWhat blindness mine that could\\nnot guess\\nOr how could page s rugged\\ndress\\nThat bosom s pride belie?\\nO, dull of heart, through wild\\nand wave\\nIn search of blood and death to\\nrave,\\nWith such a partner nigh", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0568.jp2"}, "565": {"fulltext": "CANTO SIXTH\\n545\\nXVIII\\nThen in the mirrored pool he\\npeered, 340\\nBlamed his rough locks and\\nshaggy beard,\\nThe stains of recent conflict\\ncleared,\\nAnd thus the Champion proved\\nThat he fears now who never\\nfeared,\\nAnd loves who never loved.\\nAnd Eivir life is 011 her cheek\\nAnd yet she will not move or\\nspeak,\\nNor will her eyelid fully ope\\nPerchance it loves, that half-\\nshut eye,\\nThrough its long fringe, reserved\\nand shy, 350\\nAffection s opening dawn to\\nspy;\\nAnd the deep blush, which bids\\nits dye\\nO er cheek and brow and bosom\\nfly,\\nSpeaks shamefacedness and\\nhope.\\nXIX\\nBut vainly seems the Dane to\\nseek\\nFor terms his new-born love to\\nspeak,\\nFor words, save those of wrath\\nand wrong,\\nTill now were strangers to his\\ntongue\\nSo, when he raised the blushing\\nmaid,\\nIn blunt and honest terms he\\nsaid\u00e2\u0080\u0094 360\\nT were well that maids, when\\nlovers woo,\\nHeard none more soft, were all\\nas true\\nEivir! since thou for many a\\nday\\nHast followed Harold s way-\\nward way,\\nIt is but meet that in the line\\nOf after-life I follow thine.\\nTo-morrow is Saint Cuthbert s\\ntide,\\nAnd we will grace his altar s\\nside,\\nA Christian knight and Christian\\nbride\\nAnd of Witikind s son shall the\\nmarvel be said 370\\nThat on the same morn he was\\nchristened and wed.\\nCONCLUSION\\nAnd now, Ennui, what ails thee,\\nweary maid\\nAnd why these listless looks of\\nyawning sorrow\\nNo need to turn the page as if t\\nwere lead,\\nOr fling aside the volume till to-\\nmorrow.\\nBe cheered t is ended and I\\nwill not borrow,\\nTo try thy patience more, one\\nanecdote\\nFrom Bartholine or Perinskiold or\\nSnorro.\\nThen pardon thou thy minstrel,\\nwho hath wrote\\nA tale six cantos long, yet scorned\\nto add a note.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0569.jp2"}, "566": {"fulltext": "546\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nTHE DYING BAKD\\nAir\u00e2\u0080\u0094 1 Daffy dz Gangwen. 1\\nDinas Emlinn, lament; for the\\nmoment is nigh,\\nWhen mute in the woodlands thine\\nechoes shall die\\nNo more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon\\nshall rave,\\nAnd mix his wild notes with the\\nwild dashing wave.\\nIn spring and in autumn thy\\nglories of shade\\nUnhonored shall flourish, unhon-\\nored shall fade\\nFor soon shall be lifeless the eye\\nand the tongue\\nThat viewed them with rapture,\\nwith rapture that sung.\\nThy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may\\nmarch in their pride,\\nAnd chase the proud Saxon from\\nPrestatyn s side\\nBut where is the harp shall give\\nlife to their name\\nAnd where is the bard shall give\\nheroes their fame\\nAnd 0, Dinas Emlinn thy daugh-\\nters so fair,\\nWho heave the white bosom and\\nwave the dark hair\\nWhat tuneful enthusiast shall\\nworship their eye,\\nWhen half of their charms with\\nCadwallon shall die\\nThen adieu, silver Teivi! I quit\\nthy loved scene\\nTo join the dim choir of the bards\\nwho have been\\nWith Lewarch, and Meilor, and\\nMerlin the Old,\\nAnd sage Taliessin, high harping\\nto hold.\\nAnd adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still\\ngreen be thy shades,\\nUnconquered thy warriors and\\nmatchless thy maids\\nAnd thou whose faint warblings\\nmy weakness can tell,\\nFarewell, my loved harp my last\\ntreasure, farewell\\nTHE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE\\nAir The War- Song of the Men of\\nGlamorgan. 1\\nRed glows the forge in Striguil s\\nbounds,\\nAnd hammers din, and anvil\\nsounds,\\nAnd armorers with iron toil\\nBarb many a steed for battle s\\nbroil.\\nFoul fall the hand which bends\\nthe steel\\nAround the courser s thundering\\nheel,\\nThat e er shall dint a sable wound\\nOn fair Glamorgan s velvet\\nground\\nFrom Chepstow s towers ere dawn\\nof morn\\nWas heard afar the bugle-horn,\\nAnd forth in banded pomp and\\npride\\nStout Clare and fiery Neville ride.\\nThey swore their banners broad\\nshould gleam\\nIn crimson light on Rymny s\\nstream\\nThey vowed Caerphili s sod should\\nfeel\\nThe Norman charger s spurning\\nheel.\\nAnd sooth they swore the sun\\narose,\\nAnd Rymny s wave with crimson\\nglows", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0570.jp2"}, "567": {"fulltext": "THE PALMER\\n547\\nFor Clare s red banner, floating\\nTill the shout and the groan and\\nwide,\\nthe conflict s dread rattle,\\nRolled down the stream to Severn s\\nAnd the chase s wild clamor,\\ntide!\\ncame loading the gale.\\nAnd sooth they vowed\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the tram-\\nBreathless she gazed on the wood-\\npled green\\nlands so dreary\\nShowed where hot Neville s charge\\nSlowly approaching a warrior\\nhad been\\nwas seen\\nIn every sable hoof-tramp stood\\nLife s ebbing tide marked his foot-\\nA Norman horseman s curdling\\nsteps so weary,\\nblood\\nCleft was his helmet and woe\\nwas his mien.\\nOld Chepstow s brides may curse\\nthe toil\\n0, save thee, fair maid, for our\\nThat armed stout Clare for Cam-\\narmies are flying\\nbrian broil\\n0, save thee, fair maid, for thy\\nTheir orphans long the art may\\nguardian is low\\nrue,\\nDeadly cold on yon heath thy\\nFor Neville s warhorse forged the\\nbrave Henry is lying,\\nshoe.\\nAnd fast through the woodland\\nNo more the stamp of armed steed\\napproaches the foe.\\nShall dint Glamorgan s velvet\\nScarce could he falter the tidings\\nmead\\nof sorrow,\\nNor trace be there in early spring\\nAnd scarce could she hear them,\\nSave of the Fairies emerald ring.\\nbenumbed with despair\\nAnd when the sun sunk on the\\nsweet lake of Toro,\\nForever he set to the Brave and\\nTHE MAID OF TORO\\nthe Fair.\\n0, low shone the sun on the fair\\nlake of Toro,\\nAnd weak were the whispers\\nTHE PALMER\\nthat waved the dark wood,\\nAll as a fair maiden, bewildered\\n0, open the door, some pity to\\nin sorrow,\\nshow,\\nSorely sighed to the breezes and\\nKeen blows the northern wind\\nwept to the flood.\\nThe glen is white with the drifted\\n0 saints, from the mansions of\\nsnow,\\nbliss lowly bending\\nAnd the path is hard to find.\\nSweet Virgin, who hear est the\\nsuppliant s cry\\n1 No outlaw seeks your castle gate,\\nNow grant my petition in anguish\\nFrom chasing the king s deer,\\nascending,\\nThough even an outlaw s wretched\\nMy Henry restore or let Eleanor\\nstate\\ndie!\\nMight claim compassion here.\\nAll distant aDd faint were the\\n1 A weary Palmer, worn and weak,\\nsounds of the battle,\\nI wander for my sin\\nWith the breezes they rise, with\\n0, open, for Our Lady s sake I\\nthe breezes they fail,\\nA pilgrim s blessing win!", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0571.jp2"}, "568": {"fulltext": "54 8\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nI 11 give you pardons from the\\nPope,\\nAnd reliques from o er the sea,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nOr if for these you will not ope,\\nYet open for charity.\\n4 The hare is crouching in her form,\\nThe hart beside the hind\\nAn aged man amid the storm,\\nNo shelter can I find.\\nYou hear the Ettrick s sullen roar,\\nDark, deep, and strong is he,\\nAnd I must ford the Ettrick o er,\\nUnless you pity me.\\nThe iron gate is holted hard,\\nAt which I knock in vain\\nThe owner s heart is closer barred,\\nWho hears me thus complain.\\n4 Farewell, farewell and Mary\\ngrant,\\nWhen old and frail you be,\\nYou never may the shelter want\\nThat s now denied to me.\\nThe ranger on his couch lay warm,\\nAnd heard him plead in vain\\nBut oft amid December s storm\\nHe 11 hear that voice again\\nFor lo when through the vapors\\ndank\\nMorn shone on Ettrick fair,\\nA corpse amid the alders rank,\\nThe Palmer weltered there.\\nTHE MAID OF NEIDPATH\\nO, lovers eyes are sharp to\\nsee,\\nAnd lovers ears in hearing\\nAnd love in life s extremity\\nCan lend an hour of cheering.\\nDisease had been in Mary s bower,\\nAnd slow decay from mourning,\\nThough now she sits on Neidpath s\\ntower\\nTo watch her love s returning.\\nAll sunk and dim her eyes so\\nbright,\\nHer form decayed by pining,\\nTill through her wasted hand at\\nnight\\nYou saw the taper shining\\nBy fits, a sultry hectic hue\\nAcross her cheek was flying\\nBy fits, so ashy pale she grew,\\nHer maidens thought her dying.\\nYet keenest powers to see and hear\\nSeemed in her frame residing\\nBefore the watch-dog pricked his\\near,\\nShe heard her lover s riding\\nEre scarce a distant form was\\nkenned,\\nShe knew, and waved to greet\\nhim;\\nAnd o er the battlement did bend,\\nAs on the wing to meet him.\\nHe came he passed an heed-\\nless gaze,\\nAs o er some stranger glancing\\nHer welcome, spoke in faltering\\nphrase,\\nLost in his courser s prancing\\nThe castle arch, whose hollow tone\\nReturns each whisper spoken,\\nCould scarcely catch the feeble\\nmoan\\nWhich told her heart was broken.\\nWANDERING WILLIE\\nAll joy was bereft me the day\\nthat you left me,\\nAnd climbed the tall vessel to\\nsail yon wide sea\\nweary betide it I wandered be-\\nside it,\\nAnd banned it for parting my\\nWillie and me.\\nFar o er the wave hast thou fol-\\nlowed thy fortune,\\nOft fought the squadrons of\\nFrance and of Spain", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0572.jp2"}, "569": {"fulltext": "HEALTH TO LORD MELVILLE\\n549\\nAe kiss of welcome s worth twenty\\nat parting,\\nNow I hae gotten my Willie\\nagain.\\nWhen the sky it was mirk, and the\\nwinds they were wailing,\\nI sat on the beach wi the tear\\nin my ee,\\nAnd thought o the hark where my\\nWillie was sailing,\\nAnd wished that the tempest\\ncould a blaw on me.\\nNow that thy gallant ship rides at\\nher mooring,\\nNow that my wanderer s in\\nsafety at hame,\\nMusic to me were the wildest\\nwinds roaring,\\nThat e er o er Inch-Keith drove\\nthe dark ocean faem.\\nWTien the lights they did blaze,\\nand the guns they did rattle,\\nAnd blithe was each heart for\\nthe great victory,\\nIn secret I wept for the dangers\\nof battle,\\nAnd thy glory itself was scarce\\ncomfort to me.\\nBut now shalt thou tell, while I\\neagerly listen,\\nOf each bold adventure and\\nevery brave scar\\nAnd trust me, I ll smile, though\\nmy een they may glisten,\\nFor sweet after danger s the\\ntale of the war.\\nAnd 0, how we doubt when there s\\ndistance tween lovers,\\nWhen there s naething to speak\\nto the heart thro the ee\\nHow often the kindest and warm-\\nest prove rovers,\\nAnd the love of the faithfullest\\nebbs like the sea\\nTill, at times could I help it?\\nI pined and I pondered\\nIf love could change notes like\\nthe bird on the tree\\nNow I ll ne er ask if thine eyes\\nmay hae wandered\\nEnough, thy leal heart has been\\nconstant to me.\\nWelcome, from sweeping o er sea\\nand through channel,\\nHardships and danger despising\\nfor fame,\\nFurnishing story for glory s bright\\nannal,\\nWelcome, my wanderer, to\\nJeanie and hame\\nEnough now thy story in annals\\nof glory\\nHas humbled the pride of France,\\nHolland, and Spain\\nNo more shalt thou grieve me, no\\nmore shalt thou leave me,\\nI never will part with my Willie\\nagain.\\nHEALTH TO LORD MELVILLE\\nAre Carrickfergus.\\nSince here we are set in array\\nround the table,\\nFive hundred good fellows well\\nmet in a hall,\\nCome listen, brave boys, and I ll\\nsing as I m able,\\nHow innocence triumphed and\\npride got a fall.\\nBut push round the claret\\nCome, stewards, don t spare\\nit\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWith rapture you 11 drink to the\\ntoast that I give\\nHere, boys,\\nOff with it merrily\\nMelville for ever, and long may he\\nlive!\\nWhat were the Whigs doing, when\\nboldly pursuing\\nPitt banished Rebellion, gave\\nTreason a string;", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0573.jp2"}, "570": {"fulltext": "550\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nWhy, they swore on their honor,\\nfor Arthur O Connor,\\nAnd fought hard for Despard\\nagainst country and king.\\nWell, then, we knew, boys,\\nPitt and Melville were true\\nboys,\\nAnd the tempest was raised by the\\nfriends of Reform.\\nAh! woe!\\nWeep to his memory\\nLow lies the pilot that weathered\\nthe storm\\nAnd pray, don t you mind when\\nthe Blues first were raising,\\nAnd we scarcely could think the\\nhouse safe o er our heads\\nWhen villains and coxcombs,\\nFrench politics praising,\\nDrove peace from our tables and\\nsleep from our beds?\\nOur hearts they grew bolder\\nWhen, musket on shoulder,\\nStepped forth our old Statesmen\\nexample to give.\\nCome, boys, never fear,\\nDrink the Blue grenadier\\nHere s to old Harry, and long may\\nhe live!\\nThey would turn us adrift, though\\nrely, sir, upon it,\\nOur own faithful chronicles war-\\nrant us that\\nThe free mountaineer and his\\nbonny blue bonnet\\nHave oft gone as far as the regu-\\nlar s hat.\\nWe laugh at their taunting,\\nFor all we are wanting\\nIs license our life for our country\\nto give.\\nOff with it merrily,\\nHorse, foot, and artillery,\\nEach loyal Volunteer, long may he\\nlive\\nT is not us alone, boys the Army\\nand Navy\\nHave each got a slap mid their\\npolitic pranks\\nCornwallis cashiered, that watched\\nwinters to save ye,\\nAnd the Cape called a bauble\\nunworthy of thanks.\\nBut vain is their taunt,\\nNo soldier shall want\\nThe thanks that his country to\\nvalor can give\\nCome, boys,\\nDrink it off merrily,\\nSir David and Popham, and long\\nmay they live\\nAnd then our revenue Lord\\nknows how they viewed it,\\nWhile each petty statesman\\ntalked lofty and big\\nBut the beer-tax was weak, as if\\nWhitbread had brewed it,\\nAnd the pig-iron duty a shame\\nto a pig.\\nIn vain is their vaunting,\\nToo surely there s wanting\\nWhat judgment, experience, and\\nsteadiness give\\nCome, boys,\\nDrink about merrily,\\nHealth to sage Melville, and long\\nmay he live\\nOur King, too our Princess I\\ndare not say more, sir,\\nMay Providence watch them\\nwith mercy and might\\nWhile there s one Scottish hand\\nthat can wag a claymore, sir,\\nThey shall ne er want a friend to\\nstand up for their right.\\nBe damned he that dare not,\\nFor my part, I 11 spare not\\nTo beauty afflicted a tribute to\\ngive.\\nFill it up steadily,\\nDrink it off readily\\nHere s to the Princess, and long\\nmay she live\\nAnd since we must not set Auld\\nReekie in glory,\\nAnd make her brown visage as\\nlight as her heart", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0574.jp2"}, "571": {"fulltext": "SONG\\n551\\nTill each man illumine his own\\nupper story,\\nNor law-book nor lawyer shall\\nforce us to part.\\nIn Grenville and Spencer,\\nAnd some few good men, sir,\\nHigh talents we honor, slight dif-\\nference forgive\\nBut the Brewer we 11 hoax,\\nTallyho to the Fox,\\nAnd drink Melville forever, as long\\nas we live\\nHUNTING SONG\\nWaken, lords and ladies gay,\\nOn the mountain dawns the day,\\nAll the jolly chase is here,\\nWith hawk and horse and hunting.\\nspear\\nHounds are in their couples yell-\\ning,\\nHawks are whistling, horns are\\nknelling,\\nMerrily, merrily, mingle they,\\n4 Waken, lords and ladies gay.\\nWaken, lords and ladies gay,\\nThe mist has left the mountain\\ngray,\\nSpringlets in the dawn are steam-\\ning,\\nDiamonds on the brake are gleam-\\ning:\\nAnd foresters have busy been\\nTo track the buck in thicket\\ngreen;\\nNow we come to chant our lay,\\n4 Waken, lords and ladies gay.\\nWaken, lords and ladies gay,\\nTo the green-wood haste away\\nWe can show you where he\\nlies,\\nFleet of foot and tall of size\\nWe can show the marks he\\nmade,\\nWhen gainst the oak his antlers\\nfrayed\\nYou shall see him brought to bay,\\n1 Waken, lords and ladies gay.\\nLouder, louder chant the lay,\\nWaken, lords and ladies gay\\nTell them youth and mirth aud glee\\nRun a course as well as we\\nTime, stern huntsman, who can\\nbalk,\\nStanch as hound and fleet as\\nhawk?\\nThink of this and rise with day,\\nGentle lords and ladies gay.\\nSONG\\nsay not, my love, with that\\nmortified air,\\nThat your spring-time of plea-\\nsure is flown,\\nNor bid me to maids that are\\nyounger repair\\nFor those raptures that still are\\nthine own.\\nThough April his temples may\\nwreathe with the vine,\\nIts tendrils in infancy curled,\\nT is the ardor of August matures\\nus the wine\\nWhose life-blood enlivens the\\nworld.\\nThough thy form that was fash-\\nioned as light as a fay s\\nHas assumed a proportion more\\nround,\\nAnd thy glance that was bright as\\na falcon s at gaze\\nLooks soberly now on the\\nground,\\nEnough, after absence to meet me\\nagain\\nThy steps still with ecstasy\\nmove;\\nEnough, that those dear sober\\nglances retain\\nFor me the kind language of\\nlove,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0575.jp2"}, "572": {"fulltext": "55*\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nTHE RESOLVE\\nNo silken net so slightly wrought\\nShall tangle me again\\nIN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENG-\\nNo more I 11 pay so dear for wit,\\nLISH POEM\\nI 11 live upon mine own,\\nNor shall wild passion trouble it,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nMy wayward fate I needs must\\nI 11 rather dwell alone.\\nplain,\\nThough bootless be the theme\\nAnd thus I 11 hush my heart to\\nI loved and was beloved again,\\nrest,\\nYet all was but a dream\\nThy loving labor s lost\\nFor, as her love was quickly got,\\nThou shalt no more be wildly blest,\\nSo it was quickly gone\\nTo be so strangely crost\\nNo more I 11 bask in flame so hot,\\nThe widowed turtles mateless die,\\nBut coldly dwell alone.\\nThe phoenix is but one\\nThey seek no loves no more will\\nNot maid more bright than maid\\nI\\nwas e er\\nI 11 rather dwell alone.\\nMy fancy shall beguile,\\nBy flattering word or feigned tear,\\nBy gesture, look, or smile\\nEPITAPH\\nNo more I ll call the shaft fair\\nshot,\\nDESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT IN\\nTill it has fairly flown,\\nLICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AT\\nNor scorch me at a flame so hot\\nTHE BURIAL-PLACE OF THE\\nI 11 rather freeze alone.\\nFAMILY OF MISS SEWARD\\nEach ambushed Cupid I 11 defy\\nAmid these aisles where once his\\nIn cheek or chin or brow,\\nprecepts showed\\nAnd deem the glance of woman s\\nThe heavenward pathway which\\neye\\nin life he trode,\\nAs weak as woman s vow\\nThis simple tablet marks a Fa-\\nI 11 lightly hold the lady s heart,\\nther s bier,\\nThat is but lightly won\\nAnd those he loved in life in death\\nI 11 steel my breast to beauty s art,\\nare near\\nAnd learn to live alone.\\nFor him, for them, a Daughter\\nbade it rise,\\nThe flaunting torch soon blazes\\nMemorial of domestic charities.\\nout,\\nStill wouldst thou know why o er\\nThe diamond s ray abides\\nthe marble spread\\nThe flame its glory hurls about,\\nIn female grace the willow droops\\nThe gem its lustre hides\\nher head\\nSuch gem I fondly deemed was\\nWhy on her branches, silent and\\nmine,\\nunstrung,\\nAnd glowed a diamond stone,\\nThe minstrel harp is emblematic\\nBut, since each eye may see it\\nhung;\\nshine,\\nWhat poet s voice is smothered\\nI 11 darkling dwell alone.\\nhere in dust\\nTill waked to join the chorus of\\nNo waking dreams shall tinge my\\nthe just,\\nthought\\nLo one brief line an answer sad\\nWith dyes so bright and vain,\\nsupplies,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0576.jp2"}, "573": {"fulltext": "THE POACHER\\n553\\nHonored, beloved, and mourned,\\nhere Seward lies\\nHer worth, her warmth of heart,\\nlet friendship say,\\nGo seek her genius in her living lay.\\nPROLOGUE\\nTO MISS BAILLIE S PLAY OF THE\\nFAMILY LEGEND\\nT is sweet to hear expiring Sum-\\nmer s sigh,\\nThrough forests tinged with rus-\\nset, wail and die\\nT is sweet and sad the latest notes\\nto hear\\nOf distant music, dying on the ear\\nBut far more sadly sweet on for-\\neign strand\\nWe list the legends of our native\\nland,\\nLinked as they come with every\\ntender tie,\\nMemorials dear of youth and in-\\nfancy.\\nChief thy wild tales, romantic\\nCaledon,\\nWake keen remembrance in each\\nhardy son.\\nWhether on India s burning coasts\\nhe toil\\nOr till Acadia s winter-fettered\\nsoil,\\nHe hears with throbbing heart and\\nmoistened eyes,\\nAnd, as he hears, what dear illu-\\nsions rise\\nIt opens on his soul his native\\ndell,\\nThe woods wild waving and the\\nwater s swell\\nTradition s theme, the tower that\\nthreats the plain,\\nThe mossy cairn that hides the\\nhero slain\\nThe cot beneath whose simple\\nporch were told\\nBy gray-haired patriarch the tales\\nof old,\\nThe infant group that hushed their\\nsports the while,\\nAnd the dear maid who listened\\nwith a smile.\\nThe wanderer, while the vision\\nwarms his brain,\\nIs denizen of Scotland once again.\\nAre such keen feelings to the\\ncrowd confined,\\nAnd sleep they in the poet s gifted\\nmind?\\nO no! For she, within whose\\nmighty page\\nEach tyrant Passion shows his\\nwoe and rage,\\nHas felt the wizard influence they\\ninspire,\\nAnd to your own traditions tuned\\nher lyre.\\nYourselves shall judge whoe er\\nhas raised the sail\\nBy Mull s dark coast has heard\\nthis evening s tale.\\nThe plaided boatman, resting on\\nhis oar,\\nPoints to the fatal rock amid the\\nroar\\nOf whitening waves, and tells\\nwhate er to-night\\nOur humble stage shall offer to\\nyour sight\\nProudly preferred that first our\\nefforts give\\nScenes glowing from her pen to\\nbreathe and live\\nMore proudly yet, should Caledon\\napprove\\nThe filial token of a daughter s\\nlove.\\nTHE POACHER\\nWRITTEN IN IMITATION OF\\nCRABBE\\nWelcome, grave stranger, to our\\ngreen retreats\\nWhere health with exercise and\\nfreedom meets", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0577.jp2"}, "574": {"fulltext": "554\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThrice welcome, sage, whose\\nphilosophic plan\\nBy nature s limits metes the rights\\nof man\\nGenerous as he who now for free-\\ndom bawls,\\nNow gives full value for true In-\\ndian shawls\\nO er court, o er custom-house, his\\nshoe who flings,\\nNow bilks excisemen and now\\nbullies kings.\\nLike his, I ween, thy comprehen-\\nsive mind\\nHolds laws as mouse-traps baited\\nfor mankind 10\\nThine eye applausive each sly ver-\\nmin sees,\\nThat balks the snare yet battens\\non the cheese\\nThine ear has heard with scorn in-\\nstead of awe\\nOur buckskinned justices expound\\nthe law,\\nWire-draw the acts that fix for\\nwires the pain,\\nAnd for the netted partridge noose\\nthe swain\\nAnd thy vindictive arm would fain\\nhave broke\\nThe last light fetter of the feudal\\nyoke,\\nTo give the denizens of wood and\\nwild,\\nNature s free race, to each her\\nfree-born child. 20\\nHence hast thou marked with\\ngrief fair London s race,\\nMocked with the boon of one poor\\nEaster chase,\\nAnd longed to send them forth as\\nfree as when\\nPoured o er Chantilly the Parisian\\ntrain,\\nWhen musket, pistol, blunderbuss,\\ncombined,\\nAnd scarce the field-pieces were\\nleft behind\\nA squadron s charge each leveret s\\nheart dismayed,\\nOn every covey fired a bold bri-\\ngade;\\nLa Douce Humanite approved the\\nsport,\\nFor great the alarm indeed, yet\\nsmall the hurt 30\\nShouts patriotic solemnized the\\nday,\\nAnd Seine reechoed Vive la Li-\\nberie\\nBut mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur\\nagain,\\nWith some few added links re-\\nsumes his chain.\\nThen, since such scenes to France\\nno more are known,\\nCome, view with me a hero of\\nthine own,\\nOne whose free actions vindicate\\nthe cause\\nOf sylvan liberty o er feudal laws.\\nSeek we yon glades where the\\nproud oak o ertops\\nWide-waving seas of birch and\\nhazel copse, 40\\nLeaving between deserted isles of\\nland\\nWhere stunted heath is patched\\nwith ruddy sand,\\nAnd lonely on the waste the yew\\nis seen,\\nOr straggling hollies spread a\\nbrighter green.\\nHere, little worn and winding dark\\nand steep,\\nOur scarce marked path descends\\nyon dingle deep\\nFollow but heedful, cautious of\\na trip\\nIn earthly mire philosophy may\\nslip.\\nStep slow and wary o er that\\nswampy stream,\\nTill, guided by the charcoal s\\nsmothering steam, 50\\nWe reach the frail yet barricaded\\ndoor\\nOf hovel formed for poorest of the\\npoor;", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0578.jp2"}, "575": {"fulltext": "THE POACHER\\n555\\nNo hearth the fire, no vent the\\nsmoke receives,\\nThe walls are wattles and the\\ncovering leaves\\nFor, if such hut, our forest statutes\\nsay,\\nRise in the progress of one night\\nand day\\nThough placed where still the Con-\\nqueror s hest o erawe,\\nAnd his son s stirrup shines the\\nbadge of law\\nThe builder claims the unenviable\\nboon,\\nTo tenant dwelling, framed as\\nslight and soon 60\\nAs wigwam wild that shrouds the\\nnative frore\\nOn the bleak coast of frost-barred\\nLabrador.\\nApproach and through the un-\\nlatticed window peep\\nNay, shrink not back, the inmate\\nis asleep\\nSunk mid yon sordid blankets till\\nthe sun\\nStoop to the west, the plunderer s\\ntoils are done.\\nLoaded and primed and prompt\\nfor desperate hand,\\nRifle and fowling-piece beside him\\nstand\\nWhile round the hut are in dis-\\norder laid\\nThe tools and booty of his lawless\\ntrade 70\\nFor force or fraud, resistance or\\nescape,\\nThe crow, the saw, the bludgeon,\\nand the crape.\\nHis pilfered powder in yon nook\\nhe hoards,\\nAnd the filched lead the church s\\nroof affords\\nHence shall the rector s congrega-\\ntion fret,\\nThat while his sermon s dry his\\nwalls are wet.\\nThe fish-spear barbed, the sweep-\\ning net are there,\\nDoe-hides, and pheasant plumes,\\nand skins of hare,\\nCordage for toils and wiring for\\nthe snare.\\nBartered for game from chase or\\nwarren won, 80\\nYon cask holds moonlight, run\\nwhen moon was none\\nAnd late-snatched spoils lie stowed\\nin hutch apart\\nTo wait the associate higgler s\\nevening cart\\nLook on his pallet foul and mark\\nhis rest\\nWhat scenes perturbed are acting\\nin his breast\\nHis sable brow is wet and wrung\\nwith pain,\\nAnd his dilated nostril toils in\\nvain;\\nFor short and scant the breath\\neach effort draws,\\nAnd twixt each effort Nature\\nclaims a pause.\\nBeyond the loose and sable neck-\\ncloth stretched, 90\\nHis sinewy throat seems by con-\\nvulsion twitched,\\nWhile the tongue falters, as to\\nutterance loath,\\nSounds of dire import watch-\\nword, threat, and oath.\\nThough, stupefied by toil and\\ndrugged with gin,\\nThe body sleep, the restless guest\\nwithin\\nNow plies on wood and wold his\\nlawless trade,\\nNow in the fangs of justice wakes\\ndismayed.\\nWas that wild start of terror\\nand despair,\\nThose bursting eyeballs and that\\nwildered air,\\nSigns of compunction for a mur-\\ndered hare 100", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0579.jp2"}, "576": {"fulltext": "SS 5\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nDo the locks bristle and the eye-\\nThe clown who robs the warren\\nbrows arch\\nor excise\\nFor grouse or partridge massacred\\nWith sterner felons trained to act\\nin March\\nmore dread,\\nEven with the wretch by whom\\nNo, scoffer, no! Attend, and\\nhis fellow bled.\\nmark with awe,\\nThen, as in plagues the foul con-\\nThere is no wicket in the gate of\\ntagions pass,\\nlaw!\\nLeavening and festering the cor-\\nHe that would e er so lightly set\\nrupted mass,\\najar\\nGuilt leagues with guilt while\\nThat awful portal must undo each\\nmutual motives draw, 130\\nbar:\\nTheir hope impunity, their fear\\nTempting occasion, habit, passion,\\nthe law\\npride,\\nTheir foes, their friends, their ren-\\nWill join to storm the breach and\\ndezvous the same,\\nforce the barrier wide.\\nTill the revenue balked or pilfered\\ngame\\nThat ruffian, whom true men\\nFlesh the young culprit, and ex-\\navoid and dread,\\nample leads\\nWhom bruisers, poachers, smug-\\nTo darker villany and direr deeds.\\nglers, call Black Ned, no\\nWas Edward Mansell once the\\nlightest heart\\nWild howled the wind the forest\\nThat ever played on holiday his\\nglades along,\\npart!\\nAnd oft the owl renewed her dis-\\nThe leader he in every Christmas\\nmal song\\ngame,\\nAround the spot where erst he felt\\nThe harvest feast grew blither\\nthe wound,\\nwhen he came,\\nKed William s spectre walked his\\nAnd liveliest on the chords the\\nmidnight round.\\nbow did glance\\nWhen o er the swamp he cast his\\nWhen Edward named the tune\\nblighting look, 140\\nand led the dance.\\nFrom the green marshes of the\\nKind was his heart, his passions\\nstagnant brook\\nquick and strong,\\nThe bittern s sullen shout the\\nHearty his laugh, and jovial was\\nsedges shook\\nhis song;\\nThe waning moon with storm-pre-\\nAnd if he loved a gun, his father\\nsaging gleam\\nswore,\\nNow gave and now withheld her\\n1 T was but a trick of youth would\\ndoubtful beam\\nsoon be o er, 120\\nThe old Oak stooped his arms,\\nHimself had done the same some\\nthen flung them high,\\nthirty years before.\\nBellowing and groaning to the\\ntroubled sky\\nBut he whose humors spurn\\nT was then that, couched amid\\nlaw s awful yoke\\nthe brushwood sear,\\nMust herd with those by whom\\nIn Malwood-walk young Mansell\\nlaw s bonds are broke\\nwatched the deer\\nThe common dread of justice soon\\nThe fattest buck received his\\nallies\\ndeadly shot", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0580.jp2"}, "577": {"fulltext": "ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE\\n557\\nThe watchful keeper heard and\\nsought the spot. 150\\nStout were their hearts, and stub-\\nborn was their strife\\nO erpowered at length the Outlaw\\ndrew his knife.\\nNext morn a corpse was found\\nupon the fell\\nThe rest his waking agony may\\ntell!\\nTHE BOLD DRAGOON\\nOR, THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS\\nT was a Marshal of France, and\\nhe fain would honor gain,\\nAnd he longed to take a passing\\nglance at Portugal from\\nSpain\\nWith his flying guns this gal-\\nlant gay,\\nAnd boasted corps d armee\\n0, he feared not our dragoons with\\ntheir long swords boldly rid-\\ning,\\nWhack, fal de ral, etc.\\nTo Campo Mayor come, he had\\nquietly sat down,\\nJust a fricassee to pick while his\\nsoldiers sacked the town,\\nWhen, t was peste morbleu\\nmon General,\\nHear the English bugle-call\\nAnd behold the light dragoons\\nwith their long swords boldly\\nriding,\\nWhack, fal de ral, etc.\\nRight about went horse and foot,\\nartillery and all,\\nAnd, as the devil leaves a house,\\nthey tumbled through the\\nwall;\\nThey took no time to seek the\\ndoor,\\nBut, best foot set before\\nO, they ran from our dragoons\\nwith their long swords boldly\\nriding,\\nWhack, fal de ral, etc.\\nThose valiant men of France they\\nhad scarcely fled a mile,\\nWhen on their flank there soused\\nat once the British rank and\\nfile;\\nFor Long, De Grey, and Otway\\nthen\\nNe er minded one to ten,\\nBut came on like light dragoons\\nwith^their long.swords boldly\\nriding,\\nWhack, fal de ral, etc.\\nThree hundred British lads they\\nmade three thousand reel,\\nTheir hearts were made of English\\noak, their swords of Sheffield\\nsteel,\\nTheir horses were in Yorkshire\\nbred,\\nAnd Beresford them led\\nSo huzza for brave dragoons with\\ntheir long swords boldly rid-\\ning,\\nWhack, fal de ral, etc.\\nThen here s a health to Welling-\\nton, to Beresford, to Long,\\nAnd a single word of Bonaparte\\nbefore I close my song\\nThe eagles that to fight he\\nbrings\\nShould serve his men with\\nwings,\\nWhen they meet the bold dragoons\\nwith their long swords boldly\\nriding,\\nWhack, fal de ral, etc.\\nON THE MASSACRE OF\\nGLENCOE\\nO, tell me, Harper, wherefore\\nflow\\nThy wayward notes of wail and\\nwoe", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0581.jp2"}, "578": {"fulltext": "558\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nFar down the desert of Glencoe,\\nWhere none may list their mel-\\nody?\\nSay, harp st thou to the mists that\\nfly,\\nOr to the dun-deer glancing by,\\nOr to the eagle that from high\\nScreams chorus to thy min-\\nstrelsy\\n1 No, not to these, for they have\\nrest,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe mist-wreath has the mountain-\\ncrest,\\nThe stag his lair, the erne her\\nnest,\\nAbode of lone security.\\nBut those for whom I pour the\\nlay,\\nNot wild-wood deep nor mountain\\ngray,\\nNot this deep dell that shrouds\\nfrom day,\\nCould screen from treacherous\\ncruelty.\\nTheir flag was furled and mute\\ntheir drum,\\nThe very household dogs were\\ndumb,\\nUnwont to bay at guests that come\\nIn guise of hospitality.\\nHis blithest notes the piper plied,\\nHer gayest snood the maiden\\ntied,\\nThe dame her distaff flung aside\\nTo tend her kindly housewifery.\\nThe hand that mingled in the meal\\nAt midnight drew the felon steel,\\nAnd gave the host s kind breast to\\nfeel\\nMeed for his hospitality\\nThe friendly hearth which warmed\\nthat hand\\nAt midnight armed it with the\\nbrand\\nThat bade destruction s flames ex-\\npand\\nTheir red and fearful blazonry.\\n4 Then woman s shriek was heard\\nin vain.\\nNor infancy s unpitied plain,\\nMore than the warrior s groan,\\ncould gain\\nRespite from ruthless butchery\\nThe winter wind that whistled\\nshrill,\\nThe snows that night that cloked\\nthe hill,\\nThough wild and pitiless, had\\nstill\\nFar more than Southern clem-\\nency.\\nLong have my harp s best notes\\nbeen gone,\\nFew are its strings and faint their\\ntone,\\nThey can but sound in desert lone\\nTheir gray haired master s\\nmisery.\\nWere each gray hair a minstrel\\nstring,\\nEach chord should imprecations\\nfling,\\nTill startled Scotland loud should\\nring,\\nRevenge for blood and treach-\\nery\\nSONG\\nFOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEET-\\nING OF THE PITT CLUB OF\\nSCOTLAND\\n0, dread was the time, and more\\ndreadful the omen,\\nWhen the brave on Marengo lay\\nslaughtered in vain,\\nAnd beholding broad Europe\\nbowed down by her foemen,\\nPitt closed in his anguish the\\nmap of her reign\\nNot the fate of broad Europe could\\nbend his brave spirit\\nTo take for his country the safety\\nof shame", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0582.jp2"}, "579": {"fulltext": "LINES\\n559\\nO, then in her triumph remember\\nhis merit,\\nAnd hallow the goblet that flows\\nto his name.\\nRound the husbandman s head\\nwhile he traces the furrow\\nThe mists of the winter may\\nmingle with rain,\\nHe may plough it with labor and\\nsow it in sorrow,\\nAnd sigh while he fears he has\\nsowed it in vain\\nHe may die ere his children shall\\nreap in their gladness,\\nBut the blithe harvest -home\\nshall remember his claim\\nAnd their jubilee-shout shall be\\nsoftened with sadness,\\nWhile they hallow the goblet\\nthat flows to his name.\\nThough anxious and timeless his\\nlife was expended,\\nIn toils for our country pre-\\nserved by his care,\\nThough he died ere one ray o er\\nthe nations ascended,\\nTo light the long darkness of\\ndoubt and despair\\nThe storms he endured in our Bri-\\ntain s December,\\nThe perils his wisdom foresaw\\nand o ercame,\\nIn her glory s rich harvest shall\\nBritain remember,\\nAnd hallow the goblet that flows\\nto his name.\\nNor forget His gray head who, all\\ndark in affliction,\\nIs deaf to the tale of our victo-\\nries won,\\nAnd to sounds the most dear to\\npaternal affection,\\nThe shout of his people ap-\\nplauding his Son\\nBy his firmness unmoved in suc-\\ncess and disaster,\\nBy his long reign of virtue, re-\\nmember his claim\\nWith our tribute to Pitt join the\\npraise of his Master,\\nThough a tear stain the goblet\\nthat flows to his name.\\nYet again fill the wine-cup and\\nchange the sad measure,\\nThe rites of our grief and our\\ngratitude paid,\\nTo our Prince, to our Heroes, de-\\nvote the bright treasure,\\nThe wisdom that planned, and\\nthe zeal that obeyed\\nFill Wellington s cup till it\\nbeam like his glory,\\nForget not our own brave Dal-\\nhousie and Graeme\\nA thousand years hence hearts\\nshall bound at their story,\\nAnd hallow the goblet that flows\\nto their fame.\\nLINES\\nADDRESSED TO RANALD MAC-\\nDONALD, ESQ., OF STAFFA\\nStaffa, sprung from high Mac-\\ndonald\\nWorthy branch of old Clan-Ran-\\nald!\\nStaffa king of all kind fellows\\nWell befall thy hills and val-\\nleys,\\nLakes and inlets, deeps and shal-\\nlows\\nCliffs of darkness, caves of won-\\nder,\\nEchoing the Atlantic thunder\\nMountains which the gray mist\\ncovers,\\nWhere the Chieftain spirit hov-\\ners,\\nPausing while his pinions\\nquiver,\\nStretched to quit our land for-\\never!\\nEach kind influence reign above\\nthee!", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0583.jp2"}, "580": {"fulltext": "560\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nWarmer heart twixt this and\\nStaffa\\nBeats not than in heart of\\nStaffa\\nPHAROS LOQUITUR\\nFar in the bosom of the deep,\\nO er these wild shelves my ,watch\\nI keep\\nA ruddy gem of changeful light,\\nBound on the dusky brow of night,\\nThe seaman bids my lustre hail,\\nAnd scorns to strike his timorous\\nsail.\\nLETTERS IN VERSE\\nON THE VOYAGE WITH THE COM-\\nMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN\\nLIGHTS\\nTo His Grace theDuke ofBuccleuch\\nLighthouse Yacht in the sound of\\nLeewick, Zetland, 8th August, 1814.\\nHealth to the chieftain from\\nhis clansman true\\nFrom her true minstrel, health to\\nfair Buccleuch\\nHealth from the isles where dewy\\nMorning weaves\\nHer chaplet with the tints that\\nTwilight leaves\\nWhere late the sun scarce van-\\nished from the sight,\\nAnd his bright pathway graced\\nthe short-lived night,\\nThough darker now as autumn s\\nshades extend\\nThe north winds whistle and the\\nmists ascend\\nHealth from the land where eddy-\\ning whirlwinds toss\\nThe storm-rocked cradle of the\\nCape of Noss 10\\nOn outstretched cords the giddy\\nengine slides,\\nHis own strong arm the bold ad-\\nventurer guides,\\nAnd he that lists such desperate\\nfeat to try\\nMay, like the sea-mew, skim twixt\\nsurf and sky,\\nAnd feel the mid-air gales around\\nhim blow,\\nAnd see the billows rage five hun-\\ndred feet below.\\nHere, by each stormy peak and\\ndesert shore,\\nThe hardy islesman tugs the dar-\\ning oar,\\nPractised alike his venturous\\ncourse to keep\\nThrough the white breakers or the\\npathless deep, 20\\nBy ceaseless peril and by toil to\\ngain\\nA wretched pittance from the nig-\\ngard main.\\nAnd when the worn-out drudge old\\nocean leaves,\\nWhat comfort greets him and what\\nhut receives\\nLady the worst your presence ere\\nhas cheered\\nWhen want and sorrow fled as\\nyou appeared\\nWere to a Zetlander as the high\\ndome\\nOf proud Drumlanrig to my hum-\\nble home.\\nHere rise no groves and here no\\ngardens blow,\\nHere even the hardy heath scarce\\ndares to grow 30\\nBut rocks on rocks, in mist and\\nstorm arrayed,\\nStretch far to sea their giant co-\\nlonnade,\\nWith many a cavern seamed, the\\ndreary haunt\\nOf the dun seal and swarthy cor-\\nmorant.\\nWild round their rifted brows,\\nwith frequent cry", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0584.jp2"}, "581": {"fulltext": "LETTERS IN VERSE\\n56l\\nAs of lament, the gulls and gan-\\nnets fly,\\nAnd from their sable base with\\nsullen sound\\nIn sheets of whitening foam the\\nwaves rebound.\\nYet even these coasts a touch of\\nenvy gain\\nFrom those whose land has known\\noppression s chain; 40\\nFor here the industrious Dutch-\\nman comes once more\\nTo moor his fishing craft by Bres-\\nsay s shore,\\nGreets every former mate and\\nbrother tar,\\nMarvels how Lerwick scaped the\\nrage of war,\\nTells many a tale of Gallic out-\\nrage done,\\nAnd ends by blessing God and\\nWellington.\\nHere too the Greenland tar, a\\nfiercer guest,\\nClaims a brief hour of riot, not of\\nrest\\nProves each wild frolic that in wine\\nhas birth,\\nAnd wakes the land with brawls\\nand boisterous mirth. 50\\nA sadder sight on yon poor ves-\\nsel s prow\\nThe captive Norseman sits in si-\\nlent woe,\\nAnd eyes the flags of Britain as\\nthey flow.\\nHard fate of war, which bade her\\nterrors sway\\nHis destined course and seize so\\nmean a prey,\\nA bark with planks so warped and\\nseams so riven\\nShe scarce might face the gentlest\\nairs of heaven\\nPensive he sits, and questions oft\\nif none\\nCan list his speech and under-\\nstand his moan\\nIn vain no Islesman now can\\nuse the tongue 60\\nOf the bold Norse from whom their\\nlineage sprung.\\nNot thus of old the Norsemen\\nhither came,\\nWon by the love of danger or of\\nfame j\\nOn every storm-beat cape a shape-\\nless tower\\nTells of their wars, their con-\\nquests, and their power\\nFor ne er for Grecia s vales nor\\nLatian land\\nWas fiercer strife than for this\\nbarren strand\\nA race severe, the isle and ocean\\nlords\\nLoved for its own delight the strife\\nof swords\\nWith scornful laugh the mortal\\npang defied, 70\\nAnd blest their gods that they in\\nbattle died.\\nSuch were the sires of Zetland s\\nsimple race,\\nAnd still the eye may faint resem-\\nblance trace\\nIn the blue eye, tall form, propor-\\ntion fair,\\nThe limbs athletic, and the long\\nlight hair\\nSuch was the mien, as Scald and\\nMinstrel sings,\\nOf fair-haired Harold, first of Nor-\\nway s Kings;\\nBut their high deeds to scale these\\ncrags confined,\\nTheir only welfare is with waves\\nand wind.\\nWhy should I talk of Mousa s\\ncastle coast 80\\nWhy of the horrors of the Sun-\\nburgh Post?\\nMay not these bald disjointed lines\\nsuffice,\\nPenned while my comrades whirl\\nthe rattling dice\\nWhile down the cabin skylight\\nlessening shine", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0585.jp2"}, "582": {"fulltext": "562\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThe rays, and eve is chased with\\nmirth and wine\\nImagined, while down Mousa s\\ndesert bay\\nOur well-trimmed vessel urged her\\nnimble way,\\nWhile to the freshening breeze she\\nleaned her side,\\nAnd bade her bowsprit kiss the\\nfoamy tide\\nSuch are the lays that Zetland\\nIsles supply 90\\nDrenched with the drizzly spray\\nand dropping sky,\\nWeary and wet, a sea-sick min-\\nstrel I.\\nW. Scott.\\nPOSTSCRIPTUM\\nKirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814.\\nIn respect that your Grace has\\ncommissioned a Kraken,\\nYou will please be informed that\\nthey seldom are taken\\nIt is January two years, the Zet-\\nland folks say,\\nSince they saw the last Kraken in\\nScalloway bay\\nHe lay in the offing a fortnight or\\nmore,\\nBut the devil a Zetlander put from\\nthe shore,\\nThough bold in the seas of the\\nNorth to assail\\nThe morse and the sea-horse, the\\ngrampus and whale. 100\\nIf your Grace thinks I m writing\\nthe thing that is not,\\nYou may ask at a namesake of\\nours, Mr. Scott\\nHe s not from our clan, though his\\nmerits deserve it,\\nBut springs, I m informed, from\\nthe Scotts of Scotstarvet\\nHe questioned the folks who be-\\nheld it with eyes,\\nBut they differed confoundedly as\\nto its size.\\nFor instance, the modest and diffi-\\ndent swore\\nThat it seemed like the keel of a\\nship and no more\\nThose of eyesight more clear or of\\nfancy more high\\nSaid it rose like an island twixt\\nocean and sky no\\nBut all of the hulk had a steady\\nopinion\\nThat t was sure a live subject of\\nNeptune s dominion\\nAnd I think, my Lord Duke, your\\nGrace hardly would wish,\\nTo cumber your house, such a ket-\\ntle of fish.\\nHad your order related to night-\\ncaps or hose\\nOr mittens of worsted, there s\\nplenty of those.\\nOr would you be pleased but to\\nfancy a whale\\nAnd direct me to send it by sea\\nor by mail\\nThe season, I mtold, is nigh over,\\nbut still\\nI could get you one fit for the lake\\nat Bowhill. 120\\nIndeed, as to whales, there s no\\nneed to be thrifty,\\nSince one day last fortnight two\\nhundred and fifty,\\nPursued by seven Orkneymen s\\nboats and no more,\\nBetwixt Truffness and Luffness\\nwere drawn on the shore\\nYou 11 ask if I saw this same\\nwonderful sight\\nI own that I did not, but easily\\nmight\\nFor this mighty shoal of levia-\\nthans Jay\\nOn our lee-beam a mile, in the loop\\nof the bay,\\nAnd the islesmen of Sanda were\\nall at the spoil,\\nAnd flinching\u00e2\u0080\u0094 so term it the\\nblubber to boil;\u00e2\u0080\u0094 130", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0586.jp2"}, "583": {"fulltext": "SONGS AND VERSES FROM WAVERLEY 563\\nYe spirits of lavender, drown the\\nThe quintain was set, and the gar-\\nreflection\\nlands were made,\\nThat awakes at the thoughts of\\nTis pity old customs should\\nthis odorous dissection.\\never decay\\nTo see this huge marvel full fain\\nAnd woe be to him that was horsed\\nwould we go,\\non a jade,\\nBut Wilson, the wind, and the\\nFor he carried no credit away,\\ncurrent said no e\\naway.\\nWe have now got to Kirkwall, and\\nneeds I must stare\\nWe met a concert of fiddle-de-\\nWhen I think that in verse I have\\ndees\\nonce called it fair\\nWe set them a-cockhorse, and\\nTis a base little borough, both\\nmade them play\\ndirty and mean\\nThe winning of Bullen, and Upsey-\\nThere is nothing to hear and\\nfrees,\\nthere s naught to be seen,\\nAnd away to Tewin, away, away.!\\nSave a church where of old times\\na prelate harangued,\\nThere was ne er a lad in all the\\nAnd a palace that s built by an\\nparish\\nearl that was hanged. 140\\nThat would go to the plough\\nBut farewell to Kirkwall aboard\\nthat day\\nwe are going,\\nBut on his fore-horse his wench he\\nThe anchor s a-peak and the\\ncarries,\\nbreezes are blowing;\\nAnd away to Tewin, away, away!\\nOur commodore calls all his band\\nto their places,\\nThe butler was quick, and the ale\\nAnd t is time to release you\\nhe did tap,\\ngood-night to your Graces\\nThe maidens did make the cham-\\nber full gay\\nThe servants did give me a fud-\\ndling cup,\\nSONGS AND VERSES FROM\\nAnd I did carry t away, away.\\nWAVERLEY\\nThe smith of the town his liquor\\n1\\nso took,\\nThat he was persuaded that the\\nAND DID YE NOT HEAR OF A\\nground looked blue\\nMIBTH BEFELL\\nAnd I dare boldly be sworn on a\\nbook,\\nTo the tune of have been a Fiddler,\\nSuch smiths as he there s but a\\netc.\\nfew.\\nAnd did ye not hear of a mirth\\nA posset was made, and the\\nbefell\\nwomen did sip,\\nThe morrow after a wedding\\nAnd simpering said, they could\\nday,\\neat no more\\nAnd carrying a bride at home to\\nFull many a maiden was laid on\\ndwell\\nthe lip,\\nAnd away to Tewin, away,\\nI 11 say no more, but give o er,\\naway!\\ngive o er.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0587.jp2"}, "584": {"fulltext": "564\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\n11\\nLATE, WHEN THE AUTUMN\\nEVENING FELL\\nFrom chapter v.\\nLate, when the autumn evening\\nfell\\nOn Mirkwood Mere s romantic\\ndell,\\nThe lake returned, in chastened\\ngleam,\\nThe purple cloud the golden beam\\nReflected in the crystal pool,\\nHeadland and bank lay fair and\\ncool;\\nThe weather-tinted rock and tower,\\nEach drooping tree, each fairy\\nflower,\\nSo true, so soft, the mirror gave,\\nAs if there lay beneath the wave,\\nSecure from trouble, toil, and care,\\nA world than earthly world more\\nfair.\\nBut distant winds began to wake,\\nAnd roused the Genius of the\\nLake\\nHe heard the groaning of the oak,\\nAnd donned at once his sable\\ncloak,\\nAs warrior, at the battle cry,\\nInvests him with his panoply\\nThen, as the whirlwind nearer\\npressed,\\nHe gan to shake his foamy crest\\nO er furrowed brow and black-\\nened cheek,\\nAnd bade his surge in thunder\\nspeak.\\nIn wild and broken eddies whirled,\\nFlitted that fond ideal world\\nAnd, to the shore in tumult tost,\\nThe realms of fairy bliss were lost.\\nYet, with a stern delight and\\nstrange,\\nI saw the spirit-stirring change\\nAs warred the wind with wave and\\nwood.\\nUpon the ruined tower I stood,\\nAnd felt my heart more strongly\\nbound,\\nResponsive to the lofty sound,\\nWhile, joying in the mighty roar,\\nI mourned that tranquil scene no\\nmore.\\nSo, on the idle dreams of youth\\nBreaks the loud trumpet-call of\\ntruth,\\nBids each fair vision pass away,\\nLike landscape on the lake that\\nlay,\\nAs fair, as flitting, and as frail,\\nAs that which fled the autumn\\ngale\\nForever dead to fancy s eye\\nBe each gay form that glided by,\\nWhile dreams of love and lady s\\ncharms\\nGive place to honor and to arms\\nin\\n4 THE knight s to the moun-\\ntain\\nFrom chapter ix.\\nThe Knight s to the mountain\\nHis bugle to wind\\nThe lady s to greenwood\\nHer garland to bind.\\nThe bower of Burd Ellen\\nHas moss on the floor,\\nThat the step of Lord William\\nBe silent and sure.\\nrv\\nit s up glembabchan s\\nbraes i gaed\\nFrom chapter xi.\\nIt s up Glembarchan s braes I\\ngaed,\\nAnd o er the bent of Killiebraid,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0588.jp2"}, "585": {"fulltext": "SONGS AND VERSES FROM WAVERLEY 565\\nAnd mony a weary cast I made\\nTo cuittle the moor-fowl s tail.\\nIf up a bonny black-cock should\\nspring,\\nTo whistle him down wi a slug in\\nhis wing,\\nAnd strap him on to my lunzie\\nstring,\\nRight seldom would I fail.\\n1 HIE AWAY, HIE AWAY\\nFrom chapter xii.\\nHie away, hie away,\\nOver bank and over brae,\\nWhere the copsewood is the green-\\nest,\\nWhere the fountains glisten sheen-\\nest,\\nWhere the lady-fern grows strong-\\nest,\\nWhere the morning dew lies long-\\nest,\\nWhere the black-cock sweetest\\nsips it,\\nWhere the fairy latest trips it\\nHie to haunts right seldom seen,\\nLovely, lonesome, cool, and green,\\nOver bank and over brae,\\nHie away, hie away.\\nVI\\nST. SWITHIN S CHAIR\\nFrom chapter xiii.\\nOn Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you\\nboune ye to rest,\\nEver beware that your couch be\\nblessed\\nSign it with cross, and sain it with\\nbead,\\nSing the Ave and say the Creed.\\nFor on Hallow Mass Eve the\\nNight-Hag will ride,\\nAnd all her nine-fold sweeping on\\nby her side,\\nWhether the wind sing lowly or\\nloud,\\nSailing through moonshine or\\nswathed in the cloud.\\nThe Lady she sate in St. Swithin s\\nChair,\\nThe dew of the night has damped\\nher hair\\nHer cheek was pale, but resolved\\nand high\\nWas the word of her lip and the\\nglance of her eye.\\nShe muttered the spell of Swithin\\nbold,\\nWhen his naked foot traced the\\nmidnight wold,\\nWhen he stopped the Hag as she\\nrode the night,\\nAnd bade her descend and her\\npromise plight.\\nHe that dare sit on St. Swithin s\\nChair\\nWhen the Night-Hag wings the\\ntroubled air,\\nQuestions three, when he speaks\\nthe spell,\\nHe may ask, and she must tell.\\nThe Baron has been with King\\nRobert his liege,\\nThese three long years in battle\\nand siege\\nNews are there none of his weal\\nor his woe,\\nAnd fain the Lady his fate would\\nknow.\\nShe shudders and stops as the\\ncharm she speaks\\nIs it the moody owl that shrieks?\\nOr is that sound, betwixt laughter\\nand scream,\\nThe voice of the Demon who\\nhaunts the stream", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0589.jp2"}, "586": {"fulltext": "566\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThe moan of the wind sunk silent\\nand low,\\nAnd the roaring torrent had ceased\\nto flow\\nThe calm was more dreadful than\\nraging storm,\\nWhen the cold gray mist brought\\nthe ghastly form\\nVII\\nYOUNG MEN WILL LOVE THEE\\nMORE FAIR AND MORE FAST\\nFrom chapter xiv.\\nYoung men will love thee more\\nfair and more fast\\nHeard ye so merry the little bird\\nsing\\nOld men s love the longest will last,\\nAnd the throstle-cock s head is\\nunder his wing.\\nThe young man s wrath is like\\nlight straw on fire\\nHeard ye so merry the little bird\\nsing\\nBut like red-hot steel is the old\\nman s ire,\\nAnd the throstle-cock s head is\\nunder his wing.\\nThe young man will brawl at the\\nevening board\\nHeard ye so merry the little bird\\nsing?\\nBut the old man will draw at the\\ndawning the sword,\\nAnd the throstle-cock s head is\\nunder his wing.\\nVIII\\nFLORA MACIVOR S SONG\\nFrom chapter xxii.\\nThere is mist on the mountain,\\nand night on the vale,\\nBut more dark is the sleep of the\\nsons of the Gael.\\nA stranger commanded it sunk\\non the land,\\nIt has frozen each heart and be-\\nnumbed every hand\\nThe dirk and the target lie sordid\\nwith dust,\\nThe bloodless claymore is but red-\\ndened with rust\\nOn the hill or the glen if a gun\\nshould appear,\\nIt is only to war with the heath-\\ncock or deer.\\nThe deeds of our sires if our bards\\nshould rehearse,\\nLet a blush or a blow be the meed\\nof their verse\\nBe mute every string and be\\nhushed every tone\\nThat shall bid us remember the\\nfame that is flown\\nBut the dark hours of night and\\nof slumber are past,\\nThe morn on our mountains is\\ndawning at last\\nGlenaladale s peaks are illumed\\nwith the rays,\\nAnd the streams of Glenfinnan\\nleap bright in the blaze.\\nhigh-minded Moray! the ex-\\niled\u00e2\u0080\u0094the dear\\nIn the blush of the dawning the\\nStandard uprear\\nWide, wide to the winds of the\\nnorth let it fly,\\nLike the sun s latest flash when\\nthe tempest is nigh\\nYe sons of the strong, when that\\ndawning shall break,\\nNeed the harp of the aged remind\\nyou to wake\\nThat dawn never beamed on your\\nforefathers eye,\\nBut it roused each high chieftain\\nto vanquish or die.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0590.jp2"}, "587": {"fulltext": "SONGS AND VERSES FROM WAVERLEY 567\\n0, sprung from the Kings who in\\nIslay kept state,\\nProud chiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glen-\\ngary, and Sleat\\nCombine like three streams from\\none mountain of snow,\\nAnd resistless in union rush down\\non the foe\\nTrue son of Sir Evan, undaunted\\nLochiel,\\nPlace thy targe on thy shoulder\\nand burnish thy steel\\nRough Keppoch, give breath to\\nthy bugle s bold swell,\\nTill far Coryarrick resound to the\\nknell\\nStern son of Lord Kenneth, high\\nchief of Kintail,\\nLet the stag in thy standard bound\\nwild in the gale\\nMay the race of Clan-Gillian, the\\nfearless and free,\\nRemember Glenlivet, Harlaw, and\\nDundee\\nLet the clan of gray Fingon, whose\\noffspring has given\\nSuch heroes to earth and such\\nmartyrs to heaven,\\nUnite with the race of renowned\\nRom More,\\nTo launch the long galley and\\nstretch to the oar\\nHow Mac-Shimei will joy when\\ntheir chief shall display\\nThe yew crested bonnet o er\\ntresses of gray\\nHow the race of wronged Alpine\\nand murdered Glencoe\\nShall shout for revenge when they\\npour on the foe\\nYe sons of brown Dermid, who\\nslew the wild boar,\\nResume the pure faith of the great\\nCallum-More\\nMac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy\\nof the Lake,\\nFor honor, for freedom, for ven-\\ngeance awake\\nAwake on your hills, on your is-\\nlands awake,\\nBrave sons of the mountain, the\\nfrith, and the lake\\nTis the bugle but not for the\\nchase is the call\\nT is the pibroch s shrill summons\\nbut not to the hall.\\nTis the summons of heroes for\\nconquest or death,\\nWhen the banners are blazing on\\nmountain and heath\\nThey call to the dirk, the claymore,\\nand the targe,\\nTo the march and the muster, the\\nline and the charge.\\nBe the brand of each chieftain like\\nFin s in his ire\\nMay the blood through his veins\\nflow like currents of fire\\nBurst the base foreign yoke as\\nyour sires did of yore\\nOr die like your sires, and endure\\nit no more\\nIX\\nTO AN OAK TREE\\nop\\nIN THE CHURCHYARD\\nHIGHLANDS OP SCOTLAND,\\nIN THE\\nSAID TO\\nMARK THE GRAVE OP CAPTAIN WOGAN,\\nKILLED IN 1649\\nFrom chapter xxix.\\nEmblem of England s ancient\\nfaith,\\nFull proudly may thy branches\\nwave,\\nWhere loyalty lies low in death,\\nAnd valor fills a timeless grave.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0591.jp2"}, "588": {"fulltext": "568\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nAnd thou, brave tenant of the\\ntomb!\\nRepine not if our clime deny,\\nAbove thine honored sod to bloom,\\nThe flowerets of a milder sky.\\nThese owe their birth to genial\\nMay;\\nBeneath a fiercer sun they pine,\\nBefore the winter storm decay\\nAnd can their worth be type of\\nthine\\nNo for mid storms of Fate op-\\nposing,\\nStill higher swelled thy daunt-\\nless heart,\\nAnd, while Despair the scene was\\nclosing,\\nCommenced thy brief but bril-\\nliant part.\\nT was then thou sought st on\\nAlbyn s hill,\\n(When England s sons the strife\\nresigned,)\\nA rugged race resisting still,\\nAnd unsubdued, though unre-\\nfined.\\nThy death s hour heard no kin-\\ndred wail,\\nNo holy knell thy requiem rung\\nThy mourners were the plaided\\nGael,\\nThy dirge the clamorous pibroch\\nsung.\\nYet who, in Fortune s summer-\\nshine\\nTo waste life s longest term\\naway,\\nWould change that glorious dawn\\nof thine\\nThough darkened ere its noon-\\ntide day\\nBe thine the Tree whose dauntless\\nboughs\\nBrave summer s drought and\\nwinter s gloom\\nRome bound with oak her patriot s\\nbrows,\\nAs Albyn shadows Wogan s\\ntomb.\\nWE ARE BOUND TO DRIVE THE\\nBULLOCKS\\nFrom chapter xxxviii.\\nWe are bound to drive the bul-\\nlocks,\\nAll by hollows, hirsts, and hillocks,\\nThrough the sleet and through\\nthe rain.\\nWhen the moon is beaming low\\nOn frozen lake and hills of snow,\\nBold and heartily we go,\\nAnd all for little gain.\\nXI\\nBUT FOLLOW, FOLLOW ME\\nFrom chapter lxiii.\\nBut follow, follow me,\\nWhile glow-worms light the lea,\\nI 11 show ye where the dead should\\nbe\\nEach in his shroud,\\nWhile winds pipe loud,\\nAnd the red moon peeps dim\\nthrough the cloud.\\nFollow, follow me\\nBrave should he be\\nThat treads by the night the dead\\nman s lea.\\nFOR A THAT AN A THAT\\nA NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE\\nThough right be aft put down by\\nstrength,\\nAs mony a day we saw that,\\nThe true and leilfu cause at length\\nShall bear the grie for a that", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0592.jp2"}, "589": {"fulltext": "FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE\\n569\\nFor a that an a that,\\nGuns, guillotines, and a that,\\nThe Fleur-de-lis, that lost her\\nright,\\nIs queen again for a that\\nWe 11 twine her in a friendly knot\\nWith England s Rose, and a\\nthat;\\nThe Shamrock shall not be forgot,\\nFor Wellington made bra that.\\nThe Thistle, though her leaf be\\nrude,\\nYet faith we 11 no misca that,\\nShe sheltered in her solitude\\nThe Fleur-de-lis, for a that.\\nThe Austrian Vine, the Prussian\\nPine,\\n(For Blucher s sake, hurra\\nthat,)\\nThe Spanish Olive, too, shall join,\\nAnd bloom in peace for a that.\\nStout Russia s Hemp, so surely\\ntwined\\nAround our wreath we 11 draw\\nthat,\\nAnd he that would the cord unbind,\\nShall have it for his gra-vat\\nOr, if to choke sae puir a sot,\\nYour pity scorn to thraw that,\\nThe Devil s elbo be his lot,\\nWhere he may sit and claw that.\\nIn spite of slight, in spite of might,\\nIn spite of brags and a that,\\nThe lads that battled for the right,\\nHave won the day and a that\\nThere s ae bit spot I had forgot,\\nAmerica they ca that\\nA coward plot her rats had got\\nTheir father s flag to gnaw that:\\nNow see it fly top-gallant high,\\nAtlantic winds shall blaw that,\\nAnd Yankee loon, beware your\\ncroun,\\nThere s kames in hand to claw\\nthat!\\nFor on the land, or on the sea,\\nWhere er the breezes blaw that,\\nThe British Flag shall bear the grie.\\nAnd win the day for a that\\nFAREWELL TO MACKENZIE\\nHIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL\\nPROM THE GAELIC\\nFarewell, to Mackenneth, great\\nEarl of the North,\\nThe Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel,\\nand Seaforth\\nTo the Chieftain this morning his\\ncourse who began,\\nLaunching forth on the billows his\\nbark like a swan.\\nFor a far foreign land he has\\nhoisted his sail,\\nFarewell to Mackenzie, High Chief\\nof Kintail\\nO, swift be the galley and hardy\\nher crew,\\nMay her captain be skilful, her\\nmariners true,\\nIn danger undaunted, unwearied\\nby toil,\\nThough the whirlwind should rise\\nand the ocean should boil\\nOn the brave vessel s gunnel I\\ndrank his bonail,\\nAnd farewell to Mackenzie, High\\nChief of Kintail\\nAwake in thy chamber, thou sweet\\nsouthland gale\\nLike the sighs of his people, breathe\\nsoft on his sail\\nBe prolonged as regret that his\\nvassals must know,\\nBe fair as their faith and sincere\\nas their woe\\nBe so soft and so fair and so faith-\\nful, sweet gale,\\nWafting onward Mackenzie, High\\nChief of Kintail!\\nBe his pilot experienced and trusty\\nand wise,\\nTo measure the seas and to study\\nthe skies", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0593.jp2"}, "590": {"fulltext": "570\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nMay he hoist all his canvas from\\nstreamer to deck,\\nBut O crowd it higher when waft-\\ning him back\\nTill the cliffs of Skooroora and\\nConan s glad vale\\nShall welcome Mackenzie, High\\nChief of Kintail\\nIMITATION\\nOF THE PRECEDING SONG\\nSo sung the old bard in the grief\\nof his heart\\nWhen he saw his loved lord from\\nhis people depart.\\nNow mute on thy mountains, O\\nAlbyn, are heard\\nNor the voice of the song nor the\\nharp of the bard\\nOr its strings are but waked by the\\nstern winter gale,\\nAs they mourn for Mackenzie, last\\nChief of Kintail.\\nFrom the far Southland Border a\\nminstrel came forth,\\nAnd he waited the hour that some\\nbard of the north\\nHis hand on the harp of the ancient\\nshould cast,\\nAnd bid its wild numbers mix high\\nwith the blast\\nBut no bard was there left in the\\nland of the Gael\\nTo lament for Mackenzie, last\\nChief of Kintail.\\n4 And shalt thou then sleep, did\\nthe minstrel exclaim,\\nLike the son of the lowly, un-\\nnoticed by fame\\nNo, son of Fitzgerald! in accents\\nof woe\\nThe song thou hast loved o er thy\\ncoffin shall flow,\\nAnd teach thy wild mountains to\\njoin in the wail\\nThat laments for Mackenzie, last\\nChief of Kintail.\\nIn vain, the bright course of thy\\ntalents to wrong,\\nFate deadened thine ear and im-\\nprisoned thy tongue\\nFor brighter o er all her obstruc-\\ntions arose\\nThe glow of the genius they could\\nnot oppose\\nAnd who in the land of the Saxon\\nor Gael\\nMight match with Mackenzie,\\nHigh Chief of Kintail?\\n1 Thy sons rose around thee in\\nlight and in love,\\nAll a father could hope, all a friend\\ncould approve\\nWhat vails it the tale of thy sor-\\nrows to tell,\\nIn the spring-time of youth and of\\npromise they fell\\nOf the line of Fitzgerald remains\\nnot a male\\nTo bear the proud name of the\\nChief of Kintail.\\nAnd thou, gentle dame, who must\\nbear to thy grief\\nFor thy clan and thy country the\\ncares of a chief,\\nWhom brief rolling moons in six\\nchanges have left,\\nOf thy husband and father and bre-\\nthren bereft,\\nTo thine ear of affection how sad\\nis the hail\\nThat salutes thee the heir of the\\nline of Kintail\\nWAR-SONG OF LACHLAN\\nHIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN\\nFROM THE GAELIC\\nA weary month has wandered\\no er\\nSince last we parted on the shore\\nHeaven! that I saw thee, love,\\nonce more,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0594.jp2"}, "591": {"fulltext": "THE DANCE OF DEATH\\n$7*\\nSafe on that shore again\\nT was valiant Lachlan gave the\\nword:\\nLachlan, of many a galley lord\\nHe called his kindred hands on\\nhoard,\\nAnd launched them on the\\nmain.\\nClan-Gillian is to ocean gone\\nClan-Gillian, fierce in foray known\\nRejoicing in the glory won\\nIn many a bloody broil\\nFor wide is heard the thundering\\nfray,\\nThe rout, the ruin, the dismay,\\nWhen from the twilight glens away\\nClan-Gillian drives the spoil.\\nWoe to the hills that shall rebound\\nOur bannered bag-pipes madden-\\ning sound\\nClan-Gillian s onset echoing round,\\nShall shake their inmost cell.\\nWoe to the bark whose crew shall\\ngaze\\nWhere Lachlan s silken streamer\\nplays\\nThe fools might face the lightning s\\nblaze\\nAs wisely and as well\\nSAINT CLOUD\\nSoft spread the southern summer\\nnight\\nHer veil of darksome blue\\nTen thousand stars combined to\\nlight\\nThe terrace of Saint Cloud.\\nThe evening breezes gently sighed,\\nLike breath of lover true,\\nBewailing the deserted pride\\nAnd wreck of sweet Saint Cloud.\\nThe drum s deep roll was heard\\nafar,\\nThe bugle wildly blew\\nGood-night to Hulan and Hussar\\nThat garrison Saint Cloud.\\nThe startled Naiads from the\\nshade\\nWith broken urns withdrew,\\nAnd silenced was that proud cas-\\ncade,\\nThe glory of Saint Cloud.\\nWe sate upon its steps of stone,\\nNor could its silence rue,\\nWhen waked to music of our own\\nThe echoes of Saint Cloud.\\nSlow Seine might hear each lovely\\nnote\\nFall light as summer dew,\\nWhile through the moonless air\\nthey float,\\nProlonged from fair Saint Cloud.\\nAnd sure a melody more sweet\\nHis waters never knew,\\nThough music s self was wont to\\nmeet\\nWith princes at Saint Cloud.\\nNor then with more delighted ear\\nThe circle round her drew\\nThan ours, when gathered round\\nto hear\\nOur songstress at Saint Cloud.\\nFew happy hours poor mortals\\npass,\\nThen give those hours their due,\\nAnd rank among the foremost\\nclass\\nOur evenings at Saint Cloud.\\nTHE DANCE OF DEATH\\nNight and morning were at meet-\\ning\\nOver Waterloo\\nCocks had sung their earliest greet-\\ning;\\nFaint and low they crew,\\nFor no paly beam yet shone", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0595.jp2"}, "592": {"fulltext": "572\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nOn the heights of Mount Saint\\nJohn;\\nTempest clouds prolonged the\\nsway\\nOf timeless darkness over day\\nWhirlwind, thunder clap, and\\nshower\\nMarked it a predestined hour. 10\\nBroad and frequent through the\\nnight\\nFlashed the sheets of levin-light\\nMuskets, glancing lightnings back,\\nShowed the dreary bivouac\\nWhere the soldier lay,\\nChill and stiff and drenched with\\nrain,\\nWishing dawn of morn again,\\nThough death should come with\\nday.\\nT is at such a tide and hour\\nWizard, witch, and fiend have\\npower, 20\\nAnd ghastly forms through mist\\nand shower\\nGleam on the gifted ken\\nAnd then the affrighted prophet s\\near\\nDrinks whispers strange of fate\\nand fear,\\nPresaging death and ruin near\\nAmong the sons of men\\nApart from Albyn s war-array,\\nT was then gray Allan sleepless\\nlay;\\nGray Allan, who for many a day\\nHad followed stout and stern, 30\\nWhere, through battle s rout and\\nreel,\\nStorm of shot and edge of steel,\\nLed the grandson of Lochiel,\\nValiant Fassiefern.\\nThrough steel and shot he leads\\nno more,\\nLow laid mid friends and foe-\\nmen s gore\\nBut long his native lake s wild\\nshore,\\nAnd Sunart rough, and high Ard-\\ngower,\\nAnd Morven long shall tell,\\nAnd proud Bennevis hear with\\nawe, 40\\nHow upon bloody Quatre-Bras\\nBrave Cameron heard the wild\\nhurra\\nOf conquest as he fell.\\nLone on the outskirts of the host,\\nThe weary sentinel held post,\\nAnd heard through darkness far\\naloof\\nThe frequent clang of courser s\\nhoof,\\nWhere held the cloaked patrol\\ntheir course\\nAnd spurred gainst storm the\\nswerving horse\\nBut there are sounds in Allan s\\near 50\\nPatrol nor sentinel may hear,\\nAnd sights before his eye aghast\\nInvisible to them have passed,\\nWhen down the destined plain,\\nTwixt Britain and the bands of\\nFrance,\\nWild as marsh -borne meteor s\\nglance,\\nStrange phantoms wheeled a revel\\ndance\\nAnd doomed the future slain.\\nSuch forms were seen, such sounds\\nwere heard,\\nWhen Scotland s James his march\\nprepared 60\\nFor Flodden s fatal plain;\\nSuch, when he drew his ruthless\\nsword,\\nAs Choosers of the slain, adored\\nThe yet unchristened Dane.\\nAn indistinct and phantom band,\\nThey wheeled their ring -dance\\nhand in hand\\nWith gestures wild and dread\\nThe Seer, who watched them ride\\nthe storm,\\nSaw through their faint and\\nshadowy form 69\\nThe lightning s flash more red\\nAnd still their ghastly roundelay\\nWas of the coming battle-fray\\nAnd of the destined dead.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0596.jp2"}, "593": {"fulltext": "THE DANCE OF DEATH\\n573\\nSONG\\nSons of the spear\\nYou feel us near\\nWheel the wild dance\\nIn many a ghastly dream\\nWhile lightnings glance\\nWith fancy s eye\\nAnd thunders rattle loud,\\nOur forms you spy, 120\\nAnd call the brave\\nAnd hear our fatal scream.\\nTo bloody grave,\\nWith clearer sight\\nTo sleep without a shroud.\\nEre falls the night,\\nJust when to weal or woe\\nOur airy feet, 80\\nYour disembodied souls take\\nSo light and fleet,\\nflight\\nThey do not bend the rye\\nOn trembling wing\u00e2\u0080\u0094 each star-\\nThat sinks its head when whirl-\\ntled sprite\\nwinds rave,\\nOur choir of death shall know.\\nAnd swells again in eddying\\nwave\\nWheel the wild dance\\nAs each wild gust blows by;\\nWhile lightnings glance\\nBut still the corn\\nAnd thunders rattle loud, 130\\nAt dawn of morn\\nAnd call the brave\\nOur fatal steps that bore,\\nTo bloody grave,\\nAt eve lies waste,\\nTo sleep without a shroud.\\nA trampled paste 90\\nOf blackening mud and gore.\\nBurst, ye clouds, in tempest\\nshowers,\\nWheel the wild dance\\nRedder rain shall soon be ours\\nWhile lightnings glance\\nSee the east grows wan\\nAnd thunders rattle loud,\\nYield we place to sterner game,\\nAnd call the brave\\nEre deadlier bolts and direr\\nTo bloody grave,\\nflame\\nTo sleep without a shroud.\\nShall the welkin s thunders\\nshame\\nWheel the wild dance\\nElemental rage is tame 140\\nBrave sons of France, 99\\nTo the wrath of man.\\nFor you our ring makes room\\nMake space full wide\\nAt morn, gray Allan s mates with\\nFor martial pride,\\nawe\\nFor banner, spear, and plume.\\nHeard of the visioned sights he\\nApproach, draw near,\\nsaw,\\nProud cuirassier S\\nThe legend heard him say\\nRoom for the men of steel\\nBut the Seer s gifted eye was\\nThrough crest and plate\\ndim,\\nThe broadsword s weight\\nDeafened his ear and stark his\\nBoth head and heart shall feel.\\nlimb,\\nEre closed that bloody day\\nWheel the wild dance no\\nHe sleeps far from his Highland\\nWhile lightnings glance\\nheath,\\nAnd thunders rattle loud,\\nBut often of the Dance of Death\\nAnd call the brave\\nHis comrades tell the tale, 150\\nTo bloody grave,\\nOn picquet-post when ebbs the\\nTo sleep without a shroud.\\nnight,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0597.jp2"}, "594": {"fulltext": "574\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nAnd waning watch-fires glow less\\nbright,\\nAnd dawn is glimmering pale.\\nROMANCE OF DUNOIS\\nFROM THE FRENCH\\nIt was Dunois, the young and\\nbrave, was bound for Pales-\\ntine,\\nBut first he made his orisons be-\\nfore Saint Mary s shrine\\n1 And grant, immortal Queen of\\nHeaven, was still the sol-\\ndier s prayer,\\nThat I may prove the bravest\\nknight and love the fairest\\nfair.\\nHis oath of honor on the shrine he\\ngraved it with his sword,\\nAnd followed to the Holy Land the\\nbanner of his Lord\\nWhere, faithful to his noble vow,\\nhis war-cry filled the air,\\nBe honored aye the bravest\\nknight, beloved the fairest\\nfair.\\nThey owed the conquest to his\\narm, and then his liege-lord\\nsaid,\\nThe heart that has for honor\\nbeat by bliss must be repaid.\\nMy daughter Isabel and thou shall\\nbe a wedded pair,\\nFor thou art bravest of the brave,\\nshe fairest of the fair.\\nAnd then they bound the holy\\nknot before Saint Mary s\\nshrine\\nThat makes a paradise on earth,\\nif hearts and hands combine\\nAnd every lord and lady bright\\nthat were in chapel there\\nCried, Honored be the bravest\\nknight, beloved the fairest\\nfair\\nTHE TROUBADOUR\\nFROM THE FRENCH\\nGlowing with love, on fire for\\nfame,\\nA Troubadour that hated sor-\\nrow\\nBeneath his lady s window came,\\nAnd thus he sung his last good-\\nmorrow\\nMy arm it is my country s right,\\nMy heart is in my true-love s\\nbower\\nGayly for love and fame to fight\\nBefits the gallant Troubadour.\\nAnd while he marched with helm\\non head\\nAnd harp in hand, the descant\\nrung,\\nAs, faithful to his favorite maid,\\nThe minstrel-burden still he\\nsung\\n1 My arm it is my country s right,\\nMy heart is in my lady s bower\\nResolved for love and fame to\\nfight,\\nI come, a gallant Troubadour,\\nEven when the battle-roar was\\ndeep,\\nWith dauntless heart he hewed\\nhis way,\\nMid splintering lance and falchion-\\nsweep,\\nAnd still was heard his warrior-\\nlay:\\nMy life it is my country s right,\\nMy heart is in my lady s bower\\nFor love to die, for fame to fight,\\nBecomes the gallant Trouba-\\ndour.\\nAlas upon the bloody field\\nHe fell beneath the foeman s\\nglaive,\\nBut still reclining on his shield,\\nExpiring sung the exulting\\nstave\\nI My life it is my country s right,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0598.jp2"}, "595": {"fulltext": "SONG\\n575\\nMy heart is in my lady s bower;\\nFor love and fame to fall in fight\\nBecomes the valiant Trouba-\\ndour.\\nFROM THE FRENCH\\nIt chanced that Cupid on a sea-\\nson,\\nBy Fancy urged, resolved to wed,\\nBut could not settle whether Rea-\\nson\\nOr Folly should partake his bed.\\nWhat does he then? Upon my\\nlife,\\nT was bad example for a deity\\nHe takes me Reason for a wife,\\nAnd Folly for his hours of gay-\\nety.\\nThough thus he dealt in petty trea-\\nson,\\nHe loved them both in equal\\nmeasure\\nFidelity was born of Reason,\\nAnd Folly brought to bed of\\nPleasure.\\nSONG\\nON THE LIFTING OF THE BAN-\\nNER OF THE HOUSE OF BUC-\\nCLEUCH AT A GREAT FOOT-\\nBALL MATCH ON CAETEE-\\nHAUGH\\nFrom the brown crest of Newark\\nits summons extending,\\nOur signal is waving in smoke\\nand in flame\\nAnd each forester blithe, from his\\nmountain descending,\\nBounds light o er the heather to\\njoin in the game.\\nThen up with the Banner, let\\nforest winds fan her,\\nShe has blazed over Ettrick\\neight ages and more\\nIn sports we 11 attend her, in\\nbattle defend her,\\nWith heart and with hand,\\nlike our fathers before.\\nWhen the Southern invader spread\\nwaste and disorder,\\nAt the glance of her crescents\\nhe paused and withdrew,\\nFor around them were marshalled\\nthe pride of the Border,\\nThe Flowers of the Forest, the\\nBands of Buccleuch.\\nA stripling s weak hand to our\\nrevel has borne her,\\nNo mail-glove has grasped her,\\nno spearmen surround\\nBut ere a bold foeman should\\nscathe or should scorn her\\nA thousand true hearts would\\nbe cold on the ground.\\nWe forget each contention of civil\\ndissension,\\nAnd hail, like our brethren,\\nHome, Douglas, and Car\\nAnd Elliot and Pringle in pas-\\ntime shall mingle,\\nAs welcome in peace as their\\nfathers in war.\\nThen strip, lads, and to it, though\\nsharp be the weather,\\nAnd if by mischance you should\\nhappen to fall,\\nThere are worse things in life than\\na tumble on heather,\\nAnd life is itself but a game at\\nfoot-ball.\\nAnd when it is over we 11 drink a\\nblithe measure\\nTo each laird and each lady that\\nwitnessed our fun,\\nAnd to every blithe heart that took\\npart in our pleasure,\\nTo the lads that have lost and\\nthe lads that have won.\\nMay the Forest still flourish, both\\nBorough and Landward,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0599.jp2"}, "596": {"fulltext": "S76\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nFrom the hall of the peer to the\\nherd s ingle-nook\\nAnd huzza! my brave hearts, for\\nBuccleuch and his stand-\\nard,\\nFor the King and the Country,\\nthe Clan and the Duke\\nThen up with the Banner, let\\nforest winds fan her,\\nShe has blazed over Ettrick\\neight ages and more\\nIn sport we 11 attend her, in\\nbattle defend her,\\nWith heart and with hand,\\nlike our fathers before.\\nSONGS FROM GUY MANNER-\\nING\\nPublished in 1815\\nk CANNY MOMENT, LUCKY FIT\\nFrom chapter ill.\\nCanny moment, lucky fit\\nIs the lady lighter yet\\nBe it lad, or be it lass,\\nSign wi cross, and sain wi mass.\\nTrefoil, vervain, John s-wort, dill,\\nHinders witches of their will\\nWeel is them, that weel may\\nFast upon St. Andrew s day.\\nSaint Bride and her brat,\\nSaint Colme and her cat,\\nSaint Michael and his spear,\\nKeep the house f rae reif and wear.\\nii\\n1 TWIST YE, TWINE YE EVEN SO\\nFrom chapter iv.\\nTwist ye, twine ye even so,\\nMingle shades of joy and woe,\\nHope and fear and peace and\\nstrife,\\nIn the thread of human life.\\nWhile the mystic twist is spinning,\\nAnd the infant s life beginning,\\nDimly seen through twilight bend-\\ning,\\nLo, what varied shapes attending\\nPassions wild and follies vain,\\nPleasures soon exchanged for\\npain;\\nDoubt and jealousy and fear,\\nIn the magic dance appear.\\nNow they wax and now they\\ndwindle,\\nWhirling with the whirling spindle,\\nTwist ye, twine ye even so,\\nMingle human bliss and woe.\\nin\\nWASTED, WEARY, WHEREFORE\\nSTAY\\nFrom chapter xxvii.\\nWasted, weary, wherefore stay,\\nWrestling thus with earth and\\nclay?\\nFrom the body pass away\\nHark the mass is singing.\\nFrom thee doff thy mortal weed,\\nMary Mother be thy speed,\\nSaints to help thee at thy need;\\nHark the knell is ringing.\\nFear not snow-drift drifting fast,\\nSleet or hail or levin blast\\nSoon the shroud shall lap thee fast,\\nAnd the sleep be on thee cast\\nThat shall ne er know waking.\\nHaste thee, haste thee, to be gone,\\nEarth flits fast, and time draws\\non,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nGasp thy gasp, and groan thy\\ngroan,\\nDay is near the breaking.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0600.jp2"}, "597": {"fulltext": "THE RETURN TO ULSTER\\n577\\nIV\\n4 DARK SHALL BE LIGHT\\nFrom chapter xlix.\\nDark shall be light,\\nAnd wrong done to right,\\nWhen Bertram s right and Ber-\\ntram s might\\nShall meet on Ellangowan s height.\\nLULLABY OF AN INFANT\\nCHIEF\\nAir Cadul gu lo\\nO, hush thee, my babie, thy sire\\nwas a knight,\\nThy mother a lady both lovely and\\nbright;\\nThe woods and the glens, from the\\ntow r ers which we see,\\nThey all are belonging, dear babie,\\nto thee.\\nO ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,\\nOho ro, i ri ri, etc.\\nO, fear not the bugle, though loudly\\nit blows,\\nIt calls but the warders that guard\\nthy repose\\nTheir bows would be bended, then-\\nblades would be red,\\nEre the step of a foeman draws\\nnear to thy bed.\\nO ho ro, i ri ri, etc.\\nO, hush thee, my babie, the time\\nsoon will come,\\nWhen thy sleep shall be broken\\nby trumpet and drum\\nThen hush thee, my darling, take\\nrest while you may,\\nFor strife comes with manhood\\nand waking with day,\\nO ho ro, i ri ri, etc.\\nTHE RETURN TO ULSTER\\nOnce again, but how changed\\nsince my wanderings be-\\ngan\\nI have heard the deep voice of the\\nLagan and Bann,\\nAnd the pines of Clanbrassil re-\\nsound to the roar\\nThat wearies the echoes of fair\\nTullamore.\\nAlas! my poor bosom, and why\\nshouldst thou burn\\nWith the scenes of my youth can\\nits raptures return\\nCan I live the dear life of delusion\\nagain,\\nThat flowed when these echoes\\nfirst mixed with my strain\\nIt was then that around me,\\nthough poor and unknown,\\nHigh spells of mysterious enchant-\\nment were thrown\\nThe streams were of silver, of dia-\\nmond the dew,\\nThe land was an Eden, for fancy\\nwas new.\\nI had heard of our bards, and my\\nsoul was on fire\\nAt the rush of their verse and the\\nsweep of their lyre\\nTo me t was not legend nor tale\\nto the ear,\\nBut a vision of noontide, distin-\\nguished and clear.\\nUltonia s old heroes awoke at the\\ncall,\\nAnd renewed the wild pomp of\\nthe chase and the hall\\nAnd the standard of Fion flashed\\nfierce from on high,\\nLike a burst of the sun when the\\ntempest is nigh.\\nIt seemed that the harp of green\\nErin once more\\nCould renew all the glories she\\nboasted of yore.\\nYet why at remembrance, fond\\nheart, shouldst thou burn?", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0601.jp2"}, "598": {"fulltext": "573\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThey were days of delusion and\\ncannot return.\\nBut was she, too, a phantom, the\\nmaid who stood by,\\nAnd listed my lay while she turned\\nfrom mine eye\\nWas she, too, a vision, just glan-\\ncing to view,\\nThen dispersed in the sunbeam or\\nmelted to dew\\nO, would it had been so! O,\\nwould that her eye\\nHad been but a star-glance that\\nshot through the sky,\\nAnd her voice that was moulded\\nto melody s thrill,\\nHad been but a zephyr that sighed\\nand was still\\nO, would it had been so not\\nthen this poor heart\\nHad learned the sad lesson, to\\nlove and to part\\nTo bear unassisted its burden of\\ncare,\\nWhile I toiled for the wealth I had\\nno one to share.\\nNot then had I said, when life s\\nsummer was done\\nAnd the hours of her autumn were\\nfast speeding on,\\nTake the fame and the riches ye\\nbrought in your train,\\nAnd restore me the dream of my\\nspringtide again.\\nJOCK OF HAZELDEAN\\nAir A Border Melody\\n1 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie\\nWhy weep ye by the tide\\nI 11 wed ye to my youngest son,\\nAnd ye sail be his bride\\nAnd ye sail be his bride, ladie,\\nSae comely to be seen\\nBut aye she loot the tears down\\nfa\\nFor Jock of Hazeldean.\\n1 Now let this wilfu grief be done,\\nAnd dry that cheek so pale\\nYoung Frank is chief of Errington\\nAnd lord of Langley-dale\\nHis step is first in peaceful ha\\nHis sword in battle keen\\nBut aye she loot the tears down fa\\nFor Jock of Hazeldean.\\n4 A chain of gold ye sail not lack,\\nNor braid to bind your hair\\nNor mettled hound, nor managed\\nhawk,\\nNor palfrey fresh and fair\\nAnd you, the foremost o them a\\nShall ride our forest queen.\\nBut aye she loot the tears down fa\\nFor Jock of Hazeldean.\\nThe kirk was decked at morning-\\ntide,\\nThe tapers glimmered fair\\nThe priest and bridegroom wait\\nthe bride,\\nAnd dame and knight are there.\\nThey sought her baith by bower\\nand ha\\nThe ladie w T as not seen\\nShe s o er the Border and awa\\nWi Jock of Hazeldean.\\nPIBROCH OF DONALD DHL\\nAir\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Piobair of Donuil Dhuidh\\nPibroch of Donuil Dhu,\\nPibroch of Donuil,\\nWake thy wild voice anew,\\nSummon Clan Conuil.\\nCome away, come away,\\nHark to the summons\\nCome in your war array,\\nGentles and commons.\\nCome from deep glen and\\nFrom mountain so rocky,\\nThe war-pipe and pennon\\nAre at Inverlochy.\\nCome every hill-plaid and\\nTrue heart that wears one,\\ni", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0602.jp2"}, "599": {"fulltext": "MACGREGOR S GATHERING\\n579\\nCome every steel blade and\\nBegins to bloom in purple light\\nStrong hand that bears one.\\nThe frost-wind soon shall sweep\\naway\\nLeave untended the herd,\\nThat lustre deep from glen and\\nThe flock without shelter\\nbrae;\\nLeave the corpse uninterred,\\nYet Nora ere its bloom be gone\\nThe bride at the altar\\nMay blithely wed the Earlie s\\nLeave the deer, leave the steer,\\nson.\\nLeave nets and barges\\nCome with your fighting gear,\\nThe swan, she said, the lake s\\nBroadswords and targes.\\nclear breast\\nMay barter for the eagle s nest\\nCome as the winds come when\\nThe Awe s fierce stream may\\nForests are rended\\nbackward turn,\\nCome as the waves come when\\nBen-Cruaichan fall and crush Kil-\\nNavies are stranded\\nchurn\\nFaster come, faster come,\\nOur kilted clans when blood is\\nFaster and faster,\\nhigh\\nChief, vassal, page and groom,\\nBefore their foes may turn and\\nTenant and master.\\nfly;\\nBut I, were all these marvels done,\\nFast they come, fast they come\\nWould never wed the Earlie s\\nSee how they gather\\nson.\\nWide waves the eagle plume,\\nBlended with heather.\\nStill in the water-lily s shade\\nCast your plaids, draw your blades,\\nHer wonted nest the wild-swan\\nForward each man set\\nmade;\\nPibroch of Donuil Dhu,\\nBen-Cruaichan stands as fast as\\nKnell for the onset\\never,\\nStill downward foams the Awe s\\nfierce river\\nNORA S VOW\\nTo shun the clash of foeman s\\nsteel\\nAie Cha teid mis a chaoidh\\nNo Highland brogue has turned\\nthe heel\\nHear what Highland Nora said,\\nBut Nora s heart is lost and\\nThe Earlie s son I will not wed,\\nwon\\nShould all the race of nature die\\nShe s wedded to the Earlie s son\\nAnd none be left but he and I.\\nFor all the ^old, for all the gear,\\nAnd all the lands both far and\\nnear,\\nMACGREGOR S GATHERING\\nThat ever valor lost or won,\\nAir ThairC a Grigalach\\nI would not wed the Earlie s son.\\nThe moon s on the lake and the\\nA maiden s vows, old Galium\\nmist s on the brae,\\nspoke,\\nAnd the Clan has a name that is\\n1 Are lightly made and lightly\\nnameless by day\\nbroke\\nThen gather, gather, gather,\\nThe heather on the mountain s\\nGrigalach I\\nheight\\nGather, gather, gather, etc.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0603.jp2"}, "600": {"fulltext": "5 8o\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nOur signal for fight, that from\\nmonarchs we drew,\\nMust be heard but by night in our\\nvengeful haloo\\nThen haloo, Grigalach haloo,\\nGrigalach\\nHaloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach,\\netc.\\nGlen Orchy s proud mountains,\\nCoalchurn and her towers,\\nGlenstrae and Glenlyon no longer\\nare ours\\nWe re landless, landless, land-\\nless, Grigalach\\nLandless, landless, landless,\\netc.\\nBut doomed and devoted by vassal\\nand lord,\\nMacGregor has still both his heart\\nand his sword\\nThen courage, courage, cour-\\nage, Grigalach\\nCourage, courage, courage, etc.\\nIf they rob us of name and pursue\\nus with beagles,\\nGive their roofs to the flame and\\ntheir flesh to the eagles\\nThen vengeance, vengeance,\\nvengeance, Grigalach!\\nVengeance, vengeance, ven-\\ngeance, etc.\\nWhile there s leaves in the forest\\nand foam on the river,\\nMacGregor, despite them, shall\\nflourish forever!\\nCome then, Grigalach, come\\nthen, Grigalach\\nCome then, come then, come\\nthen, etc.\\nThrough the depths of Loch Ka-\\ntrine the steed shall career,\\nO er the peak of Ben-Lomond the\\ngalley shall steer,\\nAnd the rocks of Craig-Royston\\nlike icicles melt,\\nEre our wrongs be forgot or our\\nvengeance unfelt.\\nThen gather, gather, gather,\\nGrigalach\\nGather, gather, gather, etc.\\nVERSES\\nCOMPOSED FOB, THE OCCASION,\\nADAPTED TO HAYDN S AIR\\nGOD SAVE THE EMPEROR\\nFRANCIS, AND SUNG BY A SE-\\nLECT BAND AFTER THE DIN-\\nNER GIVEN BY THE LORD PRO-\\nVOST OF EDINBURGH TO THE\\nGRANDDUKE NICHOLAS OF\\nRUSSIA, AND HIS SUITE, 19TH\\nDECEMBER, 1816\\nGod protect brave Alexander,\\nHeaven defend the noble Czar,\\nMighty Russia s high Commander,\\nFirst in Europe s banded war\\nFor the realms he did deliver\\nFrom the tyrant overthrown,\\nThou, of every good the Giver,\\nGrant him long to bless his own\\nBless him, mid his land s disas-\\nter\\nFor her rights who battled brave\\nOf the land of f oemen master,\\nBless him who their wrongs for-\\ngave.\\nO er his just resentment victor,\\nVictor over Europe s foes,\\nLate and long supreme director,\\nGrant in peace his reign may\\nclose.\\nHail then, hail illustrious stran-\\nger!\\nWelcome to our mountain strand\\nMutual interests, hopes, and dan-\\nger,\\nLink us with thy native land.\\nFreemen s force or false beguiling\\nShall that union ne er divide,\\nHand in hand while peace is smil-\\ning,\\nAnd in battle side by side.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0604.jp2"}, "601": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE ANTIQUARY\\nS8i\\nVERSES FROM THE ANTI-\\nQUARY\\nPublished in 1816\\nhe came, but valor had so\\nfired his eye\\nFrom chapter vi.\\nHe came but valor had so fired\\nhis eye,\\nAnd such a falchion glittered on\\nhis thigh,\\nThat, by the gods, with such a load\\nof steel,\\nI thought he came to murder\\nnot to heal.\\n11\\nWHY SIT ST THOU BY THAT\\nRUINED HALL\\nFrom chapter x.\\n1 Why sit st thou by that ruined\\nhall,\\nThou aged carle so stern and\\ngray?\\nDost thou its former pride recall,\\nOr ponder how it passed\\naway\\n1 Know st thou not me? the Deep\\nVoice cried\\nSo long enjoyed, so oft mis-\\nused\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAlternate, in thy fickle pride,\\nDesired, neglected, and accused\\nBefore my breath, like .blazing\\nflax,\\nMan and his marvels pass away\\nAnd changing empires wane and\\nwax,\\nAre founded, flourish, and decay.\\nRedeem mine hours\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the space\\nis brief\\nWhile in my glass the sand-\\ngrains shiver,\\nAnd measureless thy joy or grief,\\nWhen Time and thou shalt part\\nforever\\nin\\nEPITAPH\\nFrom chapter xi.\\nHeir lyeth John o ye Girnell,\\nErth has ye nit and heuen ye\\nkirnell.\\nIn hys tyme ilk wyfe s hennis\\nclokit,\\nIlka gud mannis herth wi\u00c2\u00bb bairnis\\nwas stokit,\\nHe deled a boll o bear in firlottis\\nfyve,\\nFour for ye halie kirke and ane\\nfor puir mennis wyvis.\\nIV\\nTHE HERRING LOVES THE\\nMERRY MOON-LIGHT\\nFrom chapter xi.\\nThe herring loves the merry\\nmoon-light,\\nThe mackerel loves the wind,\\nBut the oyster loves the dredging\\nsang,\\nFor they come of a gentle kind.\\nNow baud your tongue, baith wife\\nand carle,\\nAnd listen great and sma\\nAnd I will sing of Glenallan s\\nEarl\\nThat fought on the red Harlaw.\\nThe cronach s cried on Bennachie\\nAnd doun the Don and a\\nAnd hieland and lawland may\\nmournfu be\\nFor the sair field of Harlaw.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0605.jp2"}, "602": {"fulltext": "5 82\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThey saddled a hundred milk-\\nwhite steeds,\\nThey hae bridled a hundred\\nblack,\\nWith a chafron of steel on each\\nhorse s head,\\nAnd a good knight upon his\\nback.\\nThey hadna ridden a mile, a mile,\\nA mile but barely ten,\\nWhen Donald came branking down\\nthe brae\\nWi twenty thousand men.\\nTheir tartans they were waving\\nwide,\\nTheir glaives were glancing\\nclear,\\nThe pibrochs rung frae side to\\nside,\\nWould deafen ye to hear.\\nThe great Earl in his stirrups\\nstood,\\nThat Highland host to see\\nNow here a knight that s stout\\nand good\\nMay prove a jeopardie\\n1 What would stthou do, my squire\\nso gay,\\nThat rides beside my reyne,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWere ye Glenallan s Earl the day,\\nAnd I were Koland Cheyne\\n4 To turn the rein were sin and\\nshame,\\nTo fight were wond rous peril,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhat would ye do now, Koland\\nCheyne,\\nWere ye Glenallan s Earl\\nWere I Glenallan s Earl this tide,\\nAnd ye were Koland Cheyne,\\nThe spur should be in my horse s\\nside,\\nAnd the bridle upon his mane.\\nIf they hae twenty thousand\\nblades,\\nAnd we twice ten times ten,\\nYet they hae but their tartan\\nplaids,\\nAnd we are mail-clad men.\\nMy horse shall ride through\\nranks sae rude,\\nAs through the moorland fern,\\nThen ne er let the gentle Norman\\nblude\\nGrow cauld for Highland kerne.\\nHe turned him right and round\\nagain,\\nSaid, Scorn na at my mither\\nLight loves I may get a mony a\\nane,\\nBut minnie ne er anither.\\nTHE SEAKCH AFTER HAP-\\nPINESS\\nOR, THE QUEST OF SULTAT N\\nSOLIMAUN\\nO, for a glance of that gay\\nMuse s eye\\nThat lightened on Bandello s\\nlaughing tale,\\nAnd twinkled with a lustre\\nshrewd and sly\\nWhen Giam Battista bade her\\nvision hail\\nYet fear not, ladies, the naive\\ndetail\\nGiven by the natives of that land\\ncanorous\\nItalian license loves to leap the\\npale,\\nWe Britons have the fear of\\nshame before us,\\nAnd, if not wise in mirth, at least\\nmust be decorous.\\nIn the far eastern clime, no great\\nwhile since, io\\nLived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty\\nprince,\\nWhose eyes, as oft as they per-\\nformed their round,\\nBeheld all others fixed upon the\\nground", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0606.jp2"}, "603": {"fulltext": "THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS\\n;s 3\\nWhose ears received the same un-\\nvaried phrase,\\nSultaun! thy vassal hears and\\nhe obeys\\nAll have their tastes this may\\nthe fancy strike\\nOf such grave folks as pomp and\\ngrandeur like\\nFor me, I love the honest heart\\nand warm\\nOf monarch who can amble round\\nhis farm,\\nOr, when the toil of state no more\\nannoys, 20\\nIn chimney corner seek domestic\\njoys\\nI love a prince will bid the bottle\\npass,\\nExchanging with his subjects\\nglance and glass\\nIn fitting time can, gayest of the\\ngay,\\nKeep up the jest and mingle in the\\nlay\\nSuch monarchs best our free-born\\nhumors suit,\\nBut despots must be stately, stern,\\nand mute.\\nThis Solimaun Serendib had in\\nsway\\nAnd where s Serendib may some\\ncritic say.\\nGood lack, mine honest friend,\\nconsult the chart, 30\\nScare not my Pegasus before I\\nstart\\nIf Rennell has it not, you 11 find\\nmayhap\\nThe isle laid down in Captain\\nSindbad s map\\nFamed mariner, whose merciless\\nnarrations\\nDrove every friend and kinsman\\nout of patience,\\nTill, fain to find a guest who\\nthought them shorter,\\nHe deigned to tell them over to a\\nporter\\nThe last edition see, by Long and\\nCo.,\\nRees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers\\nin the Row.\\nSerendib found, deem not my tale\\na fiction 40\\nThis Sultaun, whether lacking\\ncontradiction\\nA sort of stimulant which hath its\\nuses\\nTo raise the spirits and reform the\\njuices,\\nSovereign specific for all sorts of\\ncures\\nIn my wife s practice and perhaps\\nin yours\\nThe Sultaun lacking this same\\nwholesome bitter,\\nOr cordial smooth for prince s pal-\\nate fitter\\nOr if some Mollah had hag-rid his\\ndreams\\nWith Degial, Ginnistan, and such\\nwild themes\\nBelonging to the Mollah s subtle\\ncraft, 50\\nI wot not but the Sultaun never\\nlaughed,\\nScarce ate or drank, and took a\\nmelancholy\\nThat scorned all remedy profane\\nor holy\\nIn his long list of melancholies,\\nmad\\nOr mazed or dumb, hath Burton\\nnone so bad.\\nPhysicians soon arrived, sage,\\nware, and tried,\\nAs e er scrawled jargon in a\\ndarkened room\\nW T ith heedful glance the Sultaun s\\ntongue they eyed,\\nPeeped in his bath and God knows\\nwhere beside,\\nAnd then in solemn accent spoke\\ntheir doom, 60\\nHis majesty is very far from\\nwell.\\nThen each to work with his\\nspecific fell", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0607.jp2"}, "604": {"fulltext": "5\u00c2\u00a74\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThe Hakim Ibrahim instanter\\nGave, like Sempronius, still their\\nbrought\\nvoice for war\\nHis unguent Mahazzim al Zer-\\nThe sabre of the Sultaun in its\\ndukkaut,\\nsheath\\nWhile Koompot, a practitioner\\nToo long has slept nor owned the\\nmore wily,\\nwork of death 9 o\\nRelied on his Munaskif al fillfily.\\nLet the Tambourgi bid his signal\\nMore and yet more in deep array\\nrattle,\\nappear,\\nBang the loud gong and raise the\\nAnd some the front assail and\\nshout of battle\\nsome the rear\\nThis dreary cloud that dims our\\nTheir remedies to reinforce and\\nsovereign s day\\nvary\\nShall from his kindled bosom flit\\nCame surgeon eke, and eke apoth-\\naway,\\necary 70\\nWhen the bold Lootie wheels his\\nTill the tired monarch, though of\\ncourser round\\nwords grown chary,\\nAnd the armed elephant shall\\nYet dropt, to recompense their\\nshake the ground.\\nfruitless labor,\\nEach noble pants to own the glori-\\nSome hint about a bowstring or a\\nous summons\\nsabre.\\nAnd for the charges Lo! your\\nThere lacked, I promise you, no\\nfaithful Commons\\nlonger speeches\\nThe Riots who attended in their\\nTo rid the palace of those learned\\nplaces\\nleeches.\\nSerendib language calls a farmer\\nRiot 100\\nThen was the council called by\\nLooked ruefully in one another s\\ntheir advice\\nfaces,\\nThey deemed the matter ticklish\\nFrom this oration auguring much\\nall and nice,\\ndisquiet,\\nAnd sought to shift it off from\\nDouble assessment, forage, and\\ntheir own shoulders\\nfree quarters\\nTartars and couriers in all speed\\nAnd fearing these as Chinamen\\nwere sent,\\nthe Tartars,\\nTo call a sort of Eastern Parlia-\\nOr as the whiskered vermin fear\\nment 80\\nthe mousers,\\nOf feudatory chieftains and free-\\nEach fumbled in the pocket of his\\nholders\\ntrousers.\\nSuch have the Persians at this\\nvery day,\\nAnd next came forth the reverend\\nMy gallant Malcolm calls them\\nConvocation,\\ncouroultai\\nBald heads, white beards, and\\nI m not prepared to show in this\\nmany a turban green,\\nslight song\\nImaum and Mollah there of every\\nThat to Serendib the same forms\\nstation,\\nbelong\\nSanton, Fakir, and Calendar\\nE en let the learned go search, and\\nwere seen. no\\ntell me if I m wrong.\\nTheir votes were various some\\nadvised a mosque\\nThe Omrahs, each with hand on\\nWith fitting revenues should be\\nscimitar,\\nerected,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0608.jp2"}, "605": {"fulltext": "THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS\\n585\\nWith seemly gardens and with gay\\nkiosque,\\nTo recreate a band of priests se-\\nlected\\nOthers opined that through the\\nrealms a dole\\nBe made to holy men, whose\\nprayers might profit\\nThe Sultaun s weal in body and in\\nsoul.\\nBut their long-headed chief, the\\nSheik Ul-Sotit,\\nMore closely touched the point;\\nThy studious mood,\\nQuoth he, O Prince hath thick-\\nened all thy blood, 120\\nAnd dulled thy brain with labor\\nbeyond measure\\nWherefore relax a space and take\\nthy pleasure,\\nAnd toy with beauty or tell o er\\nthy treasure\\nFrom all the cares of state, my\\nliege, enlarge thee,\\nAnd leave the burden to thy faith-\\nful clergy.\\nThese counsels sage availed not a\\nwhit,\\nAud so the patient as is not\\nuncommon\\nWhere grave physicians lose their\\ntime and wit\\nResolved to take advice of an old\\nwoman\\nHis mother she, a dame who once\\nwas beauteous, 130\\nAnd still was called so by each\\nsubject duteous.\\nNow, whether Fatima was witch\\nin earnest,\\nOr only made believe, I cannot\\nsay\\nBut she professed to cure disease\\nthe sternest,\\nBy dint of magic amulet or lay\\nAnd, when all other skill in vain\\nwas shown,\\nShe deemed it fitting time to use\\nher own.\\n1 Sympathia magica hath wonders\\ndone\\nThus did old Fatima bespeak her\\nson\\n1 It works upon the fibres and the\\npores, 140\\nAnd thus insensibly our health re-\\nstores,\\nAnd it must help us here. Thou\\nmust endure\\nThe ill, my son, or travel for the\\ncure.\\nSearch land and sea, and get\\nwhere er you can\\nThe inmost vesture of a happy\\nman,\\nI mean his shirt, my son; which,\\ntaken warm\\nAnd fresh from off his back, shall\\nchase your harm,\\nBid every current of your veins\\nrejoice,\\nAnd your dull heart leap light as\\nshepherd-boy s.\\nSuch was the counsel from his\\nmother came 150\\nI know not if she had some under-\\ngame,\\nAs doctors, have, who bid their\\npatients roam\\nAnd live abroad when sure to die\\nat home\\nOr if she thought that, somehow or\\nanother,\\nQueen-Regent sounded better than\\nQueen-Mother\\nBut, says the Chronicle who will\\ngo look it\\nThat such was her advice\u00e2\u0080\u0094 -the\\nSultaun took it.\\nAll are on board the Sultaun and\\nhis train,\\nIn gilded galley prompt to plough\\nthe main.\\nThe old Rais was the first who\\nquestioned, Whither 160\\nThey paused Arabia, thought\\nthe pensive prince,\\n1 Was called The Happy many ages\\nsince", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0609.jp2"}, "606": {"fulltext": "586\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nFor Mokha, Rais. And they\\ncame safely thither.\\nBut not in Araby with all her\\nbalm,\\nNot where Judea weeps beneath\\nher palm,\\nNot in rich Egypt, not in Nubian\\nwaste,\\nCould there the step of happiness\\nbe traced.\\nOne Copt alone professed to have\\nseen her smile,\\nWhen Bruce his goblet filled at\\ninfant Nile\\nShe blessed the dauntless traveller\\nas he quaffed, 170\\nBut vanished from him with the\\nended draught.\\nEnough of turbans, said the\\nweary King,\\nThese dolimans of ours are not\\nthe thing;\\nTry we the Giaours, these men of\\ncoat and cap, I\\nIncline to think some of them must\\nbe happy\\nAt least, they have as fair a cause\\nas any can,\\nThey drink good wine and keep no\\nRamazan.\\nThen north ward, ho The vessel\\ncuts the sea,\\nAnd fair Italia lies upon her lee.\\nBut fair Italia, she who once un-\\nfurled 180\\nHer eagle-banners o er a conquered\\nworld,\\nLong from her throne of domina-\\ntion tumbled,\\nLay by her q uoudam vassals sorely\\nhumbled\\nThe Pope himself looked pensive,\\npale, and lean,\\nAnd was not half the man he once\\nhad been.\\n4 While these the priest and those\\nthe noble fleeces,\\nOur poor old boot, they said, is\\ntorn to pieces.\\nIts tops the vengeful claws of\\nAustria feel,\\nAnd the Great Devil is rending toe\\nand heel.\\nIf happiness you seek, to tell you\\ntruly, i 9 o\\nWe think she dwells with one\\nGiovanni Bulli;\\nA tramontane, a heretic the\\nbuck,\\nPoffaredio still has all the luck\\nBy land or ocean never strikes his\\nflag-\\nAnd then a perfect walking\\nmoney-bag.\\nOff set our prince to seek John\\nBull s abode,\\nBut first took France it lay upon\\nthe road.\\nMonsieur Baboon after much late\\ncommotion\\nWas agitated like a settling ocean,\\nQuite out of sorts and could not\\ntell what ailed him, 200\\nOnly the glory of his house had\\nfailed him\\nBesides, some tumors on his noddle\\nbiding\\nGave indication of a recent hiding.\\nOur prince, though Sultauns of\\nsuch things are heedless,\\nThought it a thing indelicate and\\nneedless\\nTo ask if at that moment he was\\nhappy.\\nAnd Monsieur, seeing that he was\\ncomme ilfaut, a\\nLoud voice mustered up, for k Vive\\nle Roi!\\nThen whispered, Ave you any\\nnews of Nappy?\\nThe Sultaun answered him with a\\ncross question, 210\\nPray, can you tell me aught of\\none John Bull,\\nThat dwells somewhere beyond\\nyour herring-pool\\nThe query seemed of difficult di-\\ngestion,\\nThe party shrugged and grinned\\nand took his snuff,\\nAnd found his whole good-breeding\\nscarce enough.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0610.jp2"}, "607": {"fulltext": "THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS\\nSS;\\nTwitching bis visage into as many\\npuckers\\nAs damsels wont to put into their\\ntuckers\\nEre liberal Fashion damned both\\nlace and lawn,\\nAnd bade the veil of modesty be\\ndrawn\\nReplied the Frenchman after a\\nbrief pause, 220\\nJean Bool I vas not know him\\nYes, I vas\\nI vas remember dat, von year or\\ntwo,\\nI saw him at von place called\\nVaterloo\\nMa foi il s est tres joliment battu,\\nDat is for Englishman, m enten-\\ndez-vous?\\nBut den he had wit him one damn\\nson-gun,\\nRogue I no like dey call him\\nVellington.\\nMonsieur s politeness could not i\\nhide his fret,\\nSo Solimaun took leave and\\ncrossed the strait.\\nJohn Bull was in his very worst of\\nmoods, 230\\nRaving of sterile farms and unsold\\ngoods\\nHis sugar-loaves and bales about\\nhe threw,\\nAnd on his counter beat the devil s\\ntattoo.\\nHis wars were ended and the vic-\\ntory won,\\nBut then t was reckoning-day with\\nhonest John\\nAnd authors vouch, t was still this\\nworthy s way,\\nNever to grumble till he came to\\npay;\\nAnd then he always thinks, his\\ntemper s such,\\nThe work too little and the pay too\\nmuch/\\nYet, grumbler as he is, so kind\\nand hearty 240\\nThat when his mortal foe was on\\nthe floor,\\nAnd past the power to harm his\\nquiet more,\\nPoor John had wellnigh wept\\nfor Bonaparte\\nSuch was the wight whom Soli-\\nmaun salamed,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd who are you, John answered,\\nand be d d\\n4 A stranger, come to see the hap-\\npiest man\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nSo, signior, all avouch in Fran-\\ngistan.\\n4 Happy? my tenants breaking on\\nmy hand;\\nUnstoeked my pastures and un-\\ntilled my land\\nSugar and rum a drug, and mice\\nand moths 250\\nThe sole consumers of my good\\nbroadcloths\\nHappy Why, cursed war and\\nracking tax\\nHave left us scarcely raiment to\\nour backs.\\nIn that case, signior, I may take\\nmy leave\\nI came to ask a favor but I\\ngrieve\\nFavor said John, and eyed the\\nSultaun hard,\\n1 It s my belief you came to break\\nthe yard\\nBut, stay, you look like some poor\\nforeign sinner\\nTake that to buy yourself a shirt\\nand dinner.\\nWith that he chucked a guinea at\\nhis head 260\\nBut with due dignity the Sultaun\\nsaid,\\n1 Permit me, sir, your bounty to\\ndecline\\nA shirt indeed I seek, but none of\\nthine.\\nSignior, I kiss your hands, so fare\\nyou well.\\nKiss and be d d, quoth John,\\nand go to hell", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0611.jp2"}, "608": {"fulltext": "588\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nNext door to John there dwelt his\\nsister Peg,\\nOnce a wild lass as ever shook a\\nleg\\nWhen the blithe bagpipe blew\\nbut, soberer now,\\nShe doucely span her flax and\\nmilked her cow.\\nAnd whereas erst she was a needy\\nslattern, 270\\nNor now of wealth or cleanliness\\na pattern,\\nYet once a month her house was\\npartly swept,\\nAnd once a week a plenteous board\\nshe kept.\\nAnd w r hereas, eke, the vixen used\\nher claws\\nAnd teeth of yore on slender\\nprovocation,\\nShe now was grown amenable to\\nlaws,\\nA quiet soul as any in the na-\\ntion;\\nThe sole remembrance of her war-\\nlike joys\\nWas in old songs she sang to\\nplease her boys.\\nJohn Bull, whom in their years of\\nearly strife 280\\nShe wont to lead a cat-and-doggish\\nlife,\\nNow found the woman, as he said,\\na neighbor,\\nWho looked to the main chance,\\ndeclined no labor,\\nLoved a long grace and spoke a\\nnorthern jargon,\\nAnd was d d close in making\\nof a bargain.\\nThe Sultaun entered, and he made\\nhis leg,\\nAnd with decorum curtsied sister\\nPeg\\nShe loved a book, and knew a thing\\nor two,\\nAnd guessed at once with whom\\nshe had to do.\\nShe bade him Sit into the fire,\\nand took 290\\nHer dram, her cake, her kebbuck\\nfrom the nook\\nAsked him about the news from\\nEastern parts\\nAnd of her absent bairns, puir\\nHighland hearts\\nIf peace brought down the price\\nof tea and pepper,\\nAnd if the nitmugs were grown\\nony cheaper;\\nWere there nae speerings of our\\nMungo Park\\nYe 11 be the gentleman that wants\\nthe sark?\\nIf ye wad buy a web 0 auld wife s\\nspinning,\\nI 11 warrant ye it s a weel-wear-\\ning linen.\\nThen up got Peg and round the\\nhouse gan scuttle 300\\nIn search of goods her customer\\nto nail,\\nUntil the Sultaun strained his\\nprincely throttle,\\nAnd holloed, Ma am, that is\\nnot what I ail.\\nPray, are you happy, ma am, in this\\nsnug glen?\\nHappy? said Peg; What for\\nd ye want to ken?\\nBesides, just think upon this by-\\ngane year,\\nGrain wadna pay the yoking of\\nthe pleugh.\\nWhat say you to the present?\\nMeal s sae dear,\\nTo make their brose my bairns\\nhave scarce aneugh.\\nThe devil take the shirt, said\\nSolimaun, 310\\nI think my quest will end as it\\nbegan.\\nFarewell, ma am nay, no cere-\\nmony, I beg\\nYe 11 no be for the linen then?\\nsaid Peg.\\nNow, for the land of verdant Erin\\nThe Sultaun s royal bark is steer-\\ning,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0612.jp2"}, "609": {"fulltext": "LINES\\n5S9\\nThe Emerald Isle where honest\\nPaddy dwells,\\nThe cousin of John Bull, as story\\ntells.\\nFor a long space had John, with\\nwords of thunder,\\nHard looks, and harder knocks,\\nkept Paddy under,\\nTill the poor lad, like boy that s\\nflogged unduly, 320\\nHad gotten somewhat restive and\\nunruly.\\nHard was his lot and lodging,\\nyou 11 allow,\\nA wigwam that would hardly serve\\na sow\\nHis landlord, and of middle-men\\ntwo brace,\\nHad screwed his rent up to the\\nstarving-place\\nHis garment was a top-coat and\\nan old one,\\nHis meal was a potato, and a cold\\none;\\nBut still for fun or frolic and all\\nthat,\\nIn the round world was not the\\nmatch of Pat.\\nThe Sultaun saw him on a holi-\\nday, 330\\nWhich is with Paddy still a jolly\\nday:\\nWhen mass is ended, and his load\\nof sins\\nConfessed, and Mother Church\\nhath from her binns\\nDealt forth a bonus of imputed\\nmerit,\\nThen is Pat s time for fancy, whim,\\nand spirit!\\nTo jest, to sing, to caper fair and\\nfree,\\nAnd dance as light as leaf upon\\nthe tree.\\n4 By Mahomet, said Sultaun Soli-\\nmaun,\\n4 That ragged fellow is our very\\nman!\\nRush in and seize him\u00e2\u0080\u0094 do not do\\nhim hurt, 340\\nBut, will he nill he, let me have\\nhis shin:\\nShilela their plan was wellnigh\\nafter balking\\nMuch less provocation will set it\\na-walking\\nBut the odds that foiled Hercules\\nfoiled Paddy Whack;\\nThey seized, and they floored, and\\nthey stripped him Alack\\nUp-bubboo Paddy had not a\\nshirt to his back\\nAnd the king, disappointed, with\\nsorrow and shame\\nWent back to Serendib as sad as\\nhe came.\\nLINES\\nWRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH\\nWhen the lone pilgrim views afar\\nThe shrine that is his guiding star,\\nWith awe his footsteps print the\\nroad\\nWhich the loved saint of yore has\\ntrod.\\nAs near he draws and yet more\\nnear,\\nHis dim eye sparkles with a tear;\\nThe Gothic fane s unwonted show,\\nThe choral hymn, the tapers\\nglow,\\nOppress his soul while they de-\\nlight\\nAnd chasten rapture with affright.\\nNo longer dare he think his toil\\nCan merit aught his patron s smile\\nToo light appears the distant\\nway,\\nThe chilly eve. the sultry day\\nAll these endured no favor claim,\\nBut murmuring forth the sainted\\nname,\\nHe lays his little offering down,\\nAnd only deprecates a frown.\\nWe too who ply the Thespian\\nart\\nOft feel such bodings of the heart,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0613.jp2"}, "610": {"fulltext": "590\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nAnd when our utmost powers are\\nstrained\\nDare hardly hope your favor\\ngained.\\nShe who from sister climes has\\nsought\\nThe ancient land w T here Wallace\\nfought\\nLand long renowned for arms and\\narts,\\nAnd conquering eyes and daunt-\\nless hearts\\nShe, as the flutterings here avow,\\nFeels all the pilgrim s terrors now\\nYet, sure on Caledonian plain\\nThe stranger never sued in vain.\\nT is yours the hospitable task\\nTo give the applause she dare not\\nask;\\nAnd they who bid the pilgrim\\nspeed,\\nThe pilgrim s blessing be their\\nmeed.\\nMR. KEMBLE S FAREWELL\\nADDRESS\\nON TAKING LEAVE OF THE\\nEDINBURGH STAGE\\nAs the worn war horse, at the\\ntrumpet s sound,\\nErects his mane, and neighs, and\\npaws the ground\\nDisdains the ease his generous\\nlord assigns,\\nAnd longs to rush on the embat-\\ntled lines,\\nSo I, your plaudits ringing on\\nmine ear,\\nCan scarce sustain to think our\\nparting near\\nTo think my scenic hour forever\\npast,\\nAnd that those valued plaudits are\\nmy last.\\nWhy should we part, while still\\nsome powers remain,\\nThat in your service strive not yet\\nin vain?\\nCannot high zeal the strength of\\nyouth supply,\\nAnd sense of duty fire the fading\\neye;\\nAnd all the wrongs of age remain\\nsubdued\\nBeneath the burning glow of grati-\\ntude\\nAh, no the taper, wearing to its\\nclose,\\nOft for a space in fitful lustre\\nglows\\nBut all too soon the transient\\ngleam is past,\\nIt cannot be renewed, and will not\\nlast;\\nEven duty, zeal, and gratitude can\\nwage\\nBut short-lived conflict with the\\nfrosts of age.\\nYes It were poor, remembering\\nwhat I was,\\nTo live a pensioner on your ap-\\nplause,\\nTo drain the dregs of your endur-\\nance dry,\\nAnd take, as alms, the praise I\\nonce could buy\\nTill every sneering youth around\\nenquires,\\nIs this the man who once could\\nplease our sires\\nAnd scorn assumes compassion s\\ndoubtful mien,\\nTo warn me off from the encum-\\nbered scene.\\nThis must not be and higher\\nduties crave\\nSome space between the theatre\\nand the grave,\\nThat, like the Roman in the Capitol,\\nI may adjust my mantle ere I fall\\nMy life s brief act in public service\\nflown,\\nThe last, the closing scene, must\\nbe my own.\\nHere, then, adieu! while yet\\nsome well-graced parts\\nMay fix an ancient favorite in your\\nhearts,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0614.jp2"}, "611": {"fulltext": "SONG FROM ROB ROY\\n591\\nNot quite to be forgotten, even\\nwhen\\nYou look on better actors, younger\\nmen:\\nAnd if your bosoms own this\\nkindly debt\\nOf old remembrance, how shall\\nmine forget\\nO, how forget how oft I hither\\ncame\\nIn anxious hope, how oft returned\\nwith fame\\nHow oft around your circle this\\nweak hand\\nHas waved immortal Shake-\\nspeare s magic wand,\\nTill the full burst of inspiration\\ncame,\\nAnd I have felt, and you have\\nfanned the flame\\nBy mem ry treasured, while her\\nreign endures,\\nThose hours must live and all\\ntheir charms are yours.\\nO favored Land! renowned for\\narts and arms,\\nFor manly talent, and for female\\ncharms,\\nCould this full bosom prompt the\\nsinking line,\\nWhat fervent benedictions now\\nwere thine\\nBut my last part is played, my\\nknell is rung,\\nWhen e en your praise falls falter-\\ning from my tongue\\nAnd all that you can hear, or I\\ncan tell,\\nIs Friends and Patrons, hail,\\nand FARE you well.\\nTHE SUN UPON THE WEIRD-\\nLAW HILL\\nAir Rimhin aluin stu mo run\\nThe sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill\\nIn Ettrick s vale is sinking\\nswe et\\nThe westland wind is hush and\\nstm,\\nThe lake lies sleeping at my\\nfeet.\\nYet not the landscape to mine eye\\nBears those bright hues that\\nonce it bore,\\nThough evening with her richest\\ndye\\nFlames o er the hills of Ettrick s\\nshore.\\nWith listless look along the plain\\nI see Tweed s silver current\\nglide,\\nAnd coldly mark the holy fane\\nOf Melrose rise in ruined pride.\\nThe quiet lake, the balmy air,\\nThe hill, the stream, the tower,\\nthe tree\\nAre they still such as once they\\nwere,\\nOr is the dreary change in me\\nAlas! the warped and broken\\nboard,\\nHow can it bear the painter s\\ndye?\\nThe harp of strained and tuneless\\nchord,\\nHow to the minstrel s skill reply\\nTo aching eyes each landscape\\nlowers,\\nTo feverish pulse each gale\\nblows chill\\nAnd Araby s or Eden s bowers\\nWere barren as this moorland\\nhill.\\nSONG FROM ROB ROY\\nPublished in 1817\\nTO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD\\nTHE BLACK PRINCE\\nO for the voice of that wild horn,\\nOn Fontarabian echoes borne,\\nThe dying hero s call,\\nThat told imperial Charlemagne", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0615.jp2"}, "612": {"fulltext": "592\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nHow Paynim sons of swarthy\\nSpain\\nHad wrought his champion s\\nfall.\\nSad over earth and ocean sounding,\\nAnd England s distant cliffs as-\\ntounding,\\nSuch are the notes should say\\nHow Britain s hope, and France s\\nfear,\\nVictor of Cressy and Poitier,\\nIn Bourdeaux dying lay.\\n4 Raise my faint head, my squires,\\nhe said,\\nAnd let the casement be display d,\\nThat I may see once more\\nThe splendor of the setting sun\\nGleam on thy mirror d wave, Ga-\\nronne,\\nAnd Blaye s empurpled shore.\\n4 Like me, he sinks to Glory s\\nsleep,\\nHis fall the dews of evening steep,\\nAs if in sorrow shed.\\nSo soft shall fall the trickling tear,\\nWhen England s maids and ma-\\ntrons hear\\nOf their Black Edward dead.\\n1 And though my sun of glory set,\\nNor France nor England shall for-\\nget\\nThe terror of my name\\nAnd oft shall Britain s heroes rise,\\nNew planets in these southern\\nskies,\\nThrough clouds of blood and\\nflame.\\nTHE MONKS OF BANGOR S\\nMARCH\\nAir Ymdaith Mionge\\nWhen the heathen trumpet s\\nclang\\nRound beleaguered Chester rang,\\nVeiled nun and friar gray\\nMarched from Bangor s fair Ab-\\nbaye;\\nHigh their holy anthem sounds,\\nCestria s vale the hymn rebounds,\\nFloating down the sylvan Dee,\\nO miserere, Domine\\nOn the long procession goes,\\nGlory round their crosses glows,\\nAnd the Virgin-mother mild\\nIn their peaceful banner smiled\\nWho could think such saintly\\nband\\nDoomed to feel unhallowed hand\\nSuch was the Divine decree,\\nO miserere. Domine I\\nBands that masses only sung,\\nHands that censers only swung,\\nMet the northern bow and bill,\\nHeard the war-cry wild and shrill\\nWoe to Brockmael s feeble hand,\\nWoe to Olfrid s bloody brand,\\nWoe to Saxon cruelty,\\nmiserere, Domine\\nWeltering amid warriors slain,\\nSpurned by steeds with bloody\\nmane,\\nSlaughtered down by heathen\\nblade,\\nBangor s peaceful monks are laid\\nWord of parting rest unspoke,\\nMass unsung and bread unbroke\\nFor their souls for charity,\\nSing, miserere, Domine\\nBangor o er the murder wail\\nLong thy ruins told the tale,\\nShattered towers and broken arch\\nLong recalled the woful march\\nOn thy shrine no tapers burn,\\nNever shall thy priests return\\nThe pilgrim sighs and sings for\\nthee,\\nO miserere, Domine", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0616.jp2"}, "613": {"fulltext": "MACKRIMMON S LAMENT\\n593\\nEPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL\\nSPOKEN BY MRS. HENRY SID-\\nDONS, FEB. 16, 1818\\nA cat of yore or else old JEsop\\nlied\\nWas changed into a fair and\\nblooming bride,\\nBut spied a mouse upon her mar-\\nriage-day,\\nForgot her spouse and seized upon\\nher prey\\nEven thus my bridegroom lawyer,\\nas you saw,\\nThrew off poor me and pounced\\nupon papa.\\nHis neck from Hymen s mystic\\nknot made loose,\\nHe twisted round my sire s the\\nliteral noose.\\nSuch are the fruits of our dramatic\\nlabor\\nSince the New Jail became our\\nnext-door neighbor.\\nYes, times are changed for in\\nyour father s age\\nThe lawyers were the patrons of\\nthe stage\\nHowever high advanced by future\\nfate,\\nThere stands the bench [points to\\nthe Pit] that first received\\ntheir weight.\\nThe future legal sage t was ours\\nto see\\nDoom though unwigged and plead\\nwithout a fee.\\nBut now, astounding each poor\\nmimic elf,\\nInstead of lawyers comes the law\\nherself\\nTremendous neighbor, on our right\\nshe dwells,\\nBuilds high her towers and exca-\\nvates her cells\\nWhile on the left she agitates the\\ntown\\nWith the tempestuous question,\\nUp or down?\\nTwixt Scylla and Charybdis thus\\nstand we,\\nLaw s final end and law s uncer-\\ntainty.\\nBut, soft who lives at Rome the\\nPope must flatter,\\nAnd jails and lawsuits are no jest-\\ning matter.\\nThen just farewell! We wait\\nwith serious awe\\nTill your applause or censure gives\\nthe law.\\nTrusting our humble efforts may\\nassure ye,\\nWe hold you Court and Counsel,\\nJudge and Jury.\\nMACKRIMMON S LAMENT\\nAm Cha till mi tuille\\nMacleod s wizard flag from the\\ngray castle sallies,\\nThe rowers are seated, unmoored\\nare the galleys\\nGleam war-axe and broadsword,\\nclang target and quiver,\\nAs Mackrimmon sings, Farewell\\nto Dunvegan forever\\nFarewell to each cliff on which\\nbreakers are foaming\\nFarewell, each dark glen in which\\nred-deer are roaming\\nFarewell, lonely Skye, to lake,\\nmountain, and river\\nMacleod may return, but Mack-\\nrimmon shall never\\n4 Farewell the bright clouds that\\non Quillan are sleeping\\nFarewell the bright eyes in the\\nDun that are weeping\\nTo each minstrel delusion, fare-\\nwell and forever\\nMackrimmon departs, to return to\\nyou never\\nThe Banshee s wild voice sings the\\ndeath-dirge before me,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0617.jp2"}, "614": {"fulltext": "594\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThe pall of the dead for a mantle\\nhangs o er me\\nBut my heart shall not flag and my\\nnerves shall not shiver,\\nThough devoted I go to return\\nagain never\\n4 Too oft shall the notes of Mack-\\nrimmon s bewailing\\nBe heard when the Gael on their\\nexile are sailing\\nDear land to the shores whence\\nunwilling we sever\\nReturn return return shall we\\nnever\\nCha till, cha till, cha till sin\\ntuille\\nCha till, cha till, cha till sin\\ntuille,\\nCha till, cha till, cha till sin\\ntuille,\\nGea thillis Macleod, cha till\\nMackrimmon i\\nDONALD CAIRD S COME\\nAGAIN\\nAir Malcolm Caird s come again\\nCHORUS\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nTell the news in brugh and\\nglen,\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nDonald Caird can lilt and sing,\\nBlithely dance the Hieland fling,\\nDrink till the gudeman be blind,\\nFleech till the gudewife be kind;\\nHoop a leglin, clout a pan,\\nOr crack a pow wi ony man\\nTell the news in brugh and glen,\\nDonald Caird s come again.\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nTell the news in brugh and\\nglen,\\nDonald Caird s come again.\\nDonald Caird can wire a maukin,\\nKens the wiles o dun-deer stauk-\\nin\\nLeisters kipper, makes a shift\\nTo shoot a muir-f owl in the drift\\nWater-bailiffs, rangers, keepers,\\nHe can wauk when they are sleep-\\ners;\\nNot for bountith or reward\\nDare ye mell wi Donald Caird.\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nGar the bagpipes hum amain,\\nDonald Caird s come again.\\nDonald Caird can drink a gill\\nFast as hostler-wife can fill\\nIlka ane that sells gude liquor\\nKens how Donald bends a bicker\\nWhen he s fou he s stout and\\nsaucy,\\nKeeps the cantle o the cawsey\\nHieland chief and Lawland laird\\nMaun gie room to Donald Caird\\nDonald Caird \\\\s come again\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nTell the news in brugh and\\nglen,\\nDonald Caird s come again.\\nSteek the amrie, lock the kist,\\nElse some gear may weel be mist\\nDonald Caird finds orra things\\nWhere Allan Gregor fand the\\ntings\\nDunts of kebbuck, taits, o woo,\\nWhiles a hen and whiles a sow,\\nWebs or duds f rae hedge or yard\\nWare the wuddie, Donald Caird\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nDinna let the Shirra ken\\nDonald Caird s come again.\\nOn Donald Caird the doom was\\nstern,\\nCraig to tether, legs to aim\\nBut Donald Caird wi mickle study\\nCaught the gift to cheat the wud-\\ndie;\\nRings of aim, and bolts of steel,\\nFell like ice frae hand and heel", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0618.jp2"}, "615": {"fulltext": "MADGE WILDFIRE S SONGS\\n595\\nWatch the sheep in faulcl and glen,\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nDonald Caird s come again\\nDinna let the Justice ken\\nDonald Caird s come again.\\nMADGE WILDFIKE S SONGS\\nFROM THE HEART OF MID-\\nLOTHIAN\\nWhen the gledd s in the blue\\ncloud,\\nThe lav rock lies still\\nWhen the hound s in the green-\\nwood,\\nThe hind keeps the hill.\\n1 O sleep ye sound, Sir James,\\nshe said,\\n1 When ye suld rise and ride\\nThere s twenty men, wi bow and\\nblade,\\nAre seeking where ye hide.\\nI glance like the wildfire thro\\ncountry and town\\nI m seen on the causeway I m\\nseen on the down\\nThe lightning that flashes so bright\\nand so free,\\nIs scarcely so blithe or so bonny\\nas me.\\nWhat did ye wi the bridal ring\\nbridal ring\u00e2\u0080\u0094 bridal ring?\\nWhat did ye wi your wedding\\nring, ye little cutty quean,\\nO?\\nI gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a\\nsodger,\\nI gied it till a sodger, an auld true\\nlove o mine, O.\\nGood even, good fair moon, good\\neven to thee\\nI prithee, dear moon, now show to\\nme\\nThe form and the features, the\\nspeech and degree,\\nOf the man that true lover of mine\\nshall be.\\nIt is the bonny butcher lad,\\nThat wears the sleeves of blue\\nHe sells the flesh on Saturday,\\nOn Friday that he slew.\\nThere s a bloodhound ranging\\nTinwald Wood,\\nThere s harness glancing sheen\\nThere s a maiden sits on Tinwald\\nbrae,\\nAnd she sings loud between.\\nWith my curtch on my foot, and\\nmy shoe on my hand,\\nI glance like the wildfire through\\nbrugh and through land.\\nIn the bonnie cells of Bedlam,\\nEre I was ane and twenty,\\nI had hempen bracelets strong,\\nAnd merry whips, ding-dong,\\nAnd prayer and fasting plenty.\\nI m Madge of the country. I m\\nMadge of the town,\\nAnd I m Madge of the lad I am\\nblithest to own,\\nThe Lady of Beever in diamonds\\nmay shine,\\nBut has not a heart half so light-\\nsome as mine.\\nI am Queen of the Wake, and I in\\nLady of May,\\nAnd I lead the blithe ring round\\nthe May-pole to-day\\nThe wild-fire that flashes so fair\\nand so free\\nWas never so bright, or so bonnie\\nas me,\\nOur work is over over now,\\nThe goodman wipes his weary\\nbrow,\\nThe last long wain wends slow\\naway,\\nAnd we are free to sport and play.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0619.jp2"}, "616": {"fulltext": "596\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThe night comes on when sets the\\nsun,\\nAnd labor ends when day is done.\\nWhen Autumn s gone, and Win-\\nter s come.\\nWe hold our jovial harvest-home.\\nWhen the fight of grace is\\nfought,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhen the marriage vest is\\nwrought,\\nWhen Faith has chased cold Doubt\\naway\\nAnd Hope but sickens at delay,\\nWhen Charity, imprisoned here,\\nLongs for a more expanded sphere\\nDoff thy robes of sin and clay\\nChristian, rise, and come away.\\nCauld is my bed, Lord Archibald,\\nAnd sad my sleep of sorrow\\nBut thine sail be as sad and cauld,\\nMy fause true-love to-morrow.\\nAnd weep ye not, my maidens free,\\nThough death your mistress bor-\\nrow\\nFor he for whom I die to-day,\\nShall die for me to-morrow.\\nProud Maisie is in the wood,\\nWalking so early\\nSweet Kobin sits on the bush,\\nSinging so rarely.\\n1 Tell me, thou bonny bird,\\nWhen shall I marry me\\nWhen six braw gentlemen\\nKirkward shall carry ye.\\nWho makes the bridal bed,\\nBirdie, say truly?\\n1 The gray-headed sexton\\nThat delves the grave duly.\\nThe glow-worm o er grave and\\nstone\\nShall light thee steady.\\nThe owl from the steeple sing,\\nWelcome, proud lady.\\nTHE BATTLE OF SEMPACH\\nT was when among our linden-\\ntrees\\nThe bees had housed in\\nswarms\\nAnd gray-haired peasants say that\\nthese\\nBetoken foreign arms\\nThen looked we down to Willi-\\nsow,\\nThe land was all in flame\\nWe knew the Archduke Leopold\\nWith all his army came.\\nThe Austrian nobles made their\\nvow,\\nSo hot their heart and bold, io\\nOn Switzer carles we 11 trample\\nnow,\\nAnd slay both young and old.\\nWith clarion loud and banner\\nproud,\\nFrom Zurich on the lake,\\nIn martial pomp and fair ar-\\nray\\nTheir onward march they make.\\nNow list, ye lowland nobles all\\nYe seek the mountain-strand,\\nNor wot ye what shall be your\\nlot\\nIn such a dangerous land. 20\\nI rede ye, shrive ye of your\\nsins\\nBefore ye farther go\\nA skirmish in Helvetian hills\\nMay send your souls to woe.\\nBut where now shall we find a\\npriest\\nOur shrift that he may hear?\\nThe Switzer priest has ta en the\\nfield,\\nHe deals a penance drear.\\nRight heavily upon your head\\nHe 11 lay his hand of steel, 30", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0620.jp2"}, "617": {"fulltext": "THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH\\n597\\nAnd with his trusty partisan\\nYour absolution deal.\\nT was on a Monday morning then,\\nThe corn was steeped in dew,\\nAnd merry maids had sickles ta en,\\nWhen the host to Sempach drew.\\nThe stalwart men of fair Lucerne,\\nTogether have they joined\\nThe pith and core of manhood\\nstern,\\nWas none cast looks behind. 40\\nIt was the Lord of Hare-castle,\\nAnd to the Duke he said,\\nYon little band of brethren true\\nWill meet us undismayed.\\nHare-castle, thou heart of hare\\nFierce Oxenstern replied.\\nShalt see then how the game will\\nfare,\\nThe taunted knight replied.\\nThere was lacing then of helmets\\nbright,\\nAnd closing ranks amain 50\\nThe peaks they hewed from their\\nboot-points\\nMight well-nigh load a wain.\\nAnd thus they to each other said,\\n1 Yon handful down to hew\\nWill be no boastful tale to tell,\\nThe peasants are so few.\\nThe gallant Swiss Confederates\\nthere,\\nThey prayed to God aloud,\\nAnd he displayed his rainbow fair\\nAgainst a swarthy cloud. 60\\nThen heart and pulse throbbed\\nmore and more\\nWith courage firm and high,\\nAnd down the good Confederates\\nbore\\nOn the Austrian chivalry.\\nThe Austrian Lion gan to growl\\nAnd toss his mane and tail,\\nAnd ball and shaft and crossbow-\\nbolt\\nWent whistling forth like hail.\\nLance, pike, and halbert mingled\\nthere, 69\\nThe game was nothing sweet\\nThe bough of many a stately tree\\nLay shivered at their feet.\\nThe Austrian men-at-arms stood\\nfast,\\nSo close their spears they laid\\nIt chafed the gallant Wlnkel-\\nreid,\\nWho to his comrades said\\nI have a virtuous wife at home,\\nA wife and infant son.;\\nI leave them to my country s\\ncare,\\nThis field shall soon be won. 80\\nThese nobles lay their spears\\nright thick\\nAnd keep full firm array,\\nYet shall my charge their order\\nbreak\\nAnd make my brethren way.\\nHe rushed against the Austrian\\nband,\\nIn desperate career,\\nAnd with his body, breast, and\\nhand,\\nBore down each hostile spear.\\nFour lances splintered on his crest,\\nSix shivered in his side 90\\nStill on the serried files he\\npressed\\nHe broke their ranks and died.\\nThis patriot s self-devoted deed\\nFirst tamed the Lion s mood,\\nAnd the four Forest Cantons freed\\nFrom thraldom by his blood.\\nEight where his charge had made\\na lane\\nHis valiant comrades burst,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0621.jp2"}, "618": {"fulltext": "59 8\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nWith sword and axe and parti-\\nsan,\\nAnd hack and stab and thrust, ioo\\nThe daunted Lion gan to whine\\nAnd granted ground amain,\\nThe Mountain Bull he bent his\\nbrows,\\nAnd gored his sides again.\\nThen lost was banner, spear, and\\nshield\\nAt Sempach in the flight,\\nThe cloister vaults at Konig s\\nfield\\nHold many an Austrian knight.\\nIt was the Archduke Leopold,\\nSo lordly would he ride, 1 10\\nBut he came against the Switzer\\nchurls,\\nAnd they slew him in his pride.\\nThe heifer said unto the bull,\\n4 And shall I not complain\\nThere came a foreign nobleman\\nTo milk me on the plain.\\nOne thrust of thine outrageous\\nhorn\\nHas galled the knight so sore\\nThat to the churchyard he is\\nborne,\\nTo range our glens no\\nmore. 120\\nAn Austrian noble left the stour,\\nAnd fast the flight gan take\\nAnd he arrived in luckless hour\\nAt Sempach on the lake.\\nHe and his squire a fisher called\\nHis name was Hans von Rot\\nFor love or meed or charity,\\nReceive us in thy boat\\nTheir anxious call the fisher\\nheard,\\nAnd, glad the meed to win, 130\\nHis shallop to the shore he steered\\nAnd took the flyers in.\\nAnd while against the tide and\\nwind\\nHans stoutly rowed his way,\\nThe noble to his follower signed\\nHe should the boatman slay.\\nThe fisher s back was to them\\nturned,\\nThe squire his dagger drew,\\nHans saw his shadow in the lake.\\nThe boat he overthrew. 140\\nHe whelmed the boat, and as they\\nstrove\\nHe stunned them with his oar,\\nNow, drink ye deep, my gentle\\nsirs,\\nYou 11 ne er stab boatman\\nmore.\\nTwo gilded fishes in the lake\\nThis morning have I caught,\\nTheir silver scales may much\\navail,\\nTheir carrion flesh is naught.\\nIt was a messenger of woe 149\\nHas sought the Austrian land\\nAh gracious lady, evil news\\nMy lord lies on the strand.\\n1 At Sempach, on the battle-field,\\nHis bloody corpse lies there,\\n1 Ah, gracious God the lady cried,\\n4 What tidings of despair\\nNow would you know the minstrel\\nwight\\nWho sings of strife so stern,\\nAlbert the Souter is he hight,\\nA burgher of Lucerne. 160\\nA merry man was he, I wot,\\nThe night he made the lay,\\nReturning from the bloody spot\\nWhere God had judged the day.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0622.jp2"}, "619": {"fulltext": "THE NOBLE xMORINGER 593\\nTHE NOBLE MORINGER\\nAX ANCIENT BALLAD\\nO, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day,\\nIt was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay;\\nHe halsed and kissed his dearest dame that was as sweet as May,\\nAnd said, Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I say.\\nT is I have vowed a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine,\\nAnd I must seek Saint Thomas-land and leave the land that s mine\\nHere shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou wilt pledge thy fay\\nThat thou for my return wilt wait seven twelvemonths and a day.\\nThen out and spoke that lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer,\\n4 Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest thou here 10\\nAnd who shall lead thy vassal band and hold thy lordly sway,\\nAnd be thy lady s guardian true when thou art far away\\nOut spoke the noble Moringer, Of that have thou no care,\\nThere s many a valiant gentleman of me holds living fair\\nThe trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals, and my state,\\nAnd be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely mate.\\nAs Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow which I have plight,\\nWhen I am far in foreign laud, remember thy true knight\\nAnd cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain w r ere sorrow now,\\nBut grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath heard his vow. 20\\nIt was the noble Moringer from bed he made him boune,\\nAnd met him there his chamberlain with ewer and with gown\\nHe flung the mantle on his back, t was furred with miniver,\\nHe dipped his hand in water cold and bathed his forehead fair.\\n4 Now hear, he said, 4 Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine,\\nAnd such the trust that I repose in that proved worth of thine,\\nFor seven years shalt thou rule my towers and lead my vassal train,\\nAnd pledge thee for my lady s faith till I return again.\\nThe chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he,\\n4 Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from me 30\\nThat woman s faith s a brittle trust Seven twelvemonths didst thou\\nsay?\\nI 11 pledge me for no lady s truth beyond the seventh fair day.\\nThe noble baron turned him round, his heart was full of care,\\nHis gallant esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten s heir,\\nTo whom he spoke right anxiously, 4 Thou trusty squire to me,\\nWilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o er the sea\\n4 To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land,\\nAnd to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0623.jp2"}, "620": {"fulltext": "6oo MISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nAnd pledge thee for my lady s faith till seven long years are gone,\\nAnd guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John. 4 o\\nMarstetten s heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and young,\\nAnd readily he answer made with too presumptuous tongue\\nMy noble lord, cast care away and on your journey wend,\\nAnd trust this charge to me until your pilgrimage have end.\\nRely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried,\\nTo guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals\\nride;\\nAnd for your lovely lady s faith, so virtuous and so dear,\\nI 11 gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year.\\nThe noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak,\\nAnd doubt forsook his troubled brow and sorrow left his cheek 50\\nA long adieu he bids to all hoists topsails and away,\\nAnd wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelvemonths and a day.\\nIt was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept,\\nWhen on the baron s slumbering sense a boding vision crept\\nAnd whispered in his ear a voice, 4 T is time, Sir Knight, to wake,\\nThy lady and thy heritage another master take.\\nThy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein,\\nAnd stoop them to another s will thy gallant vassal train;\\nAnd she, the lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair,\\nThis night within thy fathers hall she weds Marstetten s heir. 60\\nIt is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard,\\nO, would that I had ne er been born what tidings have I heard\\nTo lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my care,\\nBut, God that e er a squire untrue should wed my lady fair.\\nO good Saint Thomas, hear, he prayed, my patron saint art thou,\\nA traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow\\nMy wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of name,\\nAnd I am far in foreign land and must endure the shame.\\nIt was the good Saint Thomas then who heard his pilgrim s prayer.\\nAnd sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o erpowered his care 70\\nHe waked in fair Bohemian land outstretched beside a rill,\\nHigh on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill.\\nThe Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound,\\nAnd dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all around\\nI I know my fathers ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know,\\nNow blessed be my patron saint who cheered his pilgrim s woe\\nHe leant upon his pilgrim staff and to the mill he drew,\\nSo altered was his goodly form that none their master knew", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0624.jp2"}, "621": {"fulltext": "THE NOBLE MORIXGER 601\\nThe baron to the miller said, Good friend, for charity,\\nTell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may there be So\\nThe miller answered him again, He knew of little news,\\nSave that the lady of the land did a new bridegroom choose\\nHer husband died in distant land, such is the constant word,\\nHis death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy lord.\\n1 Of him I held the little mill which wins me living free,\\nGod rest the baron in his grave, he still was kind to me\\nAnd when Saint Martin s tide comes round and millers take their toll,\\nThe priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole.\\nIt was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began,\\nAnd stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary man go\\nNow help me, every saint in heaven that can compassion take,\\nTo gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to break.\\nHis very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow,\\nFor heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe\\nAnd to the warder thus he spoke Friend, to thy lady say,\\nA pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbor for a day.\\nI ve wandered many a weary step, my strength is well-nigh done,\\nAnd if she turn me from her gate I 11 see no morrow s sun\\nI pray for sweet Saint Thomas sake a pilgrim s bed and dole,\\nAnd for the sake of Moringer s her once-loved husband s soul. 100\\nIt was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before,\\nA pilgrim, worn and travel-toiled, stands at the castle-door;\\nAnd prays, for sweet Saint Thomas sake, for harbor and for dole,\\nAnd for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband s soul.\\nThe lady s gentle heart was moved, Do up the gate, she said,\\nAnd bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed\\nAnd since he names my husband s name, so that he lists to stay,\\nThese towers shall be his harborage a twelvemonth and a day.\\nIt was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad,\\nIt was the noble Moringer that o er the threshold strode no\\n4 And have thou thanks, kind Heaven, he said, 4 though from a man of\\nsin,\\nThat the true lord stands here once more his castle-gate within.\\nThen up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow\\nIt sat full heavy on his heart none seemed their lord to know\\nHe sat him on a lowly bench, oppressed with woe and wrong,\\nShort space he sat, but ne er to him seemed little space so long.\\nNow spent was day and feasting o er, and come was eveniug hour.\\nThe time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0625.jp2"}, "622": {"fulltext": "602 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nOur castle s wont, a bridesman said, hath been both firm and long\\nNo guest to harbor in our halls till he shall chant a song. 120\\nThen spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride,\\nMy merry minstrel folk, quoth he, lay shalm and harp aside\\nOur pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle s rule to hold,\\nAnd well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold.\\nChill flows the lay of frozen age, t was thus the pilgrim sung,\\nNor golden meed nor garment gay unlocks his heavy tongue\\nOnce did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine,\\nAnd by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine.\\n1 But time traced furrows on my face and I grew silver-haired, i2g\\nFor locks of brown and cheeks of youth she left this brow and beard\\nOnce rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life s latest stage,\\nAnd mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age.\\nIt was the noble lady there this woful lay that hears,\\nAnd for the aged pilgrim s grief her eye was dimmed with tears\\nShe bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take,\\nAnd bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake.\\nIt was the noble Moringer that dropped amid the wine\\nA bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so fine\\nNow listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth,\\nT was with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth. 140\\nThen to the cupbearer he said, Do me one kindly deed,\\nAnd should my better days return, full rich shall be thy meed\\nBear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gay,\\nAnd crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer gray.\\nThe cupbearer was courtly bred nor was the boon denied,\\nThe golden cup he took again and bore it to the bride\\n1 Lady, he said, your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray\\nThat, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer gray.\\nThe ring hath caught the lady s eye, she views it close and near,\\nThen might you hear her shriek aloud, The Moringer is here 150\\nThen might you see her start from seat while tears in torrents\\nfell,\\nBut whether t was for joy or woe the ladies best can tell.\\nBut loud she uttered thanks to Heaven and every saintly power\\nThat had returned the Moringer before the midnight hour\\nAnd loud she uttered vow on vow that never was there bride\\nThat had like her preserved her troth or been so sorely tried.\\n4 Yes, here I claim the praise, she said, to constant matrons due,\\nWho keep the troth that they have plight so steadfastly and true", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0626.jp2"}, "623": {"fulltext": "SONGS FROM THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR 603\\nFor count the term howe er you will, so that you count aright, 159\\nSeven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night.\\nIt was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew,\\nHe kneeled before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw\\n1 My oath and knightly faith are broke, these were the words he said,\\nThen take, my liege, thy vassal s sword, and take thy vassal s head.\\nThe noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say,\\n1 He gathers wisdom that hath roamed seven twelvemonths and a\\nday;\\nMy daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair,\\nI give her for the bride you lose and name her for my heir.\\nThe young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the\\nold,\\nWhose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told 170\\nBut blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate,\\nFor had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late.\\nEPITAPH ON MRS. ERSKINE\\nPlain as her native dignity of\\nmind,\\nArise the tomb of her we have re-\\nsigned\\nUnflawed and stainless be the\\nmarble scroll,\\nEmblem of lovely form and candid\\nsoul.\\nBut, O, what symbol may avail to\\ntell\\nThe kindness, wit, and sense we\\nloved so well!\\nWhat sculpture show the broken\\nties of life,\\nHere buried with the parent,\\nfriend, and wife\\nOr on the tablet stamp each title\\ndear\\nBy which thine urn, Euphemia,\\nclaims the tear\\nYet taught by thy meek sufferance\\nto assume\\nPatience in anguish, hope beyond\\nthe tomb,\\nResigned, though sad, this votive\\nverse shall flow,\\nAnd brief, alas as thy brief span\\nbelow.\\nSONGS FROM THE BRIDE OF\\nLAMMERMOOR\\nLOOK NOT THOU ON BEAUTY S\\nCHARMING\\nLook not thou on beauty s charm-\\ning;\\nSit thou still when kings are arm-\\ning;\\nTaste not when the wine-cup glis-\\ntens:\\nSpeak not when the people listens;\\nStop thine ear against the singer\\nFrom the red gold keep thy finger\\nVacant heart and hand and eye,\\nEasy live and quiet die.\\n11\\nTHE MONK MUST ARISE WHEN\\nTHE MATINS RING\\nThe monk must arise when the\\nmatins ring,\\nThe abbot may sleep to their\\nchime", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0627.jp2"}, "624": {"fulltext": "604\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nBut the yeoman must start when\\nthe bugles sing,\\nT is time, my hearts, t is time.\\nThere s bucks and raes on Bill-\\nhope braes,\\nThere s a herd on Shortwood\\nShaw\\nBut a lily-white doe in the garden\\ngoes,\\nShe s fairly worth them a\\nin\\n4 WHEN THE LAST LAIRD OF\\nRAVENSWOOD TO RAVENS-\\nW r OOD SHALL RIDE\\nWhen the last Laird of Ravens-\\nwood to Ravenswood shall\\nride,\\nAnd woo a dead maiden to be his\\nbride,\\nHe shall stable his steed in the\\nKelpie s flow,\\nAnd his name shall be lost for.\\nevermoe\\nSONGS FROM THE LEGEND\\nOF MONTROSE\\nANCIENT GAELIC MELODY\\nBirds of omen dark and foul,\\nNight-crow, raven, bat, and owl,\\nLeave the sick man to his dream\\nAll night long he heard you scream.\\nHaste to cave and ruined tower,\\nIvy tod or dingled bower,\\nThere to wink and mop, for, hark\\nIn the mid air sings the lark.\\nHie to moorish gills and rocks,\\nProwling wolf and wily fox,\\nHie ye fast, nor turn your view,\\nThough the lamb bleats to the\\newe.\\nCouch your trains and speed your\\nflight,\\nSafety parts with parting night\\nAnd on distant echo borne,\\nComes the hunter s early horn.\\nThe moon s wan crescent scarcely\\ngleams,\\nGhost-like she fades in morning\\nbeams\\nHie hence, each peevish imp and\\nfay\\nThat scare the pilgrim on his\\nway.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nQuench, kelpy! quench, in bog\\nand fen,\\nThy torch that cheats benighted\\nmen\\nThy dance is o er, thy reign is\\ndone,\\nFor Benyieglo hath seen the sun.\\nWild thoughts, that, sinful, dark,\\nand deep,\\nO erpower the passive mind in\\nsleep,\\nPass from the slumberer s soul\\naway,\\nLike night-mists from the brow of\\nday:\\nFoul hag, whose blasted visage\\ngrim\\nSmothers the pulse, unnerves the\\nlimb,\\nSpur thy dark palfrey and be-\\ngone!\\nThou darest not face the godlike\\nsun.\\nii\\nTHE ORPHAN MAID\\nNovember s hail-cloud drifts\\naway,\\nNovember s sunbeam wan\\nLooks coldly on the castle gray,\\nWhen forth comes Lady Anne.\\nThe orphan by the oak was set,\\nHer arms, her feet, were bare", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0628.jp2"}, "625": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM IVANHOE\\n605\\nThe hail-drops had not melted\\nVERSES FROM IVANHOE\\nyet\\nAmid her raven hair.\\n1\\nTHE CRUSADER S RETURN\\nAnd, dame, she said, by all the\\nties\\nHigh deeds achieved of knightly\\nThat child and mother know,\\nfame,\\nAid one who never knew these\\nFrom Palestine the champion\\njoys,\\ncame;\\nRelieve an orphan s woe.\\nThe cross upon his shoulders\\nborne,\\nThe lady said, An orphan s state\\nBattle and blast had dimmed and\\nIs hard and sad to bear\\ntorn.\\nYet worse the widowed mother s\\nEach dint upon his battered shield\\nfate,\\nWas token of a foughten field\\nWho mourns both lord and heir.\\nAnd thus, beneath his lady s\\nbower,\\nTwelve times the rolling year has\\nHe suog, as fell the twilight\\nsped\\nhour\\nSince, while from vengeance\\nwild\\nJoy to the fair thy knight be-\\nOf fierce Strathallan s chief I fled,\\nhold,\\nForth s eddies whelmed my\\nReturned from yonder land of gold\\nchild.\\nNo wealth he brings, nor wealth\\ncan need,\\n1 Twelve times the year its course\\nSave his good arms and battle-\\nhas borne,\\nsteed;\\nThe wandering maid replied\\nHis spurs to dash against a foe,\\nSince fishers on Saint Bridget s\\nHis lance and sword to lay him\\nmorn\\nlow;\\nDrew nets on Campsie side.\\nSuch all the trophies of his toil\\nSuch and the hope of Tekla s\\n1 Saint Bridget sent no scaly spoil\\nsmile\\nAn infant, well-nigh dead,\\nThey saved and reared in want\\nJoy to the fair whose constant\\nand toil,\\nknight\\nTo beg from you her bread.\\nHer favor fired to feats of might\\nUnnoted shall she not remain\\nThat orphan maid the lady kissed,\\nWhere meet the bright and noble\\n1 My husband s looks you bear\\ntrain\\nSaint Bridget and her morn be\\nMinstrel shall sing, and herald\\nblessed\\ntell\\nYou are his widow s heir.\\nMark yonder maid of beauty\\nwell,\\nT is she for whose bright eyes was\\nThey ve robed that maid, so poor\\nand pale,\\nwon\\nIn silk and sandals rare\\nThe listed field at Ascalon\\nAnd pearls, for drops of frozen\\nhail,\\n4 Xote well her smile it edged\\nAre glistening in her hair.\\nthe blade", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0629.jp2"}, "626": {"fulltext": "6o6\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nWhich fifty wives to widows made,\\nYour monarch Pshaw many a\\nWhen, vain his strength and Ma-\\nprince has been known\\nhound s spell,\\nTo barter his robes for our cowl\\nIconium s turbaned Soldan fell.\\nand our gown,\\nSee st thou her locks, whose sunny\\nBut which of us e er felt the idle\\nglow\\ndesire\\nHalf shows, half shades, her neck\\nTo exchange for a crown the gray\\nof snow\\nhood of a friar?\\nTwines not of them one golden\\nthread,\\nThe Friar has walked out, and\\nBut for its sake a Paynim bled.\\nwhere er he has gone\\nThe land and its fatness is marked\\nJoy to the fair my name un-\\nfor his own\\nknown,\\nHe can roam where he lists, he can\\nEach deed, and all its praise, thine\\nstop where he tires,\\nown;\\nFor every man s house is the Bare-\\nThen, oh! unbar this churlish\\nfooted Friar s.\\ngate,\\nThe night-dew falls, the hour is\\nHe s expected at noon, and no\\nlate.\\nwight till he comes\\nInured to Syria s glowing breath,\\nMay profane the great chair or the\\nI feel the north breeze chill as\\nporridge of plums\\ndeath\\nFor the best of the cheer, and the\\nLet grateful love quell maiden\\nseat by the fire,\\nshame,\\nIs the undenied right of the Bare-\\nAnd grant him bliss who brings\\nfooted Friar.\\nthee fame.\\nHe s expected at night, and the\\npasty s made hot,\\nii\\nThey broach the brown ale and\\nthey fill the black pot;\\nTHE BAREFOOTED FRIAR\\nAnd the good-wife would wish the\\ngood-man in the mire,\\nI ll give thee, good fellow, a\\nEre he lacked a soft pillow, the\\ntwelvemonth or twain\\nBarefooted Friar.\\nTo search Europe through from\\nByzantium to Spain\\nLong flourish the sandal, the cord,\\nBut ne er shall you find, should\\nand the cope,\\nyou search till you tire,\\nThe dread of the devil and trust of\\nSo happy a man as the Barefooted\\nthe Pope\\nFriar.\\nFor to gather life s roses, un-\\nscathed by the briar,\\nYour knight for his lady pricks\\nIs granted alone to the Barefooted\\nforth in career,\\nFriar.\\nAnd is brought home at even-song\\npricked through with a\\nin\\nspear\\nI confess him in haste for his\\n1 NORMAN SAW ON ENGLISH OAK\\nlady desires\\nNo comfort on earth save the\\nNorman saw on English oak,\\nBarefooted Friar s.\\nOn English neck a Norman yoke", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0630.jp2"}, "627": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM IVANHOE\\n607\\nNorman spoon in English dish,\\nMany a haughty step bends to\\nAnd England ruled as Normans\\nyour halls,\\nwish\\nMany a helmed head.\\nBlithe world in England never will\\nbe more,\\nTill England s rid of all the four.\\n3\\nDark sits the evening upon the\\nIV\\nthane s castle,\\nThe black clouds gather round\\nWAR-SONG\\nSoon shall they be red as the blood\\n1\\nof the valiant\\nThe destroyer of forests shall shake\\nWfet the bright steel,\\nhis red crest against them\\nSons of the White Dragon\\nHe, the bright consumer of palaces,\\nKindle the torch,\\nBroad waves he his blazing banner,\\nDaughter of Hengist\\nRed, white, and dusky,\\nThe steel glimmers not for the\\nOver the strife of the valiant\\ncarving of the banquet,\\nHis joy is in the clashing swords\\nIt is hard, broad, and sharply\\nand broken bucklers\\npointed\\nHe loves to lick the hissing blood\\nThe torch goeth not to the bridal\\nas it bursts warm from the\\nchamber,\\nwound\\nIt steams and glitters blue with\\nsulphur.\\n4\\nWhet the steel, the raven croaks\\nLight the torch, Zernebock is yell-\\nAll must perish\\ning!\\nThe sword cleaveth the helmet\\nWhet the steel, sons of the Dra-\\nThe strong armor is pierced by\\ngon!\\nthe lance\\nKindle the torch, daughter of\\nFire devoureth the dwelling of\\nHengist\\nprinces,\\nEngines break down the fences of\\nthe battle.\\n2\\nAll must perish\\nThe race of Hengist is gone\\nThe black clouds are low over the\\nThe name of Horsa is no more\\nthane s castle\\nShrink not then from your doom,\\nThe eagle screams he rides on\\nsons of the sword\\ntheir bosom.\\nLet your blades drink blood like\\nScream not, gray rider of the sable\\nwine\\ncloud,\\nFeast ye in the banquet of slaugh-\\nThy banquet is prepared\\nter,\\nThe maidens of Valhalla look\\nBy the light of the blazing halls\\nforth,\\nStrong be your swords while your\\nThe race of Hengist will send them\\nblood is warm,\\nguests.\\nAnd spare neither for pity nor\\nShake your black tresses, maidens\\nfear,\\nof Valhalla\\nFor vengeance hath but an hour\\nAnd strike your loud timbrels for\\nStrong hate itself shall expire\\njoy!\\nI also must perish.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0631.jp2"}, "628": {"fulltext": "6o8\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nREBECCA S HYMN\\nWhen Israel of the Lord beloved\\nOut from the land of bondage\\ncame,\\nHer fathers God before her\\nmoved,\\nAn awful guide in smoke and\\nflame.\\nBy day, along the astonished lands\\nThe cloudy pillar glided slow\\nBy night, Arabia s crimsoned sands\\nReturned the fiery column s glow.\\nThere rose the choral hymn of\\npraise,\\nAnd trump and timbrel answered\\nkeen,\\nAnd Zion s daughters poured their\\nlays,\\nWith priest s and warrior s voice\\nbetween.\\nNo portents now our foes amaze,\\nForsaken Israel wanders lone\\nOur fathers would not know Thy\\nways,\\nAnd Thou hast left them to their\\nown.\\nBut present still, though now un-\\nseen,\\nWhen brightly shines the pro-\\nsperous day,\\nBe thoughts of Thee a cloudy\\nscreen\\nTo temper the deceitful ray\\nAnd O, when stoops on Judah s\\npath\\nIn shade and storm the frequent\\nnight,\\nBe Thou, long-suffering, slow to\\nwrath,\\nA burning and a shining light\\nOur harps we left by Babel s\\nstreams,\\nThe tyrant s jest, the Gentile s\\nscorn\\nNo censer round our altar beams,\\nAnd mute are timbrel, harp, and\\nhorn.\\nBut Thou hast said, The blood of\\ngoat,\\nThe flesh of rams I will not\\nprize\\nA contrite heart, a humble thought,\\nAre mine accepted sacrifice.\\nVI\\nTHE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA\\nAnna-Makie, love, up is the\\nsun\\nAnna-Marie, love, morn is begun,\\nMists are dispersing, love, birds\\nsinging free,\\nUp in the morning, love, Anna-\\nMarie.\\nAnna-Marie, love, up in the morn,\\nThe hunter is winding blithe\\nsounds on his horn,\\nThe echo rings merry from rock\\nand from tree,\\nTis time to arouse thee, love,\\nAnna-Marie.\\nTybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me\\nnot yet,\\nAround my soft pillow while softer\\ndreams flit\\nFor what are the joys that in wak-\\ning we prove,\\nCompared with these visions, O\\nTybalt! my love?\\nLet the birds to the rise of the\\nmist carol shrill,\\nLet the hunter blow out his loud\\nhorn on the hill,\\nSofter sounds, softer pleasures, in\\nslumber I prove,\\nBut think not I dreamed of thee,\\nTybalt, my love.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0632.jp2"}, "629": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY\\n609\\nVII\\nANOTHER CAROL BY THE SAME\\nKNIGHT AND WAMBA\\nThere came three merry men\\nfrom south, west, and north,\\nEvermore sing the roundelay\\nTo win the Widow of Wycombe\\nforth,\\nAnd where was the widow might\\nsay them nay\\nThe first was a knight, and from\\nTynedale he came,\\nEvermore sing the roundelay\\nAnd his fathers, God save us, were\\nmen of great fame,\\nAnd where was the widow might\\nsay him nay\\nOf his father the laird, of his uncle\\nthe squire,\\nHe boasted in rhyme and in\\nroundelay\\nShe bade him go bask by his sea-\\ncoal fire,\\nFor she was the widow would\\nsay him nay.\\nWAMBA\\nThe next that came forth swore\\nby blood and by nails,\\nMerrily sing the roundelay\\nHur s a gentleman, God wot. and\\nhur s lineage was of Wales,\\nAnd where was the widow might\\nsay him nay\\nSir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap\\nHugh\\nAp Tudor Ap Rhice, quoth his\\nroundelay\\nShe said that one widow for so\\nmany was too few,\\nAnd she bade the Welshman\\nwend his way.\\nBut then next came a yeoman, a\\nyeoman of Kent,\\nJollily singing his roundelay\\nI He spoke to the widow of living\\nand rent,\\nAnd where was the widow could\\nsay him nay\\nboth\\nSo the knight and the squire were\\nboth left in the mire,\\nThere for to sing the roundelay\\nFor a yeoman of Kent, with his\\nyearly rent,\\nThere ne er was a widow could\\nsay him nay.\\nVIII\\nFUNERAL HYMN\\nDust unto dust,\\nTo this all must;\\nThe tenant hath resigned\\nThe faded form\\nTo waste and worm\\nCorruption claims her kind.\\nThrough paths unknown\\nThy soul hath flown\\nTo seek the realms of woe,\\nWhere fiery pain\\nShall purge the stain\\nOf actions done below.\\nIn that sad place,\\nBy Mary s grace,\\nBrief may thy dwelling be\\nTill prayers and alms,\\nAnd holy psalms,\\nShall set the captive free.\\nVERSES FROM THE MONAS\\nTERY\\nANSWER TO INTRODUCTORY\\nEPISTLE\\nTake thou no scorn,\\nOf fiction born,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0633.jp2"}, "630": {"fulltext": "6io\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nFair fiction s muse to woo\\nOld Homer s theme\\nWas but a dream,\\nHimself a fiction too.\\nii\\nBORDER SONG\\n1\\nMarch, march, Ettrick and Te-\\nviotdale,\\nWhy the deil dinna ye march\\nforward in order\\nMarch, march, Eskdale and Lid-\\ndesdale,\\nAll the Blue Bonnets are bound\\nfor the Border.\\nMany a banner spread,\\nFlutters above your head,\\nMany a crest that is famous in\\nstory.\\nMount and make ready then,\\nSons of the mountain glen,\\nFight for the Queen and our old\\nScottish glory.\\nCome from the hills where your\\nhirsels are grazing,\\nCome from the glen of the buck\\nand the roe\\nCome to the crag where the bea-\\ncon is blazing,\\nCome with the buckler, the\\nlance, and the bow.\\nTrumpets are sounding,\\nWar-steeds are bounding,\\nStand to your arms and march\\nin good order\\nEngland shall many a day\\nTell of the bloody fray,\\nWhen the Blue Bonnets came\\nover the Border.\\nin\\nSONGS OF THE WHITE LADY OF\\nAVENEL\\nFORDING THE RIVER\\nMerrily swim we, the moon\\nshines bright,\\nBoth current and ripple are dan-\\ncing in light.\\nWe have roused the night raven,\\nI heard him croak,\\nAs we plashed along beneath the\\noak\\nThat flings its broad branches so\\nfar and so wide,\\nTheir shadows are dancing in\\nmidst of the tide.\\n4 Who wakens my nestlings the\\nraven he said,\\nMy beak shall ere morn in his\\nblood be red\\nFor a blue swollen corpse is a\\ndainty meal,\\nAnd I 11 have my share with the\\npike and the eel.\\nMerrily swim we, the moon shines\\nbright,\\nThere s a golden gleam on the dis-\\ntant height\\nThere s a silver shower on the\\nalders dank,\\nAnd the drooping willows that\\nwave on the bank.\\nI see the Abbey, both turret and\\ntower,\\nIt is all astir for the vesper hour\\nThe Monks for the chapel are leav-\\ning each cell,\\nBut where s Father Philip should\\ntoll the bell?\\nMerrily swim we, the moon shines\\nbright,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0634.jp2"}, "631": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY\\n611\\nDownward we drift through\\nshadow and light.\\nUnder yon rock the eddies sleep,\\nCalm and silent, dark and deep.\\nThe Kelpy has risen from the\\nfathomless pool,\\nHe has lighted his candle of death\\nand of dool\\nLook, Father, look, and you 11\\nlaugh to see\\nHow he gapes and glares with his\\neyes on thee\\nGood luck to your fishing, whom\\nwatch ye to-night?\\nA man of mean or a man of might\\nIs it layman or priest that must\\nfloat in your cove,\\nOr lover who crosses to visit his\\nlove?\\nHark! heard ye the Kelpy reply\\nas we passed,\\nGod s blessing on the warder, he\\nlocked the bridge fast\\nAll that come to my cove are\\nsunk,\\nPriest or layman, lover or monk.\\nLanded landed! the black book\\nhath won,\\nElse had you seen Berwick with\\nmorning sun\\nSain ye, and save ye, and blithe\\nmot ye be,\\nFor seldom they land that go swim-\\nming with me.\\nIV\\nTO THE SUB-PRIOR\\nGood evening, Sir Priest, and so\\nlate as you ride,\\nWith your mule so fair, and your\\nmantle so wide\\nBut ride you through valley, or\\nride you o er hill,\\nThere is one that has warrant to\\nwait on you still.\\nBack, back,\\nThe volume black\\nI have a warrant to carry it back.\\nWhat, ho! Sub-Prior, and came\\nyou but here\\nTo conjure a book from a dead\\nwoman s bier?\\nSain you, and save you, be wary\\nand wise,\\nRide back with the book, or you 11\\npay for your prize.\\nBack, back,\\nThere s death in the track\\nIn the name of my master, I bid\\nthee bear back.\\nThat which is neither ill nor well,\\nThat which belongs not to heaven\\nnor to hell,\\nA wreath of the mist, a bubble of\\nthe stream,\\nTwixt a waking thought and a\\nsleeping dream\\nA form that men spy\\nWith the half-shut eye\\nthe beams of the setting sun,\\nam I.\\nthou\\nIn\\nVainly, Sir Prior, wouldst\\nbar me my right\\nLike the star when it shoots, I can\\ndart through the night\\nI can dance on the torrent,\\nride on the air,\\nAnd travel the world with\\nbonny night-mare.\\nAgain, again,\\nAt the crook of the glen,\\nWhere bickers the burnie,\\nmeet thee again.\\nand\\nthe\\nI 11\\nMen of good are bold as sackless,\\nMen of rude are wild and reckless.\\nLie thou still\\nIn the nook of the hill,\\nFor those be before thee that wish\\nthee ill.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0635.jp2"}, "632": {"fulltext": "6l2\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nV\\nSomething that through thy wit\\nor will\\nHALBERT S INCANTATION\\nMay work thee good\u00e2\u0080\u0094 may work\\nthee ill.\\nThrice to the holly brake\\nNeither substance quite, nor\\nThrice to the well\\nshadow,\\nI bid thee awake,\\nHaunting lonely moor and mea-\\nWhite Maid of Avenel!\\ndow,\\nDancing by the haunted spring,\\nRiding on the whirlwind s wing\\nNoon gleams on the Lake\\nAping in fantastic fashion\\nNoon glows on the Fell\\nEvery change of human pas-\\nWake thee, wake,\\nsion,\\nWhite Maid of Avenel.\\nWhile o er our frozen minds they\\npass,\\nLike shadows from the mirrored\\nglass.\\nVI\\nWayward, fickle, is our mood,\\nHovering betwixt bad and good,\\nTO HALBEBT\\nHappier than brief-dated man,\\nLiving twenty times his span\\nTHE WHITE MAID OF AVENEL\\nFar less happy, for we have\\nHelp nor hope beyond the grave\\nYouth of the dark eye, wherefore\\nMan awakes to joy or sorrow\\ndidst thou call rne\\nOurs the sleep that knows no\\nWherefore art thou here, if terrors\\nmorrow.\\ncan appall thee?\\nThis is all that I can show\\nHe that seeks to deal with us\\nThis is all that thou may st\\nmust know nor fear nor fail-\\ning;\\nknow.\\nTo coward and churl our speech\\nis dark, our gifts are unavail-\\nAy and I taught thee the word\\ning.\\nand the spell\\nThe breeze that brought me hither\\nTo waken me here by the Fairies\\nnow must sweep Egyptian\\nWell\\nground,\\nBut thou hast loved the heron and\\nThe fleecy cloud on which I ride\\nhawk,\\nfor Araby is bound\\nMore than to seek my haunted\\nThe fleecy cloud is drifting by, the\\nwalk;\\nbreeze sighs for my stay,\\nAnd thou hast loved the lance and\\nFor I must sail a thousand miles\\nthe sword,\\nbefore the close of day.\\nMore than good text and holy\\nword\\nAnd thou hast loved the deer to\\nWhat I am I must not show\\ntrack,\\nWhat I am thou couldst not\\nMore than the lines and the letters\\nknow\\nblack\\nSomething betwixt heaven and\\nAnd thou art a ranger of moss and\\nhell\\nwood,\\nSomething that neither stood nor\\nAnd scornest the nurture of gentle\\nfell\\nblood.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0636.jp2"}, "633": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY\\n6i3\\nThy craven fear my truth ac-\\ncused,\\nThine idlehood my trust abused\\nHe that draws to harbor late,\\nMust sleep without, or burst the\\ngate,\\nThere is a star for thee which\\nburned,\\nIts influence wanes, its course is\\nturned\\nValor and constancy alone\\nCan bring thee back the chance\\nthat s flown.\\nWithin that awful volume lies\\nThe mystery of mysteries\\nHappiest they of human race,\\nTo whom God has granted grace\\nTo read, to fear, to hope, to\\npray,\\nTo lift the latch, and force the\\nway;\\nAnd better had they ne er been\\nborn,\\nWho read to doubt, or read to\\nscorn.\\nMany a fathom dark and deep\\nI have laid the book to sleep\\nEthereal fires around it glow-\\ning-\\nEthereal music ever flowing\\nThe sacred pledge of Heaven\\nAll things revere,\\nEach in his sphere,\\nSave man for whom t was\\ngiven\\nLend thy hand, and thou shalt\\nspy\\nThings ne er seen by mortal eye.\\nFearest thou to go with me\\nStill it is free to thee\\nA peasant to dwell\\nThou may st drive the dull steer,\\nAnd chase the king s deer\\nBut nevermore come near\\nThis haunted well.\\nHere lies the volume thou hast\\nboldly sought\\nTouch it, and take it, twill dearly\\nbe bought.\\nRash thy deed,\\nMortal weed\\nTo immortal flames applying\\nRasher trust\\nHas thing of dust,\\nOn his own weak worth re\\nlying\\nStrip thee of such fences vain,\\nStrip, and prove thy luck again.\\nMortal warp and mortal woof\\nCannot brook this charmed roof\\nAll that mortal art hath wrought\\nIn our cell returns to nought.\\nThe molten gold returns to clay,\\nThe polished diamond melts\\naway;\\nAll is altered, all is flown,\\nNought stands fast but truth\\nalone.\\nNot for that thy quest give o er\\nCourage prove thy chance once\\nmore.\\nAlas alas\\nNot ours the grace\\nThese holy characters to trace\\nIdle forms of painted air,\\nNot to us is given to share\\nThe boon bestowed on Adam s\\nrace.\\nWith patience bide,\\nHeaven will provide\\nThe fitting time, the fitting guide.\\nVII\\nTO THE SAME\\nThis is the day when the fairy\\nkind\\nSit weeping alone for their hope-\\nless lot,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0637.jp2"}, "634": {"fulltext": "614\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nAnd the wood-maiden sighs to the\\nsighing wind,\\nAnd the mermaiden weeps in her\\ncrystal grot\\nFor this is a day that the deed was\\nwrought,\\nIn which we have neither part nor\\nshare,\\nFor the children of clay was salva-\\ntion bought,\\nBut not for the forms of sea or\\nair!\\nAnd ever the mortal is most for-\\nlorn,\\nWho meeteth our race on the Fri-\\nday morn.\\nDaring youth for thee it is\\nwell,\\nHere calling me in haunted\\ndell,\\nThat thy heart has not quailed,\\nNor thy courage failed,\\nAnd that thou couldst brook\\nThe angry look\\nOf Her of Avenel.\\nDid one limb shiver,\\nOr an eyelid quiver,\\nThou wert lost forever.\\nThough I am form d from the\\nether blue,\\nAnd my blood is of the unfallen\\ndew,\\nAnd thou art framed of mud and\\ndust,\\nT is thine to speak, reply I must.\\nA mightier wizard far than I\\nWields o er the universe his\\npower\\nHim owns the eagle in the\\nsky,\\nThe turtle in the bower.\\nChangeful in shape, yet mighti-\\nest still,\\nHe wields the heart of man at\\nwill,\\nFrom ill to good, from good to\\nill,\\nIn cot and castle-tower.\\nAsk thy heart, whose secret\\ncell\\nIs filled with Mary Avenel\\nAsk thy pride, why scornful\\nlook\\nIn Mary s view it will not-\\nbrook\\nAsk it, why thou seek st to rise\\nAmong the mighty and the\\nwise,\\nWhy thou spurn st thy lowly\\nlot,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhy thy pastimes are for-\\ngot,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nWhy thou wouldst in bloody\\nstrife\\nMend thy luck or lose thy life\\nAsk thy heart, and it shall\\ntell,\\nSighing from its secret cell,\\nT is for Mary Avenel.\\nDo not ask me\\nOn doubts like these thou\\ncanst not task me.\\nWe only see the passing show\\nOf human passions ebb and\\nflow;\\nAnd view the pageant s idle\\nglance\\nAs mortals eye the northern\\ndance,\\nWhen thousand streamers,\\nflashing bright,\\nCareer it o er the brow of\\nnight,\\nAnd gazers mark their change-\\nful gleams,\\nBut feel no influence from\\ntheir beams.\\nBy ties mysterious linked, our\\nfated race\\nHolds strange connection with the\\nsons of men.\\nThe star that rose upon the House\\nof Avenel,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0638.jp2"}, "635": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE MONASTERY\\n6i5\\nWhen Norman Ulric first assumed\\nthe name,\\nThat star, when culminating in its\\norbit,\\nShot from its spear a drop of dia-\\nmond dew,\\nAnd this bright font received it\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nand a Spirit\\nRose from the fountain, and her\\ndate of life\\nHath coexistence with the House\\nof Avenel,\\nAnd with the star that rules it.\\nLook on my girdle\u00e2\u0080\u0094 on this thread\\nof gold\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2T is fine as web of lightest gossa-\\nmer,\\nAnd, but there is a spell on t,\\nwould not bind,\\nLight as they are, the folds of my\\nthin robe.\\nBut when t was donned, it was a\\nmassive chain,\\nSuch as might bind the champion\\nof the Jews,\\nEven when his locks were longest\\nit hath dwindled,\\nHath minished in its substance\\nand its strength,\\nAs sunk the greatness of the\\nHouse of Avenel.\\nWhen this frail thread gives way,\\nI to the elements\\nResign the principles of life they\\nlent me.\\nAsk me no more of this the\\nstars forbid it.\\nDim burns the once bright star of\\nAvenel,\\nDim as the beacon when the morn\\nis nigh,\\nAnd the o er-wearied warder leaves\\nthe lighthouse\\nThere is an influence sorrowful\\nand fearful,\\nThat dogs its downward course.\\nDisastrous passion,\\nFierce hate and rivalry, are in the\\naspect\\nThat lowers upon its fortunes.\\nComplaix not on me, child of\\nclay,\\nIf to thy harm I yield the way.\\nWe, who soar thy sphere above,\\nKnow not aught of hate or love\\nAs will or wisdom rules thy\\nmood,\\nMy gifts to evil turn or good.\\nWhen Piercie Shafton boasteth\\nhigh,\\nLet this token meet his eye.\\nThe sun is westering from the\\ndell,\\nThy wish is granted fare thee\\nwell\\nVIII\\nTO THE SAME\\nHe, whose heart for vengeance\\nsued,\\nMust not shrink from shedding\\nblood\\nThe knot that thou hast tied with\\nword,\\nThou must loose by edge of sword.\\nYou have summoned me once, you\\nhave summoned me twice,\\nAnd without e er a summons 1\\ncome to you thrice\\nUnasked for, unsued for, you came\\nto my glen,\\nUnsued and unasked, I am with\\nyou again.\\nIX\\nTO MARY AVENEL\\nMa id ex, whose sorrows wail the\\nLiving Dead,\\nWhose eyes shall commune with\\nthe Dead Alive,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0639.jp2"}, "636": {"fulltext": "6i6\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nMaiden, attend Beneath my foot\\nlies hid\\nThe Word, the Law, the Path\\nwhich thou dost strive\\nTo find, and canst not find. Could\\nSpirits shed\\nTears for their lot, it were my\\nlot to weep,\\nShowing the road which I shall\\nnever tread,\\nThough my foot points it. Sleep,\\neternal sleep\\nDark, long, and cold forgetfulness\\nmy lot\\nBut do not thou at human ills\\nrepine\\nSecure there lies full guerdon in\\nthis spot\\nFor all the woes that wait frail\\nAdam s line\\nStoop then and make it yours,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI may not make it mine\\nTO EDWARD GLENDINNING\\nThou who seek st my fountain\\nlone,\\nWith thoughts and hopes thou\\ndar st not own\\nWhose heart within leaped wildly\\nglad,\\nWhen most his brow seemed dark\\nand sad\\nHie thee back, thou find st not\\nhere\\nCorpse or coffin, grave or bier\\nThe Dead Alive is gone and fled\\nGo thou and join the Living\\nDead!\\nThe Living Dead, whose sober\\nbrow\\nOft shrouds such thoughts as thou\\nhast now\\nWhose hearts within are seldom\\ncured\\nOf passions by their vows ab-\\njured\\nWhere, under sad and solemn\\nshow,\\nVain hopes are nursed, wild wishes\\nglow.\\nSeek the convent s vaulted room,\\nPrayer and vigil be thy doom\\nDoff the green, and don the grey,\\nTo the cloister hence away\\nXI\\nTHE WHITE LADY S FAREWELL\\nFare thee well, thou Holly green\\nThou shalt seldom now be seen,\\nWith all thy glittering garlands\\nbending,\\nAs to greet my slow descend-\\ning,\\nStartling the bewildered hind,\\nWho sees thee wave without a\\nwind.\\nFarewell, Fountain now not long\\nShalt thou murmur to my song.\\nWhile thy crystal bubbles glan-\\ncing,\\nKeep the time in mystic dan-\\ncing,\\nRise and swell, are burst and lost,\\nLike mortal schemes by fortune\\ncrossed.\\nThe knot of fate at length is tied,\\nThe Churl is Lord, the Maid is\\nBride\\nVainly did my magic sleight\\nSend the lover from her sight\\nWither bush, and perish well,\\nFallen is lofty Avenel\\nGOLDTHRED S SONG\\nFROM KENIL WORTH\\nOf all the birds on bush or\\ntree,\\nCommend me to the owl,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0640.jp2"}, "637": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE PIRATE\\n617\\nSince he may best ensample be\\nTo those the cup that trowl.\\nFor when the sun hath left the\\nwest,\\nHe chooses the tree that he loves\\nthe best,\\nAnd he whoops out his song, and\\nhe laughs at his jest\\nThen though hours be late, and\\nweather foul,\\nWe 11 drink to the health of the\\nbonny, bonny owl.\\nThe lark is but a bumpkin fowl,\\nHe sleeps in his nest till\\nmorn\\nBut my blessing upon the jolly\\nowl,\\nThat all night blows his horn.\\nThen up with your cup till you\\nstagger in speech,\\nAnd match me this catch though\\nyou swagger and screech,\\nAnd drink till you wink, my merry\\nmen each\\nFor though hours be late, and\\nweather be foul,\\nWe 11 drink to the health of the\\nbonny, bonny owl.\\nVERSES FROM THE PIRATE\\n1\\nTHE SONG of the tempest\\nStern eagle of the far north-\\nwest,\\nThou that bearest in thy grasp the\\nthunderbolt,\\nThou whose rushing pinions stir\\nocean to madness,\\nThou the destroyer of herds, thou\\nthe scatterer of navies,\\nThou the breaker down of tow-\\ners,\\nAmidst the scream of thy rage,\\nAmidst the rushing of thy onward\\nwings,\\nThough thy scream be loud as the\\ncry of a perishing nation,\\nThough the rushing of thy wings\\nbe like the roar of ten thou-\\nsand waves,\\nYet hear, in thine ire and thy\\nhaste,\\nHear thou the voice of the Reini-\\nkenuar.\\nThou hast met the pine-trees of\\nDrontheim,\\nTheir dark-green heads lie pros-\\ntrate beside their uprooted\\nstems\\nThou hast met the rider of the\\nocean,\\nThe tall, the strong bark of the\\nfearless rover,\\nAnd she has struck to thee the\\ntopsail\\nThat she had not veiled to a royal\\narmada\\nThou hast met the tower that\\nbears its crest among the\\nclouds,\\nThe battled massive tower of the\\nJarl of former days,\\nAnd the copestone of the turret\\nIs lying upon its hospitable\\nhearth\\nBut thou too shalt stoop, proud\\ncompeller of clouds,\\nWhen thou hearest the voice of\\nthe Reim-kennar.\\nThere are verses that can stop the\\nstag in the forest,\\nAy, and when the dark-colored dog\\nis opening on his track\\nThere are verses can make the\\nwild hawk pause on his wing,\\nLike the falcon that wears the\\nhood and the jesses,\\nAnd who knows the shrill whistle\\nof the fowler.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0641.jp2"}, "638": {"fulltext": "6i8\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThou who canst mock at the\\nscream of the drowning mar-\\niner,\\nAnd the crash of the ravaged\\nforest,\\nAnd the groan of the overwhelmed\\ncrowds,\\nWhen the church hath fallen in\\nthe moment of prayer\\nThere are sounds which thou also\\nmust list,\\nWhen they are chanted by the\\nvoice of the Reim-kennar.\\nEnough of woe hast thou wrought\\non the ocean,\\nThe widows wring their hands on\\nthe beach\\nEnough of woe hast thou wrought\\non the land,\\nThe husbandman folds his arms\\nin despair\\nCease thou the waving of thy pin-\\nions,\\nLet the ocean repose in her dark\\nstrength\\nCease thou the flashing of thine\\neye,\\nLet the thunderbolt sleep in the\\narmory of Odin\\nBe thou still at my bidding, view-\\nless racer of the northwestern\\nheaven,\\nSleep thou at the voice of Noma\\nthe Reiru-kennar.\\nEagle of the far northwestern wa-\\nters,\\nThou hast heard the voice of the\\nReim-kennar\\\\\\nThou hast closed thy wide sails at\\nher bidding,\\nAnd folded them in peace by thy\\nside.\\nMy blessing be on thy retiring\\npath;\\nWhen thou stoopest from thy\\nplace on high,\\nSoft be thy slumbers in the caverns\\nof the unknown ocean,\\nRest till destiny shall again\\nawaken thee\\nEagle of the northwest, thou hast\\nheard the voice of the Reim-\\nkennar.\\nn\\nHALCRO S SONG\\nFarewell to Northmaven,\\nGrey Hillswicke, farewell\\nTo the calms of thy haven,\\nThe storms on thy fell\\nTo each breeze that can vary\\nThe mood of thy main,\\nAnd to thee, bonny Mary\\nWe meet not again\\nFarewell the wild ferry,\\nWhich Hacon could brave\\nWhen the peaks of the Skerry\\nWere white in the wave.\\nThere s a maid may look over\\nThese wild waves in vain\\nFor the skiff of her lover\\nHe comes not again\\nThe vows thou hast broke,\\nOn the wild currents fling them\\nOn the quicksand and rock\\nLet the mermaiden sing them\\nNew sweetness they 11 give her\\nBewildering strain\\nBut there s one who will never\\nBelieve them again.\\n0, were there an island,\\nThough ever so wild,\\nWhere woman could smile, and\\nNo man be beguiled\\nToo tempting a snare\\nTo poor mortals were given\\nAnd the hope would fix there\\nThat should anchor on heaven.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0642.jp2"}, "639": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE PIRATE\\n619\\nin\\nSONG OF HAROLD HARFAGER\\nThe sun is rising dimly red,\\nThe wind is wailing low and\\ndread\\nFrom his cliff the eagle sallies,\\nLeaves the wolf his darksome\\nvalleys\\nIn the mist the ravens hover,\\nPeep the wild dogs from the\\ncover,\\nScreaming, croaking, baying, yell-\\ning,\\nEach in his wild accents telling,\\nSoon we feast on dead and dy-\\ning,\\nFair-haired Harold s flag is flying.\\nMany a crest in air is streaming,\\nMany a helmet darkly gleaming,\\nMany an arm the axe uprears,\\nDoomed to hew the wood of\\nspears.\\nAll along the crowded ranks,\\nHorses neigh and armor clanks;\\nChiefs are shouting, clarions ring-\\ning,\\nLouder still the bard is singing,\\nGather, footmen; gather, horse-\\nmen,\\nTo the field, ye valiant Norse-\\nmen!\\n4 Halt ye not for food or slumber,\\nView not vantage, count not num-\\nber;\\nJolly reapers, forward still,\\nGrow the crop on vale or hill,\\nThick or scattered, stiff or lithe,\\nIt shall down before the scythe.\\nForward with your sickles bright,\\nReap the harvest of the fight.\\nOnward footmen, onward horse-\\nmen,\\nTo the charge, ye gallant Norse-\\nmen!\\n1 Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter,\\nO er you hovers Odin s daughter\\nHear the choice she spreads be-\\nfore ye\\nVictory, and wealth, and glory\\nOr old Valhalla s roaring hail,\\nHer ever-circling mead and ale,\\nWhere for eternity unite\\nThe joys of wassail and of fight.\\nHeadlong forward, foot and horse-\\nmen,\\nCharge and fight, and die like\\nNorsemen\\nIV\\nSONG OF THE MERMAIDS AND\\nMERMEN\\nMERMAID\\nFathoms deep beneath the wave,\\nStringing beads of glistering\\npearl,\\nSinging the achievements brave\\nOf many an old Norwegian earl;\\nDwelling where the tempest s rav-\\ning\\nFalls as light upon our ear,\\nAs the sigh of lover, craving\\nPity from his lady dear,\\nChildren of wild Thule, we,\\nFrom the deep caves of the sea,\\nAs the lark springs from the\\nlea,\\nHither come, to share your glee.\\nMERMAN\\nFrom reining of the water-horse,\\nThat bounded till the waves\\nwere foaming,\\nWatching the infant tempest s\\ncourse,\\nChasing the sea-snake in his\\nroaming\\nFrom winding charge-notes on the\\nshell,\\nWhen the huge whale and\\nsword-fish duel,\\nOr tolling shroudless seamen s\\nknell,\\nWhen the winds and waves are\\ncruel", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0643.jp2"}, "640": {"fulltext": "620\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nChildren of wild Thule, we\\nHave ploughed such furrows on\\nthe sea,\\nAs the steer draws on the lea,\\nAnd hither we come to share your\\nglee.\\nMERMAIDS AND MERMEN\\nWe heard you in our twilight\\ncaves,\\nA hundred fathom deep below\\nFor notes of joy can pierce the\\nwaves,\\nThat drown each sound of war\\nand woe.\\nThose who dwell beneath the sea\\nLove the sons of Thule well\\nThus, to aid your mirth, bring\\nwe\\nDance and song and sounding\\nshell.\\nChildren of the dark Thule, know T\\nThose who dwell by haaf and\\nvoe,\\nWhere your daring shallops row,\\nCome to share the festal show.\\nNORNA S YERSES\\nFor leagues along the watery\\nway,\\nThrough gulf and stream my\\ncourse has been\\nThe billows know my Runic lay,\\nAnd smooth their crests to silent\\ngreen.\\nThe billows know my Runic lay,\\nThe gulf grows smooth, the\\nstream is still\\nBut human hearts, more wild than\\nthey,\\nKnow but the rule of wayward\\nwill.\\nOne hour is mine, in all the year,\\nTo tell my woes, and one alone\\nWhen gleams this magic lamp,\\nt is here,\\nWhen dies the mystic light, t is\\ngone.\\nDaughters of northern Magnus,\\nhail!\\nThe lamp is lit, the flame is\\nclear\\nTo you I come to tell my tale,\\nAwake, arise, my tale to hear\\nDwellers of the mountain, rise,\\nTrolld the powerful, Haims the\\nwise\\nYe who taught weak woman s\\ntongue\\nWords that sway the wise and\\nstrong,\\nYe who taught weak woman s\\nhand\\nHow to wield the magic wand,\\nAnd wake the gales on Foulah s\\nsteep,\\nOr lull wild Sumburgh s waves to\\nsleep\\nStill are ye yet? Not yours the\\npower\\nYe knew in Odin s mightier hour.\\nWhat are ye now but empty\\nnames,\\nPowerful Trolld, sagacious Haims,\\nThat, lightly spoken, and lightly\\nheard,\\nFloat on the air like thistle s\\nbeard\\nA thousand winters dark have\\nflown,\\nSince o er the threshold of my\\nstone\\nA votaress passed, my power to\\nown.\\nVisitor bold\\nOf the mansion of Trolld,\\nMaiden haughty of heart,\\nWho hast hither presumed,\\nUngifted, undoomed,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0644.jp2"}, "641": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE PIRATE\\n621\\nThou shalt not depart.\\nThe power thou dost covet\\nO er tempest and wave,\\nShall be thine, thou proud maid-\\nen,\\nBy beach and by cave.\\nBy stack, and by skerry, by noup,\\nand by voe,\\nBy air, and by wick, and by helyer\\nand gio,\\nAnd by every wild shore which the\\nnorthern winds know,\\nAnd the northern tides lave.\\nBut though this shall be given\\nthee, thou desperately brave,\\nI doom thee that never the gift\\nthou shalt have,\\nTill thou reave thy life s giver\\nOf the gift which he gave.\\nDark are thy words, and severe,\\nThou dweller in stone\\nBut trembling and fear\\nTo her are unknown,\\nWho hath sought thee here,\\nIn thy dwelling lone.\\nComes what comes soever,\\nThe worst I can endure\\nLife is but a short fever,\\nAnd Death is the cure.\\nVI\\nHALCRO AND XORNA\\nCLAUD HALCRO\\nMother darksome, Mother\\ndread,\\nDweller on the Fitful-head,\\nThou canst see what deeds are\\ndone\\nUnder the never-setting sun.\\nLook through sleet, and look\\nthrough frost,\\nLook to Greenland s caves and\\ncoast,\\nBy the iceberg is a sail\\nChasing of the swarthy whale\\nMother doubtful, Mother dread,\\nTell us, has the good ship sped\\nNOBNA\\nThe thought of the aged is ever on\\ngear,\\nOn his fishing, his furrow, his\\nflock, and his steer\\nBut thrive may his fishing, flock,\\nfurrow, and herd,\\nWhile the aged for anguish shall\\ntear his gray beard.\\nThe ship, well-laden as bark need\\nbe,\\nLies deep in the furrow of the Ice-\\nland sea\\nThe breeze from Zetland blows\\nfair and soft,\\nAnd gaily the garland is fluttering\\naloft\\nSeven good fishes have spouted\\ntheir last,\\nAnd their jaw-bones are hanging\\nto yard and mast\\nTwo are for Lerwick, and two for\\nKirkwall,\\nAnd three for Burgh- Westra, the\\nchoicest of all.\\nCLAUD HALCRO\\nMother doubtful, Mother dread,\\nDweller of the Fitful-head,\\nThou hast conned full many a\\nrhyme,\\nThat lives upon the surge of time\\nTell me, shall my lays be sung,\\nLike Hacon s of the golden tongue,\\nLong after Halcro s dead and\\ngone?\\nOr, shall Hialtland s minstrel own\\nOne note to rival glorious John\\nNORNA\\nThe infant loves the rattle s noise\\nAge, double childhood, hath its\\ntoys;\\nBut different far the descant rings,\\nAs strikes a different hand the\\nstrings.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0645.jp2"}, "642": {"fulltext": "622\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThe eagle mounts the polar sky\\nThe Imber-goose, unskilled to fly,\\nMust be content to glide along,\\nWhere seal and sea-dog list his\\nsong.\\nCLAUD HALCRO\\nBe mine the Imber-goose to play,\\nAnd haunt lone cave and silent\\nbay;\\nThe archer s aim so shall I shun\\nSo shall I scape the levelled gun\\nContent my verses tuneless jin-\\ngle,\\nWith Thule s sounding tides to\\nmingle,\\nWhile, to the ear of wondering\\nwight,\\nUpon the distant headland s\\nheight,\\nSoftened by murmur of the sea,\\nThe rude sounds seem like har-\\nmony!\\nMother doubtful, Mother dread,\\nDweller of the Fitful-head,\\nA gallant bark from far abroad,\\nSaint Magnus hath her in his road,\\nWith guns and firelocks not a\\nfew;\\nA silken and a scarlet crew,\\nDeep stored with precious mer-\\nchandise,\\nOf gold, and goods of rare device\\nWhat interest hath our comrade\\nbold\\nIn bark and crew, in goods and\\ngold?\\nNORNA\\nGold is ruddy, fair, and free,\\nBlood is crimson, and dark to\\nsee;\\nI looked out on Saint Magnus\\nbay,\\nAnd I saw a falcon that struck\\nher prey\\nA gobbet of flesh in her beak she\\nbore,\\nAnd talons and singles are drip-\\ning with gore\\nLet him that asks after them look\\non his hand,\\nAnd if there is blood on t, he s\\none of their band.\\nCLAUD HALCRO\\nMother doubtful, Mother dread,\\nDweller of the Fitful-head,\\nWell thou know st it is thy task\\nTo tell what Beauty will not\\nask;\\nThen steep thy words in wine and\\nmilk,\\nAnd weave a doom of gold and\\nsilk;\\nFor we would know, shall Brenda\\nprove\\nIn love, and happy in her love\\nNORNA\\nUntouched by love, the maiden s\\nbreast\\nIs like the snow on Rona s crest,\\nHigh seated in the middle sky,\\nIn bright and barren purity\\nBut by the sunbeam gently kissed,\\nScarce by the gazing eye tis\\nmissed,\\nEre, down the lonely valley steal.\\ning,\\nFresh grass and growth its course\\nrevealing,\\nIt cheers the flock, revives the\\nflower,\\nAnd decks some happy shepherd s\\nbower.\\nMAGNUS TROIL\\nMother, speak, and do not tarry,\\nHere s a maiden fain would\\nmarry.\\nShall she marry, ay or not?\\nIf she marry, what s her lot?\\nNORNA\\nUntouched by love, the maiden s\\nbreast\\nIs like the snow on Rona s crest\\nSo pure, so free from earthly dye,\\nIt seems, whilst leaning on the\\nsky,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0646.jp2"}, "643": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE PIRATE\\n623\\nPart of the heaven to which t is\\nnigh;\\nBut passion, like the wild March\\nrain,\\nMay soil the wreath with many a\\nstain.\\nWe gaze the lovely vision s\\ngone:\\nA torrent fills the bed of stone,\\nThat, hurrying to destruction s\\nshock,\\nLeaps headlong from the lofty\\nrock.\\nVII\\nTHE FISHERMEN S SONG\\nFarewell, merry maidens, to\\nsong and to laugh,\\nFor the brave lads of Westra are\\nbound to the Haaf\\nAnd we must have labor, and hun-\\nger, and pain,\\nEre we dance with the maids of\\nDunrossness again.\\nFor now, in our trim boats of Noro-\\nway deal,\\nWe must dance on the waves, with\\nthe porpoise and seal\\nThe breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe\\nnot too high,\\nAnd the gull be our songstress\\nwhene er she flits by.\\nSing on, my brave bird, while we\\nfollow, like thee,\\nBy bank, shoal, and quicksand, the\\nswarms of the sea\\nAnd when twenty-score fishes are\\nstraining our line,\\nSing louder, brave bird, for their\\nspoils shall be thine.\\nWe 11 sing while we bait, and we 11\\nsing when we haul,\\nFor the deeps of the Haaf have\\nenough for us all\\nThere is torsk for the gentle, and\\nskate for the carle,\\nAnd there s wealth for bold Mag-\\nnus, the son of the earl.\\nHuzza my brave comrades, give\\nway for the Haaf,\\nWe shall sooner come back to the\\ndance and the laugh\\nFor life without mirth is a lamp\\nwithout oil\\nThen, mirth and long life to the\\nbold Magnus Troil I\\nVIII\\nCLEVELAND S SONGS\\nLove wakes and weeps\\nWhile beauty sleeps\\n0, for Music s softest numbers,\\nTo prompt a theme\\nFor Beauty s dream,\\nSoft as the pillow of her slumbers.\\nThrough groves of palm\\nSigh gales of balm,\\nFire-flies on the air are wheeling\\nWhile through the gloom\\nComes soft perfume,\\nThe distant beds of flowers re-\\nvealing.\\nwake and live\\nNo dream can give\\nA shadowed bliss, the real excel-\\nling\\nNo longer sleep,\\nFrom lattice peep,\\nAnd list the tale that Love is tell-\\ning.\\nFarewell farewell the voice\\nyou hear,\\nHas left its last soft tone with\\nyou,\\nIts next must join the seaward\\ncheer,\\nAnd shout among the shouting\\ncrew.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0647.jp2"}, "644": {"fulltext": "624\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThe accents which I scarce could\\nform\\nBeneath your frown s controlling\\ncheck\\nMust give the word, above the\\nstorm,\\nTo cut the mast and clear the\\nwreck.\\nThe timid eye I dared not raise,\\nThe hand, that shook wiien\\npressed to thine,\\nMust point the guns upon the\\nchase\\nMust hid the deadly cutlass\\nshine.\\nTo all I love, or hope, or fear,\\nHonor or own, a long adieu\\nTo all that life has soft and dear,\\nFarewell save memory of you\\nIX\\nHALCRO S VERSES\\nAnd you shall deal the funeral\\ndole;\\nAy, deal it, mother mine,\\nTo weary body and to heavy soul,\\nThe white bread and the wine.\\nAnd you shall deal my horses of\\npride\\nAy, deal them, mother mine\\nAnd you shall deal my lands so\\nwide,\\nAnd deal my castles nine\\nBut deal not vengeance for the\\ndeed,\\nAnd deal not for the crime\\nThe body to its place, and the soul\\nto Heaven s grace,\\nAnd the rest in God s own time.\\nIf\\nIf\\nIf\\nBy the mass of Saint Martin, the\\nmight of Saint Mary,\\nBe thou gone, or thy weird shall\\nbe worse if thou tarry\\nof good, go hence and hallow\\nthee\\nof ill, let the earth swallow\\nthee\\nthou rt of air, let the grey mist\\nfold thee\\nIf of earth, let the swart mine hold\\nthee;\\nIf a Pixie, seek thy ring\\nIf a Nixie, seek thy spring\\nIf on middle earth thou st been\\nSlave of sorrow, shame, and sin,\\nHast ate the bread of toil and\\nstrife,\\nAnd dree d the lot which men call\\nlife;\\nBegone to thy stone for thy coffin\\nis scant of thee,\\nThe worm, thy playfellow, wails\\nfor the want of thee\\nHence, houseless ghost! let the\\nearth hide thee,\\nTill Michael shall blow the blast,\\nsee that there thou bide thee i\\nPhantom, fly hence take the Cross\\nfor a token,\\nHence pass till Hallowmass\\nmy spell is spoken.\\nSaint Magnus control thee, that\\nmartyr of treason\\nSaint Ronan rebuke thee, with\\nrhyme and with reason\\nWhere corpse-light\\nDances bright,\\nBe it by day or night,\\nBe it by light or dark,\\nThere shall corpse lie stiff and\\nstark.\\nMenseful maiden ne er should\\nrise,\\nTill the first beam tinge the skies\\nSilk-fringed eyelids still should\\nclose,\\nTill the sun has kissed the rose\\nMaiden s foot we should not view,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0648.jp2"}, "645": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE PIRATE\\n625\\nMarked with tiny print on dew,\\nTill the opening flowerets spread\\nCarpet meet for beauty s tread.\\nNORXA S IXCAXTATIONS\\nChampion, famed for warlike toil,\\nArt thou silent, Ribolt Troil?\\nSand, and dust, and pebbly stones,\\nAre leaving bare thy giant bones.\\nWho dared touch the wild bear s\\nskin\\nYe slumbered on, while life was\\nin?\\nA woman now, or babe, may come\\nAnd cast the covering from thy\\ntomb.\\nYet he not wrathful, Chief, nor\\nblight\\nMine eyes or ears with sound or\\nsight\\nI come not with unhallowed tread,\\nTo wake the slumbers of the dead,\\nOr lay thy giant relics bare\\nBut what I seek thou well canst\\nspare.\\nBe it to my hand allowed\\nTo shear a merk s weight from thy\\nshroud\\nYet leave thee sheeted lead enough\\nTo shield thy bones from weather\\nrough.\\nSee, I draw my magic knife\\nNever while thou wert in life\\nLaidst thou still for sloth or fear,\\nWhen point and edge were glitter-\\ning near\\nSee, the cerements now I sever\\nWaken now, or sleep forever\\nThou wilt not wake the deed is\\ndone\\nThe prize I sought is fairly won.\\nThanks, Ribolt, thanks, for this\\nthe sea\\nShall smooth its ruffled crest for\\nthee,\\nAnd while afar its billows foam,\\nSubside to peace near Ribolt s\\ntomb.\\nThanks, Ribolt, thanks \u00e2\u0080\u0094for this\\nthe might\\nOf wild winds raging at their\\nheight,\\nWhen to thy place of slumber\\nnigh,\\nShall soften to a lullaby.\\nShe, the dame of doubt and dread,\\nNoma of the Fitful-head,\\nMighty in her own despite,\\nMiserable in her might\\nIn despair and frenzy great,\\nIn her greatness desolate\\nWisest, wickedest who lives,\\nWell can keep the word she gives.\\nXI\\nTHE SAME, AT THE MEETING\\nWITH MINNA\\nThou, so needful, yet so dread,\\nWith cloudy crest, and wing of\\nred;\\nThou, without whose genial breath\\nThe North would sleep the sleep\\nof death\\nWho deign st to warm the cottage\\nhearth,\\nYet hurls proud palaces to earth\\nBrightest, keenest of the Pow-\\ners,\\nWhich form and rule this world of\\nours,\\nWith my rhyme of Runic, I\\nThank thee for thy agency.\\nOld Reim-kennar, to thy art\\nMother Hertha sends her part\\nShe, whose gracious bounty gives\\nNeedful food for all that lives.\\nFrom the deep mine of the North\\nCame the mystic metal forth,\\nDoomed amidst disjointed stones\\nLong to cere a champion s bones,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0649.jp2"}, "646": {"fulltext": "626\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nDisinhumed my charms to aid\\nMother Earth, my thanks are paid.\\nGirdle of our islands dear,\\nElement of Water, hear\\nThou whose power can overwhelm\\nBroken mounds and ruined realm\\nOn the lowly Belgian strand\\nAll thy fiercest rage can never\\nOf our soil a furlong sever\\nFrom our rock-defended land\\nPlay then gently thou thy part,\\nTo assist old Noma s art.\\nElements, each other greeting,\\nGifts and powers attend your\\nmeeting\\nThou, that over billows dark\\nSafely send st the fisher s bark\\nGiving him a path and motion\\nThrough the wilderness of ocean\\nThou, that when the billows brave\\nye,\\nO er the shelves canst drive the\\nnavy:\\nDid st thou chafe as one neglected,\\nWhile thy brethren were re-\\nspected\\nTo appease thee, see, I tear\\nThis full grasp of grizzled hair\\nOft thy breath hath through it\\nsung,\\nSoftening to my magic tongue\\nNow, t is thine to bid it fly\\nThrough the wide expanse of sky,\\nMid the countless swarms to sail\\nOf wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale\\nTake thy portion and rejoice\\nSpirit, thou hast heard my voice\\nShe who sits by haunted well,\\nIs subject to the Nixie s spell\\nShe who walks on lonely beach,\\nTo the Mermaid s charmed speech\\nShe who walks round ring of green,\\nOffends the peevish Fairy Queen\\nAnd she who takes rest in the\\nDwarfie s cave,\\nA weary weird of woe shall have.\\nBy ring, by spring, by cave, by\\nshore,\\nMinna Troil has braved all this\\nand more\\nAnd yet hath the root of her sor-\\nrow and ill\\nA source that s more deep and\\nmore mystical still.\\nThou art within a demon s hold,\\nMore wise than Heims, more\\nstrong than Trolld\\nNo siren sings so sweet as he\\nNo fay springs lighter on the lea\\nNo elfin power hath half the art\\nTo soothe, to move, to wring the\\nheart\\nLife-blood from the cheek to drain,\\nDrench the eye, and dry the vein.\\nMaiden, ere we farther go,\\nDost thou note me, ay or no?\\nMINNA\\nI mark thee, my mother, both\\nword, look, and sign\\nSpeak on with thy riddle to read\\nit be mine.\\nNORNA\\nMark me for the word I speak\\nShall bring the color to thy cheek.\\nThis leaden heart, so light of cost,\\nThe symbol of a treasure lost,\\nThou shalt wear in hope and in\\npeace,\\nThat the cause of your sickness\\nand sorrow may cease,\\nWhen crimson foot meets crimson\\nhand\\nIn the Martyrs Aisle, and in Ork-\\nney land.\\nBe patient, be patient, for Patience\\nhath power\\nTo ward us in danger, like mantle\\nin shower\\nA fairy gift you best may hold", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0650.jp2"}, "647": {"fulltext": "THE MAID OF ISLA\\n627\\nIn a chain of fairy gold\\nThe chain and the gift are each a\\ntrue token,\\nThat not without warrant old\\nNoma hath spoken\\nBut thy nearest and dearest must\\nnever behold them,\\nTill time shall accomplish the\\ntruths I have told them.\\nXII\\nBRYCE SNAILSFOOT S ADVER-\\nTISEMENT\\nPoor sinners whom the snake de-\\nceives,\\nAre fain to cover them with leaves.\\nZetland hath no leaves, t is true,\\nBecause that trees are none, or\\nfew\\nBut we have flax and taits of\\nwoo\\nFor linen cloth, and wadmaal blue\\nAnd we have many of foreign\\nknacks\\nOf finer waft than woo or flax.\\nYe gallanty Lambmas lads appear,\\nAnd bring your Lambmas sisters\\nhere,\\nBryce Snailsfoot spares not cost\\nor care,\\nTo pleasure every gentle pair.\\nON ETTRICK FOREST S\\nMOUNTAINS DUN*\\nOx Ettrick Forest s mountains dun\\n*T is blithe to hear the sportsman s\\ngun,\\nAnd seek the heath-frequenting\\nbrood\\nFar through the noonday soli-\\ntude\\nBy many a cairn and trenched\\nmound\\nWhere chiefs of yore sleep lone\\nand sound.\\nAnd springs where gray-haired\\nshepherds tell\\nThat still the fairies love to dwell.\\nAlong the silver streams of Tweed\\nT is blithe the mimic fly to lead,\\nWhen to the hook the salmon\\nsprings,\\nAnd the line whistles through the\\nrings\\nThe boiling eddy see him try,\\nThen dashing from the current\\nhigh,\\nTill watchful eye and cautious\\nhand\\nHave led his wasted strength to\\nland.\\nT is blithe along the midnight\\ntide\\nWith stalwart arm the boat to\\nguide\\nOn high the dazzling blaze to rear.\\nAnd heedful plunge the barbed\\nspear\\nRock, wood, and scaur, emerging\\nbright,\\nFling on the stream their ruddy\\nlight,\\nAnd from the bank our band ap-\\npears\\nLike Genii armed with fiery spears.\\nT is blithe at eve to tell the tale\\nHow we succeed and how we fail,\\nWhether at Alwyn s lordly meal,\\nOr lowlier board of Ashestiel\\nWhile the gay tapers cheerly shine,\\nBickers the fire and flows the\\nwine\\nDays free from thought and nights\\nfrom care,\\nMy blessing on the Forest fair.\\nTHE MAID OF ISLA\\nAir\u00e2\u0080\u0094 The Maid of Ma\\nO maid of Isla, from the cliff\\nThat looks on troubled wave and\\nsky,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0651.jp2"}, "648": {"fulltext": "628\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nDost thou not see yon little skiff\\nContend with ocean gallantly?\\nNow beating gainst the breeze\\nand surge,\\nAnd steeped her leeward deck\\nin foam,\\nWhy does she war unequal urge?\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nO Isla s maid, she seeks her\\nhome.\\nO Isla s maid, yon sea-bird mark,\\nHer white wing gleams through\\nmist and spray\\nAgainst the storm-cloud lowering\\ndark,\\nAs to the rock she wheels\\naway\\nWhere clouds are dark and billows\\nrave,\\nWhy to the shelter should she\\ncome\\nOf cliff, exposed to wind and\\nwave\\nO maid of Isla, t is her home\\nAs breeze and tide to yonder skiff,\\nThou rt adverse to the suit I\\nbring,\\nAnd cold as is yon wintry cliff\\nWhere sea-birds close their wea-\\nried wing.\\nYet cold as rock, unkind as wave,\\nStill, Isla s maid, to thee I come\\nFor in thy love or in his grave\\nMust Allan Vourich find his\\nhome.\\nFAREWELL TO THE MUSE\\nEnchantress, farewell, who so\\noft hast decoyed me\\nAt the close of the evening\\nthrough woodlands to roam,\\nWhere the forester lated with won-\\nder espied me\\nExplore the wild scenes he was\\nquitting for home.\\nFarewell, and take with thee thy\\nnumbers wild speaking\\nThe language alternate of rap-\\nture and woe\\nO none but some lover whose\\nheart-strings are breaking\\nThe pang that I feel at our part-\\ning can know\\nEach joy thou couldst double, and\\nwhen there came sorrow\\nOr pale disappointment to dark-\\nen my way,\\nWhat voice was like thine, that\\ncould sing of to-morrow\\nTill forgot in the strain was the\\ngrief of to-day\\nBut when friends drop around us\\nin life s weary waning,\\nThe grief, Queen of Numbers,\\nthou canst not assuage\\nNor the gradual estrangement of\\nthose yet remaining,\\nThe languor of pain and the\\nchillness of age.\\nT was thou that once taught me in\\naccents bewailing\\nTo sing how a warrior lay\\nstretched on the plain,\\nAnd a maiden hung o er him with\\naid unavailing,\\nAnd held to his lips the cold\\ngoblet in vain\\nAs vain thy enchantments, O\\nQueen of wild Numbers,\\nTo a bard when the reign of his\\nfancy is o er,\\nAnd the quick pulse of feeling in\\napathy slumbers\\nFarewell, then, Enchantress;\\nI meet thee no more.\\nNIGEL S INITIATION AT\\nWHITEFRIARS\\nFROM THE FORTUNES OF\\nNIGEL\\nYour suppliant, by name\\nNigel Grahame,\\nIn fear of mishap\\nFrom a shoulder-tap\\nAnd dreading a claw", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0652.jp2"}, "649": {"fulltext": "CARLE, NOW THE KING S COME\\n629\\nFrom the talons of law,\\nAre the freedom and gifts\\nThat are sharper than briars 5\\nOf which I am the donor.\\nHis freedom to sue\\nAnd rescue by you\\nThrough weapon and wit,\\nCARLE, NOW THE KING S\\nFrom warrant and writ,\\nCOME\\nFrom bailiff s hand,\\nFrom tipstaff s wand,\\nBEING NEW WORDS TO AN\\nIs come hither to Whitefriars.\\nAULD SPRING\\nPART FIRST\\nThe news has flown frae mouth\\nBy spigot and barrel,\\nto mouth,\\nBy bilboe and buff\\nThe North for ance has banged\\nThou art sworn to the quarrel\\nthe South\\nOf the blades of the Huff.\\nThe deil a Scotsman s die o\u00c2\u00bb\\nFor Whitefriars and its claims\\ndrouth,\\nTo be champion or martyr,\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nAnd to fight for its dames\\nLike a Knight of the Garter.\\nCHORUS\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nThou shalt dance, and I will sing,\\nFrom the touch of the tip,\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nFrom the blight of the war-\\nrant,\\nAuld England held him lang and\\nFrom the watchmen who skip\\nfast;\\nOn the Harman Beck s errand,\\nAnd Ireland had a joyfu cast\\nFrom the bailiff s cramp speech,\\nBut Scotland s turn is come at\\nThat makes man a thrall,\\nlast:\\nI charm thee from each,\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nAnd I charm thee from all.\\nThy freedom s complete\\nAuld Reekie, in her rokelay grey,\\nAs a blade of the Huff,\\nThought never to have seen the\\nTo be cheated and cheat,\\nday,\\nTo be cuffed and to cuff\\nHe s been a weary time away\\nTo stride, swear, and swagger,\\nBut, Carle, now the King scome\\nTo drink till you stagger,\\nTo stare and to stab,\\nShe s skirling frae the Castle-hill\\nAnd to brandish your dagger\\nThe Carline s voice is grown sae\\nIn the cause of your drab\\nshrill,\\nTo walk wool-ward in winter,\\nYe 11 hear her at the Canon-mill\\nDrink brandy, and smoke,\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nAnd go fresco in summer\\nFor want of a cloak\\nUp, bairns she cries, baith grit\\nTo eke out your living\\nand sma\\\\\\nBy the wag of your elbow,\\nAnd busk ye for the weapon-\\nBy fulham and gourd,\\nshaw\\nAnd by baring of bilboe\\nStand by me, and we 11 bang them\\nTo live by your shifts,\\na\\nAnd to swear by your honor\\nCarle, now the King s come", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0653.jp2"}, "650": {"fulltext": "630\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\n1 Come from Newbattle s ancient\\nBreadalbane, bring your belted\\nspires,\\nplaids\\nBauld Lothian, with your knights\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nand squires,\\nAnd match the mettle of your\\nCome, stately Niddrie, auld and\\nsires\\ntrue,\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nGirt with the sword that Minden\\nknew;\\n4 You re welcome hame, my Mon-\\nWe have o er few such lairds as\\ntagu\\nyou:\\nBring in your hand the young Buc-\\nCarle, now the King s come\\ncleuch\\nI m missing some that I may rue\\nKing Arthur s grown a common\\nCarle, now the King s come\\ncrier,\\nHe s heard in Fife and far Cantire:\\n1 Come, Haddington, the kind and\\nFie, lads, behold my crest of\\ngay,\\nfire!\\nYou ve graced my causeway mony\\nCarle, now the King s come\\na day\\nI 11 weep the cause if you should\\nSaint Abb roars out, I see him\\nstay\\npass,\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nBetween Tantallon and the Bass!\\nCarlton, get out your keeking-glass,\\nCome, premier Duke, and carry\\nCarle, now the King s come\\ndoun\\nFrae yonder craig his ancient\\nThe Carline stopped and, sure I\\ncroun\\nam,\\nIt \\\\s had a lang sleep and a\\nFor very glee had ta en a dwam,\\nsoun\\nBut Oman helped her to a dram.\\nBut, Carle, now the King s come\\nCogie, now the King s come\\nCome, Athole, from the hill and\\nCHORUS\\nwood,\\nCogie, now the King s come t\\nBring down your clansmen like a\\nCogie, now the King s come\\ncloud\\nI se be fou\\\\ and ye s be toom,\\nCome, Morton, show the Douglas\\nCogie, now the King s come\\nblood:\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nPART SECOND\\n1 Come, Tweeddale, true as sword\\nto sheath\\nA Hawick gill of mountain dew,\\nCome, Hopetoun, feared on fields\\nHeised up Auld Reekie s heart, I\\nof death\\ntrow,\\nCome, Clerk, and give your bugle\\nIt minded her of Waterloo\\nbreath\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nAgain I heard her summons swell,\\nCome, Wemyss, who modest merit\\nFor, sic a dirdum and a yell,\\naids;\\nIt drowned Saint Giles s jowing\\nCome, Rosebery, from Dalmeny\\nbell:\\nshades\\nCarle, now the King s come", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0654.jp2"}, "651": {"fulltext": "CARLE, NOW THE KING S COME\\n631\\nc My trusty Provost, tried and\\ntight,\\nStand forward for the Good Town s\\nright,\\nThere s waur than you been made\\na knight\\nCarle, now the King s come\\n4 My reverend Clergy, look ye say\\nThe best of thanksgivings ye\\nha e,\\nAnd warstle for a sunny day\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nMy Doctors, look that you agree,\\nCure a the town without a fee\\nMy Lawyers, dinna pike a plea\\nCarle, now the King s come!\\nCome forth each sturdy Burgh-\\ner s bairn,\\nThat dints on wood or clanks on\\nairn,\\nThat fires the o en, or winds the\\npirn:\\nCarle, now the King s come!\\n1 Come forward with the Blanket\\nBlue,\\nYour sires were loyal men and\\ntrue,\\nAs Scotland s foemen oft might\\nrue\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nScots downa loup, and rin and\\nrave,\\nWe re steady folks and something\\ngrave,\\nWe 11 keep the causeway firm and\\nbrave\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nSir Thomas, thunder from your\\nrock,\\nTill Pentland dinnles wi the\\nshock,\\nAnd lace wi fire my snood 0\\nsmoke\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nMelville, bring out your bands of\\nblue,\\nA Louden lads, baith stout and\\ntrue,\\nWith Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn,\\ntoo:\\nCarle, now the King s come\\n1 And you, who on yon bluidy braes\\nCompelled the vanquished Des-\\npot s praise,\\nEank out, rank out, my gallant\\nGreys\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nCock of the North, my Huntly\\nbra\\nWhere are you with the Forty-twa\\nAh wae s my heart that ye re\\nawa\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nBut yonder come my canty Celts,\\nWith durk and pistols at their\\nbelts,\\nThank God, we ve still some\\nplaids and kilts\\nCarle, now the King s come!\\nLord, how the pibrochs groan and\\nyell!\\nMacdonell s ta en the field himsell,\\nMacleod comes branking o er the\\nfell:\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nBend up your bow each Archer\\nspark,\\nFor you re to guard him light and\\ndark;\\nFaith, lads, for ance ye ve hit the\\nmark:\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nYoung Errol, take the sword of\\nstate,\\nThe Sceptre, Panie-Morarchate\\nKnight Mareschal, see ye clear\\nthe gate\\nCarle, now the King s come!", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0655.jp2"}, "652": {"fulltext": "632\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nKind cummer, Leith, ye ve been\\nmis-set,\\nBut dinna be upon the fret\\nYe se hae the handsel of him yet,\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nMy daughters, come with een sae\\nblue,\\nYour garlands weave, your blos-\\nsoms strew\\nHe ne er saw fairer flowers than\\nyou:\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nWhat shall we do for the pro-\\npine:\\nWe used to offer something fine,\\nBut ne er a groat s in pouch of\\nmine\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nDeil care for that I se never\\nstart,\\nWe 11 welcome him with Highland\\nheart\\nWhate er we have he s get a\\npart:\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nI ll show him mason-work this\\nday:\\nNane of your bricks of Babel\\nclay,\\nBut towers shall stand till Time s\\naway:\\nCarle, now the King s come\\n4 1 11 show him wit, I 11 show him\\nlair,\\nAnd gallant lads and lasses fair.\\nAnd what wad kind heart wish for\\nmair?\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nStep out, Sir John, of projects\\nrife,\\nCome win the thanks of an auld\\nwife,\\nAnd bring him health and length\\nof life\\nCarle, now the King s come\\nTHE BANNATYNE CLUB\\nAssist me, ye friends of Old Books\\nand Old Wine,\\nTo sing in the praises of sage\\nBannatyne,\\nWho left such a treasure of old\\nScottish lore\\nAs enables each age to print one\\nvolume more.\\nOne volume more, my friends,\\none volume more,\\nWe ll ransack old Banny for\\none volume more.\\nAnd first, Allan Ramsay, was eager\\nto glean\\nFrom Bannatyne s Hortus his\\nbright Evergreen\\nTwo light little volumes\u00e2\u0080\u0094 intended\\nfor four\\nStill leave us the task to print one\\nvolume more.\\nOne volume more, etc.\\nHis ways were not ours, for he\\ncared not a pin\\nHow much he left out or how much\\nhe put in\\nThe truth of the reading he thought\\nwas a bore,\\nSo this accurate age calls for one\\nvolume more.\\nOne volume more, etc.\\nCorrect and sagacious, then came\\nmy Lord Hailes,\\nAnd weighed every letter in criti-\\ncal scales,\\nBut left out some brief words\\nwhich the prudish abhor,\\nAnd castrated Banny in one vol-\\nume more.\\nOne volume more, my friends,\\none volume more\\nWe ll restore Banny s man-\\nhood in one volume more.\\nJohn Pinkerton next, and I m\\ntruly concerned\\nI can t call that worthy so candid\\nas learned", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0656.jp2"}, "653": {"fulltext": "EPILOGUE\\n633\\nHe railed at the plaid and blas-\\nphemed the claymore,\\nAnd set Scots by the ears in his\\none volume more.\\nOne volume more, my friends,\\none volume more,\\nCelt and Goth shall be pleased\\nwith one volume more.\\nAs bitter as gall and as sharp as a\\nrazor,\\nAnd feeding on herbs as a Nebu-\\nchadnezzar\\nHis diet too acid, his temper too\\nsour,\\nLittle Ritson came out with his\\ntwo volumes more.\\nBut one volume, my friends,\\none volume more,\\nWe ll dine on roast-beef and\\nprint one volume more.\\nThe stout Gothic yeditur, next on\\nthe roll,\\nWith his beard like a brush and as\\nblack as a coal\\nAnd honest Greysteel that was\\ntrue to the core,\\nLent their hearts and their hands\\neach to one volume more.\\nOne volume more, etc.\\nSince by these single champions\\nwhat wonders were done,\\nWhat may not be achieved by our\\nThirty and One\\nLaw, Gospel, and Commerce, we\\ncount in our corps,\\nAnd the Trade and the Press join\\nfor one volume more.\\nOne volume more, etc.\\nAncient libels and contraband\\nbooks, I assure ye,\\nWe 11 print as secure from Ex-\\nchequer or Jury\\nThen hear your Committee and let\\nthem count o er\\nThe Chiels they intend in their\\nthree volumes more.\\nThree volumes more, etc.\\nThey 11 produce you King Jamie,\\nthe sapient and Sext,\\nAnd the Rob of Durablane and her\\nBishops come next\\nOne tome miscellaneous they ll\\nadd to your store,\\nResolving next year to print four\\nvolumes more.\\nFour volumes more, my friends,\\nfour volumes more\\nPay down your subscriptions\\nfor four volumes more.\\nCOUNTY GUY\\nAh County Guy, the hour is nigh,\\nThe sun has left the lea,\\nThe orange flower perfumes the\\nbower,\\nThe breeze is on the sea.\\nThe lark his lay who thrilled all\\nday\\nSits hushed his partner nigh\\nBreeze, bird, and flower confess\\nthe hour,\\nBut where is County Guy\\nThe village maid steals through\\nthe shade,\\nHer shepherd s suit to hear\\nTo beauty shy by lattice high\\nSings high-born Cavalier.\\nThe star of Love, all stars above,\\nNow reigns o er earth and sky\\nAnd high and low the influence\\nknow\\nBut where is County Guy\\nEPILOGUE\\nTO THE DRAMA FOUNDED ON\\nSAINT RON AN S WELL\\n{Enter Meg Dodds, encircled by\\na crowd of unruly boys, whom\\na town s-officer is driving off.~]\\nThat s right, friend drive the\\ngaitlings back,\\nAnd lend yon muckle ane a whack", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0657.jp2"}, "654": {"fulltext": "634\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nYour Embro bairns are grown a\\nOr crack a bottle,\\npack,\\nThey gang to a new-fangled place\\nSae proud and saucy,\\nThey ca a Hottle.\\nThey scarce will let an auld wife\\nwalk\\nThe deevil hottle them for Meg\\nUpon your causey.\\nThey are sae greedy and sae gleg,\\nThat if ye re served but wi an\\nI ve seen the day they would been\\negg\\nscaur ed\\nAnd that s puir picking\\nWi the Tolbooth or wi the Guard,\\nIn comes a chiel and makes a\\nOr maybe wud hae some regard\\nleg,\\nFor Jamie Laing-\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd charges chicken\\nThe Water-hole was right weel\\nwared\\nAnd wha may ye be, gin ye speer,\\nOn sic a gang.\\nThat brings your auld-warld\\nclavers here\\nBut whar s the gude Tolbooth\\nTroth, if there s onybody near\\ngane now?\\nThat kens the roads,\\nWhar s the auld Claught, wi red\\nI 11 haud ye Burgundy to beer\\nand blue\\nHe kens Meg Dodds.\\nWhar s Jamie Laing? and whar s\\nJohn Doo\\nI came a piece frae west o Cur-\\nAnd whar s the Weigh-house\\nrie;\\nDeil hae t I see but what is\\nAnd, since I see you re in a hurry,\\nnew,\\nYour patience I ll nae langer\\nExcept the Playhouse\\nworry,\\nBut be sae crouse\\nYoursells are changed frae head\\nAs speak a word for ane Will\\nto heel,\\nMurray\\nThere \\\\s some that gar the cause-\\nThat keeps this house.\\nway reel\\nWith clashing hufe and rattling\\nPlays are auld-fashioned things in\\nwheel,\\ntruth,\\nAnd horses canterin\\nAnd ye ve seen wonders mair un-\\nWha s fathers daundered hame\\ncouth\\nas weel\\nYet actors should na suffer drouth\\nWi lass and lantern.\\nOr want of dramock,\\nAlthough they speak but wi their\\nMy sell being in the public line,\\nmouth,\\nI look for howfs I kenned lang\\nNot wi their stamock.\\nsyne,\\nWhar gentles used to drink gude\\nBut ye take care of a folk s\\nwine\\npantry\\nAnd eat cheap dinners\\nAnd surely to hae stooden sen-\\nBut deil a soul gangs there to dine\\ntry\\nOf saints or sinners\\nOwer this big house that s far\\nfrae rent-free\\nFortune s and Hunter s gane, alas\\nFor a lone sister.\\nAnd Bayle s is lost in empty space\\nIs claims as gude s to be a ven-\\nAnd now if folk would splice a\\ntri\\nbrace\\nHow st ca d loquister.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0658.jp2"}, "655": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM\\nREDGAUNTLET 635\\nWeel, sirs, gude en, and have a care\\nAnd show my fingers tingle at\\nThe bairns niak fun o Meg nae\\nthe thought\\nmair;\\nThe loads of tapestry which that\\nFor gin they do, she tells you fair\\npoor queen wrought.\\nAnd without failzie,\\nIn vain did fate bestow a double\\nAs sure as ever ye sit there,\\ndower\\nShe 11 tell the Bailie.\\nOf every ill that waits on rank and\\npower,\\nOf every ill on beauty that at-\\nEPILOGUE\\ntends\\nFalse ministers, false lovers, and\\nThe sages for authority, pray,\\nfalse friends.\\nlook\\nSpite of three wedlocks so com-\\nSeneca s morals or the copy-\\npletely curst,\\nbook\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThey rose in ill from bad to worse\\nThe sages to disparage woman s\\nand worst,\\npower,\\nIn spite of errors I dare not say\\nSay beauty is a fair but fading\\nmore,\\nflower\\nFor Duncan Targe lays hand on\\nI cannot tell\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I ve small philo-\\nhis claymore.\\nsophy-\\nIn spite of all, however humors\\nYet if it fades it does not surely\\nvary,\\ndie,\\nThere is a talisman in that word\\nBut, like the violet, when decayed\\nMary,\\nin bloom,\\nThat unto Scottish bosoms all and\\nSurvives through many a year in\\nsome\\nrich perfume.\\nIs found the genuine open sesa-\\nWitness our theme to-night two\\nrnurn\\nages gone,\\nIn history, ballad, poetry, or novel,\\nA third wanes fast, since Mary\\nIt charms alike the castle and the\\nfilled the throne.\\nhovel,\\nBrief was her bloom with scarce\\nEven you forgive me who, de-\\none sunny day\\nmure and shy,\\nTwixt Pinkie s field and fatal\\nGorge not each bait nor stir at\\nFotheringay\\nevery fly,\\nBut when, while Scottish hearts\\nMust rise to this, else in her an-\\nand blood you boast,\\ncient reign\\nShall sympathy with Mary s woes\\nThe Rose of Scotland has survived\\nbe lost\\nin vain.\\nO er Mary s memory the learned\\nquarrel,\\nBy Mary s grave the poet plants\\nhis laurel,\\nVERSES FROM RED-\\nTime s echo, old tradition, makes\\nGAUNTLET\\nher name\\nThe constant burden of his falter-\\n1\\ning theme\\nA CATCH OF COWLEY S ALTERED\\nIn each old hall his gray-haired\\nheralds tell\\nFor all our men were very very\\nOf Mary s picture and of Mary s\\nmerry,\\ncell,\\nAnd all our men were drinking", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0659.jp2"}, "656": {"fulltext": "6 3 6\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThere were two men of mine,\\nThree men of thine,\\nAnd three that belonged to old Sir\\nThorn o Lyne.\\nAs they went to the ferry, they\\nwere very very merry,\\nAnd all our men were drink-\\ning.\\nJack looked at the sun, and cried,\\nFire, fire, fire\\nTom stabled his keffel in Birken-\\ndale mire\\nJem started a calf, and hallooed\\nfor a stag\\nWill mounted a gate-post instead\\nof his nag\\nFor all our men were very very\\nmerry,\\nAnd all our men were drink-\\ning;\\nThere were two men of mine,\\nThree men of thine,\\nAnd three that belonged to old\\nSir Thorn o Lyne.\\nAs they went to the ferry, they\\nwere very very merry,\\nFor all our men were drinking.\\nii\\nAS LORDS THEIR LABORERS\\nHIRE DELAY\\nAs lords their laborers hire de-\\nlay,\\nFate quits our toil with hopes to\\ncome,\\nWhich, if far short of present\\npay,\\nStill owns a debt and names a\\nsum.\\nQuit not the pledge, frail sufferer,\\nthen,\\nAlthough a distant date be given\\nDespair is treason towards man,\\nAnd blasphemy to Heaven.\\nLINES\\nADDRESSED TO MONSIEUR AL-\\nEXANDRE THE CELEBRATED\\nVENTRILOQUIST\\nOf yore, in old England, it was not\\nthought good\\nTo carry two visages under one\\nhood;\\nWhat should folk say to you who\\nhave faces such plenty,\\nThat from under one hood, you\\nlast night showed us twenty\\nStand forth, arch-deceiver, and tell\\nus in truth,\\nAre you handsome or ugly, in age\\nor in youth\\nMan, woman, or child a dog or\\na mouse?\\nOr are you, at once, each live\\nthing in the house?\\nEach live thing, did I ask each\\ndead implement, too,\\nA work -shop in your person,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nsaw, chisel, and screw\\nAbove all, are you one individual\\nI know\\nYou must be at least Alexandre\\nand Co.\\nBut I think you re a troop, an\\nassemblage, a mob,\\nAnd that I, as the Sheriff, should\\ntake up the job\\nAnd instead of rehearsing your\\nwonders in verse,\\nMust read you the Riot-Act, and\\nbid you disperse.\\nAbbotsford, 23d April.\\nTO J. G. LOCKHAET, ESQ.\\nON THE COMPOSITION OF\\nMAIDA S EPITAPH\\nDear John,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 I some time ago\\nwrote to inform his\\nFat worship of jaces, misprinted\\nfor dormis", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0660.jp2"}, "657": {"fulltext": "SONGS FROM THE BETROTHED\\n637\\nBut that several Southrons assured\\nme the janti a m\\nWas a twitch to both ears of Ass\\nPriscian s cranium.\\nYou perhaps may observe that\\none Lionel Berguer,\\nIn defence of our blunder appears\\na stout arguer.\\nBut at length I have settled, I\\nhope, all these clatters,\\nBy a roict in the papers, fine place\\nfor such matters.\\nI have therefore to make it for\\nonce my command, sir,\\nThat my gudeson shall leave the\\nwhole thing in my hand, sir,\\nAnd by no means accomplish what\\nJames says you threaten,\\nSome banter in Blackwood to\\nclaim your dog-Latin.\\nI have various reasons of weight,\\non my word, sir,\\nFor pronouncing a step of this\\nsort were absurd, sir.\\nFirstly, erudite sir, t was against\\nyour advising\\nI adopted the lines this monstrosity\\nlies in;\\nFor you modestly hinted my Eng-\\nlish translation\\nWould become better far such a\\ndignified station.\\nSecond, how, in God s name, would\\nmy bacon be saved\\nBy not having writ what I clearly\\nengraved?\\nOn the contrary, I, on the whole?\\nthink it better\\nTo be whipped as the thief, than\\nhis lousy resetter.\\nThirdly, don t you perceive that I\\ndon t care a boddle\\nAlthough fifty false metres were\\nflung at my noddle,\\nFor my back is as broad aud as\\nhard as Benlomon s,\\nAnd I treat as I please both the\\nGreeks and the Romans\\nWhereas the said heathens might\\nrather look serious\\nAt a kick on their drum from the\\nscribe of Valerius.\\nAnd, fourthly and lastly, it is my\\ngood pleasure\\nTo remain the sole source of that\\nmurderous measure.\\nSo, stet pro ratione voluntas* be\\ntractile.\\nInvade not, I say, my own dear\\nlittle dactyl\\nIf you do, you 11 occasion a breach\\nin our intercourse.\\nTo-morrow will see me in town\\nfor the winter-course,\\nBut not at your door, at the usual\\nhour, sir,\\nMy own pye-house daughter s\\ngood prog to devour, sir.\\nErgo, peace on your duty your\\nsqueamishness throttle,\\nAnd we 11 soothe Priscian s spleen\\nwith a canny third bottle.\\nA fig for all dactyls, a fig for all\\nspondees,\\nA fig for all dunces and Dominie\\nGrundys\\nA fig for dry thrapples, south,\\nnorth, east, and west, sir,\\nSpeats and raxes ere five for a\\nfamishing guest, sir\\nAud as Fatsman and I have some\\ntopics for haver, he 11\\nBe invited, I hope, to meet me and\\nDame Peveril,\\nUpon whom, to say nothing of Oury\\nand Anne, you a\\nDog shall be deemed if you fasten\\nyour Janua.\\nSONGS FROM THE BE-\\nTROTHED\\nSOLDIER, WAKE!\\nSoldier, w 7 ake the day is peep-\\ning,\\nHonor ne er was won in sleeping;", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0661.jp2"}, "658": {"fulltext": "6 3 8\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nNever when the sunbeams still\\nLay unreflected on the hill\\nT is when they are glinted back\\nFrom axe and armor, spear and\\njack,\\nThat they promise future story\\nMany a page of deathless glory.\\nShields that are the foeman s\\nterror,\\nEver are the morning s mirror.\\nArm and up the morning beam\\nHath called the rustic to his team,\\nHath called the falc ner to the\\nlake,\\nHath called the huntsman to the\\nbrake\\nThe early student ponders o er\\nHis dusty tomes of ancient lore.\\nSoldier, wake thy harvest, fame\\nThy study, conquest war, thy\\ngame.\\nShield, that would be foeman s\\nterror,\\nStill should gleam the morning s\\nmirror.\\nPoor hire repays the rustic s pain\\nMore paltry still the sportsman s\\ngain:\\nVainest of all, the student s theme\\nEnds in some metaphysic dream\\nYet each is up, and each has toiled,\\nSince first the peep of dawn has\\nsmiled:\\nAnd each is eagerer in his aim\\nThan he who barters life for\\nfame.\\nUp, up, and arm thee, son of ter-\\nror\\nBe thy bright shield the morning s\\nmirror.\\nii\\nWOMAN S FAITH\\nWoman s faith, and woman s\\ntrust\\nWrite the characters in dust,\\nStamp them on the running stream.\\nPrint them on the moon s pale\\nbeam,\\nAnd each evanescent letter,\\nShall be clearer, firmer, better,\\nAnd more permanent, I ween,\\nThan the things those letters mean\\nI have strained the spider s thread\\nGainst the promise of a maid\\nI have weighed a grain of sand\\nGainst her plight of heart and\\nhand;\\nI told my true love of the token,\\nHow her faith proved light, and\\nher word was broken\\nAgain her word and truth she\\nplight,\\nAnd I believed them again ere\\nnight.\\nin\\n4 1 ASKED OF MY HARP\\nI asked of my harp, Who hath\\ninjured thy chords\\nAnd she replied, The crooked\\nfinger, which I mocked in my\\ntune.\\nA blade of silver may be bended\\na blade of steel abideth\\nKindness fadeth away, but ven-\\ngeance endureth.\\nThe sweet taste of mead passeth\\nfrom the lips,\\nBut they are long corroded by the\\njuice of wormwood\\nThe lamb is brought to the sham-\\nbles, but the wolf rangeth\\nthe mountain\\nKindness fadeth away, but ven-\\ngeance endureth.\\nI asked the red-hot iron, when it\\nglimmered on the anvil,\\nWherefore glowest thou longer\\nthan the firebrand", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0662.jp2"}, "659": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE TALISMAN\\n639\\n4 1 was born in the dark mine, and\\nthe brand in the pleasant\\ngreenwood.\\nKindness fadeth away, but ven-\\ngeance endureth.\\nI asked the green oak of the as-\\nsembly, wherefore its boughs\\nwere dry and seared like the\\nhorns of the stag?\\nAnd it showed me that a small\\nworm had gnawed its roots.\\nThe boy who remembered the\\nscourge, undid the wicket of\\nthe castle at midnight.\\nKindness fadeth away, but ven-\\ngeance endureth.\\nLightning destroyeth temples,\\nthough their spires pierce\\nthe clouds\\nStorms destroy armadas, though\\ntheir sails intercept the gale.\\nHe that is in his glory falleth,\\nand that by a contemptible\\nenemy.\\nKindness fadeth away, but ven-\\ngeance endureth.\\nWIDOWED wife and wedded\\nMAID\\nWidowed wife and wedded maid,\\nBetrothed, betrayer, and betrayed,\\nAll is done that has been said\\nVanda s wrong hath been y-wro-\\nken:\\nTake her pardon by this token.\\nVERSES FROM THE TALIS-\\nMAN\\nDARK AHRIMAN, WHOM IRAK\\nSTILL\\nDark Ahriman, whom Irak still\\nHolds origin of woe and ill\\nWhen, bending at thy shrine,\\nWe view the world with troubled\\neye,\\nWhere see we, neath the extended\\nsky,\\nAn empire matching thine\\nIf the Benigner Power can yield\\nA fountain in the desert field,\\nWhere weary pilgrims drink\\nThine are the waves that lash the\\nrock,\\nThine the tornado s deadly shock,\\nWhere countless navies sink\\nOr if He bid the soil dispense\\nBalsams to cheer the sinking\\nsense,\\nHow few can they deliver\\nFrom lingering pains, or pang in-\\ntense,\\nRed Fever, spotted Pestilence,\\nThe arrows of thy quiver\\nChief in Man s bosom sits thy\\nsway,\\nAnd frequent, while in words we\\npray\\nBefore another throne,\\nWhate er of specious form be\\nthere,\\nThe secret meaning of the prayer\\nIs, Ahriman, thine own.\\nSay, hast thou feeling, sense, and\\nform,\\nThunder thy voice, thy garments\\nstorm,\\nAs Eastern Magi say\\nWith sentient soul of hate and\\nwrath,\\nAnd wings to sweep thy deadly\\npath,\\nAnd fangs to tear thy prey\\nOr art thou mixed in Nature s\\nsource,\\nAn ever-operating force,\\nConverting good to ill\\nAn evil principle innate,\\nContending with our better fate,\\nAnd oh victorious still", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0663.jp2"}, "660": {"fulltext": "640\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nHowe er it be, dispute is vain.\\nOn all without thou hold st thy\\nreign,\\nNor less on all within\\nEach mortal passion s fierce ca-\\nreer,\\nLove, hate, ambition, joy, and fear,\\nThou goadest into sin.\\nWhene er a sunny gleam appears,\\nTo brighten up our vale of tears,\\nThou art not distant far\\nMid such brief solace of our lives,\\nThou whett st our very banquet-\\nknives\\nTo tools of death and war.\\nThus, from the moment of our\\nbirth,\\nLong as we linger on the earth,\\nThou rul st the fate of men\\nThine are the pangs of life s last\\nhour,\\nAnd who dare answer is thy\\npower,\\nDark Spirit ended Then\\n11\\nWHAT BRAVE CHIEF SHALL\\nHEAD THE FORCES\\nWhat brave chief shall head the\\nforces,\\nWhere the red-cross legions\\ngather?\\nBest of horsemen, best of horses,\\nHighest head and fairest fea-\\nther.\\nAsk not Austria why, midst\\nprinces,\\nStill her banner rises highest\\nAsk as well the strong-winged\\neagle\\nWhy to heaven he soars the\\nnighest.\\nin\\nTHE BLOODY VEST\\nT was near the fair city of Bene-\\nvent.\\nWhen the sun was setting on\\nbough and bent,\\nAnd knights were preparing in\\nbower and tent,\\nOn the eve of the Baptist s tourna*\\nment;\\nWhen in Lincoln green a stripling\\ngent,\\nWell seeming a page by a princess\\nsent,\\nWandered the camp, and, still as\\nhe went,\\nInquired for the Englishman,\\nThomas a Kent.\\nFar hath he fared, and farther\\nmust fare,\\nTill he finds his pavilion nor state-\\nly nor rare,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nLittle save iron and steel was\\nthere\\nAnd, as lacking the coin to pay\\narmorer s care,\\nWith his sinewy arms to the\\nshoulders bare,\\nThe good knight with hammer and\\nfile did repair\\nThe mail that to-morrow must see\\nhim wear,\\nFor the honor of Saint John and\\nhis lady fair.\\n4 Thus speaks my lady, the page\\nsaid he,\\nAnd the knight bent lowly both\\nhead and knee\\nShe is Benevent s Princess so\\nhigh in degree,\\nAnd thou art as lowly as knight\\nmay well be\\nHe that would climb so lofty a\\ntree,\\nOr spring such a gulf as divides\\nher from thee,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0664.jp2"}, "661": {"fulltext": "VERSES FROM THE TALISMAN\\n641\\nMust dare some high deed, by\\nwhich all men may see\\nHis ambition is backed by his hie\\nchivalrie.\\n1 Therefore thus speaks my lady,\\nthe fair page he said,\\nAnd the knight lowly louted with\\nhand and with head\\nFling aside the good armor in\\nwhich thou art clad,\\nAnd don thou this weed of her\\nnight-gear instead,\\nFor a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of\\nthread\\nAnd charge thus attired, in the\\ntournament dread,\\nAnd fight, as thy wont is, where\\nmost blood is shed,\\nAnd bring honor away, or remain\\nwith the dead.\\nUntroubled in his look, and un-\\ntroubled in his breast,\\nThe knight the weed hath taken,\\nand reverently hath kissed\\nNow blessed be the moment, the\\nmessenger be blest\\nMuch honored do I hold me in my\\nlady s high behest\\nAnd say unto my lady, in this dear\\nnight-weed dressed,\\nTo the best armed champion I will\\nnot veil my crest\\nBut if I live and bear me well, t is\\nher turn to take the test.\\nHere, gentles, ends the foremost\\nfytte of the Lay of the\\nBloody Vest.\\nFYTTE SECOND\\nThe Baptist s fair morrow beheld\\ngallant feats\\nThere was winning of honor, and\\nlosing of seats\\nThere was hewing with falchions,\\nand splintering of staves,\\nThe victors won glory, the van-\\nquished won graves.\\nOh, many a knight there fought\\nbravely and well,\\nYet one was accounted his peers\\nto excel,\\nAnd t was he whose sole armor\\non body and breast\\nSeemed the weed of a damsel when\\nbound for her rest.\\nThere were some dealt him\\nwounds, that were bloody\\nand sore,\\nBut others respected his plight,\\nand forebore.\\nIt is some oath of honor, they\\nsaid, and I trow,\\nT were unknightly to slay him\\nachieving his vow.\\nThen the Prince, for his sake, bade\\nthe tournament cease,\\nHe flung down his warder, the\\ntrumpets sung peace\\nAnd the judges declare, and com-\\npetitors yield,\\nThat the Knight of the Night-gear\\nwas first in the field.\\nThe feast it was nigh, and the\\nmass it was nigher,\\nWhen before the fair Princess low\\nlouted a squire,\\nAnd delivered a garment unseemly\\nto view,\\nWith sword-cut and spear-thrust,\\nall hacked and pierced\\nthrough\\nAll rent and all tattered, all clotted\\nwith blood,\\nWith foam of the horses, with dust,\\nand with mud\\nNot the point of that lady s small\\nfinger, I ween,\\nCould have rested on spot was un-\\nsullied and clean.\\nThis token my master, Sir\\nThomas a Kent,\\nRestores to the Princess of fair\\nBenevent\\nHe that climbs the tall tree has\\nwon right to the fruit,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0665.jp2"}, "662": {"fulltext": "642\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nHe that leaps the wide gulf should\\nprevail in his suit\\nThrough life s utmost peril the\\nprize I have won,\\nAnd now must the faith of my\\nmistress be shown\\nFor she who prompts knights on\\nsuch danger to run,\\nMust avouch his true service in\\nfront of the sun.\\n1 1 restore/ says my master, the\\ngarment I ve worn,\\nAnd I claim of the Princess to don\\nit in turn,\\nFor its stains and its rents she\\nshould prize it the more,\\nSince by shame t is unsullied,\\nthough crimsoned with gore.\\nThen deep blushed the Princess,\\nyet kissed she and pressed\\nThe blood-spotted robes to her lips\\nand her breast.\\nGo tell my true knight, church\\nand chamber shall show\\n]f I value the blood on this gar-\\nment or no.\\nAnd when it was time for the\\nnobles to pass,\\nIn solemn procession to minster\\nand mass,\\nThe first walked the Princess in\\npurple and pall,\\nBut the blood-besmeared night-\\nrobe she wore over all\\nAnd eke, in the hall, where they\\nall sat at dine,\\nWhen she knelt to her father and\\nproffered the wine,\\nOver all her rich robes and state\\njewels she wore\\nThat wimple unseemly bedabbled\\nwith gore.\\nThen lords whispered ladies, as\\nwell you may think,\\nAnd ladies replied, with nod, titter,\\nand wink\\nAnd the Prince, who in anger and\\nshame had looked down,\\nTurned at length to his daughter,\\nand spoke with a frown\\nNow since thou hast published\\nthy folly and guilt,\\nE en atone with thy hand for the\\nblood thou hast spilt;\\nYet sore for your boldness you\\nboth will repent,\\nWhen you wander as exiles from\\nfair Benevent.\\nThen out spoke stout Thomas, in\\nhall where he stood,\\nExhausted and feeble, but daunt-\\nless of mood\\nThe blood that I lost for this\\ndaughter of thine,\\nI poured forth as freely as flask\\ngives its wine\\nAnd if for my sake she brooks\\npenance and blame,\\nDo not doubt I will save her from\\nsuffering and shame\\nAnd light will she reck of thy\\nprincedom and rent,\\nWhen I hail her, in England, the\\nCountess of Kent.\\nVERSES FROM W r OODSTOCK\\nby pathless march, by\\ngreenwood tree\\nBy pathless march, by greenwood\\ntree,\\nIt is thy weird to follow me\\nTo follow me through the ghastly\\nmoonlight,\\nTo follow me through the shadows\\nof night,\\nTo follow me, comrade, still art\\nthou bound\\nI conjure thee by the unstanched\\nwound,\\nI conjure thee by the last words I\\nspoke,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0666.jp2"}, "663": {"fulltext": "LINES TO SIR CUTHBERT SHARP\\n643\\nWhen the body slept and the\\nspirit awoke,\\nIn the very last pangs of the\\ndeadly stroke\\n11\\nGLEE FOR KING CHARLES\\nBring the bowl which you boast,\\nFill it up to the brim\\nT is to him we love most,\\nAnd to all who love him.\\nBrave gallants, stand up,\\nAnd avauntye, base carles\\nWere there death in the cup,\\nHere s a health to King Charles\\nThough he wanders through dan-\\ngers,\\nUnaided, unknown,\\nDependent on strangers,\\nEstranged from his own\\nThough t is under our breath\\nAmidst forfeits and perils,\\nHere s to honor and faith,\\nAnd a health to King Charles\\nLet such honors abound,\\nAs the time can afford,\\nThe knee on the ground,\\nAnd the hand on the sword\\nBut the time shall come round\\nWhen, mid Lords, Dukes, and\\nEarls,\\nThe loud trumpet shall sound,\\nHere s a health to King Charles\\nin\\nAN HOUR WITH THEE\\nAn hour with thee When earli-\\nest day\\nDapples with gold the eastern gray.\\nOh, what can frame my mind to\\nbear\\nThe toil and turmoil, cark and\\ncare,\\nNew griefs, which coming hours\\nunfold,\\nAnd sad remembrance of the old\\nOne hour with thee\\nOne hour with thee When burn-\\ning June\\nWaves his red flag at pitch of\\nnoon\\nWhat shall repay the faithful\\nswain,\\nHis labor on the sultry plain\\nAnd more than cave or sheltering\\nbough,\\nCool feverish blood and throbbing\\nbrow\\nOne hour with thee\\nOne hour with thee When sun\\nis set,\\nOh what can teach me to forget\\nThe thankless labors of the day;\\nThe hopes, the wishes, flung away\\nThe increasing wants and lessen-\\ning gains,\\nThe master s pride who scorns my\\npains\\nOne hour with thee\\nIV\\nSON OF A WITCH\\nSon of a witch,\\nMayst thou die in a ditch,\\nWith the butchers who back thy\\nquarrels\\nAnd rot above ground,\\nWhile the world shall resound\\nA welcome to Royal King Charles.\\nLINES TO SIE CUTHBERT\\nSHARP\\nForget thee! No! my worthy\\nfere!\\nForget blithe mirth and gallant\\ncheer\\nDeath sooner stretch me on my\\nbier\\nForget thee No.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0667.jp2"}, "664": {"fulltext": "644\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nForget the universal shout\\nWhen canny Sunderland spoke\\nout:\\nA truth which knaves affect to\\ndoubt\\nForget thee No.\\nForget you? No: though now-a-\\nday\\nI ve heard your knowing people\\nsay,\\nDisown the debt you cannot pay,\\nYou 11 find it far the thriftiest\\nway\\nBut I O no.\\nForget your kindness found for all\\nroom,\\nIn what, though large, seemed\\nstill a small room,\\nForget my Surtees in a ball-room\\nForget you No.\\nForget your sprightly dumpty-\\ndiddles,\\nAnd beauty tripping to the fid-\\ndles,\\nForget my lovely friends the Lid-\\ndells\\nForget you No.\\nVEKSES FROM CHRONICLES\\nOF THE CANON-GATE\\nOLD SONG FROM THE HIGHLAND\\nWIDOW\\nOh, I m come to the Low Coun-\\ntry,\\nOch, och, ohonochie,\\nWithout a penny in my pouch\\nTo buy a meal for me.\\nI was the proudest of my clan,\\nLong, long may I repine\\nAnd Donald was the bravest man,\\nAnd Donald he was mine.\\nii\\nTHE LAY OF POOR LOUISE\\nFROM THE FAIR MAID OF\\nPERTH\\nAh, poor Louise the livelong day\\nShe roams from cot to castle gay\\nAnd still her voice and viol say.\\nAh, maids, beware the woodland\\nway,\\nThink on Louise.\\nAh, poor Louise! The sun was\\nhigh,\\nIt smirched her cheek, it dimmed\\nher eye,\\nThe woodland walk was cool and,\\nnigh,\\nWhere birds with chiming stream-\\nlets vie\\nTo cheer Louise.\\nAh, poor Louise The savage bear\\nMade ne er that lovely grove his\\nlair\\nThe wolves molest not paths so\\nfair\\nBut better far had such been there\\nFor poor Louise.\\nAh, poor Louise In woody wold\\nShe met a huntsman fair and bold\\nHis baldrick was of silk and gold,\\nAnd many a witching tale he told\\nTo poor Louise.\\nAh, poor Louise Small cause to\\npine\\nHadst thou for treasures of the\\nmine;\\nFor peace of mind, that gift di-\\nvine,\\nAnd spotless innocence, were\\nthine,\\nAh, poor Louise", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0668.jp2"}, "665": {"fulltext": "THE DEATH OF KEELDAR\\n645\\nAh, poor Louise Thy treasure s\\nreft!\\nI know not if by force or theft,\\nOr part by violence, part by gift\\nBut misery is all that s left\\nTo poor Louise.\\nLet poor Louise some succor have\\nShe will not long your bounty\\ncrave,\\nOr tire the gay with warning\\nstave\\nFor heaven has grace, and earth a\\ngrave,\\nFor poor Louise.\\nin\\nDEATH CHANT\\nViewless Essence, thin and bare,\\nWell-nigh melted into air\\nStill with fondness hovering near\\nThe earthly form thou once didst\\nwear;\\nPause upon thy pinion s flight,\\nBe thy course to left or right;\\nBe thou doomed to soar or sink,\\nPause upon the awful brink.\\nTo avenge the deed expelling\\nThee untimely from thy dwell-\\ning,\\nMystic force thou shalt retain\\nO er the blood and o er the brain.\\nWhen the form thou shalt espy\\nThat darkened on thy closing\\neye;\\nWhen the footstep thou shalt hear\\nThat thrilled upon thy dying ear;\\nThen strange sympathies shall\\nwake,\\nThe flesh shall thrill, the nerves\\nshall quake\\nThe wounds renew their clottered\\nflood,\\nAnd every drop cry blood for blood.\\nIV\\nSONG OF THE GLEE-MAIDEN\\nYes, thou mayst sigh,\\nAnd look once more at all around,\\nAt stream and bank, and sky and\\nground,\\nThy life its final course has found,\\nAnd thou must die.\\nYes, lay thee down,\\nAnd while thy struggling pulses\\nflutter,\\nBid the grey monk his soul-mass\\nmutter,\\nAnd the deep bell its death-tone\\nutter\\nThy life is gone.\\nBe not afraid,\\nT is but a pang, and then a thrill,\\nA fever fit, and then a chill\\nAnd then an end of human ill\\nFor thou art dead.\\nTHE DEATH OF KEELDAR\\nUp rose the sun o er moor and\\nmead;\\nUp with the sun rose Percy\\nRede;\\nBrave Keeldar, from his couples\\nfreed,\\nCareered along the lea\\nThe Palfrey sprung with sprightly\\nbound,\\nAs if to match the gamesome\\nhound\\nHis horn the gallant huntsman\\nwound\\nThey were a jovial three\\nMan, hound, or horse, of higher\\nfame,\\nTo wake the wild deer never\\ncame\\nSince Alnwick s Earl pursued the\\ngame", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0669.jp2"}, "666": {"fulltext": "6 4 6\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nOn Cheviot s rueful day\\nKeeldar was matchless in his\\nspeed,\\nThan Tarras ne er was stancher\\nsteed,\\nA peerless archer, Percy Rede\\nAnd right dear friends were\\nthey.\\nThe chase engrossed their joys\\nand woes,\\nTogether at the dawn they rose,\\nTogether shared the noon s re-\\npose\\nBy fountain or by stream\\nAnd oft when evening skies were\\nred\\nThe heather was their common\\nbed,\\nWhere each, as wildering fancy\\nled,\\nStill hunted in his dream.\\nNow is the thrilling moment near\\nOf sylvan hope and sylvan fear\\nYon thicket holds the harbored\\ndeer,\\nThe signs the hunters know\\nWith eyes of flame and quivering\\nears\\nThe brake sagacious Keeldar\\nnears\\nThe restless palfrey paws and\\nrears\\nThe archer strings his bow.\\nThe game s afoot Halloo Hal-\\nloo!\\nHunter and horse and hound pur-\\nsue\\nBut woe the shaft that erring\\nflew\\nThat e er it left the string!\\nAnd ill betide the faithless yew\\nThe stag bounds scathless o er the\\ndew,\\nAnd gallant Keeldar s life-blood\\ntrue\\nHas drenched the gray-goose\\nwing.\\nThe noble hound he dies, he\\ndies\\nDeath; death has glazed his fixed\\neyes;\\nStiff on the bloody heath he lies\\nWithout a groan or quiver.\\nNow day may break and bugle\\nsound,\\nAnd whoop and hollow ring\\naround,\\nAnd o er his couch the stag may\\nbound,\\nBut Keeldar sleeps forever.\\nDilated nostrils, staring eyes,\\nMark the poor palfrey s mute sur-\\nprise\\nHe knows not that his comrade\\ndies,\\nNor what is death but still\\nHis aspect hath expression drear\\nOf grief and w r onder mixed with\\nfear,\\nLike startled children when they\\nhear\\nSome mystic tale of ill.\\nBut he that bent the fatal bow\\nCan well the sum of evil know.\\nAnd o er his favorite bending\\nlow\\nIn speechless grief recline\\nCan think he hears the senseless\\nclay\\nIn unreproachf ul accents say,\\n4 The hand that took my life away,\\nDear master, was it thine\\nAnd if it be, the shaft be blessed\\nWhich sure some erring aim ad-\\ndressed,\\nSince in your service prized, ca-\\nressed,\\nI in your service die\\nAnd you may have a fleeter hound\\nTo match the dun-deer s merry\\nbound,\\nBut by your couch will ne er be\\nfound\\nSo true a guard as I.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0670.jp2"}, "667": {"fulltext": "THE FORAY\\n647\\nAnd to his last stout Percy rued\\nThe fatal chance, for when he\\nstood\\nGainst fearful odds in deadly feud\\nAnd fell amid the fray,\\nE en with his dying voice he cried,\\n1 Had Keeldar but been at ray side,\\nYour treacherous ambush had\\nbeen spied\\nI had not died to-day\\nRemembrance of the erring bow\\nLong since had joined the tides\\nwhich flow,\\nConveying human bliss and woe\\nDown dark oblivion s river;\\nBut Art can Time s stern doom\\narrest\\nAnd snatch his spoil from Lethe s\\nbreast,\\nAnd, in her Cooper s colors drest,\\nThe scene shall live forever.\\nTHE SECRET TRIBUNAL\\nFROM ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN\\nMeasurers of good and evil,\\nBring the square, the line, the\\nlevel,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nRear the altar, dig the trench,\\nBlood both stone and ditch shall\\ndrench.\\nCubits six, from end to end,\\nMust the fatal bench extend;\\nCubits six, from side to side,\\nJudge and culprit must divide.\\nOn the east the Court assembles,\\nOn the west the Accused trem-\\nbles\\nAnswer, brethren, all and one,\\nIs the ritual rightly done\\nHow wears the night Doth morn-\\ning shine\\nIn early radiance on the Rhine\\nWhat music floats upon his tide?\\nDo birds the tardy morning chide?\\nBrethren, look out from hill and\\nheight,\\nAnd answer true, how wears the\\nnight?\\nOn life and soul, on blood and\\nbone,\\nOne for all, and all for one,\\nWe warrant this is rightly done.\\nThe night is old on Rhine s broad\\nbreast\\nGlance drowsy stars which long to\\nrest.\\nNo beams are twinkling in the\\neast.\\nThere is a voice upon the flood,\\nThe stern still call of blood for\\nblood\\nTis time we listen the behest.\\nUp, then, up When day s at rest,\\nTis time that such as we are\\nwatchers\\nRise to judgment, brethren, rise\\nVengeance knows not sleepy eyes,\\nHe and night are matchers.\\nTHE FORAY\\nThe last of our steers on the\\nboard has been spread,\\nAnd the last flask of wine in our\\ngoblet is red\\nUp up, my brave kinsmen belt\\nswords and begone,\\nThere are dangers to dare and\\nthere s spoil to be won.\\nThe eyes that so lately mixed\\nglances with ours\\nFor a space must be dim, as they\\ngaze from the towers,\\nAnd strive to distinguish through\\ntempest and gloom\\nThe prance of the steed and the\\ntoss of the plume.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0671.jp2"}, "668": {"fulltext": "648\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nThe rain is descending the wind\\nrises loud\\nAnd the moon her red beacon has\\nveiled with a cloud\\nT is the better, my mates for the\\nwarder s dull eye\\nShall in confidence slumber nor\\ndream we are nigh.\\nOur steeds are impatient! I hear\\nmy blithe Grey\\nThere is life in his hoof-clang and\\nhope in his neigh\\nLike the flash of a meteor, the\\nglance of his mane\\nShall marshal your march through\\nthe darkness and rain.\\nThe drawbridge has dropped, the\\nbugle has blown\\nOne pledge is to quaff yet then\\nmount and begone\\nTo their honor and peace that shall\\nrest with the slain\\nTo their health and their glee that\\nsee Teviot again\\nINSCRIPTION\\nFOR THE MONUMENT OF THE\\nREV. GEORGE SCOTT\\nTo youth, to age, alike, this tablet\\npale\\nTells the brief moral of its tragic\\ntale.\\nArt thou a parent? Keverence\\nthis bier,\\nThe parents fondest hopes lie\\nburied here.\\nArt thou a youth, prepared on life\\nto start,\\nWith opening talents and a gener-\\nous heart\\nFair hopes and flattering pro-\\nspects all thine own\\nLo here their end\u00e2\u0080\u0094 a monumental\\nstone.\\nBut let submission tame each sor-\\nrowing thought,\\nHeaven crowned its champion ere\\nthe fight was fought.\\nSONGS FROM THE DOOM OF\\nDEVORGOIL\\nTHE SUN UPON THE LAKE\\nThe sun upon the lake is low,\\nThe wild birds hush their song,\\nThe hills have evening s deepest\\nglow,\\nYet Leonard tarries long.\\nNow all whom varied toil and care\\nFrom home and love divide,\\nIn the calm sunset may repair\\nEach to the loved one s side.\\nThe noble dame, on turret high\\nWho waits her gallant knight,\\nLooks to the western beam to spy\\nThe flash of armor bright.\\nThe village maid, with hand on\\nbrow\\nThe level ray to shade,\\nUpon the footpath watches now\\nFor Colin s darkening plaid.\\nNow to their mates the wild swans\\nrow,\\nBy day they swam apart\\nAnd to the thicket wanders slow\\nThe hind beside the hart.\\nThe woodlark at his partner s side\\nTwitters his closing song\\nAll meet whom day and care di-\\nvide,\\nBut Leonard tarries long.\\n11\\nWE love the shrill trum-\\npet\\nWe love the shrill trumpet, we\\nlove the drum s rattle,\\nThey call us to sport, and they\\ncall us to battle", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0672.jp2"}, "669": {"fulltext": "SONGS FROM THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL 649\\nAnd old Scotland shall laugh at\\nthe threats of a stranger,\\nWhile our comrades in pastime\\nare comrades in danger.\\nIf there s mirth in our house, t is\\nour neighbor that shares it\\nIf peril approach, tis our neigh-\\nbor that dares it\\nAnd when we lead off to the pipe\\nand the tabor,\\nThe fair hand we press is the hand\\nof a neighbor.\\nThen close your ranks, comrades,\\nthe bands that combine them,\\nFaith, friendship, and brotherhood,\\njoin d to entwine them;\\nAnd we 11 laugh at the threats of\\neach insolent stranger,\\nWhile our comrades in sport are\\nour comrades in danger.\\nin\\nADMIRE NOT THAT I GAINED\\nAdmire not that I gained the\\nprize\\nFrom all the village crew\\nHow could I fail with hand or eyes\\nWhen heart and faith were true\\nAnd when in floods of rosy wine\\nMy comrades drowned their\\ncares,\\nI thought but that thy heart was\\nmine,\\nMy own leapt light as theirs.\\nMy brief delay then do not blame,\\nXor deem your swain untrue\\nMy form but lingered at the game,\\nMy soul was still with you.\\nIV\\nWHEN THE TEMPEST\\nWhen the tempest s at the loud-\\nest\\nOn its gale the eagle rides\\nWhen the ocean rolls the proudest\\nThrough the foam the sea-bird\\nglides\\nAll the rage of wind and sea\\nIs subdued by constancy.\\nGnawing want and sickness pin-\\ning,\\nAll the ills that men endure,\\nEach their various pangs combin-\\ning,\\nConstancy can find a cure\\nPain and Fear and Poverty\\nAre subdued by constancy.\\nBar me from each wonted plea-\\nsure,\\nMake me abject, mean, and\\npoor,\\nHeap on insults without measure,\\nChain me to a dungeon floor\\nI 11 be happy, rich, and free,\\nIf endowed with constancy.\\nBONNY DUNDEE\\nAir The Bonnets of Bonny Dundee\\nTo the Lords of Convention twas\\nClaver se who spoke,\\nEre the King s crown shall fall\\nthere are crowns to be broke\\nSo let each Cavalier who loves\\nhonor and me,\\nCome follow the bonnet of Bonny\\nDundee.\\nCome fill up my cup, come fill\\nup my can,\\nCome saddle your horses and\\ncall up your men\\nCome open the West Port and\\nlet me gang free,\\nAnd it s room for the bonnets\\nof Bonny Dundee\\nDundee he is mounted, he rides up\\nthe street,\\nThe bells are rung backward, the\\ndrums they are beat", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0673.jp2"}, "670": {"fulltext": "650\\nMISCELLANEOUS POEMS\\nBut the Provost, douce man, said,\\nJust e en let him be,\\nThe Gude Town is weel quit of\\nthat Deil of Dundee.\\nCome fill up my cup, etc.\\nAs he rode down the sanctified\\nbends of the Bow,\\nIlk carline was flyting and shak-\\ning her pow\\nBut the young plants of grace they\\nlooked couthie and slee,\\nThinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou\\nBonny Dundee!\\nCome fill up my cup, etc.\\nWith sour featured Whigs the\\nGrassmarket was crammed\\nAs if half the West had set tryst\\nto be hanged\\nThere was spite in each look, there\\nwas fear in each e e,\\nAs they watched for the bonnets\\nof Bonny Dundee.\\nCome fill up my cup, etc.\\nThese cowls of Kilmarnock had\\nspits and had spears,\\nAnd lang-hafted gullies to kill\\nCavaliers\\nBut they shrunk to close-heads\\nand the causeway was free,\\nAt the toss of the bonnet of Bonny\\nDundee.\\nCome fill up my cup, etc.\\nHe spurred to the foot of the proud\\nCastle rock,\\nAnd with the gay Gordon he gal-\\nlantly spoke\\nLet Mons Meg and her marrows\\nspeak twa words or three.\\nFor the love of the bonnet of Bonny\\nDundee.\\nCome fill up my cup, etc.\\nThe Gordon demands of him which\\nway he goes\\nWhere er shall direct me the\\nshade of Montrose\\nYour Grace in short space shall\\nhear tidings of me,\\nOr that low lies the bonnet of\\nBonny Dundee.\\nCome fill up my cup, etc.\\nThere are hills beyond Pentland\\nand lands beyond Forth,\\nIf there s lords in the Lowlands,\\nthere s chiefs in the North\\nThere are wild Duniewassals three\\nthousand times three,\\nWill cry hoigh for the bonnet of\\nBonny Dundee.\\nCome fill up my cup, etc.\\n1 There s brass on the target of\\nbarkened bull-hide\\nThere s steel in the scabbard that\\ndangles beside\\nThe brass shall be burnished, the\\nsteel shall flash free,\\nAt a toss of the bonnet of Bonny\\nDundee.\\nCome fill up my cup, etc.\\n1 Away to the hills, to the caves, to\\nthe rocks\\nEre I own an usurper, I 11 couch\\nwith the fox\\nAnd tremble, false Whigs, in the\\nmidst of your glee,\\nYou have not seen the last of my\\nbonnet and me\\nCome fill up my cup, etc.\\nHe waved his proud hand and the\\ntrumpets were blown,\\nThe kettle-drums clashed, and the\\nhorsemen rode on,\\nTill on Kavelston s cliffs and on\\nClermiston s lee\\nDied away the wild war-notes of\\nBonny Dundee.\\nCome fill up my cup, come fill\\nup my can,\\nCome saddle the horses and\\ncall up the men,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0674.jp2"}, "671": {"fulltext": "LINES ON FORTUNE\\n651\\nCome open your gates and let\\nme gae free,\\nFor it s up with the bonnets\\nof Bonny Dundee\\nVI\\nwhen friends are met\\nWhen friends are met o er merry\\ncheer,\\nAnd lovely eyes are laughing near,\\nAnd in the goblet s bosom clear\\nThe cares of day are drowned\\nWhen puns are made and bumpers\\nquaffed,\\nAnd wild Wit shoots his roving\\nshaft,\\nAnd Mirth his jovial laugh has\\nlaughed,\\nThen is our banquet crowned,\\nAh gay,\\nThen is our banquet crowned.\\nWhen glees are sung and catches\\ntrolled,\\nAnd bashfulness grows bright and\\nbold,\\nAnd beauty is no longer cold,\\nAnd age no longer dull\\nWhen chimes are brief and cocks\\ndo crow\\nTo tell us it is time to go,\\nYet how to part we do not know,\\nThen is our feast at full,\\nAh! gay,\\nThen is our feast at full.\\nHITHER WE COME\\nHither we come,\\nOnce slaves to the drum,\\nBut no longer we list to its rattle\\nAdieu to the wars,\\nWith their slashes and scars,\\nThe march, and the storm, and the\\nbattle.\\nThere are some of us maimed,\\nAnd some that are lamed,\\nAnd some of old aches are com-\\nplaining\\nBut we 11 take up the tools\\nWhich we flung by like fools,\\nGainst Don Spaniard to go a-cam-\\npaigning.\\nDick Hathorn doth vow\\nTo return to the plough,\\nJack Steele to his anvil and ham-\\nmer;\\nThe weaver shall find room\\nAt the wight-wapping loom,\\nAnd your clerk shall teach writing\\nand grammar.\\nLINES ON FORTUNE\\nFortune, my Foe, why dost thou\\nfrown on me\\nAnd will my Fortune never better\\nbe?\\nWilt thou, I say, forever breed my\\npain?\\nAnd wilt thou ne er return my joys\\nagain\\nNo let my ditty be henceforth\\nFortune, my friend, how well thou\\nfavorest me\\nA kinder Fortune man did never\\nsee!\\nThou propp st my thigh, thou rid-\\nd st my knee of pain,\\nI 11 walk, I 11 mount I 11 be a\\nman again.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0675.jp2"}, "672": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0676.jp2"}, "673": {"fulltext": "APPENDIX\\nI. JUVENILE LINES\\nFROM VIRGIL\\n[1782]\\nIn awful ruins iEtna thunders\\nnigh,\\nAnd sends in pitchy whirlwinds\\nto the sky-\\nBlack clouds of smoke, which, still\\nas they aspire,\\nFrom their dark sides there bursts\\nthe glowing fire\\nAt other times huge balls of fire\\nare tossed,\\nThat lick the stars, and in the\\nsmoke are lost\\nSometimes the mount, with vast\\nconvulsions torn,\\nEmits huge rocks, which instantly\\nare borne\\nWith loud explosions to the starry\\nskies,\\nThe stones made liquid as the\\nhuge mass flies,\\nThen back again with greater\\nweight recoils,\\nWhile iEtna thundering from the\\nbottom boils.\\nON A THUNDER-STORM\\n[1783]\\nLoud o er my head though awful\\nthunders roll,\\nAnd vivid lightnings flash from\\npole to pole,\\nYet t is thy voice, my God, that\\nbids them fly,\\nThy arm directs those lightnings\\nthrough the sky.\\nThen let the good thy mighty name\\nrevere,\\nAnd hardened sinners thy just\\nvengeance fear.\\nON THE SETTING SUN\\n[1783]\\nThose evening clouds, that setting\\nray,\\nAnd beauteous tints, serve to dis-\\nplay\\nTheir great Creator s praise\\nThen let the short-lived thing\\ncalled man\\nWhose life s comprised within a\\nspan,\\nTo him his homage raise.\\nWe often praise the evening\\nclouds,\\nAnd tints so gay and bold,\\nBut seldom think upon our God,\\nWho tinged these clouds with\\ngold!\\nII. MOTTOES FROM THE\\nNOVELS\\nFROM THE ANTIQUARY\\nI kxew Anselmo. He was shrewd\\nand prudent,\\nWisdom and cunning had their\\nshares of him\\nBut he was shrewish as a wayward\\nchild,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0677.jp2"}, "674": {"fulltext": "654\\nAPPENDIX\\nAnd pleased again by toys which\\nchildhood please\\nAs book of fables graced with\\nprint of wood,\\nOr else the jingling of a rusty\\nmedal,\\nOr the rare melody of some old\\nditty\\nThat first was sung to please King\\nPepin s cradle.\\n4 Be brave, she cried, you yet\\nmay be our guest.\\nOur haunted room was ever held\\nthe best\\nIf then your valor can the fight\\nsustain\\nOf rustling curtains and the clink-\\ning chain,\\nIf your courageous tongue have\\npowers to talk\\nWhen round your bed the horrid\\nghost shall walk,\\nIf you dare ask it why it leaves its\\ntomb,\\nI 11 see your sheets well aired and\\nshow the room.\\nTrue Story.\\nSometimes he thinks that Hea-\\nven this vision sent,\\nAnd ordered all the pageants as\\nthey went;\\nSometimes that only t was wild\\nFancy s play,\\nThe loose and scattered relics of\\nthe day.\\nBeggar the only freemen of\\nyour Commonwealth,\\nFree above Scot-free, that observe\\nno laws,\\nObey no governor, use no religion\\nBut what they draw from their\\nown ancient customs\\nOr constitute themselves, yet they\\nare no rebels.\\nBrome.\\nHere has been such a stormy en-\\ncounter\\nBetwixt my cousin Captain and\\nthis soldier,\\nAbout I know not what nothing,\\nindeed;\\nCompetitions, degrees, and com-\\nparatives\\nOf soldiership\\nA Faire Quarrel.\\nIf you fail honor here,\\nNever presume to serve her any\\nmore\\nBid farewell to the integrity of\\narms,\\nAnd the honorable name of sol-\\ndier\\nFall from you, like a shivered\\nwreath of laurel\\nBy thunder struck from a desert-\\nlesse forehead.\\nA Faire Quarrel.\\nThe Lord Abbot had a soul\\nSubtile and quick, and searching\\nas the fire\\nBy magic stairs he went as deep as\\nhell,\\nAnd if in devils possession gold\\nbe kept,\\nHe brought some sure from thence\\nt is hid in caves,\\nKnown, save to me, to none\\nThe Wonder of a Kingdome.\\nMany great ones\\nWould part with half their states,\\nto have the plan\\nAnd credit to beg in the first\\nstyle.\\nBeggar s Bush.\\nWho is he?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 One that for the\\nlack of land\\nShall fight upon the water he\\nhath challenged\\nFormerly the grand whale and by\\nhis titles\\nOf Leviathan, Behemoth, and so\\nforth.\\nHe tilted with a sword-fish\\nMarry, sir,\\nTh aquatic had the best the ar-\\ngument\\nStill galls our champion s breech.\\nOld Play.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0678.jp2"}, "675": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n655\\nTell me not of it, friend when\\nthe young weep,\\nTheir tears are lukewarm brine\\nfrom our oid eyes\\nSorrow falls down like hail-drops\\nof the North,\\nChilling the furrows of our with-\\nered cheeks,\\nCold as our hopes and hardened\\nas our feeling\\nTheirs, as they fall, sink sightless\\nours recoil,\\nHeap the fair plain and bleaken\\nall before us.\\nOld Play.\\nRemorse she ne er forsakes\\nus\\nA bloodhound stanch \u00e2\u0080\u0094she tracks\\nour rapid step\\nThrough the wild labyrinth of\\nyouthful frenzy,\\nUnheard, perchance, until old age\\nhath tamed us\\nThen, in our lair, when Time hath\\nchilled our joints\\nAnd maimed our hope of combat\\nor of flight,\\nWe hear her deep-mouthed bay,\\nannouncing all\\nOf wrath and woe and punishment\\nthat bides us.\\nOld Play.\\nStill in his dead hand clenched\\nremain the strings\\nThat thrill his father s heart\\ne eu as the limb,\\nLopped off and laid in grave, re-\\ntains, they tell us,\\nStrange commerce with the muti-\\nlated stump,\\nWhose nerves are twinging still in\\nmaimed existence.\\nOld Play.\\nLife, with you,.\\nGlows in the brain and dances in\\nthe arteries\\nT is like the wine some joyous\\nguest hath quaffed,\\nThat glads the heart and elevates\\nthe fancy\\nMine is the poor residuum of the\\ncup,\\nVapid and dull and tasteless, only\\nsoiling\\nWith its base dregs the vessel that\\ncontains it.\\nOld Play.\\nYes I love Justice well as well\\nas you do\\nBut, since the good dame s blind,\\nshe shall excuse me,\\nIf, time and reason fitting, I prove\\ndumb;\\nThe breath I utter now shall be no\\nmeans\\nTo take away from me my breath\\nin future.\\nOld Play.\\nWell, well, at worst, t is neither\\ntheft nor coinage,\\nGranting I knew all that you\\ncharge me with.\\nWhat tho the tomb hath born a\\nsecond birth\\nAnd given the wealth to one that\\nknew- not on t,\\nYet fair exchange was never rob-\\nbery,\\nFar less pure bounty\\nOld Play.\\nLife ebbs from such old age, un-\\nmarked and silent,\\nAs the slow neap-tide leaves yon\\nstranded galley.\\nLate she rocked merrily at the\\nleast impulse\\nThat wind or wave could give but\\nnow her keel\\nIs settling on the sand, her mast\\nhas ta en\\nAn angle with the sky from which\\nit shifts not.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0679.jp2"}, "676": {"fulltext": "656\\nAPPENDIX\\nEach wave receding shakes her\\nless and less,\\nTill, bedded on the strand, she shall\\nremain\\nUseless as motionless.\\nOld Play.\\nSo, while the Goose, of whom the\\nfable told,\\nIncumbent brooded o er her eggs\\nof gold,\\nWith hand outstretched impatient\\nto destroy,\\nStole on her secret nest the cruel\\nBoy,\\nWhose gripe rapacious changed\\nher splendid dream\\nFor wings vain fluttering and for\\ndying scream.\\nThe Loves of the Sea- Weeds.\\nLet those go see who will I like\\nit not\\nFor, say he was a slave to rank\\nand pomp,\\nAnd all the nothings he is now di-\\nvorced from\\nBy the hard doom of stern neces-\\nsity;\\nYet is it sad to mark his altered\\nbrow,\\nWhere Vanity adjusts her flimsy\\nveil\\nO er the deep wrinkles of repent-\\nant Anguish.\\nOld Play.\\nFortune, you say, flies from us\\nShe but circles,\\nLike the fleet sea-bird round the\\nfowler s skiff,\\nLost in the mist one moment, and\\nthe next\\nBrushing the white sail with her\\nwhiter wing,\\nAs if to court the aim. Experi-\\nence watches,\\nAnd has her on the wheel.\\nOld Play.\\nFROM THE BLACK DWARF\\nThe bleakest rock upon the lone-\\nliest heath\\nFeels in its barrenness some touch\\nof spring\\nAnd, in the April dew or beam of\\nMay,\\nIts moss and lichen freshen and\\nrevive\\nAnd thus the heart, most seared\\nto human pleasure,\\nMelts at the tear, joys in the smile\\nof woman.\\nBeaumont.\\nT was time and griefs\\nThat framed him thus Time, with\\nhis fairer hand,\\nOffering the fortunes of his former\\ndays,\\nThe former man may make him\\nBring us to him,\\nAnd chance it as it may.\\nOld Play.\\nFROM OLD MORTALITY\\nArouse thee, youth it is no\\ncommon call,\\nGod s Church is leaguered haste\\nto man the wall\\nHaste where the Red-cross ban-\\nners wave on high,\\nSignals of honored death or vic-\\ntory.\\nJames Duff.\\nMy hounds may a rin master-\\nless,\\nMy hawks may fly frae tree to\\ntree,\\nMy lord may grip my vassal\\nlands,\\nFor there again maun I never\\nbe!\\nOld Ballad.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0680.jp2"}, "677": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n657\\nSound, sound the clarion, fill\\nthe fife\\nThat the poor captive would have\\ndied ere practised,\\nTo all the sensual world pro- Till bondage sunk his soul to his\\ncondition.\\nThe Prison, Act I. Scene 3.\\nclaim,\\nOne crowded hour of glorious j\\nlife\\nIs worth an age without a Far as the eye could reach no tree\\nname. was seen,\\nAnonymous. Earth, clad in russet, scorned the\\nlively green\\nXo birds, except as birds of pas-\\nsage, flew;\\nXo bee was heard to hum, no dove\\nto COO;\\nXo streams, as amber smooth, as\\namber clear,\\nWere seen to glide, or heard to\\nwarble here.\\nProphecy of Famine.\\nFROaI ROB ROY\\nIn the wide pile, by others heeded\\nnot,\\nHers was one sacred solitary spot,\\nWhose gloomy aisles and bending\\nshelves contain\\nFor moral hunger food, and cures\\nfor moral pain.\\nAnonymous.\\nDire was his thought who first in\\npoison steeped\\nThe weapon formed for slaughter\\ndirer his,\\nAnd worthier of damnation, who\\ninstilled\\nThe mortal venom in the social\\ncup,\\nTo fill the veins with death instead\\nof life.\\nAnonymous.\\nLook round thee, young Astolpho\\nHere s the place\\nWhich men for being poor are\\nsent to starve in\\nRude remedy, I trow, for sore dis-\\nease.\\nWithin these walls, stifled by damp\\nand stench,\\nDoth Hope s fair torch expire and\\nat the snuff,\\nEre yet t is quite extinct, rude,\\nwild, and wayward,\\nThe desperate revelries of wild\\ndespair,\\nKindling their hell-born cressets,\\nligkt to deeds\\nWoe to the vanquished was\\nstern Brenno s word,\\nWhen sunk proud Rome beneath\\nthe Gallic sword\\nWoe to the vanquished when\\nhis massive blade\\nBore down the scale against her\\nransom weighed,\\nAnd on the field of foughten bat-\\ntle still,\\nWho knows no limit save the vic-\\ntor s will.\\nThe Gaulliad.\\nAnd be he safe restored ere even-\\ning set,\\nOr, If there s vengeance in an in-\\njured heart\\nAnd power to wreak it in an armed\\nhand,\\nYour land shall ache for t.\\nOld Play.\\nFarewell to the land where the\\nclouds love to rest,\\nLike the shroud of the dead, on\\nthe mountain s cold breast;\\nTo the cataract s roar where the\\neagles reply,\\nAnd the lake her lone bosom ex-\\npands to the sky.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0681.jp2"}, "678": {"fulltext": "658\\nAPPENDIX\\nFROM THE HEART OF\\nMIDLOTHIAN\\nTo man, in this his trial state,\\nThe privilege is given,\\nWhen lost by tides of human fate,\\nTo anchor fast in Heaven.\\nWatts Hymns.\\nLaw, take thy victim May she\\nfind the mercy\\nIn yon mild heaven which this\\nhard world denies her\\nAnd Need and Misery, Vice and\\nDanger, bind\\nIn sad alliance each degraded\\nmind.\\nI BESEECH yOU\\nThese tears beseech you, and these\\nchaste hands woo you,\\nThat never yet were heaved but\\nto things holy\\nThings like yourself You are a\\nGod above us\\nBe as a God then, full of saving\\nmercy\\nThe Bloody Brother.\\nHappy thou art then happy be,\\nNor envy me my lot\\nThy happy state I envy thee,\\nAnd peaceful cot.\\nLady C C I.\\nFROM THE BRIDE OF LAM-\\nMERMOOR\\nThe hearth in hall was black and\\ndead,\\nNo board was dight in bower\\nwithin,\\nNor merry bowl nor welcome\\nbed;\\nHere s sorry cheer, quoth the\\nHeir of Linne.\\nOld Ballad (Altered from The\\nHeir of Linne\\nAs, to the Autumn breeze s bugle-\\nsound,\\nVarious and vague the dry leaves\\ndance their round\\nOr from the garner-door, on aether\\nborne,\\nThe chaff flies devious from the\\nwinnowed corn\\nSo vague, so devious, at the breath\\nof heaven,\\nFrom their fixed aim are mortal\\ncounsels driven.\\nAnonymous.\\nHebe is a father now,\\nWill truck his daughter for a for-\\neign venture,\\nMake her the stop-gap to some\\ncankered feud,\\nOr fling her o er, like Jonah, to the\\nfishes,\\nTo appease the sea at highest.\\nAnonymous.\\nSir, stay at home and take an old\\nman s counsel\\nSeek not to bask you by a stran-\\nger s hearth\\nOur own blue smoke is warmer\\nthan their fire.\\nDomestic food is wholesome,\\nthough tis homely,\\nAnd foreign dainties poisonous,\\nthough tasteful\\nThe French Courtezan.\\nTrue-love, an thou be true,\\nThou hast ane kittle part to\\nplay,\\nFor fortune, fashion, fancy, and\\nthou\\nMaun strive for many a day.\\nI ve kend by mony a friend s\\ntale,\\nFar better by this heart of\\nmine,\\nWhat time and change of fancy\\navail,\\nA true love-knot to untwine.\\nHendersoun.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0682.jp2"}, "679": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS 659\\nWhy, now I have Dame Fortune\\nFROM IVANHOE\\nby the forelock,\\nAnd if she scapes my grasp the\\nAway! our journey lies through\\nfault is mine\\ndell and dingle,\\nHe that hath buffeted with stern\\nWhere the blithe fawn trips by its\\nadversity,\\ntimid mother,\\nBest knows to shape his course to\\nWhere the broad oak with inter-\\nfavoring breezes.\\ncepting boughs\\nOld Play.\\nChequers the sun -beam in the\\ngreensward alley\\nUp and away! for lovely paths\\nFROM THE LEGEND OF\\nare these\\nMONTROSE\\nTo tread, when the glad sun is on\\nhis throne\\nDark on their journey loured the\\nLess pleasant and less safe when\\ngloomy day,\\nCynthia s lamp\\nWild were the hills and doubtful\\nWith doubtful glimmer lights the\\ngrew the way\\ndreary forest.\\nMore dark, more gloomy, and more\\nEttrick Forest.\\ndoubtful showed\\nThe mansion which received them\\nWhen autumn nights were long\\nfrom the road.\\nand drear,\\nThe Travellers, a Romance.\\nAnd forest walks were dark\\nand dim,\\nIs this thy castle, Baldwin Mel-\\nHow sweetly on the pilgrim s\\nancholy\\near\\nDisplays her sable banner from\\nWas wont to steal the hermit s\\nthe donjon,\\nhymn!\\nDarkening the foam of the whole\\nsurge beneath.\\nDevotion borrows Music s tone,\\nWere I a habitant, to see this\\nAnd Music took Devotion s\\ngloom\\nwing,\\nPollute the face of nature, and to\\nAnd, like the bird that hails the\\nhear\\nsun,\\nThe ceaseless sound of wave and\\nThey soar to heaven, and soar-\\nsea-bird s scream,\\ning sing.\\nI d wish me in the hut that poor-\\nThe Hermit of Saint Clement s\\nest peasant\\nWell,\\nE er framed to give him temporary\\nshelter.\\nThe hottest horse will oft be\\nBrowne.\\ncool,\\nThe dullest will show fire\\nThis was the entry, then, these\\nThe friar will often play the\\nstairs\u00e2\u0080\u0094 but whither after?\\nfool,\\nYet he that s sure to perish on\\nThe fool will play the friar.\\nthe land\\nOld Song.\\nMay quit the nicety of card and\\ncompass,\\nThis wandering race, severed from\\nAnd trust the open sea without a\\nother men,\\npilot.\\nBoast yet their intercourse with\\nTragedy of Brennovalt.\\nhuman arts", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0683.jp2"}, "680": {"fulltext": "66o\\nAPPENDIX\\nThe seas, the woods, the deserts,\\nGains land and title, rank and rule,\\nwhich they haunt,\\nby seeming\\nFind them acquainted with their\\nThe clergy scorn it not, and the\\nsecret treasures\\nbold soldier\\nAnd unregarded herbs and flowers\\nWill eke with it his service. All\\nand blossoms\\nadmit it,\\nDisplay undreamed-of powers\\nAll practise it and he who is con-\\nwhen gathered by them.\\ntent\\nThe Jew.\\nWith showing what he is shall\\nhave small credit\\nApproach the chamber, look\\nIn church or camp or state. So\\nupon his bed.\\nwags the world.\\nHis is the passing of no peaceful\\nOld Play.\\nghost,\\nWhich, as the lark arises to the sky,\\nStern was the law which bade its\\nMid morning s sweetest breeze\\nvotaries leave\\nand softest dew,\\nAt human woes with human hearts\\nIs winged to heaven by good men s\\nto grieve\\nsighs and tears\\nStern was the law which at the\\nAnselm parts otherwise.\\nwinning wile\\nOld Play.\\nOf frank and harmless mirth for-\\nbade to smile\\nTrust me, each state must have\\nBut sterner still when high the\\nits policies\\niron-rod\\nKingdoms have edicts, cities have\\nOf tyrant power she shook, and\\ntheir charters\\ncalled that power of God.\\nEven the wild outlaw in his forest-\\nThe Middle Ages.\\nwalk\\nKeeps yet some touch of civil dis-\\ncipline.\\nFROM THE MONASTERY\\nFor not since Adam wore his ver-\\ndant apron\\nay! the Monks, the Monks,\\nHath man with man in social\\nthey did the mischief\\nunion dwelt,\\nTheirs all the grossness, all the\\nBut laws were made to draw that\\nsuperstition\\nunion closer.\\nOf a most gross and superstitious\\nOld Play.\\nage.\\nMay He be praised that sent the\\nArouse the tiger of Hyrcanian\\nhealthful tempest,\\ndeserts,\\nAnd scattered all these pestilen-\\nStrive with the half-starved lion\\ntial vapors\\nfor his prey\\nBut that we owed them all to yon-\\nLesser the risk than rouse the\\nder Harlot\\nslumbering fire\\nThroned on the seven hills with\\nOf wild Fanaticism.\\nher cup of gold,\\nAnonymous.\\nI will as soon believe, with kind\\nSir Roger,\\nSay not my art is fraud all live\\nThat old Moll White took wing\\nby seeming.\\nwith cat and broomstick,\\nThe beggar begs with it, and the\\nAnd raised the last night s thunder.\\ngay courtier\\nOld Play.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0684.jp2"}, "681": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n661\\nIn yon lone vale his early youth\\nwas bred.\\nNot solitary then the bugle-horn\\nOf fell Alecto often waked its\\nwindings,\\nFrom where the brook joins the\\nmajestic river,\\nTo the wild northern bog, the cur-\\nlieu s haunt,\\nWhere oozes forth its first and fee-\\nble streamlet.\\nOld Play.\\nA priest, ye cry, a priest lame\\nshepherds they,\\nHow shall they gather in the strag-\\ngling flock?\\nDumb dogs which bark not how\\nshall they compel\\nThe loitering vagrants to the Mas-\\nter s fold\\nFitter to bask before the blazing\\nfire,\\nAnd snuff the mess neat-handed\\nPhillis dresses,\\nThan on the snow-wreath battle\\nwith the wolf.\\nThe Reformation.\\nNow let us sit in conclave. That\\nthese weeds\\nBe rooted from the vineyard of the\\nChurch,\\nThat these foul tares be severed\\nfrom the wheat,\\nWe are, I trust, agreed. Yet how\\nto do this,\\nNor hurt the wholesome crop and\\ntender vine-plants,\\nCraves good advisement.\\nThe Reformation.\\nNay, dally not with time, the wise\\nman s treasure,\\nThough fools are lavish on t the\\nfatal Fisher\\nHooks souls while we waste mo-\\nments.\\nOld Play.\\nYou call this education, do you\\nnot?\\nWhy, tis the forced march of a\\nherd of bullocks\\nBefore a shouting drover. The\\nglad van\\nMove on at ease, and pause awhile\\nto snatch\\nA passing morsel from the dewy\\ngreensward,\\nWhile all the blows, the oaths, the\\nindignation,\\nFall on the croupe of the ill-fated\\nlaggard\\nThat cripples in the rear.\\nOld Play.\\nThere s something in that an-\\ncient superstition,\\nWhich, erring as it is, our fancy\\nloves.\\nThe spring that, with its thousand\\ncrystal bubbles,\\nBursts from the bosom of some\\ndesert rock\\nIn secret solitude, may well be\\ndeemed\\nThe haunt of something purer,\\nmore refined,\\nAnd mightier than ourselves.\\nOld Play.\\nNay, let me have the friends who\\neat my victuals\\nAs various as my dishes. The\\nfeast s naught,\\nWhere one huge plate predomi-\\nnates. John Plaintext,\\nHe shall be mighty beef, our Eng-\\nlish staple\\nThe worthy Alderman, a buttered\\ndumpling\\nYon pair of whiskered Cornets,\\nruffs and rees\\nTheir friend the Dandy, a green\\ngoose in sippets.\\nAnd so the board is spread at\\nonce and filled\\nOn the same principle Variety.\\nNew Play.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0685.jp2"}, "682": {"fulltext": "662\\nAPPENDIX\\nHe strikes no coin, tis true, but\\ncoins new phrases,\\nAnd vends them forth as knaves\\nvend gilded counters,\\nWhich wise men scorn and fools\\naccept in payment.\\nOld Play.\\nA courtier extraordinary, who\\nby diet\\nOf meats and drinks, his temper-\\nate exercise,\\nChoice music, frequent bath, his\\nhorary shifts\\nOf shirts and waistcoats, means to\\nimmortalize\\nMortality itself, and makes the\\nessence\\nOf his whole happiness the trim\\nof court.\\nMagnetic Lady.\\nNow choose thee, gallant, be-\\ntwixt wealth and honor\\nThere lies the pelf, in sum to bear\\nthee through\\nThe dance of youth and the tur-\\nmoil of manhood,\\nYet leave enough for age s chim-\\nney-corner\\nBut an thou grasp to it, farewell\\nAmbition\\nFarewell each hope of bettering\\nthy condition,\\nAnd raising thy low rank above\\nthe churls\\nThat till the earth for bread\\nOld Play.\\nIndifferent, but indifferent\\npshaw he doth it not\\nLike one who is his craft s master\\nne ertheless\\nI have seen a clown confer a\\nbloody coxcomb\\nOn one who was a master of de-\\nfence.\\nOld Play.\\nYes, life hath left him every\\nbusy thought,\\nEach fiery passion, every strong\\naffection,\\nThe sense of outward ill and in-\\nward sorrow,\\nAre fled at once from the pale\\ntrunk before me\\nAnd I have given that which\\nspoke and moved,\\nThought, acted, suffered, as a liv-\\ning man,\\nTo be a ghastly form of bloody\\nclay,\\nSoon the foul food for reptiles.\\nOld Play.\\nT is when the wound is stiffening\\nwith the cold,\\nThe warrior first feels pain t is\\nwhen the heat\\nAnd fiery fever of his soul is past,\\nThe sinner feels remorse.\\nOld Play.\\nI ll walk on tiptoe arm my eye\\nwith caution,\\nMy heart with courage, and my\\nhand with weapon,\\nLike him who ventures on a lion s\\nden.\\nOld Play.\\nNow, by Our Lady, Sheriff, tis\\nhard reckoning\\nThat I, with every odds of birth\\nand barony,\\nShould be detained here for the\\ncasual death\\nOf a wild forester, whose utmost\\nhaving\\nIs but the brazen buckle of the\\nbelt\\nIn which he sticks his hedge-\\nknife. Old Play.\\nYou call it an ill angel it may be\\nSO;\\nBut sure I am, among the ranks\\nwhich fell,\\nT is the first fiend e er counselled\\nman to rise,\\nAnd win the bliss the sprite him-\\nself had forfeited.\\nOld Play.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0686.jp2"}, "683": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n663\\nAt school I knew him a sharp-\\nwitted youth,\\nGrave, thoughtful, and reserved\\namongst his mates,\\nTurning the hours of sport and\\nfood to labor,\\nStarving his body to inform his\\nmind.\\nOld Play.\\nNow on my faith this gear is all\\nentangled,\\nLike to the yarn-clew of the drowsy\\nknitter,\\nDragged by the frolic kitten\\nthrough the cabin\\nWhile the good dame sits nodding\\no er the fire\\nMasters, attend t will crave some\\nskill to clear it.\\nOld Play.\\nIt is not texts will do it Church\\nartillery\\nAre silenced soon by real ord-\\nnance,\\nAnd canons are but vain opposed\\nto cannon.\\nGo, coin your crosier, melt your\\nchurch plate down,\\nBid the starved soldier banquet in\\nyour halls,\\nAnd quaff your long-saved hogs-\\nheads. Turn them out\\nThus primed with your good cheer,\\nto guard your wall,\\nAnd they will venture for t\\nOld Play.\\nFROM THE ABBOT\\nIn the wild storm\\nThe seaman hews his mast down\\nand the merchant\\nHeaves to the billows wares he\\nonce deemed precious\\nSo prince and peer, mid popular\\ncontentions,\\nCast off their favorites.\\nOld Play.\\nThou hast each secret of the\\nhousehold, Francis.\\nI dare be sworn thou hast been in\\nthe buttery\\nSteeping thy curious humor in fat\\nale,\\nAnd in the butler s tattle ay, or\\nchatting\\nWith the glib waiting-woman o er\\nher comfits\\nThese bear the key to each domes-\\ntic mystery.\\nOld Play.\\nThe sacred tapers lights are gone,\\nGray moss has clad the altar stone,\\nThe holy image is o erthrown,\\nThe bell has ceased to toll.\\nThe long ribbed aisles are burst\\nand shrunk,\\nThe holy shrines to ruin sunk,\\nDeparted is the pious monk,\\nGod s blessing on his soul!\\nRediviva.\\nLife hath its May, and all is mirth-\\nful then\\nThe woods are vocal and the flow-\\ners all odor\\nIts very blast has mirth in t, and\\nthe maidens,\\nThe while they don their cloaks\\nto skreen their kirtles,\\nLaugh at the rain that wets them.\\nOld Play.\\nNay, hear me, brother I am\\nelder, wiser,\\nAnd holier than thou and age\\nand wisdom\\nAnd holiness have peremptory\\nclaims,\\nAnd will be listened to.\\nOld Play.\\nNot the wild billow, when it\\nbreaks its barrier\\nNot the wild wind, escaping from\\nits cavern\\nNot the wild fiend, that mingles\\nboth together", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0687.jp2"}, "684": {"fulltext": "664\\nAPPENDIX\\nAnd pours their rage upon the\\nripening harvest,\\nCan match the wild freaks of this\\nmirthful meeting\\nComic, yet fearful droll, and yet\\ndestructive.\\nThe Conspiracy.\\nYouth thou wear st to manhood\\nnow;\\nDarker lip and darker brow,\\nStatelier step, more pensive mien,\\nIn thy face and gait are seen\\nThou must now brook midnight\\nwatches,\\nTake thy food and sport by\\nsnatches\\nFor the gambol and the jest\\nThou wert wont to love the best,\\nGraver follies must thou follow,\\nBut as senseless, false, and hol-\\nlow.\\nLife, a Poem.\\nIt is and is not tis the thing I\\nsought for,\\nHave kneeled for, prayed for,\\nrisked my fame and life for,\\nAnd yet it is not no more than\\nthe shadow\\nUpon the hard, cold, flat, and pol-\\nished mirror,\\nIs the warm, graceful, rounded,\\nliving substance\\nWhich it presents in form and\\nlineament.\\nOld Play.\\nGive me a morsel on the green-\\nsward rather,\\nCoarse as you will the cooking\\nlet the fresh spring\\nBubble beside my napkin and\\nthe free birds,\\nTwittering and chirping, hop from\\nbough to bough,\\nTo claim the crumbs I leave for\\nperquisites\\nYour prison-feasts I like not.\\nThe Woodman, a Drama.\\nT is a weary life this\\nVaults overhead, and grates and\\nbars around me,\\nAnd my sad hours spent with as\\nsad companions,\\nWhose thoughts are brooding o er\\ntheir own mischances,\\nFar, far too deeply to take part in\\nmine.\\nThe Woodman.\\nAnd when Love s torch hath set\\nthe heart in flame,\\nComes Seignior Keason, with his\\nsaws and cautions,\\nGiving such aid as the old gray-\\nbeard Sexton,\\nWho from the church-vault drags\\nhis crazy engine,\\nTo ply its dribbling ineffectual\\nstreamlet\\nAgainst a conflagration.\\nOld Play.\\nYes, it is she whose eyes looked\\non thy childhood,\\nAnd watched with trembling hope\\nthy dawn of youth,\\nThat now, with these same eye-\\nballs, dimmed with age,\\nAnd dimmer yet with tears, sees\\nthy dishonor.\\nOld Play.\\nIn some breasts passion lies con-\\ncealed and silent,\\nLike war s swart powder in a\\ncastle vault,\\nUntil occasion, like the linstock,\\nlights it\\nThen comes at once the lightning\\nand the thunder,\\nAnd distant echoes tell that all is\\nrent asunder.\\nOld Play.\\nDeath distant?\u00e2\u0080\u0094 No, alas! he s\\never with us,\\nAnd shakes the dart at us in all\\nour actings", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0688.jp2"}, "685": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n665\\nHe lurks within our cup while\\nHe was a man\\nwe re in health\\nVersed in the world as pilot in his\\nSits by our sick-bed, mocks our\\ncompass.\\nmedicines\\nThe needle pointed ever to that\\nWe cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or\\ninterest\\ntravel,\\nWhich was his loadstar, and he\\nBut Death is by to seize us when\\nspread his sails\\nhe lists.\\nWith vantage to the gale of others\\nThe Spanish Father.\\npassion.\\nThe Deceiver, a Tragedy.\\nAy, Pedro,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 come you here with\\nmask and lantern,\\nThis is he\\nLadder of ropes, and other moon-\\nWho rides on the court-gale con-\\nshine tools\\ntrols its tides\\nWhy, youngster, thou mayst cheat\\nKnows all their secret shoals and\\nthe old Duenna,\\nfatal eddies\\nFlatter the waiting-woman, bribe\\nWhose frown abases and whose\\nthe valet\\nsmile exalts.\\nBut know, that I her father play\\nHe shines like any rainbow and,\\nthe Gryphon,\\nperchance,\\nTameless and sleepless, proof to\\nHis colors are as transient.\\nfraud or bribe,\\nOld Play.\\nAnd guard the hidden treasure of\\nher beauty.\\nThis is rare news thou tell st me,\\nThe Spanish Father.\\nmy good fellow\\nThere are two bulls fierce battling\\nIt is a time of danger, not of revel,\\non the green\\nWhen churchmen turn to mas-\\nFor one fair heifer if the one\\nquers.\\ngoes down,\\nThe Spanish Father.\\nThe dale will be more peaceful,\\nand the herd,\\nAy, sir our ancient crown, in\\nWhich have small interest in their\\nthese wild times,\\nbrulziement,\\nOft stood upon a cast the game-\\nMay pasture there in peace.\\nster s ducat,\\nOld Play.\\nSo often staked and lost and then\\nregained,\\nWell, then, our course is chosen\\nScarce knew so many hazards.\\nspread the sail,\\nThe Spanish Father.\\nHeave oft the lead and mark the\\nsoundings well\\nLook to the helm, good master;\\nFROM KENILWORTH\\nmany a shoal\\nMarks this stern coast, and rocks\\nNot serve two masters? Here s\\nwhere sits the siren\\na youth will try it\\nWho, like ambition, lures men to\\nWould fain serve God, yet give the\\ntheir ruin.\\ndevil his due\\nThe Shipwreck.\\nSays grace before he doth a deed\\nof villany,\\nNow God be good to me in this\\nAnd returns his thanks devoutly\\nwild pilgrimage\\nwhen t is acted.\\nAll hope in human aid I cast he.\\nOld Play.\\nhind me.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0689.jp2"}, "686": {"fulltext": "666\\nAPPENDIX\\nO, who would be a woman? who\\nthat fool,\\nA weeping, pining, faittiful, loving\\nwoman\\nShe hath hard measure still where\\nshe hopes kindest,\\nAnd all her bounties only make\\ningrates.\\nLove s Pilgrimage.\\nHark the bells summon and the\\nbugle calls,\\nBut she the fairest answers not;\\nthe tide\\nOf nobles and of ladies throngs the\\nhalls,\\nBut she the loveliest must in secret\\nhide.\\nWhat eyes were thine, proud\\nprince, which in the gleam\\nOf yon gay meteors lost that better\\nsense\\nThat o er the glow-worm doth the\\nstar esteem,\\nAnd merit s modest blush o er\\ncourtly insolence\\nThe Glass Slipper.\\nWhat, man, ne er lack a draught\\nwhen the full can\\nStands at thine elbow and craves\\nemptying\\nNay, fear not me, for I have no de-\\nlight\\nTo watch men s vices, since I have\\nmyself\\nOf virtue naught to boast of. I m\\na striker,\\nWould have the world strike with\\nme, pellmell, all.\\nPandwmonium.\\nNow fare thee well, my master if\\ntrue service\\nBe guerdoned with hard looks,\\ne en cut the tow-line,\\nAnd let our barks across the path-\\nless flood\\nHold different courses.\\nShipwreck.\\nNow bid the steeple rock she\\ncomes, she comes\\nSpeak for us, bells speak for us,\\nshrill-tongued tuckets\\nStand to the linstock, gunner let\\nthy cannon\\nPlay such a peal as if a Paynim\\nfoe\\nCame stretched in turbaned ranks\\nto storm the ramparts.\\nWe will have pageants too but\\nthat craves wit,\\nAnd I m a rough-hewn soldier.\\nThe Virgin-Queen, a Tragi-\\ncomedy.\\nThe wisest sovereigns err like\\nprivate men,\\nAnd royal hand has sometimes\\nlaid the sword\\nOf chivalry upon a worthless shoul-\\nder,\\nWhich better had been branded\\nby the hangman.\\nWhat then Kings do their best,\\nand they and we\\nMust answer for the intent, and\\nnot the event.\\nOld Play.\\nHere stands the victim there\\nthe proud betrayer,\\nE en as the hind pulled down by\\nstrangling dogs\\nLies at the hunter s feet, who\\ncourteous proffers\\nTo some high dame, the Dian of\\nthe chase,\\nTo whom he looks for guerdon, his\\nsharp blade\\nTo gash the sobbing throat.\\nThe Woodman.\\nHigh o er the eastern steep the\\nsun is beaming,\\nAnd darkness flies with her deceit-\\nful shadows\\nSo truth prevails o er falsehood.\\nOld Play.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0690.jp2"}, "687": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n667\\nFROM THE PIRATE\\nthe\\nT is not alone the scene\\nman, Anselmo.\\nThe man finds sympathies in these\\nwild wastes\\nAnd roughly tumbling seas, which\\nfairer views\\nAnd smoother waves deny him.\\nAncient Drama.\\nShe does no work by halves, yon\\nraving ocean\\nEngulfing those she strangles, her\\nwild womb\\nAffords the mariners whom she\\nhath dealt on\\nTheir death at once and sepulchre.\\nOld Play.\\nThis is a gentle trader and a pru-\\ndent-\\nHe s no Autolycus, to blear your\\neye\\nWith quips of worldly gauds and\\ngamesomeness,\\nBut seasons all his glittering\\nmerchandise\\nWith wholesome doctrine suited\\nto the use,\\nAs men sauce goose with sage and\\nrosemary.\\nOld Play.\\nAll your ancient customs\\nAnd long-descended usages I ll\\nchange.\\nYe shall not eat, nor drink, nor\\nspeak, nor move,\\nThink, look, or walk, as ye were\\nwont to do\\nEven your marriage-beds shall\\nknow mutation\\nThe bride shall have the stock, the\\ngroom the wall\\nFor all old practice will I turn and\\nchange,\\nAnd call it reformation\u00e2\u0080\u0094 marry,\\nwill I\\nTis Even that we We at Odds.\\nWe 11 keep our customs what is\\nlaw itself\\nBut old established custom? What\\nreligion\\nI mean, with one half of the men\\nthat use it\\nSave the good use and wont that\\ncarries them\\nTo worship how and where their\\nfathers worshipped\\nAll things resolve in custom\\nwe 11 keep ours.\\nOld Play.\\nI do love these ancient ruins\\nWe never tread upon them but we\\nset\\nOur foot upon some reverend his-\\ntory,\\nAnd questionless, here in this open\\ncourt\\nWhich now lies naked to the in-\\njuries\\nOf stormy weather some men lie\\ninterred,\\nLoved the Church so well and gave\\nso largely to it,\\nThey thought it should have cano-\\npied their bones\\nTill doomsday; but all things\\nhave their end\\nChurches and cities, which have\\ndiseases like to men,\\nMust have like death which we\\nhave.\\nDuchess of Malfy.\\nSee yonder woman, whom our\\nswains revere\\nAnd dread in secret, while they\\ntake her counsel\\nWhen sweetheart shall be kind, or\\nwhen cross dame shall die\\nWhere lurks the thief who stole\\nthe silver tankard,\\nAnd how the pestilent murrain\\nmay be cured\\nThis sage adviser s mad, stark\\nmad, my friend\\nYet in her madness hath the art\\nand cunning", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0691.jp2"}, "688": {"fulltext": "668\\nAPPENDIX\\nTo wring fools secrets from their\\ninmost bosoms,\\nAnd pay inquirers with the coin\\nthey gave her.\\nOld Play.\\nWhat ho, my jovial mates come\\non we 11 frolic it\\nLike fairies frisking in the merry\\nmoonshine,\\nSeen by the curtal friar, who, from\\nsome christening\\nOr some blithe bridal, hies belated\\ncell- ward\\nHe starts, and changes his bold\\nbottle swagger\\nTo churchman s pace professional,\\nand, ransacking\\nHis treacherous memory for some\\nholy hymn,\\nFinds but the roundel of the mid-\\nnight catch.\\nOld Play.\\nI strive like to the vessel in the\\ntide-way,\\nWhich, lacking favoring breeze,\\nhath not the power\\nTo stem the powerful current.\\nEven so,\\nResolving daily to forsake my\\nvices,\\nHabit, strong circumstance, re-\\nnewed temptation,\\nSweep me to sea again. hea-\\nvenly breath,\\nFill thou my sails, and aid the\\nfeeble vessel,\\nWhich ne er can reach the blessed\\nport without thee\\nT is Odds when Evens meet.\\nParental love, my friend, has\\npower o er wisdom,\\nAnd is the charm, which, like the\\nfalconer s lure,\\nCan bring from heaven the highest\\nsoaring spirits.\\nSo, when famed Prosper doffed\\nhis magic robe\\nIt was Miranda plucked it from\\nhis shoulders.\\nOld Play.\\nHark to the insult loud, the bitter\\nsneer,\\nThe fierce threat answering to the\\nbrutal jeer\\nOaths fly like pistol-shots, and\\nvengeful words\\nClash with each other like conflict-\\ning swords.\\nThe robber s quarrel by such\\nsounds is shown,\\nAnd true men have some chance\\nto gain their own.\\nCaptivity, a Poem.\\nOver the mountains and under\\nthe waves,\\nOver the fountains and under the\\ngraves,\\nOver floods that are deepest,\\nWhich Neptune obey,\\nOver rocks that are steepest,\\nLove will find out the way.\\nOld Song.\\nFROM THE FORTUNES OF\\nNIGEL\\nNow Scot and English are agreed,\\nAnd Saunders hastes to cross the\\nTweed,\\nWhere, such the splendors that\\nattend him,\\nHis very mother scarce had kenned\\nhim.\\nHis metamorphosis behold\\nFrom Glasgow frieze to cloth of\\ngold;\\nHis back-sword with the iron-hilt,\\nTo rapier fairly hatched and gilt\\nWas ever seen a gallant braver\\nHis very bonnet s grown a beaver.\\nThe Reformation.\\nThis, sir, is one among the Seign-\\niory,\\nHas wealth at will, and will to use\\nhis wealth,\\nAnd wit to increase it. Marry, his\\nworst folly\\nLies in a thriftless sort of char-\\nity,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0692.jp2"}, "689": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n669\\nThat goes a-gadding sometimes\\nafter objects\\nWhich wise men will not see when\\nthrust upon them.\\nThe Old Couple.\\nAy, sir, the clouted shoe hath oft-\\ntimes craft in t,\\nAs says the rustic proverb; and\\nyour citizen,\\nIn s grogram suit, gold chain, and\\nwell-blacked shoes,\\nBears under his flat cap ofttimes a\\nbrain\\nWiser than burns beneath the cap\\nand feather,\\nOr seethes within the statesman s\\nvelvet nightcap.\\nRead me my Riddle.\\nWherefore come ye not to\\ncourt\\nCertain t is the rarest sport;\\nThere are silks and jewels glisten-\\ning,\\nPrattling fools and wise men lis-\\ntening,\\nBullies among brave men justling,\\nBeggars amongst nobles bustling\\nLow-breathed talkers, minion lisp-\\ners,\\nCutting honest throats by whis-\\npers\\nWherefore come ye not to court?\\nSkelton swears tis glorious sport.\\nSkelton Skeltonizeth.\\nO, I do know him t is the\\nmouldy lemon\\nWhich our court wits will wet\\ntheir lips withal,\\nWhen they would sauce their hon-\\nied conversation\\nWith somewhat sharper flavor.\\nMarry, sir,\\nThat virtue s wellnigh left him\\nall the juice\\nThat was so sharp and poignant\\nis squeezed out\\nWhile the poor rind, although as\\nsour as ever,\\nMust season soon the draff we give\\nour grunters,\\nFor two-legged things are weary\\non t.\\nThe Chamberlain, a Comedy.\\nThings needful we have thought\\non but the thing\\nOf all most needful that which\\nScripture terms,\\nAs if alone it merited regard,\\nThe one thing needful that s\\nyet unconsidered.\\nThe Chamberlain.\\nAh mark the matron well and\\nlaugh not, Harry,\\nAt her old steeple-hat and velvet\\nguard\\nI ve called her like the ear of Di-\\nonysius\\nI mean that ear-formed vault, built\\no er the dungeon\\nTo catch the groans and discon-\\ntented murmurs\\nOf his poor bondsmen. Even so\\ndoth Martha\\nDrink up for her own purpose all\\nthat passes,\\nOr is supposed to pass, in this wide\\ncity\\nShe can retail it too, if that her\\nprofit\\nShall call on her to do so and re-\\ntail it\\nFor your advantage, so that you\\ncan make\\nYour profit jump with hers.\\nThe Conspiracy.\\nBid not thy fortune troll upon the\\nwheels\\nOf yonder dancing cups of mottled\\nbone;\\nAnd drown it not, like Egypt s\\nroyal harlot,\\nDissolving her rich pearl in the\\nbrimmed wine-cup.\\nThese are the arts, Lothario,\\nwhich shrink acres", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0693.jp2"}, "690": {"fulltext": "670\\nAPPENDIX\\nInto brief yards bring sterling\\npounds to farthings,\\nCredit to infamy; and the poor\\ngull,\\nWho might have lived an honored,\\neasy life,\\nTo ruin and an unregarded grave.\\nThe Changes.\\nThis is the very barn-yard\\nWhere muster daily the prime\\ncocks o the game,\\nRuffle their pinions, crow till they\\nare hoarse,\\nAnd spar about a barleycorn.\\nHere, too, chickens,\\nThe callow unfledged brood of for-\\nward folly,\\nLearn first to rear the crest, and\\naim the spur,\\nAnd tune their note like full-\\nplumed Chanticleer.\\nThe Bear Garden.\\nLet the proud salmon gorge the\\nfeathered hook,\\nThen strike, and then you have\\nhim. He will wince\\nSpin out your line that it shall\\nwhistle from you\\nSome twenty yards or so, yet you\\nshall have him\\nMarry you must have patience\\nthe stout rock\\nWhich in his trust hath edges\\nsomething sharp\\nAnd the deep pool hath ooze and\\nsludge enough\\nTo mar your fishing\u00e2\u0080\u0094 less you\\nare more careful.\\nAlbion, or the Double Kings.\\nGive way give way I must\\nand will have justice,\\nAnd tell me not of privilege and\\nplace\\nWhere I am injured, there I 11 sue\\nredress.\\nLook to it, every one who bars my\\naccess\\nI have a heart to feel the injury,\\nA hand to right myself, and, by\\nmy honor,\\nThat hand shall grasp what gray-\\nbeard Law denies me.\\nThe Chamberlain.\\nCome hither, young one Mark\\nme Thou art now\\nMongst men o the sword, that\\nlive by reputation\\nMore than by constant income\\nSingle-suited\\nThey are, I grant you; yet each\\nsingle suit\\nMaintains, on the rough guess, a\\nthousand followers\\nAnd they be men who, hazarding\\ntheir all,\\nNeedful apparel, necessary in-\\ncome,\\nAnd human body, and immortal\\nsoul,\\nDo in the very deed but hazard\\nnothing\\nSo strictly is that all bound in\\nreversion\\nClothes to the broker, income to\\nthe usurer,\\nAnd body to disease, and soul to\\nthe foul fiend\\nWho laughs to see Soldadoes and\\nfooladoes\\nPlay better than himself his game\\non earth.\\nThe Mohocks,\\nMother. What! dazzled by a\\nflash of Cupid s mirror,\\nWith which the boy, as mortal\\nurchins wont,\\nFlings back the sunbeam in the\\neye of passengers\\nThen laughs to see them stum-\\nble!\\nDaughter. Mother! no\\nIt was a lightning-flash which daz-\\nzled me,\\nAnd never shall these eyes see\\ntrue again.\\nBeef and Pudding, an Old Eng*\\nlish Comedy.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0694.jp2"}, "691": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n671\\nBy this good light, a wench of\\nmatchless mettle\\nThis were a leaguer-lass to love a\\nsoldier,\\nTo bind his wounds, and kiss his\\nbloody brow,\\nAnd sing a roundel as she helped\\nto arm him,\\nThough the rough foeman s drums\\nwere beat so nigh\\nThey seemed to bear the burden.\\nOld Play.\\nCredit me, friend, it hath been\\never thus\\nSince the ark rested on Mount\\nArarat.\\nFalse man hath sworn, and wo-\\nman hath believed\\nRepented and reproached, and\\nthen believed once more.\\nThe New World.\\nRove not from pole to pole the\\nman lives here\\nWhose razor s only equalled by\\nhis beer\\nAnd where, in either sense, the\\ncockney-put\\nMay, if he pleases, get confounded\\ncut.\\nOn the Sign of an Alehouse kept\\nby a Barber.\\nChance will not do the work\\nChance sends the breeze\\nBut if the pilot slumber at the\\nhelm,\\nThe very wind that wafts us to-\\nwards the port\\nMay dash us on the shelves. The\\nsteersman s part is vigilance,\\nBlow it or rough or smooth.\\nOld Play.\\nThis is the time Heaven s maid-\\nen sentinel\\nHath quitted her high watch the\\nlesser spangles\\nAre paling one by one give me\\nthe ladder\\nAnd the short lever bid An-\\nthony\\nKeep with his carabine the wick-\\net-gate\\nAnd do thou bare thy knife and\\nfollow me,\\nFor we will in and do it dark-\\nness like this\\nIs dawning of our fortunes.\\nOld Play.\\nDeath finds us mid our play-\\nthings snatches us,\\nAs a cross nurse might do a way-\\nward child,\\nFrom all our toys and baubles.\\nHis rough call\\nUnlooses all our favorite ties on\\nearth\\nAnd well if they are such as may\\nbe answered\\nIn yonder world, where all is\\njudged of truly.\\nOld Play.\\nGive us good voyage, gentle\\nstream we stun not\\nThy sober ear with sounds of rev-\\nelry,\\nWake not the slumbering echoes\\nof thy banks\\nWith voice of flute and horn we\\ndo but seek\\nOn the broad pathway of thy\\nswelling bosom\\nTo glide in silent safety.\\nThe Double Bridal.\\nThis way lie safety and a sure re-\\ntreat\\nYonder lie danger, shame, and\\npunishment.\\nMost welcome danger then nay,\\nlet. me say,\\nThough spoke with swelling heart\\nwelcome e en shame\\nAnd welcome punishment\u00e2\u0080\u0094 for,\\ncall me guilty,\\nI do but pay the tax that s due to\\njustice", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0695.jp2"}, "692": {"fulltext": "672\\nAPPENDIX\\nAnd call me guiltless, then that\\npunishment\\nIs shame to those alone who do\\ninflict it.\\nThe Tribunal.\\nHow fares the man on whom good\\nmen would look\\nWith eyes where scorn and cen-\\nsure combated,\\nBut that kind Christian love hath\\ntaught the lesson\\nThat they who merit most con-\\ntempt and hate\\nDo most deserve our pity\\nOld Play.\\nMarry, come up, sir, with your\\ngentle blood\\nHere s a red stream beneath this\\ncoarse blue doublet\\nThat warms the heart as kindly as\\nif drawn\\nFrom the far source of old Assyr-\\nian kings,\\nWho first made mankind subject\\nto their sway.\\nOld Play.\\nWe are not worse at once the\\ncourse of evil\\nBegins so slowly and from such\\nslight source,\\nAn infant s hand might stem its\\nbreach with clay\\nBut let the stream get deeper, and\\nphilosophy\\nAy, and religion too shall strive\\nin vain\\nTo turn the headlong torrent.\\nOld Play.\\nFROM PEVERIL OF THE\\nPEAK\\nWhy then, we will have bellow-\\ning of beeves,\\nBroaching of barrels, brandishing\\nof spigots\\nBlood shall flow freely, but it shall\\nbe gore\\nOf herds and flocks and venison\\nand poultry,\\nJoined to the brave heart s-blood\\nof John-a-Barleycorn\\nOld Play.\\nNo, sir, I will not pledge I m\\none of those\\nWho think good wine needs nei-\\nther bush nor preface\\nTo make it welcome. If you doubt\\nmy word,\\nFill the quartcup, and see if I will\\nchoke on t.\\nOld Play.\\nYou shall have no worse prison\\nthan my chamber,\\nNor jailer than myself.\\nThe Captain.\\nAscasto. Can she not speak\\nOswald. If speech be only in\\naccented sounds,\\nFramed by the tongue and lips,\\nthe maiden s dumb;\\nBut if by quick and apprehensive\\nlook,\\nBy motion, sign, and glance, to\\ngive each meaning,\\nExpress as clothed in language, be\\ntermed speech,\\nShe hath that wondrous faculty;\\nfor her eyes,\\nLike the bright stars of heaven,\\ncan hold discourse,\\nThough it be mute and soundless.\\nOld Play.\\nThis is a love meeting? See the\\nmaiden mourns,\\nAnd the sad suitor bends his looks\\non earth.\\nThere smore hath passed between\\nthem than belongs\\nTo Love s sweet sorrows.\\nOld Play.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0696.jp2"}, "693": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n673\\nNow, hoist the anchor, mates\\nand let the sails\\nGive their broad bosom to the bux-\\nom wind,\\nLike lass that woos a lover.\\nAnonymous.\\nHe was a fellow in a peasant s\\ngarb\\nYet one could censure you a\\nwoodcock s carving,\\nLike any courtier at the ordinary.\\nThe Ordinary.\\nWe meet, as men see phantoms in\\na dream,\\nWhich glide and sigh and sign and\\nmove their lips,\\nBut make no sound or, if they\\nutter voice,\\nT is but a low and undistinguished\\nmoaning,\\nWhich has nor word nor sense of\\nuttered sound.\\nThe Chieftain.\\nThe course of human life is\\nchangeful still\\nAs is the fickle wind and wander-\\ning rill\\nOr, like the light dance which the\\nwild-breeze weaves\\nAmidst the faded race of fallen\\nleaves\\nWhich now its breath bears down,\\nnow tosses high,\\nBeats to the earth, or wafts to\\nmiddle sky.\\nSuch, and so varied, the precari-\\nous play\\nOf fate with man, frail tenant of a\\nday\\nAnonymous.\\nNecessity thou best of peace-\\nmakers,\\nAs well as surest prompter of in-\\nvention\\nHelp us to composition\\nAnonymous.\\nThis is some creature of the ele-\\nments\\nMost like your sea-gull. He can\\nwheel and whistle\\nHis screaming song, e en when the\\nstorm is loudest\\nTake for his sheeted couch the\\nrestless foam\\nOf the wild wave-crest slumber\\nin the calm,\\nAnd dally with the storm. Yet\\nt is a gull,\\nAn arrant gull, with all this.\\nThe Chieftain.\\nI fear the devil worst when gown\\nand cassock,\\nOr in the lack of them, old Calvin s\\ncloak,\\nConceals his cloven hoof.\\nAnonymous.\\nT is the black ban-dog of our jail\\npray look on him,\\nI But at a wary distance rouse\\nhim not\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI He bays not till he worries.\\nThe Black Bog of Newgate.\\n1 Speak not of niceness, when\\nthere s chance of wreck/\\nThe captain said, as ladies writhed\\ntheir neck\\nTo see the dying dolphin flap the\\ndeck\\nIf we go down, on us these gen-\\ntry sup\\nWe dine upon them, if we haul\\nthem up.\\nWise men applaud us when we\\neat the eaters,\\nAs the devil laughs when keen\\nfolks cheat the cheaters.\\nThe Sea Voyage.\\nContentions fierce,\\nArdent, and dire, spring from no\\npetty cause.\\nAlbion.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0697.jp2"}, "694": {"fulltext": "674\\nAPPENDIX\\nHe came amongst them like a\\nnew-raised spirit,\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2To speak of dreadful judgments\\nthat impend,\\nAnd of the wrath to come.\\nThe Reformer.\\nAnd some for safety took the\\ndreadful leap\\nSome for the voice of Heaven\\nseemed calling on them\\nSome for advancement, or for\\nlucre s sake\\nI leaped in frolic.\\nThe Dream.\\nHigh feasting was there there\\nthe gilded roofs\\nRung to the wassail-health the\\ndancer s step\\nSprung to the chord responsive\\nthe gay gamester\\nTo fate s disposal flung his heap\\nof gold,\\nAnd laughed alike when it in-\\ncreased or lessened\\nSuch virtue hath court-air to teach\\nus patience\\nWhich schoolmen preach in vain.\\nWhy come ye not to Court\\nHere stand I tight and trim,\\nQuick of eye, though little of limb\\nHe who denieth the word I have\\nspoken,\\nBetwixt him and me shall lances\\nbe broken.\\nLay of the Little John de\\nSaintre.\\nFROM QUENTIN DURWARD\\nPainters show Cupid blind\\nhath Hymen eyes\\nOr is his sight warped by those\\nspectacles\\nWhich parents, guardians, and ad-\\nvisers lend him\\nThat he may look through them\\non lands and mansions,\\nOn jewels, gold, and all such rich\\ndonations,\\nAnd see their value ten times\\nmagnified\\nMe thinks t will brook a ques-\\ntion.\\nThe Miseries of Enforced Mar-\\nriage.\\nThis is a lecturer so skilled in\\npolicy\\nThat no disparagement to Sa-\\ntan s cunning\\nHe well might read a lesson to the\\ndevil,\\nAnd teach the old seducer new\\ntemptations.\\nOld Play.\\nI see thee yet, fair France thou\\nfavored land\\nOf art and nature thou art still\\nbefore me\\nThy sons, to whom their labor is a\\nsport,\\nSo well thy grateful soil returns\\nits tribute\\nThy sunburnt daughters, with\\ntheir laughing eyes\\nAnd glossy raven-locks. But, fa-\\nvored France,\\nThou hast had many a tale of woe\\nto tell,\\nIn ancient times as now.\\nAnonymous.\\nHe was a son of Egypt, as he told\\nme,\\nAnd one descended from those\\ndread magicians\\nWho waged rash war, when Israel\\ndwelt in Goshen,\\nWith Israel and her Prophet\\nmatching rod\\nWith his the son of Levi s and\\nencountering\\nJehovah s miracles within canta-\\ntions,\\nTill upon Egypt came the aveng-\\ning Angel,", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0698.jp2"}, "695": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n675\\nAnd those proud sages wept for\\ntheir first-born,\\nAs wept the unlettered peasant.\\nAnonymous.\\nRescue or none, Sir Knight, I am\\nyour captive\\nDeal with me what your nobleness\\nsuggests\\nThinking the chance of war may\\none day place you\\nWhere I must now be reckoned\\ni the roll\\nOf melancholy prisoners.\\nAnonymous.\\nNo human quality is so well wove\\nIn warp and woof but there s\\nsome flaw in it\\nI ve known a brave man fly a\\nshepherd s cur,\\nA wise man so demean him drivel-\\nling idiocy\\nHad wellnigh been ashamed on t.\\nFor your crafty,\\nYour wordly-wise man, he, above\\nthe rest,\\nWeaves his own snares so fine he s\\noften caught in them.\\nOld Play.\\nWhen Princes meet, astrologers\\nmay mark it\\nAn ominous conjunction, full of\\nboding,\\nLike that of Mars with Saturn.\\nOld Play.\\nThy time is not yet out\u00e2\u0080\u0094 the\\ndevil thou servest\\nHas not as yet deserted thee. He\\naids\\nThe friends who drudge for him, as\\nthe blind man\\nWas aided by the guide, who lent\\nhis shoulder\\nO er rough and smooth, until he\\nreached the brink\\nOf the fell precipice then hurled\\nhim downward.\\nOld Play.\\nOur counsels waver like the un-\\nsteady bark,\\nThat reels amid the strife of meet-\\ning currents.\\nOld Play.\\nHold fast thy truth, young sol-\\ndier. Gentle maiden,\\nKeep you your promise plight\\nleave age its subtleties,\\nAnd gray-haired policy its maze of\\nfalsehood\\nBut be you candid as the morning\\nsky,\\nEre the high sun sucks vapors up\\nto stain it.\\nThe Trial.\\nFROM SAINT RONAN S\\nWELL\\nQuis novus hie hospes?\\nDido apud Virgilium.\\nCh m-maid The Genman in the\\nfront parlor I\\nBoots s free Translation of the\\nMneid.\\nThere must be government in all\\nsociety\\nBees have their Queen, and stag\\nherds have their leader\\nRome had her Consuls, Athens\\nhad her Archons,\\nAnd we, sir, have our Managing\\nCommittee.\\nThe Album of Saint Ronans.\\nCome, let me have thy councillor\\nI need it;\\nThou art of those, who better help\\ntheir friends\\nWith sage advice, than usurers\\nwith gold,\\nOr brawlers with their swords\\nI 11 trust to thee,\\nFor I ask only from thee words,\\nnot deeds.\\nThe Devil hath met his Match.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0699.jp2"}, "696": {"fulltext": "6y6\\nAPPENDIX\\nNearest of blood should still be\\nAnd darksome as a widow s veil,\\nnext in love\\nCake keeps her seat behind.\\nAnd when I see these happy chil-\\nHorace.\\ndren playing,\\nWhile William gathers flowers for\\nWhat sheeted ghost is wandering\\nEllen s ringlets\\nthrough the storm?\\nAnd Ellen dresses flies for Wil-\\nFor never did a maid of middle\\nliam s angle,\\nearth\\nI scarce can think that in advan-\\nChoose such a time or spot to vent\\ncing life\\nher sorrows.\\nColdness, unkindness, interest, or\\nOld Play.\\nsuspicion\\nWill e er divide that unity so sa-\\nHere come we to our close for\\ncred,\\nthat which follows\\nWhich Nature bound at birth.\\nIs but the tale of dull, unvaried\\nAnonymous.\\nmisery.\\nSteep crags and headlong lins may\\nOh you would be a vestal maid,\\ncourt the pencil\\nI warrant,\\nLike sudden haps, dark plots, and\\nThe bride of Heaven Come we\\nstrange adventures\\nmay shake your purpose\\nBut who would paint the dull and\\nFor here I bring in hand a jolly\\nfog-wrapt moor\\nsuitor\\nIn its long tract of sterile desola-\\nHath ta en degrees in the seven\\ntion\\nsciences\\nOld Play.\\nThat ladies love best\u00e2\u0080\u0094 He is\\nyoung and noble,\\nHandsome and valiant, gay and\\nFROM THE BETROTHED\\nrich, and liberal.\\nThe Nun.\\nIn Madoc s tent the clarion\\nsounds,\\nIt comes it wrings me in my\\nWith rapid clangor hurried far\\nparting hour,\\nEach hill and dale the note re-\\nThe long-hid crime the well-dis-\\nbounds,\\nguised guilt.\\nBut when return the sons of\\nBring me some holy priest to lay\\nwar?\\nthe spectre\\nThou, born of stern Necessity,\\nOld Play.\\nDull Peace! the valley yields\\nto thee,\\nAnd owns thy melancholy\\nSEDET POST EQUITEM ATRA\\nsway.\\nCUBA\\nWelsh Poem.\\nStill though the headlong cava-\\n0, sadly shines the morning\\nlier,\\nsun\\nO er rough and smooth, in wild\\nOn leaguered castle wall,\\ncareer,\\nWhen bastion, tower, and battle-\\nSeems racing with the wind\\nment\\nHis sad companion ghastly\\nSeem nodding to their fall.\\npale,\\nOld Ballad.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0700.jp2"}, "697": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n677\\nNow, all ye ladies of fair Scot-\\nland,\\nAnd ladies of England that\\nhappy would prove,\\nMarry never for houses, nor marry\\nfor land,\\nNor marry for nothing but only\\nlove.\\nFamily Quarrels.\\nToo much rest is rust,\\nThere \u00c2\u00bbs ever cheer in chang-\\ning;\\nWe tyne by too much trust,\\nSo we 11 be up and ranging.\\nOld Song.\\nRing out the merry bells, the\\nbride approaches.\\nThe blush upon her cheek has\\nshamed the morning,\\nFor that is dawning palely. Grant,\\ngood saints,\\nThese clouds betoken naught of\\nevil omen!\\nOld Play.\\nJulia, Gentle sir,\\nYou are our captive but we 11\\nuse you so,\\nThat you shall think your prison\\njoys may match\\nWhate er your liberty hath known\\nof pleasure.\\nRoderick. No, fairest, we have\\ntrifled here too long\\nAnd, lingering to see your roses\\nblossom,\\nI ve let my laurels wither.\\nOld Play.\\nFROM THE TALISMAN\\nThis is the Prince of Leeches;\\nfever, plague,\\nCold rheum, and hot podagra, do\\nbut look on him,\\nAnd quit their grasp upon the tor-\\ntured sinews.\\nAnonymous.\\nOne thing is certain in our\\nNorthern land,\\nAllow that birth or valor, wealth\\nor wit,\\nGive each precedence to their\\npossessor,\\nEnvy, that follows on such emi-\\nnence\\nAs comes the lyme-hound on the\\nroebuck s trace,\\nShall pull them down each one.\\nSir David Lindsay.\\nYou talk of Gayety and Inno-\\ncence!\\nThe moment when the fatal fruit\\nwas eaten,\\nThey parted ne er to meet again\\nand Malice\\nHas ever since been playmate to\\nlight Gayety,\\nFrom the first moment when the\\nsmiling infant\\nDestroys the flower or butterfly\\nhe toys with,\\nTo the last chuckle of the dying\\nmiser,\\nWho on his death-bed laughs his\\nlast to hear\\nHis wealthy neighbor has become\\na bankrupt.\\nOld Play.\\nTis not her sense for sure, in\\nthat\\nThere s nothing more .than com-\\nmon\\nAnd all her wit is only chat,\\nLike any other woman.\\nSong.\\nWere every hair upon his head a\\nlife,\\nAnd every life were to be suppli-\\ncated\\nBy numbers equal to those hairs\\nquadrupled,\\nLife after life should out like wan-\\ning stars\\nBefore the daybreak or as fes-\\ntive lamps,", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0701.jp2"}, "698": {"fulltext": "678\\nAPPENDIX\\nWhich have lent lustre to the mid-\\nWill sway it from the truth and\\nnight revel,\\nwreck the argosy.\\nEach after each are quenched\\nEven this small cause of anger\\nwhen guests depart.\\nand disgust\\nOld Play.\\nWill break the bonds of amity\\nmongst princes\\nMust we then sheathe our still\\nAnd wreck their noblest purposes.\\nvictorious sword\\nThe Crusade.\\nTurn back our forward step, which\\never trode\\nThe tears I shed must ever fall\\nO er foemen s necks the onward\\nI weep not for an absent swain,\\npath of glory\\nFor time may happier hours re-\\nUnclasp the mail, which with a\\ncall,\\nsolemn vow\\nAnd parted lovers meet again.\\nIn God s own house we hung upon\\nour shoulders\\nI weep not for the silent dead,\\nThat vow, as unaccomplished as\\nTheir pains are past, their sor-\\nthe promise\\nrows o er,\\nWhich village nurses make to still\\nAnd those that loved their steps\\ntheir children,\\nmust tread,\\nAnd after think no more of\\nWhen death shall join to part\\nThe Crusade, a Tragedy.\\nno more.\\nWhen beauty leads the lion in\\nBut worse than absence, worse\\nher tojls,\\nthan death,\\nSuch are her charms he dare not\\nShe wept her lover s sullied fame,\\nraise his mane,\\nAnd, fired with all the pride of\\nFar less expand the terror of his\\nbirth,\\nfangs\\nShe wept a soldier s injured\\nSo great Alcides made his club a\\nname.\\ndistaff,\\nBallad.\\nAnd spun to please fair Omphale.\\nAnonymous.\\nFROM WOODSTOCK\\nMid these wild scenes Enchant-\\nment waves her hand,\\nCome forth, old man thy daugh-\\nTo change the face of the myste-\\nter s side\\nrious land\\nIs now the fitting place for thee\\nTill the bewildering scenes around\\nWhen Time hath quelled the oak s\\nus seem\\nbold pride,\\nThe vain productions of a feverish\\nThe youthful tendril yet may hide\\ndream.\\nThe ruins of the parent tree.\\nAstolpho, a Romance.\\nNow, ye wild blades, that make\\nA GRAIN Of dust\\nloose inns your stage,\\nSoiling our cup, will make our\\nTo vapor forth the acts of this sad\\nsense reject\\nage,\\nFastidiously the draught which we\\nStout Edgehill fight, the Newber-\\ndid thirst for\\nries and the West,\\nA rusted nail, placed near the\\nAnd northern clashes, where you\\nfaithful compass,\\nstill fought best", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0702.jp2"}, "699": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n679\\nYour strange escapes, your dan-\\ngers void of fear,\\nWhen bullets flew between the\\nhead and ear,\\nWhether you fought by Damme or\\nthe Spirit,\\nOf you I speak.\\nLegend of Captain Jones.\\nYon path of greensward\\nWinds round by sparry grot and\\ngay pavilion\\nThere is no flint to gall thy tender\\nfoot,\\nThere s ready shelter from each\\nbreeze or shower.\\nBut Duty guides not that way\\nsee her stand,\\nWith wand entwined with ama-\\nranth, near yon cliffs.\\nOft where she leads thy blood\\nmust mark thy footsteps,\\nOft where she leads thy head must\\nbear the storm,\\nAnd thy shrunk form endure heat,\\ncold, and hunger\\nBut she will guide thee up to noble\\nheights,\\nWhich he who gains seems native\\nof the sky,\\nWhile earthly things lie stretched\\nbeneath his feet,\\nDiminished, shrunk, and value-\\nless\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnonymous.\\nMy tongue pads slowly under this\\nnew language,\\nAnd starts and stumbles at these\\nuncouth phrases.\\nThey may be great in worth and\\nweight, but hang\\nUpon the native glibness of my\\nlanguage\\nLike Saul s plate-armor on the\\nshepherd boy,\\nEncumbering and not arming him.\\nJ.B.\\nHere we have one head\\nUpon two bodies your\\nheaded bullock\\ntwo-\\nIs but an ass to such a prodigy.\\nThese two have but one meaning,\\nthought, and counsel\\nAnd when the single noddle has\\nspoke out,\\nThe four legs scrape assent to it.\\nOld Play.\\nDeeds are done on earth\\nWhich have their punishment ere\\nthe earth closes\\nUpon the perpetrators. Be it the\\nworking\\nOf the remorse-stirred fancy, or\\nthe vision,\\nDistinct and real, of unearthly\\nbeing,\\nAll ages witness that beside the\\ncouch\\nOf the fell homicide oft stalks\\nthe ghost\\nOf him he slew, and shows the\\nshadowy wound.\\nOld Play.\\nWe do that in our zeal\\nOur calmer moments are afraid to\\nanswer.\\nAnonymous,\\nThe deadliest snakes are those\\nwhich, twined mongst flow-\\ners,\\nBlend their bright coloring with\\nthe varied blossoms,\\nTheir fierce eyes glittering like\\nthe spangled dew-drop\\nIn all so like what nature has\\nmost harmless,\\nThat sportive innocence, which\\ndreads no danger,\\nIs poisoned unawares.\\nOld Play.\\nFROM CHRONICLES OF THE\\nCANONGATE\\nWere ever such two loving\\nfriends\\nHow could they disagree", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0703.jp2"}, "700": {"fulltext": "68o\\nAPPENDIX\\nO, thus it was: he loved him\\ndear,\\nAnd thought but to requite him\\nAnd, having no friend left but he,\\nHe did resolve to fight him.\\nDuke upon Duke.\\nThere are times\\nWhen Fancy plays her gambols,\\nin despite\\nEven of our watchful senses, when\\nin sooth\\nSubstance seems shadow, shadow\\nsubstance seems,\\nWhen the broad, palpable, and\\nmarked partition\\nTwixt that which is and is not,\\nseems dissolved,\\nAs if the mental eye gained power\\nto gaze\\nB.eyond the limits of the existing\\nworld.\\nSuch hours of shadowy dreams I\\nbetter love\\nThan all the gross realities of life.\\nAnonymous.\\nFROM THE FAIR MAID OF\\nPERTH\\nThe ashes here of murdered kings\\nBeneath my footsteps sleep\\nAnd yonder lies the scene of death\\nWhere Mary learned to weep.\\nCaptain Marjoribanks.\\n4 Behold the Tiber the vain\\nRoman cried,\\nViewing the ample Tay from Baig-\\nlie s side\\nBut where s the Scot that would\\nthe vaunt repay,\\nAnd hail the puny Tiber for the\\nTay.\\nAnonymous.\\nFair is the damsel, passing fair\\nSunny at distance gleams her\\nsmile\\nApproach the cloud of woful\\ncare\\nHangs trembling in her eye the\\nwhile.*\\nLucinda, a Ballad.\\nO for a draught of power to\\nsteep\\nThe soul of agony in sleep\\nBertha.\\nLo! where he lies embalmed in\\ngore,\\nHis wound to Heaven cries\\nThe floodgates of his blood im-\\nplore\\nFor vengeance from the skies.\\nUranus and Psyche.\\nFROM ANNE OF GEIER-\\nSTEIN\\nCursed be the gold and silver\\nwhich persuade\\nWeak man to follow far fatiguing\\ntrade.\\nThe lily, peace, outshines the sil-\\nver store,\\nAnd life is dearer than the golden\\nore.\\nYet money tempts us o er the des-\\nert brown\\nTo every distant mart and wealthy\\ntown.\\nHassan, or the Camel Driver.\\nI was one\\nWho loved the greenwood bank\\nand lowing herd,\\nThe russet prize, the lowly peas-\\nant s life,\\nSeasoned with sweet content, more\\nthan the halls\\nWhere revellers feast to fever-\\nheight. Believe me,\\nThere ne er was poison mixed in\\nmaple bowl.\\nAnonymous.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0704.jp2"}, "701": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n681\\nWhen we two meet, we meet like\\nrushing torrents\\nLike warring winds, like flames\\nfrom various points,\\nThat mate each other s fury\\nthere is naught\\nOf elemental strife, were fiends to\\nguide it,\\nCan match the wrath of man.\\nFrenaud.\\nWe know not when we sleep nor\\nwhen we wake.\\nVisions distinct and perfect cross\\nour eye,\\nWhich to the slumberer seem\\nrealities\\nAnd while they waked, some men\\nhave seen such sights\\nAs set at naught the evidence of\\nsense,\\nAnd left them well persuaded they\\nwere dreaming.\\nAnonymous.\\nThese be the adept s doctrines\\nevery element\\nIs peopled with its separate race\\nof spirits.\\nThe airy Sylphs on the blue ether\\nfloat;\\nDeep in the earthy cavern skulks\\nthe Gnome\\nThe sea-green Naiad skims the\\nocean-billow,\\nAnd the fierce fire is yet a friendly\\nhome\\nTo its peculiar sprite the Sala-\\nmander.\\nAnonymous.\\nUpox the Rhine, upon the Rhine\\nthey cluster,\\nThe grapes of juice divine,\\nWhich make the soldier s jovial\\ncourage muster\\nO, blessed be the Rhine\\nDrinking Song.\\nTell me not of it I could ne er\\nabide\\nThe mummery of all that forced\\ncivility.\\n1 Pray, seat yourself, my lord.\\nWith cringing hams\\nThe speech is spoken, and with\\nbended knee\\nHeard by the smiling courtier,\\n1 Before you, sir\\nIt must be on the earth, then.\\nHang it all\\nThe pride which cloaks itself in\\nsuch poor fashion\\nIs scarcely fit to swell a beggar s\\nbosom.\\nOld Play.\\nA mirthful man he was the\\nsnows of age\\nFell, but they did not chill him.\\nGayety,\\nEven in life s closing, touched his\\nteeming brain\\nWith such wild visions as the set-\\nting sun\\nRaises in front of some hoar\\nglacier,\\nPainting the bleak ice with a thou-\\nsand hues.\\nOld Play.\\nAy, this is he who wears the\\nwreath of bays\\nWove by Apollo and the Sisters\\nNine,\\nWhich Jove s dread lightning\\nscathes not. He hath doft\\nThe cumbrous helm of steel, and\\nflung aside\\nThe yet more galling diadem of\\ngold;\\nWhile, with a leafy circlet round\\nhis brows,\\nHe reigns the King of Lovers and\\nof Poets.\\nWant you a man\\nExperienced in the world and its\\naffairs", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0705.jp2"}, "702": {"fulltext": "682\\nAPPENDIX\\nHere he is for your purpose.\\nHe s a monk.\\nHe hath forsworn the world and\\nall its work\\nThe rather that he knows it pass-\\ning well,\\nSpecial the worst of it, for he s a\\nmonk.\\nOld Play.\\nToll, toll the bell\\nGreatness is o er,\\nThe heart has broke,\\nTo ache no more\\nAn unsubstantial pageant all\\nDrop o er the scene the funeral\\npall.\\nOld Poem.\\nHere s a weapon now\\nShall shake a conquering general\\nin his tent,\\nA monarch on his throne, or reach\\na prelate,\\nHowever holy be his offices,\\nE en while he serves the altar.\\nOld Play.\\nFROM COUNT ROBERT OF\\nPARIS\\nOthus. This superb successor\\nOf the earth s mistress, as thou\\nvainly speakest,\\nStands midst these ages as, on the\\nwide ocean,\\nThe last spared fragment of a\\nspacious land,\\nThat in some grand and awful\\nministration\\nOf mighty nature has engulfed\\nbeen,\\nDoth lift aloft its dark and rocky\\ncliffs\\nO er the wild waste around, and\\nsadly frowns\\nIn lonely majesty.\\nConstantine Paleologus,\\nScene I.\\nHere, youth, thy foot unbrace,\\nHere, youth, thy brow un-\\nbraid,\\nEach tribute that may grace\\nThe threshold here be paid.\\nWalk with the stealthy pace\\nWhich Nature teaches deer,\\nWhen, echoing in the chase,\\nThe hunter s horn they hear.\\nThe Court.\\nThe storm increases t is no\\nsunny shower,\\nFostered in the moist breast of\\nMarch or April,\\nOr such as parched Summer cools\\nhis lip with\\nHeaven s windows are flung wide\\nthe inmost deeps\\nCall in hoarse greeting one upon\\nanother\\nOn comes the flood in all its foam-\\ning horrors,\\nAnd where s the dike shall stop\\nit!\\nThe Deluge, a Poem.\\nVain man! thou mayst esteem\\nthy love as fair\\nAs fond hyperboles suffice to\\nraise.\\nShe may be all that s matchless\\nin her person,\\nAnd all-divine in soul to match\\nher body\\nBut take this from me thou\\nshalt never call her\\nSuperior to her sex while one sur-\\nvives\\nAnd I am her true votary.\\nOld Play.\\nThrough the vain webs which\\npuzzle sophists skill,\\nPlain sense and honest meaning\\nwork their way\\nSo sink the varying clouds upon\\nthe hill\\nWhen the clear dawning bright-\\nens into day.\\nDr. Watts.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0706.jp2"}, "703": {"fulltext": "MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS\\n683\\nBetween the foaming jaws of\\nthe white torrent\\nThe skilful artist draws a sudden\\nmound\\nBy level long he subdivides their\\nstrength,\\nStealing the waters from their\\nrocky bed,\\nFirst to diminish what he means\\nto conquer\\nThen, for the residue he forms a\\nroad,\\nEasy to keep, and painful to de-\\nsert,\\nAnd guiding to the end the planner\\naimed at.\\nThe Engineer.\\nThese were wild times the an-\\ntipodes of ours\\nLadies were there who oftener\\nsaw themselves\\nIn the broad lustre of a foeman s\\nshield\\nThan in a mirror, and who rather\\nsought\\nTo match themselves in battle\\nthan in dalliance\\nTo meet a lover s onset. But\\nthough Nature\\nWas outraged thus, she was not\\novercome.\\nFeudal Times.\\nWithout a ruin, broken, tangled,\\ncumbrous,\\nWithin it was a little paradise,\\nWhere Taste had made her dwell-\\ning. Statuary,\\nFirst-born of human art, moulded\\nher images\\nAnd bade men mark and worship.\\nAnonymous.\\nThe parties met. The wily, wordy\\nGreek,\\nWeighing each word, and canvass-\\ning each syllable,\\nEvading, arguing, equivocating.\\nAnd the stern Frank came with\\nhis two-hand sword,\\nWatching to see which way the\\nbalance sways,\\nThat he may throw it in and turn\\nthe scales.\\nPalestine.\\nStrange ape of man who loathes\\nthee while he scorns thee\\nHalf a reproach to us and half a\\njest.\\nWhat fancies can be ours ere we\\nhave pleasure\\nIn viewing our own form, our pride\\nand passions,\\nReflected in a shape grotesque as\\nthine\\nAnonymous.\\nT is strange that in the dark sul-\\nphureous mine\\nWhere wild ambition piles its rip-\\nening stores\\nOf slumbering thunder, Love will\\ninterpose\\nHis tiny torch, and cause the stern\\nexplosion\\nTo burst when the deviser s least\\naware.\\nAnonymous.\\nAll is prepared the chambers\\nof the mine\\nAre crammed with the combusti-\\nble, which, harmless\\nWhile yet unkindled as the sable\\nsand,\\nNeeds but a spark to change its\\nnature so\\nThat he who wakes it from its\\nslumbrous mood\\nDreads scarce the explosion less\\nthan he who knows\\nThat tis his towers which meet\\nits fury.\\nAnonymous.\\nHeaven knows its time the bul-\\nlet has its billet,\\nArrow and javelin each its de-\\nstined purpose", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0707.jp2"}, "704": {"fulltext": "68 4\\nAPPENDIX\\nThe fated beasts of Nature s lower\\nstrain\\nHave each their separate task.\\nOld Play.\\nFROM CASTLE DANGEROUS\\nA tale of sorrow, for your eyes\\nmay weep\\nA tale of horror, for your flesh may\\ntingle\\nA tale of wonder, for the eyebrows\\narch,\\nAnd the flesh curdles if you read\\nit rightly.\\nOld Play.\\nWhere is he? Has the deep\\nearth swallowed him?\\nOr hath he melted like some airy\\nphantom\\nThat shuns the approach of morn\\nand the young sun\\nOr hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian\\ndarkness,\\nAnd passed beyond the circuit of\\nthe sight\\nWith things of the night s shadows?\\nAnonymous.\\nThe way is long, my children, long\\nand rough\\nThe moors are dreary and the\\nwoods are dark\\nBut he that creeps from cradle on\\nto grave,\\nUnskilled save in the velvet course\\nof fortune,\\nHath missed the discipline of noble\\nhearts.\\nOld Play.\\nHis talk was of another world\\nhis bodements\\nStrange, doubtful, and mysterious\\nthose who heard him\\nListened as to a man in feverish\\ndreams,\\nWho speaks of other objects than\\nthe present,\\nAnd mutters like to him who sees\\na vision.\\nOld Play.\\nCry the wild war-note, let the\\nchampions pass.\\nDo bravely each, and God defend\\nthe right\\nUpon Saint Andrew thrice can\\nthey thus cry,\\nAnd thrice they shout on height,\\nAnd then marked them on the\\nEnglishmen,\\nAs I have told you right.\\nSaint George the bright, our ladies\\nknight,\\nTo name they were full fain\\nOur Englishmen they cried on\\nheight,\\nAnd thrice they shout again.\\nOld Ballad.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0708.jp2"}, "705": {"fulltext": "INDEXES", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0709.jp2"}, "706": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0710.jp2"}, "707": {"fulltext": "INDEX OF FIRST LINES\\n[Including the first lines of songs contained in the longer poems. J\\nA cat of yore or else old iEsop\\nlied, 593.\\nA courtier extraordinary, who by diet,\\n662.\\nA grain of dust, 678.\\nA mirthful man he was the snows of\\nage, 681.\\nA priest, ye cry, a priest lame shep-\\nherds they, 661.\\nA tale of sorrow, for your eyes may\\nweep, 684.\\nA weary month has wandered o er, 570.\\nAdmire not that I gained the prize, 649.\\nAh County Guy, the hour is nigh, 633.\\nAh mark the matron well and laugh\\nnot, Harry, 669.\\nAh, poor Louise the livelong day, 644.\\nAll is prepared the chambers of the\\nmine, 683.\\nAll joy was bereft me the day that you\\nleft me, 548.\\nAll your ancient customs, 667.\\nAllen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning,\\n338.\\nAmid these aisles where once his pre-\\ncepts showed, 552.\\nAn hour with thee When earliest\\nday, 643.\\nAnd art thou cold and lowly laid, 277.\\nAnd be he safe restored ere evening\\nset, 657.\\nAnd did ye not hear of a mirth befell,\\n563.\\nAnd Need and Misery, Vice and Dan-\\nger, bind, 658.\\nAnd ne er but once, my son, he says, 27.\\nAnd some for safety took the dreadful\\nleap, 674.\\nAnd when Love s torch has set the\\nheart in flame, 664.\\nAnd whither would you lead me then,\\n363.\\nAnd you shall deal the funeral dole, 624.\\nAnna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 608.\\nApproach the chamber, look upon his\\nbed, 660.\\nArouse thee, youth it is no common\\ncall, 656.\\nArouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts,\\n660.\\nAs lords their laborers hire delay, 636.\\nAs the worn war-horse, at the trum-\\npet s sound, 590.\\nAs, to the Autumn breeze s bugle-\\nsound, 658.\\nAssist me, ye friends of Old Books and\\nOld Wine, 632,\\nAt school I knew him a sharp-witted\\nyouth, 663.\\nAutumn departs but still its mantle s\\nfold, 421.\\nAve Maria maiden mild 237.\\nAway our journey lies through dell\\nand dingle, 659.\\nAy, Pedro, come you here with mask\\nand lantern, 665.\\nAy, sir our ancient crown, in these\\nwild times, 665.\\nAy, sir, the clouted shoe hath ofttimes\\ncraft in 669.\\nAy, this is he who wears the wreath of\\nbays, 681.\\nBehold the Tiber the vain Roman\\ncried, 680.\\nBetween the foaming jaws of the white\\ntorrent, 683.\\nBid not thy fortune troll upon the\\nwheels, 669.\\nBirds of omen dark and foul, 604.\\nBold knights and fair dames, to my\\nharp give an ear, 23.\\nBring the bowl which you boast, 643.\\nBut follow, follow me, 568.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0711.jp2"}, "708": {"fulltext": "688\\nINDEX OF FIRST LINES\\nBy pathless march, by greenwood tree,\\n642.\\nBy this good light, a wench of match-\\nless metal, 671.\\nCanny moment, lucky fit, 576.\\nCan she not speak, 672.\\nCarle, now the King s come, 629.\\nChampion famed for warlike toil, 625.\\nCh m-maid The Genman in the front\\nparlor, 675.\\nCome forth, old man thy daughter s\\nside, 678.\\nCome hither, young one Mark me!\\nThou art now, 670.\\nCome, let me have thy council, for I\\nneed it, 675.\\nCome, Lucy, while tis morning hour,\\n384.\\nContentions fierce, 673.\\nCry the wild war-note, let the cham-\\npions pass, 684.\\nCursed be the gold and silver which\\npersuade, 680.\\nDark Ahriman, whom Irak still, 639.\\nDark on their journey loured the\\ngloomy day, 659.\\nDark shall be light, 577.\\nDear John, I some time ago wrote to\\ninform his, 636.\\nDeath distant No, alas he s ever\\nwith us, 664.\\nDeath finds us mid our play-things\\nsnatches us, 671.\\nDeeds are done on earth, 679.\\nDinas Em linn, lament for the moment\\nis nigh, 546.\\nDire was his thought who first in poi-\\nson steeped, 657.\\nDonald Caird s come again, 594.\\nDust unto dust, 609.\\nEmblem of England s ancient faith,\\n567.\\nEnchantress, farewell, who so oft has\\ndecoyed me, 628.\\nFair Brussels, thou art far behind, 497.\\nFair is the damsel, passing fair, 680.\\nFar as the eye could reach no tree was\\nseen, 657.\\nFar in the bosom of the deep, 560.\\nFare thee well, thou Holly green 616.\\nFarewell farewell the voice you hear,\\n623.\\nFarewell, merry maidens, to song and\\nto laugh, 623.\\nFarewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of\\nthe North, 569.\\nFarewell to Northmaven, 618.\\nFarewell to the land where the clouds\\nlove to rest, 657.\\nFathoms deep beneath the wave, 619.\\nFor all our men were very very merry,\\n635.\\nFor leagues along the watery way, 620.\\nForget thee No my worthy fere 643.\\nFortune, my Foe, why dost thou frown\\non me 651.\\nFortune, you say, flies from us She\\nbut circles, 656.\\nFrederick leaves the land of France,\\n31.\\nFrom heavy dreams fair Helen rose, 1.\\nFrom the brown crest of Newark its\\nsummons extending, 575.\\nFrom thy Pomeranian throne, 519.\\nGentle sir, You are our captive, 677.\\nGive me a morsel on the greensward\\nrather, 664.\\nGive us good voyage, gentle stream\\nwe stun not, 671.\\nGive way give way I must and will\\nhave justice, 670.\\nGlowing with love, on fire for fame,\\n574.\\nGood evening, Sir Priest, and so late as\\nyou ride, 611.\\nGo sit old Cheviot s crest below, 30.\\nHail to the Chief who in triumph ad-\\nvances 218.\\nHail to thy cold and clouded beam, 315.\\nHappy thou art then happy be, 658.\\nHark the bells summon and the bu-\\ngle calls, 666.\\nHarp of the North, farewell The\\nhills grow dark, 282.\\nHarp of the North! that mouldering\\nlong hast hung, 199.\\nHawk and osprey screamed for joy,\\n522.\\nHe came amongst them like a new-\\nraised spirit, 674.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0712.jp2"}, "709": {"fulltext": "INDEX OF FIRST LINES\\n689\\nHe came but valor had so fired his\\neye, 5S1.\\nHe is gone to the mountain, 232.\\nHe strikes no coin, t is true, but coins\\nnew phrases, 662.\\nHe was a fellow in a peasant s garb,\\n673.\\nHe was a man Versed in the world as\\npilot in his compass, 665.\\nHe was a son of Egypt, as he told me,\\n674.\\nHe whose heart for vengeance sued, 615.\\nHealth to the chieftain from his clans-\\nman true 560.\\nHear what Highland Nora said, 579.\\nHeaven knows its time the bullet has\\nits billet, 683.\\nHeir lyeth John 0 ye Girnell, 581.\\nHere come we to our close for that\\nwhich follows, 676.\\nHere has been such a stormy encounter,\\n654.\\nHere is a father now, 658.\\nHere s a weapon now, 682.\\nHere stand I tight and trim, 674.\\nHere stands the victim there the\\nproud betrayer, 666.\\nHere we have one head, 679.\\nHere, youth, thy foot unbrace, 682.\\nHigh deeds achieved of knightly fame,\\n605.\\nHigh feasting was there there the\\ngilded roofs, 674.\\nHigh o er the eastern steep the sun is\\nbeaming, 666.\\nHis talk was of another world his\\nbodements, 684.\\nHither we come, 651.\\nHold fast thy truth, young soldier\\nGentle maiden, 675.\\nHow fares the man on whom good men\\nwould look, 672.\\nI asked of my harp, Who hath injured\\nthy chords? 638.\\nI beseech you, 658.\\nI climbed the dark brow of the mighty\\nHellvellyn, 47.\\nI do love these ancient ruins, 667.\\nI fear the devil worst when gown and\\ncassock, 673.\\nI knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and\\nprudent, 653.\\nI 11 give thee, good fellow, a twelve-\\nmonth or twain, 606.\\nI 11 walk on tiptoe; arm my eye with\\ncaution, 662.\\nI see thee yet, fair France thou fa-\\nvored land, 674.\\nI strive like to the vessel in the tide-\\nway, 668.\\nI was a wild and wayward boy, 359.\\nI was one, 680.\\nIf you fail honor here, 654.\\nIll fares the bark with tackle riven,\\n524.\\nIn awful ruins JStna thunders nigh, 653.\\nIn Madoc s tent the clarion sounds, 676.\\nIn respect that your Grace has com-\\nmissioned a Kraken, 562.\\nIn some breasts passion lies concealed\\nand silent, 664.\\nIn the wide pile, by others heeded not,\\n657.\\nIn the wild storm. The seaman hews\\nhis mast down, 663.\\nIndifferent, but indifferent pshaw\\nhe doth it not, 662.\\nIs this thy castle, Baldwin? Melan-\\ncholy, 659.\\nIt comes it wrings me in my parting\\nhour, 676.\\nIt chanced that Cupid on a season, 575.\\nIt is and is not t is the thing I sought\\nfor, 664.\\nIt is not texts will do it Church artil-\\nlery, 663.\\nIt is time of danger, not of revel, 665.\\nIt s up Glembarchan s braes I gaed,\\n564.\\nIt was a little naughty page, 11.\\nIt was an English ladye bright, 94.\\nIt was Dunois, the young and brave,\\nwas bound for Palestine, 574.\\nJoy to the victors, the sons of old As-\\npen, 11.\\nLate, when the autumn evening fell,\\n564.\\nLaw, take thy victim May she find\\nthe mercy, 658.\\nLet the proud salmon gorge the feath-\\nered hook, 670.\\nLet those go see who will I like it\\nnot, 656.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0713.jp2"}, "710": {"fulltext": "690\\nINDEX OF FIRST LINES\\nLife ebbs from such old age, unmarked\\nand silent, 655.\\nLife hath its May, and all is mirthful\\nthen, 663.\\nLife, with you, Glows in the brain and\\ndances in the arteries, 655.\\nLives there a strain whose sounds of\\nmounting fire, 283.\\nLord William was born in gilded bower,\\n515.\\nLook not thou on beauty s charming,\\n603.\\nLook round thee, young Astolpho\\nHere s the place, 657.\\nLoud o er my head though awful thun-\\nders roll, 653.\\nLove wakes and weeps, 623.\\nLo! where he lies embalmed in gore,\\nMacleod s wizard flag from the gray\\ncastle sallies, 593.\\nMaiden whose sorrows wail the Living\\nDead, 615.\\nMany great ones Would part with half\\ntheir states, 654.\\nMarch, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,\\n610.\\nMarry, come up, sir, with your gentle\\nblood, 672.\\nMeasures of good and evil, 647.\\nMerrily swim we, the moon shines\\nbright, 610.\\nMerry it is in the good greenwood, 243.\\nMid these wild scenes Enchantment\\nwaves her hands, 678.\\nMother darksome, Mother dread, 621.\\nMust we then sheath our still victorious\\nsword, 678.\\nMy hawk is tired of perch and hood,\\n278.\\nMy hounds may a rin masterless, 656.\\nMy tongue pads slowly under this new\\nlanguage, 679.\\nMy wayward fate I needs must plain,\\n552.\\nNay, dally not with time, the wise\\nman s treasure, 661.\\nNay, hear me, brother I am elder,\\nwiser, 663.\\nNay, let me have the friends who eat\\nmy victuals, 661.\\nNearest of blood should still be next in\\nlove, 676.\\nNecessity thou best of peace-makers,\\n673.\\nNight and morning were at meeting, 57 1\\nNo human quality is so well wove, 675.\\nNo, sir, I will not pledge I m one of\\nthose, 672.\\nNorman saw on English oak, 606.\\nNot serve two masters Here s a\\nyouth will try it, 665.\\nNot the wild billow, when it breaks its\\nbarrier, 663.\\nNovember s hail-cloud drifts away, 604.\\nNovember s sky is chill and drear, 101.\\nNow, all ye ladies of Scotland, 677.\\nNow bid the steeple rock she comes,\\nshe comes, 666.\\nNow, by Our Lady, Sheriff, t is hard\\nreckoning, 662.\\nNow choose thee, gallant, betwixt\\nwealth and honor, 662.\\nNow fare thee well, my master, if true\\nservice, 666.\\nNow God be good to me in this wild\\npilgrimage, 665.\\nNow, hoist the anchor, mates\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and\\nlet the sails, 673.\\nNow let us sit in conclave. That these\\nweeds, 661.\\nNow on my faith this gear is all entan-\\ngled, 663.\\nNow Scot and English are agreed, 668.\\nO ay the Monks, the Monks, they did\\nthe mischief 660.\\nO, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 333.\\nO, dread was the time, and more\\ndreadful the omen, 558.\\nO for a draught of power to steep, 680.\\nO for a glance of that gay Muse s eye,\\n582.\\nO for the voice of that wild horn, 591.\\nO hone a rie O hone a rie 13.\\nO, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a\\nknight, 577.\\nO, I do know him tis the mouldy\\nlemon, 669.\\nO, lady, twine no wreath for me, 357.\\nO listen, listen, ladies gay 97.\\nO, lovers eyes are sharp to see, 548.\\nO, low shone the sun on the fair lake\\nof Toro, 547.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0714.jp2"}, "711": {"fulltext": "INDEX OF FIRST LINES\\n691\\nO maid of Isla from the cliff, 627.\\nO, open the door, some pity to show,\\n547.\\nO, sadly shines the morning sun, 676.\\nO, say not, my love, with that mortified\\nair, 551.\\nO, tell me, Harper, wherefore flow, 557.\\nO, thus it was he loved him dear, 680.\\nO, who rides by night thro the wood-\\nland so wild 9.\\nO, will ye hear a knightly tale of old\\nBohemian day, 599.\\nO, will ye hear a mirthful bourd 36.\\nOf all the birds on bush or tree, 616.\\nOf yore, in old England, it was not\\nthought good, 636.\\nOh, I m come to the Low Country,\\n644.\\nOh young Lochinvar is come out of\\nthe west, 165.\\nOh you would be a vestal maid, I war-\\nrant, 676.\\nOn Ettrick Forest s mountains dun,\\n627.\\nOn Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you boune\\nye to rest, 565.\\nOnce again, but how changed since\\nmy wanderings began, 577.\\nOne thing is certain in our Northern\\nland, 677.\\nOur counsels waver like the unsteady\\nbark, 675.\\nOur vicar still preaches that Peter and\\nPoule, 269.\\nOver the mountains and under the\\nPainters show Cupid blind hath Hy-\\nmen eyes 674.\\nParental love, my friend, has power\\no er wisdom, 668.\\nPibroch of Donuil Dhu, 578.\\nPlain as her native dignity of mind,\\n603.\\nPoor sinners whom the snake deceives,\\n627.\\nQuake to your foundation deep, 418.\\nRash adventurer, bear thee back, 413.\\nRed glows the forge in Striguil s\\nbounds, 546.\\nRemorse she ne er forsakes us 655.\\nRescue or none, Sir Knight, I am your\\ncaptive, 675.\\nRing out the merry bells, the bride ap-\\nproaches, 677.\\nSay not my art is fraud all live by\\nseeming, 660.\\nSee the treasure Merlin piled, 415.\\nSee yonder woman, whom our swains\\nrevere, 667.\\nShe does no work by halves, yon raving\\nocean, 667.\\nShe may be fair, he sang, but yet,\\n525.\\nSince here we are set in array round\\nthe table, 549.\\nSir, stay at home and take an old man s\\ncounsel, 658.\\nSo sung the old bard in the grief of\\nhis heart, 570.\\nSo, while the Goose, of whom the fable\\ntold, 656.\\nSoft spread the southern summer night,\\n571.\\nSoldier, rest thy warfare o er, 210.\\nSoldier, wake the day is peeping, 637.\\nSometimes he thinks that Heaven this\\nvision sent, 654.\\nSon of a witch, 643.\\nSon of Honor, theme of story, 417.\\nSound, sound the clarion, fill the fife\\n657.\\nSpeak not of niceness, when there s\\nchance for wreck, 673.\\nStaffa, sprung from high Macdonald,\\n559.\\nStern eagle of the far Northwest, 617.\\nStern was the law which bade its vota-\\nries leave, 660.\\nStill in his dead hand clenched remain\\nthe strings, 655.\\nStill though the headlong cavalier, 676.\\nStrange ape of man who loathes thee\\nwhile he scorns thee, 683.\\nSummer eve is gone and past, 354.\\nSweet shone the sun on the fair lake of\\nToro, 12.\\nTake these flowers which, purple\\nwaving, 9.\\nTake thou no scorn, 609.\\nTell me not of it, friend when the\\nyoung weep, 654.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0715.jp2"}, "712": {"fulltext": "692\\nINDEX OF FIRST LINES\\nTell me not of it I could ne er abide,\\n681.\\nThat s right, friend drive the gait-\\nlings back, 633.\\nThe ashes here of murdered kings, 680.\\nThe Baron of Smaylho me rose with\\nday, 18.\\nThe bleakest rock upon the loneliest\\nheath, 656.\\nThe course of human life is changeful\\nstill, 673.\\nThe deadliest snakes are those which,\\ntwined mongst flowers, 679.\\nThe Druid Urien had daughters seven,\\n531.\\nThe forest of Glenmore is drear, 46.\\nThe hearth in hall was black and dead,\\n658.\\nThe heath this night must be my bed,\\n235.\\nThe herring loves the merry moon-\\nlight, 581.\\nThe hottest horse will oft be cool, 659.\\nThe Knight s to the mountain, 564.\\nThe last of our steers on the board has\\nbeen spread, 647.\\nThe Lord Abbot had a soul, 654.\\nThe Minstrel came once more to view,\\n273.\\nThe monk must arise when the matins\\nring, 603.\\nThe moon is in her summer glow, 302.\\nThe moon s on the lake and the mist s\\non the brae, 579.\\nThe news has flown frae mouth to\\nmouth, 629.\\nThe parties met. The wily, wordy\\nGreek, 683.\\nThe Pope he was saying the high, high\\nmass, 21.\\nThe sacred tapers lights are gone,\\n663.\\nThe sages for authority, pray, look,\\n635.\\nThe sound of Rokeby s words I hear,\\n361.\\nThe storm increases t is no sunny\\nshower, 682.\\nThe sun is rising dimly red, 619.\\nThe sun upon the lake is low, 648.\\nThe sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, 591.\\nThe tears I shed must ever fall, 678.\\nThe violet in her greenwood bower, 9.\\nThe way is long, my children, long and\\nrough 684.\\nThe way was long, the wind was cold,\\n48.\\nThe Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, 5.\\nThe wisest sovereigns err like private\\nmen, 666.\\nThere are times, 680.\\nThere came three merry men from\\nsouth, west, and north, 609.\\nThere is a mood of mind we all have\\nknown, 506.\\nThere is mist on the mountain, and\\nnight on the vale, 566.\\nThere must be government in all so-\\nciety 675.\\nThere s something in that ancient\\nsuperstition, 661.\\nThese be the adept s doctrines every\\nelement, 681.\\nThese were wild times the antipodes\\nof ours, 683.\\nThey bid me sleep, they bid me pray,\\n247.\\nThings needful we have thought on\\nbut the thing, 669.\\nThis is a gentle trader and a prudent,\\n667.\\nThis is a lecturer so skilled in policy,\\n674.\\nThis is a love meeting See the maid-\\nen mourns, 672.\\nThis is he Who rides on the court-\\ngale, 665.\\nThis is rare news thou tell st me, my\\ngood fellow, 665.\\nThis is some creature of the elements,\\n673.\\nThis is the day when the fairy kind, 613.\\nThis is the Prince of Leeches fever,\\nplague, 677.\\nThis is the very barn-yard, 670.\\nThis, sir, is one among the Seigniory,\\n668.\\nThis superb successor, 682.\\nThis wandering race, severed from\\nother men, 659.\\nThis was the entry, then these stairs\\nbut whither after 659.\\nThis way lie safety and a sure retreat,\\n671.\\nThose evening clouds, that setting\\nray, 653.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0716.jp2"}, "713": {"fulltext": "INDEX OF FIRST LINES\\n693\\nThou hast each secret of the house-\\nhold, Francis, 663.\\nThou who seek st my fountain lone,\\n616.\\nThough right be aft put down by\\nstrength, 568.\\nThrice to the holly brake, 612.\\nThrough the vain webs, which puzzle\\nsophists skill, 682.\\nThy time is not yet out the devil thou\\nservest, 675.\\nT is a weary life this 664.\\nTis not alone the scene the man,\\nAnselmo, 667.\\nT is not her sense for sure, in that,\\n677.\\nT is strange that in the dark sulphure-\\nous mine, 683.\\nT is sweet to hear expiring Summer s\\nsigh, 553.\\nTis the black ban-dog of our jail\\npray look on him, 673.\\nT is when the wound is stiffening with\\nthe cold, 662.\\nToll, toll the bell 682.\\nTo horse to horse the standard flies,\\n10.\\nTo man in this his trial state, 657.\\nTo the Lords of Convention t was\\nClaver se who spoke, 649.\\nTo youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale,\\n648.\\nToo much rest is rust, 677.\\nTraquair has ridden up Chapel-hope, 38.\\nTrue-love, an thou be true, 658.\\nTrue Thomas sat on Huntlie bank, 40.\\nTrust me, each state must have its\\npolicies, 660.\\nTwas a Marechal of France, and he\\nfain would honor gain, 557.\\nT was All-souls eve, and Surrey s heart\\nbeat high, 95.\\nT was near the fair city of Bene vent,\\n640.\\nT was time and griefs, 656.\\nT was when among our linden-trees,\\n596.\\nTwist ye, twine ye even so, 576.\\nUpon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they\\ncluster, 681.\\nUp rose the sun o er moor and mead,\\n645.\\nVain man, thou mayst esteem thy love\\nas fair, 682.\\nViewless Essence, thin and bare, 645.\\nWaken, lords and ladies gay, 551.\\nWant you a man, 681.\\nWasted, weary, wherefore stay, 576.\\nWe are bound to drive the bullocks,\\n568.\\nWe are not worse at once the course\\nof evil, 672.\\nWe do that in our zeal, 679.\\nWe know not when we sleep nor when\\nwe wake, 681.\\nWe 11 keep our customs what is law\\nitself, 667.\\nWe love the shrill trumpet, we love\\nthe drum s rattle, 649.\\nWe meet, as men see phantoms in a\\ndream, 673.\\nWelcome, grave stranger, to our green\\nretreats, 553.\\nWell, then, our course is chosen spread\\nthe sail 665.\\nWell, well, at worst, t is neither theft\\nnor coinage, 655.\\nWere ever such two loving friends\\n679.\\nWere every hair upon his head a life,\\n677.\\nWhat brave chief shall head the forces,\\n640.\\nWhat dazzled by a flash of Cupid s\\nmirror, 670.\\nWhat ho, my jovial mates! come on\\nwe 11 frolic it, 668.\\nWhat makes the troopers frozen cour-\\nage muster, 12\\nWhat, man, ne er lack a draught when\\nthe full can, 666.\\nWhat sheeted ghost is wandering\\nthrough the storm, 676.\\nWheel the wild dance, 573.\\nWhen autumn nights were long and\\ndrear, 659.\\nWhen beauty leads the lion in her toils,\\n678.\\nWhen friends are met o er merry cheer,\\n651.\\nWhen fruitful Clydesdale s apple bow-\\ners, 27.\\nWhen Israel of the Lord beloved, 608.\\nWhen princely Hamilton s abode, 32.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0717.jp2"}, "714": {"fulltext": "694\\nINDEX OF FIRST LINES\\nWhen Princes meet, astrologers may\\nmark it, 675.\\nWhen the gledd s in the blue cloud,\\n595.\\nWhen the heathen trumpet s clang, 592.\\nWhen the last Laird of Ravenswood to\\nRavenswood shall ride, 604.\\nWhen the lone pilgrim views afar, 589.\\nWhen the tempest s at the loudest, 649.\\nWhen we two meet, we meet like rush-\\ning torrents, 681.\\nWhence the brooch of burning gold,\\n434.\\nWhere is he Has the deep earth\\nswallowed him 684.\\nWhere shall the lover rest, 136.\\nWherefore come ye not to court, 669.\\nWhet the bright steel, 607.\\nWhile the dawn on the mountain was\\nmisty and gray, 360.\\nWho is he One that for the lack of\\nland, 654.\\nWhy, now I have Dame Fortune by the\\nforelock, 659.\\nWhy sit st thou by that ruined hall,\\n581.\\nWhy, then, we will have bellowing of\\nbeeves, 672.\\nWhy weep ye by the tide, ladie\\n578.\\nWidowed wife and wedded maid, 639.\\nWithout a ruin, broken, tangled,\\ncumbrous, 683.\\n1 Woe to the vanquished was stern\\nBrenno s word, 657.\\nWoman s\\n638.\\nfaith, and woman s trust,\\nYes I love Justice well as well as\\nyou do 655.\\nYes, it is she whose eyes looked on thy\\nchildhood, 664.\\nYes, life hath left him every busy\\nthought, 662.\\nYes, thou mayst sigh, 645.\\nYon path of greensward, 679.\\nYou call it an ill angel it may be so,\\n662.\\nYou call this education, do you not,\\n661.\\nYou shall have no worse person than\\nmy chamber, 672.\\nYou talk of gayety and innocence, 677.\\nYoung men will love thee more fair\\nand more fast, 566.\\nYour suppliant, by name, 628.\\nYouth of the dark eye, wherefore didst\\nthou call me 612.\\nYouth thou wear st to manhood now,\\n664.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0718.jp2"}, "715": {"fulltext": "INDEX OF TITLES\\n[The titles of major works and of general divisions are set in small capitals.]\\nAbbot, The, mottoes from, 663.\\n1 Admire not that I gained, 649.\\nAlbert Graeme s Song, 94.\\nAlexandre, M., the celebrated Ventri-\\nloquist, Lines addressed to, 636.\\nAlice Brand, 243.\\nAUen-a-Dale, 338.\\nAncient Gaelic Melody, 604.\\nAnd did ye not hear of a mirth be-\\nfell, 563.\\nAnne of Geierstein, verses from, 645\\nmottoes from, 680.\\nAnswer to Introductory Epistle, 609.\\nAntiquary, The, verses from, 581\\nmottoes from, 653.\\nAppeal, The, Epilogue to, 593.\\nAs lords their laborers hire delay,\\n636.\\nAvenel, Mary, To, 615.\\nBallads\\nAlice Brand, 243.\\n4 And whither would you lead me\\nthen, 363.\\nCastle of the Seven Shields, The,\\n531.\\nBallads from the German op Burger,\\nTwo, 1.\\nBannatyne Club, The, 632.\\nBard s Incantation, The, 46.\\nBarefooted Friar, The, 606.\\nBattle of Beal an Duine, 273.\\nBattle of Sempach, The, 596.\\nBetrothed, The, songs from, 637\\nmottoes from, 676.\\nBlack Dwarf, The, mottoes from, 656.\\nBlack Knight and Wamba, The, 608,\\n609.\\nBloody Vest, The, 640.\\nBoat Song, 218.\\nBold Dragoon, The, 557.\\nBonny Dundee, 649.\\nBorder Song, 610.\\nBothwell Castle, 27.\\nBridal of Trlermain, The, 384.\\nBride of Lammermoor, The, songs\\nfrom, 603 mottoes from, 658.\\nBrooch of Lorn, The, 434.\\nBryce Snailsfoot s Advertisement, 627.\\nBuccleuch, Duke of, To his Grace the,\\n560.\\nBut follow, follow me, 568.\\nBy pathless march, by greenwood\\ntree, 642.\\nCadyow Castle, 32.\\nCanny moment, lucky fit, 576.\\nCastle Dangerous, mottoes from, 684.\\nCastle of the Seven Shields, The, 531.\\nCatch of Cowley s Altered, A, 635.\\nCavalier, The, 360.\\nCheviot, 30.\\nChristie s Will, 38.\\nChronicles of the Canon-Gate, verses\\nfrom, 644; mottoes from, 679.\\nCleveland s Songs, 623.\\nCoronach, 232.\\nCount Robert of Paris, mottoes from,\\n682.\\nCounty Guy, 633.\\nCrusader s Return, The, 605.\\nCypress Wreath, The, 357.\\nDance of Death, The, 571.\\nDark Ahriman, whom Irak still, 639.\\nDark shall be light, 577.\\nDead, Hymn for the, 100.\\nDeath Chant, 645.\\nI Death of Keeldar, The, 645.\\nDe Wilton s History, 183.\\nDonald Caird s Come Again, 594.\\nDoom of Devorgoil, The, songs from,\\n648.\\nDying Bard, The, 546.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0719.jp2"}, "716": {"fulltext": "696\\nINDEX OF TITLES\\nEarly Ballads and Lyeics, 9.\\nHarold Harfager s Song, 619.\\nEdward the Black Prince, To the Mem-\\nHarold the Dauntless, 506.\\nory of, 591.\\nHarold s Song, 97.\\nEpilogue The sages for authority,\\nHarp, The, 359.\\npray, look 635.\\nHe came, but valor had so fired his\\nEpilogue to The Appeal, 593.\\neye, 581.\\nEpilogue to the Drama founded on\\nHealth to Lord Melville, 549.\\nSaint Ronan s Well, 633.\\nHeart of Midlothian, The, songs from,\\nEpitaph designed for a monument in\\n595 mottoes from, 657.\\nLichfield Cathedral, 552.\\nHellvellyn, 47.\\nEpitaph Heir lyeth John 0 ye Gir-\\n1 Hie away, hie away, 565.\\nnell 581.\\nHither we come, 651.\\nEpitaph on Mrs. Erskine, 603.\\nHost s Tale, The, 138.\\nErl-King, The, 9.\\nHour with Thee, An, 643.\\nEve of Saint John, The, 18.\\n4 House of Aspen, The, songs from, 11.\\nHunting Song, 551.\\nFair Maid of Perth, The, verses from,\\nHymns\\n644 mottoes from, 680.\\nFuneral, 609.\\nFamily Legend, The, Prologue to,\\nfor the Dead, 100.\\n553.\\nRebecca s, 608.\\nFarewell, The, 361.\\nto the Virgin, 237.\\nFarewell to Mackenzie, 569.\\nFarewell to the Muse, 628.\\nI asked of my harp, 638.\\nFeeld op Waterloo, The, 496.\\nImitation (of the Farewell to Macken-\\nFire-King, The, 23.\\nzie), 570.\\nFisherman s Song, The, 623.\\nImprisoned Huntsman, Lay of the,\\nFitztraver s Song, 95.\\n278.\\nFlora Maclvor s Song, 566.\\nInscription for the Monument of the\\nFor a That an a That, 568.\\nRev. George Scott, 648.\\nForay, The, 647.\\nInvocation From thy Pomeranian\\nFortune, Lines on, 651.\\nthrone 519.\\nFortunes of Nigel, The, lines from,\\nIt s up Glembarchan s braes I gaed,\\n628; mottoes from, 668.\\n564.\\nFrederick and Alice, 31.\\nIvanhoe, verses from, 605; mottoes\\nFrom the French, 575.\\nfrom, 659.\\nFrom Virgil, 651.\\nFuneral Hymn, 609.\\nJock of Hazeldean, 578.\\nJuvenile Lines, 653.\\nGlee for King Charles, 643.\\nGlencoe, On the Massacre of, 557.\\nKenilworth, song from, 616; mot-\\nGlendinning, Edward, To, 616.\\ntoes from, 665.\\nGlenfinlas, 13.\\nKemble s, Mr., Farewell Address, 590.\\nGoetz von Berlichingen, Song from, 11.\\nGoldthred s Song, 616.\\nLady op the Lake, The, 199.\\nGray Brother, The, 21.\\nLady, To a, 9.\\nGuy Mannering, songs from, 576.\\nLament, 277.\\nLate, when the autumn evening fell,\\nHalbert, To (The White Maid of Ave-\\n564.\\nnel), 612, 613, 615.\\nLay of Poor Louise, The, 644.\\nHalbert s Incantation, 612.\\nLay of the Imprisoned Huntsman, 278.\\nHalcro and Noma, 621.\\nLay op the Last Minstrel, The, 48.\\nHalcro s Song, 618.\\nLegend of Montrose, The, songs from,\\nHalcro s Verses, 624.\\n604 mottoes from, 659.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0720.jp2"}, "717": {"fulltext": "INDEX OF TITLES\\n697\\nLetters in verse, 560.\\nLines addressed to M. Alexandre, the\\ncelebrated ventriloquist, 636 ad-\\ndressed to Ranald Macdonald. Esq.,\\nof Staff a, 559 on Fortune, 651 to\\nSir Cuthbert Sharp, 643 written for\\nMiss Smith. 5S9.\\nLochinvar, 165.\\nLockhart, Esq.. J. G., To, 636.\\n1 Look not thou on beauty s charm-\\ning, 603.\\nLOED OF THE ISLES, THE, 421.\\nLord Ronald s Coronach, 13.\\nLullaby of an Infant Chief, 577.\\nLyulph s Tale. 389.\\nMacdonald, Ranald, Esq.. of Starra.\\nLines addressed to, 559.\\nMacGregor s Gathering. 579.\\nMackrimmon s Lament, 593.\\nMadge Wildfire s Songs, 595.\\nMaid of Isla, The, 627.\\nMaid of Neidpath, The, 548.\\nMaid of Toro, The, 547.\\nMARMION, 101.\\nMassacre at Glencoe, On the. 557.\\nMelville. Lord. Health to, 549.\\nMermaids and Mermen s Song. 619.\\nMiscellaneous Poems, 546.\\nMonastery, The. verses from. 609\\nmottoes from. 660.\\nMonks of Bangor s March, The, 591.\\nMoon. Song to the, 315.\\nMottoes from the Novels. 6-53\\nMortham s History. 346.\\nNigel s Initiation at Whitefriars, 628.\\nNoble Moringer, The. 599.\\nNora s Vow. 579.\\nNoma s Incantations, 625. The same.\\nat the meeting with Minna, 625.\\nNoma s Verses. 620.\\nNorman Horse-Shoe, The, 546.\\nNorman Saw on English Oak. 606.\\nOak Tree. To an. 567.\\nOld Mortality, mottoes from, 656.\\nOn a Thunder-Storm, 653.\\nOn Ettrick Forest s Mountains Dun.\\n627.\\nOn the Massacre of Glencoe, 557.\\nOn the Setting Sun, 653.\\nOrphan Maid, The, 604.\\nPeak, mottoes from.\\nmot-\\nPalmer, The, 541\\nPeveril of the\\n672.\\nPibroch of Donald Dim. 578.\\nPirate, The, verses from, 617\\ntoes from. 667.\\nPoacher, The, 553.\\nPostscriptum. 562.\\nPrologue to Miss Baillie s Play of\\nFamily Legend, 553.\\nThe\\nQuentin Durward, mottoes from. 674.\\nQuest of Sultaun Solimaun. The. 582.\\nRebecca s Hymn, 608.\\nRedgauntlet, verses from. 635.\\nReiver s Wedding. The, 36.\\nResolve, The, 552.\\nReturn to Ulster. The. 577.\\nRhein-Wein Lied. 12.\\nRob Roy, song from, 591 mottoes\\nfrom, 657.\\nRokeey, 302,\\nRomance of Dunois. 574.\\nSaint Cloud. 571.\\nSaint Ronan s Well, mottoes from, 675.\\nSt. Swithin s Chair. 565.\\nScott, Rev. George, Inscription for the\\nMonument of, 648.\\nSearch after Happiness, The, 582.\\nSecret Tribunal, The, 647.\\nSetting Sun. On the, 653.\\nSharp. Sir Cuthbert. Lines to. 643.\\nShepherd s Tale. The, 27.\\nSir David Lindesay s Tale. 151.\\nSmith. Miss, Lines written for, 589.\\nSoldier, wake 637.\\nSoldier s Song, 269.\\nSon of a Witch, 643.\\nSongs\\n1 Admire not that I gained, 649.\\nAlbert Graeme s, 94.\\nAllen-a-Dale, 338.\\nAncient Gaelic Melody, 604.\\n1 And did ye not hear of a mirth\\nbefell, 563.\\nBoat Song, 218.\\nBonny Dundee, 649.\\nBorder Song, 610.\\nBrooch of Lorn, The, 434.\\n1 But follow, follow me, 568.\\n1 Canny moment, lucky fit, 576.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0721.jp2"}, "718": {"fulltext": "698\\nINDEX OF TITLES\\nCavalier, The, 360.\\n0, say not, my love, with that\\nCleveland s, 623.\\nmortified air, 551.\\nCypress Wreath, The, 357.\\nOn the Lifting of the Banner of\\nDark shall be light, 577.\\nthe House of Buccleuch, 575.\\n1 Donald Caird s Come Again, 594.\\nOrphan Maid, The, 604.\\nFarewell, The, 361.\\nQuake to your foundation deep,\\nFarewell to Mackenzie, 569.\\n418.\\nFisherman s, The, 623.\\nRash adventurer, bear thee back,\\nFitztraver s, 95.\\n413.\\nFlora Maclvor s, 566.\\nSt. Swithin s Chair, 565.\\nFor a That an a That, 568.\\nSee the treasure Merlin piled,\\nFor the Anniversary of the Pitt\\n415.\\nClub of Scotland, 558.\\nShe may be fair, he sang, but\\nGlee of King Charles, 643.\\nyet, 525.\\nGlee-Maiden s, 645.\\nSoldier, rest! thy warfare o er,\\nGoetz von Berlichingen, from, 11.\\n210.\\nGod protect brave Alexander,\\nSoldier, wake 637.\\n580.\\nSoldier s, 269.\\nGoldthred s, 616.\\nSon of Honor, theme of story,\\nHawk and osprey screamed for\\n417.\\njoy, 522.\\nSummer eve is gone and past,\\nHalcro s, 618.\\n354.\\nHarold Harfager s, 619.\\nSun upon the Lake, The, 648.\\nHarold s, 97.\\nTempest, of the, 617.\\nHarp, The, 359.\\nThe heath this night must be my\\n1 Highland Widow, The, from, 644.\\nbed, 235.\\nHouse of Aspen, from the, 11.\\nThe Knight s to the mountain, 1\\nHie away, hie away, 565.\\n564.\\nHunting Song, 551.\\nThe monk must arise when the\\nI asked of my harp, 638.\\nmatins ring, 603.\\nIll fares the bark with tackle\\nThey bid me sleep, they bid me\\nriven, 524.\\npray, 247.\\n4 It s up Glembarchan s braes I\\nTwist ye, twine ye! even so,\\ngaed, 564.\\n576.\\nLochinvar, Lady Heron s Song,\\nWar-Song, 607.\\n165.\\nWar-Song of Lachlan, 570.\\nLook not thou on beauty s charm-\\nWar-Song of the Royal Edinburgh\\ning, 603.\\nLight Dragoons, 10.\\nLord William was born in gilded\\nWasted, weary, wherefore stay,\\nbower, 515.\\n576.\\nLullaby of an Infant Chief, 577.\\nWe love the shrill trumpet, 649.\\nMadge Wildfire s, 595.\\nWheel the wild dance, 573.\\nMaid of Isla, The, 627.\\nWhen friends are met, 651.\\nMermaids and Mermen, of the, 619.\\nWhen the last Laird of Ravens-\\nMonks of Bangor s March, The,\\nwood to Ravenswood shall ride,\\n592.\\n604.\\nNot faster yonder rower s might,\\nWhen the tempest, 649.\\n212.\\nWhere shall the lover rest, 136.\\nMoon, To the, 315.\\nWhite Lady of Avenel, of the\\n0, Brignall banks are wild and\\n(Fording the river), 610.\\nfair, 333.\\nWidowed wife and wedded maid,\\nfor the voice of that wild horn,\\n639.\\n591.\\nWoman s faith, 638.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0722.jp2"}, "719": {"fulltext": "INDEX OF TITLES\\n699\\nYoung men will love thee more\\nfair and more fast 566.\\nSun upon the Lake, The, 648.\\nSun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, The, 591.\\nTalisman, The, verses from, 639 mot-\\ntoes from, 677.\\nTempest, Song of the, 617.\\n1 The herring loves the merry moon-\\nlight, 581.\\nThe Knight s to the mountain, 564.\\n1 The monk must arise when the matins\\nring, 603.\\nThomas the Rhymer, 40.\\n4 Thou, so needful, yet so dread, 625.\\nThunder-Storm, On a, 653.\\nTo a Lady, 9.\\nTo an Oak Tree, 567.\\nTo Edward Glendinning, 616.\\nTo Halbert (The White Maid of Ave-\\nnel), 612.\\nTo his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch,\\n560.\\nTo J. G. Lockhart, Esq., 636.\\nTo Mary Avenel, 615.\\nTo the Memory of Edward the Black\\nPrince, 591.\\nTo the Sub-Prior, 611.\\nTroubadour, The, 574.\\n4 Twist ye, twine ye even so, 576.\\nVerses sung at the dinner to the Grand-\\nduke Nicholas, 580.\\nViolet, The, 9.\\nVirgil, From, 653.\\nVirgin, Hymn to the, 237.\\nVision of Don Roderick, The, 283.\\nWandering Willie, 548.\\nWar-Song, 607.\\nWar-Song of Lachlan, 570.\\nWar -Song of the Royal Edinburgh\\nLight Dragoons, 10.\\n4 Wasted, weary, wherefore stay, 576.\\nWaverley, songs and verses from, 563.\\n4 We are bound to drive the bullocks,\\n568.\\n4 We love the shrill trumpet, 649.\\nWhat brave chief shall head the\\nforces, 640.\\n4 When friends are met, 651.\\n4 When the last Laird of Ravenswood\\nto Ravenswood shall ride, 604.\\nWhen the tempest, 649.\\nWhite Lady s Farewell, The, 616.\\nWhite Lady of Avenel, Songs of the,\\n610.\\n4 Why sit st thou by that ruined hall,\\n581.\\nWidowed wife and wedded maid,\\n639.\\nWild Huntsman, The, 5.\\nWilliam and Helen, 1.\\nWoman s Faith, 638.\\n4 Woodstock, verses from, 642; mot-\\ntoes from, 678.\\n4 Young men will love thee more fair\\nand more fast, 566.", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0723.jp2"}, "720": {"fulltext": "ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED\\nBY H. O. HOUGHTON AND CO.\\nCAMBRIDGE, MASS., U. S. A.", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0724.jp2"}, "721": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0725.jp2"}, "722": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0726.jp2"}, "723": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0727.jp2"}, "724": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0728.jp2"}, "725": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0729.jp2"}, "726": {"fulltext": "JUL 24 1900", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0730.jp2"}, "727": {"fulltext": "", "height": "4142", "width": "2629", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0731.jp2"}, "728": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS", "height": "4235", "width": "2675", "jp2-path": "completepoetical00sc_0732.jp2"}}