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While thy capacious stream has equal room

For the gay bark where pleasure's streamers sport, And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom,

The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court, Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port.

Stern tide of time! through what mysterious change
Of hope and fear have our frail barks been driven?
For ne'er, before, vicissitude so strange

Was to one race of Adam's offspring given.
And sure such varied change of sea and heaven,
Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe,
Such fearful strife as that where we have striven,

Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know,

Until the awful term when thou shalt cease to flow.

Well hast thou stood, my country!—the brave fight

Hast well maintain'd through good report and ill; In thy just cause and in thy native might,

And in Heaven's grace and justice constant still. Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill

Of half the world against thee, stood array'd, Or when, with better views and freer will,

Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade, Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid.

Well thou art now repaid--though slowly rose,

And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame, While like the dawn that in the orient glows On the broad wave its earlier lustre came; Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame,

And Maida's myrtles gleam'd beneath its ray, Where first the soldier, stung with generous shame, Rivall'd the heroes of the watery way,

And wash'd in foemen's gore unjust reproach away.

Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high,
And bid the banner of thy patron flow,
Gallant Saint George, the flower of chivalry!
For thou hast faced, like him, a dragon foe,
And rescued innocence from overthrow,

And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might,
And to the gazing world mayst proudly show
The chosen emblem of thy sainted knight,
Who quell'd devouring pride, and vindicated right.

Yet 'mid the confidence of just renown,
Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired,
Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down;

'T is not alone the heart with valour fired, The discipline so dreaded and admired,

In many a field of bloody conquest known; -Such may by fame be lured-by gold be hired'T is constancy in the good cause alone, Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won.

NOTES.

Note 1. Stanza ii.

The peasant, at his labour blithe,

Plies the hook'd staff and shorten'd scythe. The reaper in Flanders carries in his left hand a stick with an iron hook, with which he collects as much

grain as he can cut at one sweep with a short scythe, which he holds in his right hand. They carry on this double process with great spirit and dexterity.

Note 2. Stanza ix.

Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine.

It was affirmed by the prisoners of war, that Bonaparte had promised his army, in case of victory, twenty-four hours' plunder of the city of Brussels. Note 3. Stanza x.

Confront the battery's jaws of flame!
Rush on the levell'd gun!"

The characteristic obstinacy of Napoleon was never more fully displayed than in what we may be permitted to hope will prove the last of his fields. He would listen to no advice, and allow of no obstacles. An eye-witness has given the following account of his demeanour towards the end of the action :

<< It was near seven o'clock; Bonaparte, who, till then, had remained upon the ridge of the hill whence he could best behold what passed, contemplated, with a stern countenance, the scene of this horrible slaughter. The more that obstacles seemed to multiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to increase. He became indignant at these unforeseen difficulties; and, far from fearing to push to extremities an army whose confidence in him was boundless, he ceased not to pour down fresh troops, and to give orders to march forward-to charge with the bayonet-to carry by storm. He was repeatedly informed, from different points, that the day went against him, and that the troops seemed to be disordered; to which he only replied,—' En avant! en avant!

<< One general sent to inform the emperor that he was in a position which he could not maintain, because it was commanded by a battery, and requested to know, at the same time, in what way he should protect his division from the murderous fire of the English artillery. Let him storm the battery,' replied Bonaparte, and turned his back on the aide-de-camp who brought the message.»-Relation de la bataille du Mont SaintJean, par un Témoin Oculaire : Paris, 1815, octavo, P. 51. Note 4. Stanza x.

The fate their leader shunn'd to share.

It has been reported that Bonaparte charged at the head of his guards at the last period of this dreadful conflict. This, however, is not accurate. He came down, indeed, to a hollow part of the high-road leading to Charleroi, within less than a quarter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sainte, one of the points most fiercely disputed. Here he harangued the guards, and informed them that his preceding operations had destroyed the British infantry and cavalry, and that they had only to support the fire of the artillery, which they were to attack with the bayonet. This exhortation was received with shouts of Vive l'Empereur, which were heard over all our line, and led to an idea that Napoleon was charging in person. But the guards were led on by Ney; nor did Bonaparte approach nearer the scene of action than the spot already mentioned, which the rising banks on each side rendered secure from all such balls as did not come in a straight line. Ile witnessed the earlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, particularly from an observatory which

had been placed there by the king of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the purpose of surveying the country. It is not meant to infer from these particulars that Napoleon showed, on that memorable occasion, the least deficiency in personal courage; on the contrary, he evinced the greatest composure and presence of mind during the whole action. But it is no less true that report has erred in ascribing to him any desperate efforts of valour for recovery of the battle; and it is remarkable, that during the whole carnage, none of his suite were either killed or wounded, whereas scarcely one of the Duke of Wellington's personal attendants escaped unhurt.

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cavalry mingling with those of the enemy, to « a thousand tinkers at work mending pots and kettles.» Note 7. Stanza xiii.

Or will thy chosen brook to feel

The British shock of levell'd steel?

No persuasion or authority could prevail upon the French troops to stand the shock of the bayonet. The imperial guards, in particular, hardly stood still till the British were within thirty yards of them, although the French author, already quoted, has put into their mouths the magnanimous sentiment, «< the guards never yield— they die.» The same author has covered the plateau, or eminence of St-Jean, which formed the British position, with redoubts and entrenchments which never had an existence. As the narrative, which is in many respects curious, was written by an eye-witness, he was probably deceived by the appearance of a road and ditch which runs along part of the hill. It may be also mentioned, in criticising this work, that the writer states the Château of Hougoumont to have been carried by the French, although it was resolutely and successfully defended during the whole action. The enemy, indeed, possessed themselves of the wood by which it is surrounded, and at length set fire to the house itself; but the British (a detachment of the guards, under the command of Colonel Macdonnell, and afterwards of Colonel Home) made good the garden, and thus preserved, by their desperate resistance, the post which covered the return of the Duke of Wellington's right flank.

Halidon Hill;

A DRAMATIC SKETCH FROM SCOTTISH HISTORY.

Knights, squires, and steeds, shall enter on the stage.

Essay on Criticism.

TO JOANNA BAILLIE,

AT WHOSE INSTANCE THE TASK WAS UNDERTAKEN,

These Scenes are Inscribed,

AS A SLIGHT TESTIMONY OF THE AUTHOR'S HIGH RESPECT FOR HER TALENTS, AS WELL AS OF HIS SINCERE AND FAITHFUL FRIENDSHIP.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THOUGH the public seldom takes much interest in such communications (nor is there any reason why they should), the author takes the liberty of stating, that these scenes were commenced with the purpose of contributing to a miscellany projected by a much esteemed friend. But instead of being confined to a scene or two as intended, the work gradually swelled to the size of an independent publication. It is designed to illustrate military antiquities, and the manners of chivalry. The Drama (if it can be termed one) is in no particular either designed or calculated for the stage; so that in case any attempt shall be made to produce it in action (as has happened in similar cases), the author takes

the present opportunity to intimate, that it shall be solely at the peril of those who make such au experi

ment.

The subject is to be found in Scottish history; but not to overload so slight a publication with antiquarian research, or quotations from obscure chronicles, may be sufficiently illustrated by the following passage from PINKERTON'S History of Scotland, vol. I, p. 71.

<< The Governor (anno 1402) dispatched a considerable force under Murdac, his eldest son; the Earls of Angus and Moray also joined Douglas, who entered England with an army of ten thousand men, carrying terror and devastation to the walls of Newcastle.

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March, collected a numerous array and awaited the re-reason, for who would again venture to introduce upon turn of the Scots, impeded with spoil, near Milfield, in the north part of Northumberland. Douglas had reached Wooler, in his return, and, perceiving the enemy, seized a strong post between the two armies, called Homildon-hill. In this method he rivalled his predecessor at the battle of Otterburn, but not with like success. The English advanced to the assault, and Henry Percy was about to lead them up the hill, when March caught his bridle, and advised him to advance no farther, but to pour the dreadful shower of English arrows into the enemy. This advice was followed with the usual fortune; for in all ages the bow was the English weapon of victory, and though the Scots, and perhaps the French, were superior in the use of the spear, yet this weapon was useless after the distant bow had decided the combat. Robert the Great, sensible of this at the battle of Bannockburn, ordered a prepared detachment of cavalry to rush among the English archers at the commencement, totally to disperse them, and stop the deadly effusion. But Douglas now used no such precaution; and the consequence was, that his people, drawn up on the face of the hill, presented one general mark to the enemy, none of whose arrows descended in vain. The Scots fell without fight, and unrevenged, till a spirited knight, Swinton, exclaimed aloud, "O my brave countrymen! what fascination has seized you to-day, that you stand like deer to be shot, instead of indulging your ancient courage, and meeting your enemies hand to hand? Let those who will descend with me, that we may gain victory, or life, or fall like men.' This being heard by Adam Gordon, between whom and Swinton there existed an ancient deadly feud, attended with the mutual slaughter of many followers, he instantly fell on his knees before Swinton, begged his pardon, and desired to be dubbed a knight by him whom he must now regard as the wisest and the boldest of that order in Britain. The ceremony performed, Swinton and Gordon descended the hill, accompanied only by one hundred men; and a desperate valour led the whole body to death. Had a similar spirit been shown by the Scottish army, it is probable that the event of the day would have been different. Douglas, who was certainly deficient in the most important qualities of a general, seeing his army begin to disperse, at length attempted to descend the hill; but the English archers, retiring a little, sent a flight of arrows so sharp and strong, that no armour could withstand; and the Scottish leader himself, whose panoply was of remarkable temper, fell under five wounds, though not mortal. The English men-of-arms, knights, or squires, did not strike one blow, but remained spectators of the rout, which was now complete. Great numbers of Scots were slain, and near five hundred perished in the river Tweed upon their flight. Among the illustrious were Douglas, whose chief wound deprived him of an eye; Murdac, son of Albany; the Earls of Moray and Angus; and about four gentlemen of eminent rank and power. The chief slain were, Swinton, Gordon, Livingston of Calender, Ramsay of Dalhousie, Walter Sinclair, Roger Gordon, Walter Scott, and others. Such was the issue of the unfortunate battle of Homildon.>>

the scene the celebrated Hotspur, who commanded the English at the former battle? There are, however, several coincidences which may reconcile even the severer 'antiquary to the substitution of Halidon Hill for Homildon. A Scottish army was defeated by the English on both occasions, and under nearly the same circumstances of address on the part of the victors, and mismanagement on that of the vanquished, for the English long-bow decided the day in both cases. In both cases, also, a Gordon was left on the field of battle; and at Halidon, as at Homildon, the Scots were commanded by an ill-fated representative of the great house of Douglas. He of Homildon was surnamed Tine-man, i. e. Lose-man, from his repeated defeats and miscarriages, and with all the personal valour of his race, seems to have enjoyed so small a portion of their sagacity, as to be unable to learn military experience from reiterated calamity. I am far, however, from intimating, that the traits of imbecility and envy, attributed to the regent in the following sketch, are to be historically ascribed either to the elder Douglas of Halidon Hill, or to him called Tine-man, who seems to have enjoyed the respect of his countrymen, notwithstanding that, like the celebrated Anne de Montmorency, he was either defeated, or wounded, or made prisoner in every battle which he fought. The Regent of the sketch is a character purely imaginary.

It may be proper to observe, that the scene of action has, in the following pages, been transferred from Homildon to Halidon Hill. For this there was an obvious

The tradition of the Swinton family, which still survives in a lineal descent, and to which the author has the honour to be related, avers, that the Swinton who fell at Homildon, in the manner narrated in the preceding extract, had slain Gordon's father; which seems sufficient ground for adopting that circumstance into the following Dramatic Sketch, though it is rendered improbable by other authorities.

If any reader will take the trouble of looking at Froissart, Fordun, or other historians of the period, he will find, that the character of the Lord of Swinton, for strength, courage, and conduct, is by no means exaggerated.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

SCOTTISH.

THE REGENT OF SCOTLAND.

GORDON,

SWINTON,

LENNOX,

SUTHERLAND,

Scottish Chiefs and Nobles.

Ross,

MAXWELL,

JOHNSTONE,

LINDESAY,

ADAM DE VIPONT, a Knight Templar.
THE PRIOR OF MAISON-DIEU.
REYNALD, Swinton's Squire.

HOB HATTELY, a Border Moss-Trooper.
Heralds.

KING EDWARD III.
CHANDOS,
PERCY,
RIBAUMONT,

ENGLISH.

English and Norman Nobles.

THE ABBOT OF WALTHAMSTOW.

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PRIOR.

The northern side of the eminence of Halidon. The back Thou mayst outlive them also.
scene represents the summit of the ascent, occupied by
the rear-guard of the Scottish Army.
Bodies of
armed Men appear as advancing from different
points to join the main Body.

Enter DE VIPONT and the PRIOR of MAISON-DIEU.

VIPONT.

No farther, father-here I need no guidance-
I have already brought your peaceful step
Too near the verge of battle.

PRIOR.

Fain would I see you join some baron's banner,
Before I say farewell. The honour'd sword
That fought so well in Syria should not wave
Amid the ignoble crowd.

VIPONT.

Each spot is noble in a pitched field,

So that a man has room to fight and fall on 't.
But I shall find out friends. "T is scarce twelve years
Since I left Scotland for the wars of Palestine,
And then the flower of all the Scottish nobles
Were known to me; and I, in my degree,
Not all unknown to them.

PRIOR.

Alas! there have been changes since that time;
The royal Bruce, with Randolph, Douglas, Grahame,
Then shook in field the banners which now moulder
Over their graves i' the chancel.

VIPONT.

And thence comes it,
That while I look'd on many a well-known crest
And blazon'd shield, as hitherward we came,
The faces of the barons who display'd them
Were all unknown to me. Brave youths they seem'd;
Yet, surely fitter to adorn the tilt-yard,

Than to be leaders of a war. Their followers,
Young like themselves, seem like themselves unprac-
tised-

Look at their battle-rank.

PRIOR.

I cannot gaze on 't with undazzled eye,

So thick the rays dart back from shield and helmet,
And sword and battle-axe, and spear and pennon.
Sure 't is a gallant show! The Bruce himself
Hath often conquer'd at the head of fewer
And worse appointed followers.

VIPONT.

Ay, but 't was Bruce that led them. Reverend father,
"T is not the falchion's weight decides a combat;
It is the strong and skilful hand that wields it.

Ill fate, that we should lack the noble king,

And all his champions now! Time call'd them not,
For when I parted hence for Palestine,

The brows of most were free from grizzled hair.

PRIOR.

Too true, alas! But well you know, in Scotland,
Few hairs are silver'd underneath the helmet;

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Peace, Reynald! Where the general plants the soldier,
There is his place of honour, and there only
His valour can win worship. Thou 'rt of those,
Who would have war's deep art bear the wild sem-
blance

Of some disorder'd hunting, where, pell-mell,
Each trusting to the swiftness of his horse,
Gallants press on to see the quarry fall.
Yon steel-clad southrons, Reynald, are no deer;
And England's Edward is no stag at bay.
VIPONT (advancing).
There needed not, to blazon forth the Swinton,
His ancient burgonet, the sable Boar
Chain'd to the gnarled oak,—
-nor his proud step,
Nor giant stature, nor the ponderous mace,
Which only he of Scotland's realm can wield:
His discipline and wisdom mark the leader,
As doth his frame the champion. Hail, brave Swinton!

SWINTON.

Brave Templar, thanks! Such your cross'd shoulder
speaks you;

But the closed visor, which conceals your features,
Forbids more knowledge. Umfraville, perhaps―
VIPONT (unclosing his helmet).

No; one less worthy of our sacred order.
Yet, unless Syrian suns have scorch'd my features
Swart as my sable visor, Alan Swinton
Will welcome Symon Vipont.

SWINTON (embracing him).

As the blithe reaper Welcomes a practised mate, when the ripe harvest

Lies deep before him and the sun is high.
Thou 'It follow yon old pennon,
wilt thou not?
'T is tatter'd since thou saw'st it, and the Boar-heads
Look as if brought from off some Christmas board,
Where knives had notch'd them deeply.

VIPONT.

Have with them ne'ertheless. The Stuart's Chequer,
The Bloody Heart of Douglas, Ross's Lymphads,
Sutherland's Wild-cats, nor the royal Lion,
Rampant in golden tressure, wins me from them.
We'll back the Boar-heads bravely. I see round them
A chosen band of lances-some well-known to me.
Where's the main body of thy followers?

SWINTON.

Symon de Vipont, thou dost see them all
That Swinton's bugle-horn can call to battle,
However loud it rings. There's not a boy
Left in my halls, whose arm has strength enough
To bear a sword-there 's not a man behind,
However old, who moves without a staff.
Striplings and gray-beards, every one is here,
And here all should be-Scotland needs them all;
And more and better men, were each a Hercules,
And yonder handful centupled.

VIPONT.

SWINTON.

Templar, what think'st thou me?-See yonder rock,
From which the fountain gushes-is it less
Compact of adamant, though waters flow from it?
Firm hearts have moister eyes.-They are avenged;
I wept not till they were-till the proud Gordon
Had with his life-blood dyed my father's sword,
In guerdon that he thinn'd my father's lineage,
And then I wept my sons; and, as the Gordon
Lay at my feet, there was a tear for him,
Which mingled with the rest.—We had been friends,
Had shared the banquet and the chase together,
Fought side by side-and our first cause of strife,
Woe to the pride of both, was but a light one.

VIPONT.

You are at feud, then, with the mighty Gordon?

SWINTON.

At deadly feud. Here in this Border-land,
Where the sire's quarrels descend upon the son,
As due a part of his inheritance

As the strong castle and the ancient blazon,
Where private vengeance holds the scales of justice,
Weighing each drop of blood as scrupulously
As Jews or Lombards balance silver pence,
Not in this land, 'twixt Solway and Saint Abb's,

A thousand followers-such, with friends and kins- Rages a bitterer feud than mine and theirs,

men,

Allies and vassals, thou wert wont to lead

A thousand followers shrunk to sixty lances

The Swinton and the Gordon.

VIPONT.

You, with some threescore lances-and the Gordon

In twelve years' space! And thy brave sons, Sir Alan, Leading a thousand followers.
Alas! I fear to ask.

SWINTON.

All slain, De Vipont. In my empty home
A puny babe lisps to a widow'd mother,

<<Where is my grandsire? wherefore do you weep?>>
But for that prattler, Lyulph's house is heirless.
I'm an old oak, from which the foresters
Have hew❜d four goodly boughs, and left beside me
Only a sapling, which the fawn may crush
As he springs over it.

VIPONT.

All slain-alas!
SWINTON.

Ay, all, De Vipont. And their attributes,
John with the Long Spear-Archibald with the Axe-
Richard the Ready-and my youngest darling,
My Fair-haired William-do but now survive
In measures which the gray-hair'd minstrels sing,
When they make maidens weep.

VIPONT.

These wars with England, they have rooted out

SWINTON.

You rate him far too low. Since you sought Palestine,
He hath had grants of baronies and lordships
In the far-distant north. A thousand horse
His southern friends and vassals always number'd.
Add Badenoch kerne, and horse from Dee and Spey,
He'll count a thousand more. And now, De Vipont,
If the Boar-heads seem in your eyes less worthy,
For lack of followers-seek yonder standard-
The bounding Stag, with a brave host around it:
There the young Gordon makes his earliest field,
And pants to win his spurs. His father's friend,
As well as mine, thou wert-go, join his pennon,
And grace him with thy presence.

VIPONT.

When you were friends, I was the friend of both,
And now I can be enemy to neither;
But my poor person, though but slight the aid,
Joins on this field the banner of the two
Which hath the smallest following.

SWINTON.

The flowers of Christendom. Knights, who might win Spoke like the generous knight, who gave up all,

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pray, De Vipont, you would join the Gordon

In this high battle. 'T is a noble youth,

So fame doth vouch him,-amorous, quick, and valiant;
Takes knighthood, too, this day, and well may use
His spurs too rashly in the wish to win them.

A friend like thee beside him in the fight
Were worth a hundred spears, to rein his valour
And temper it with prudence:-'t is the aged eagle
Teaches his brood to gaze upon the sun,
With eye undazzled.

VIPONT.

Alas, brave Swinton! Wouldst thou train the hunter

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