co not.






Is like a lamp unlighted; bis brave deeds,

Pennons enow-ay, and their royal standard. And its rich painting, do scem then most glorious, But ours stand rooted, as for crows to roost on. When the pure ray gleams through them.

SWINTON ( to himself). Hath thy Elizabethi no other name?

I 'll rescue him at least. Young Lord of Gordon,

Spur to the Regent-show the instant need Must I then speak of her to you, Sir Alan?

GORDON The thought of thee, and of thy matchless strength, I penetrate thy purpose;

but I Hath coojured phantoms up amongst her dreams.

The name of Swinton hath been spell sufficient Not at my bidding? I, thy sire in chivalry-
To chase the rich blood from her lovely cheek, Thy leader in the battle?-I command thee.
And wouldst thou now know hers?

No, thou wilt not command me seek my safety, -
I would, nay, must. For such is thy kind meaning,

-at the expense Thy father in the paths of chivalry

Of the last hope which Heaven reserves for Scotland. Should know the load-star thou dost rule thy course by. While I abide, no follower of mine

Will turn his rein for life; but were I gone, Nay, then, her name is—hark

[Whispers. What power can stay them ? and, our band dispersed,

What swords shall for an instant stem yon host,
I know it well, that ancient northern house.

And save the latest chance for victory?
O, thou shalt see its fairest grace and honour,

The noble youth speaks truth; and were he gone, In my Elizabeth. And if musio touch thee-

There will not twenty spears be left with us.
It did, before disasters had untuned me.

No, bravely as we have begun the field,

So let us fight it out. The Regent's eyes
0, her notes

More certain than a thousand messages, Shall hush each sad remembrance to oblivion,

Shall see us stand, the barrier of his host
Or melt them to such gentleness of feeling,

Against yon bursting storm. If not for honour,
That grief shall have its sweetness. Who, but she, If not for warlike rule, for shame at least,
Knows the wild harpings of our native land ?

He must bear down to aid us.
Whether they lull the shepherd on his hill,

SWINTON Or wake the knight to battle; rouse to merriment,

Must it be so !
Or soothe to sadness; she can touch each mood.

And am I forced to yield the sad consent,
Princes and statesmen, chiefs renown'd in arms, Devoting thy young life? O, Gordon, Gordon !
And gray-hair'd bards, contend wlich shall the first I do it as the patriarch doom'd his issue:
And choicest homage render to the enchantress. I at my country's, he at Heaven's command;

But I seek vainly some aloning sacrifice,
You speak her talent bravely.

Rather than such a victim!—(Trumpets.)-Hark, they

come! Though you smile,

That music sounds not like thy lady's lute. I do not speak it half. Her gift creative

GORDON New measures adds to every air she wakes;

Yet shall my lady's name mix with it gaily.Varying and gracing it with liquid sweetness,

Mount, vassals, couch your lances, and cry « Gordon ! Like the wild modulation of the lark,

Gordon for Scotland and Elizabeth !» Now leaving, now returning to the strain !

(Exeunt. Loud alarum. To listen to her, is to seem to wander In some enchanted labyrinth of romance, Whence nothing but the lovely fairy's will, Who wove the spell, can extricate the wanderer:

Methinks I hear her now!

Another part of the field of Battle, adjacent to the
Bless'd privilege

former Scene. Of youth! There's scarce three minutes to decide

Alarums. Enter Swinton, followed by Hob HATTELY. 'Twixt death and life, 'twixt triumph and defeat, Yet all his thoughts are in his lady's bower,

List’ning her harping !-

Stand to it yet! The man who flies to-day,

May bastards warm them at his household hearth!
Where are thine, De Vipont?


That ne'er shall be my curse. My Magdalen On death-on judgment—on eternity ?

Is trusty as my broadsword. For time is over with us.


Ha, thou kpave, There moves not then one pennon to our aid,

Art thou dismounted too! Of all that flutter yonder ?


I know, Sir Alan, From the main English host come rushing forward You want no lomcward guide ; so threw my reins













Upon my palfrey's neck, and let him loose.

GORDON Within an hour he stands before my gate;

All's lost! all 's lost! Of the main Scottish host, And Magdalen will need no other token

Some wildly fly, and some rush wildly forward; To bid the Melrose monks say masses for me.

And some there are who seem to turn their spears

Against their countrymen.
Thou art resolved to cheat the halter, then?


Rashoess, and cowardice, and secret treason,

It is my purpose, Combine to ruin us; and our hot valour, Having lived a thief, to die a brave man's death ; Devoid of discipline, is madmen's strength, And never had I a more glorious chance for 't.

More fatal unto friends than enemies!

I'm glad that these dim eyes shall see no more on't.Here lies the way to it, knave.- Make in, make in,

Let thy hand close them, Gordon-I will think And aid young Gordon!

My fair-hair'd William renders me that office! [Dies. [Exeunt. Loud and long alarums. After And, Swinton, I will think I do that duty

which the back scene rises, and discovers To my dead father.
SWINTON on the ground, GORDON support-

Enter De VIPONT.
ing him; both much wounded.

SWINTON. All are cut down the reapers have pass'd o'er us, Fly, fly, brave youth!-A handful of thy followers, And hie to distant harvest.— My toil's over;

The scalier'd gleaning of this desperate day, There lies my sickle. (Dropping his sword.] Hand of Still hover yonder to essay thy rescue.mine again

O linger not!--I 'll be your guide to them, Shall never, never wield it!

Look there, and bid me fly!—The oak has fallen; O valiant leader, is thy light extinguish'd!

And the young ivy-bush, which learn'd to climb
That only beacon-tlame which promised safety By its support, must needs partake its fall.
In this day's deadly wrack !


Swinton? Alas! the best, the bravest, strongest, My lamp hath long been dim. But thine, young And sagest of our Scottish chivalry! Gordon,

Forgive one moment, if to save the living, Just kindled, to be quenched so suddenly,

My tongue should wrong the dead.—Gordon, bethink Ere Scotland saw its splendour!-


Thou dost but stay to perish with the corpse Five thousand horse hung idly on yon hill,

Of him who slew thy father. Saw us o'erpower'd, and no one stirr'd to aid us !


Ay, but he was my sire in chivalry, It was the Regent's envy-Out!—alas!

He taught my youth to soar above the promptings Why blame I him ?- It was our civil discord,

Of mean and selfish vengeance; gave my youth Our selfish vanity, our jealous hatred,

A name that shall not die even on this death-spot. Which framed this day of dole for our poor country.- Records shall tell this field had not been lost, Had thy brave father held yon leading staff,

Had all men fought like Swinton and like Gordon.
As well his rank and valour might have claim'd it, Save thee, De Vipont-Hark! the southron trumpets.
We had not fall’n unaided.-How, how
Is he to answer it, whose deed prevented!

Nay, without thee I stir pot.

Alas! alas ! the author of the death-feud,
He has his reckoning too! for had your sons

And numerous vassals lived, we had lack'd no aid. Ay, they come on, the tyrant and the traitor,

Workman and tool, Plantagenet and Baliol,
May God assoil the dead, and him who follows !-- O for a moment's strength in this poor arm,
We've drank the poison'd beverage which we brew'd ; To do one glorious deed!
Have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold whirl-

[He rushes on the English, but is made priwind!

soner with Vipont. But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart Pour'd oil upon the wounds our hate inflicted; Disarm them-harm them not; though it was they Thou, who hast done no wrong, need'se no forgiveness, Made havoc on the archiers of our van-guard, Why shouldst thou share our punishment ?

They and that bulky champion. Where is he?





[blocks in formation]


All need forgiveness—[ Distant alarum ]–Hark! in Ilere lies the gianı! Say his name, young knight!

yonder shout
Did the main batiles counter!!-

Let it suftice, he was a man this morning.
Look on the field, brave Gordon, if thou canst, I question'd thee in sport. I do not need
And tell me how the day goes.-But I guess,

Thy information, youth. Who that has fought
Too surely do I guess--

Through all these Scottish wars, but knows that crest,



joins the mediately to the lig Dear Benv Alpine sce



[merged small][ocr errors][merged small]


[blocks in formation]

These wars,

[ocr errors]

The sable boar chain'd to the leafy oak,
And that huge mace still seeu where war was wildest. . I will but know thee as a christian champion,

And set thee free unransom'd. 'Tis Alan Swinton!

Grim chamberlain, who, in my tent at Weardale,
Stood by my startled couch with torch and mace,
When the Black Douglas' war-cry waked my camp.

Heaven grant your majesty
GORDON (sinking down).

Many such glorious days As this has been!
If thus thou know'st him,

It is a day of much advantage;
Thou wilt respect his corpse.

Glorious it might have been, had all our foes

Fought like these two brave champions. --Strike the
As belted knight and crowneil king, I will.


Sound trumpets, and pursue the fugitives, And let mine

Till the Tweed's eddies whelm them. Berwick 's renSleep at his side, in token that our death

derd Ended the feud of Swinton and of Gordon.

I trust, will soon find lasting close.
It is the Gordon !- Is there aught beside
Edward can do to honour bravery,

Even in an enemy?

Nothing but this : "

Note 1. p. 437.
Let not base Baliol, with his touch or look,

A rose has fallen from thy chaplet.
Profane my corpse or Swinlon's. I've some breath still,
Enough to say-Scotland - Elizabeth! (Dies.

The well-known expression by which Robert Bruce

censured the negligence of Randolph, for permitting CHANDOS. Baliol, I would not brook such dying looks

an English body of cavalry to pass his flank on the To buy the crown you aim at.

day preceding the battle of Bannockburn. KING EDWARD (to viPont).

Note 2. p. 440. Vipont, thy crossed shield shows ill in warfare

I was a Scotsman cre I was a Templar. Against a christian king.

A Venetian general observing his soldiers testified

some unwillingness to fight against those of the pope, That christian king is warring upon Scotland. whom they regarded as Father of the Church, addressed I was a Scotsman ere I was a Templar, (2)

them in terms of similar encouragement, --« Fight op! Sworn to my country ere I knew my order.

we were Venetians before we were christians.»





[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]




Ballads and Lyrical pieces.





[merged small][ocr errors]


singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the syren,
who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the

hut: the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair

seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's

harp, some strain consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day For them the viewless forms of air obey,

at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching Their bidding beed, and at their beck repair;

in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate They know what spirit brews the stormful day,

friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare, To see the pbantom train their secret work prepare.

the fiend, into whose toils he had fallen. The place was

from thence called, The Glen of the Green Women. The tradition upon which the following stanzas are

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest ground, lying in the founded runs thus: While two Highland hunters were Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now be

Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in passing the night in a solitary bathy (a hut built for

loogs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as purpose of hunting), and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish, that

the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of

yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young mantic avenue called the Trosachs. Benledi, Benmore,

of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its rowomen, habited in green, entered the but, dancing and

and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district, Coronach is the lamentation for a deceased warrior, sung by the and at no great distance from Glenfiplas. The river aged of the clan.

Teith passes Callender and the castle of Doune, and






[ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]
« 前へ次へ »