Lyra Heroica Part 19

Come as the winds come when Forests are rended, Come as the waves come when Navies are stranded: Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster, Chief, va.s.sal, page and groom, Tenant and master.

Fast they come, fast they come; See how they gather!

Wide waves the eagle plume Blended with heather.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set!

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Knell for the onset!

_Scott._

LIX

THE OMNIPOTENT

'Why sitt'st thou by that ruined hall, Thou aged carle so stern and grey?

Dost thou its former pride recall, Or ponder how it pa.s.sed away?'

'Know'st thou not me?' the Deep Voice cried; 'So long enjoyed, so often misused, Alternate, in thy fickle pride, Desired, neglected, and accused!

Before my breath, like blazing flax, Man and his marvels pa.s.s away!

And changing empires wane and wax, Are founded, flourish, and decay.

Redeem mine hours--the s.p.a.ce is brief-- While in my gla.s.s the sand-grains shiver, And measureless thy joy or grief, When TIME and thou shalt part for ever!'

_Scott._

LX

THE RED HARLAW

The herring loves the merry moonlight, The mackerel loves the wind, But the oyster loves the dredging sang, For they come of a gentle kind.

Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, And listen, great and sma', And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl That fought on the red Harlaw.

The cronach's cried on Bennachie, And doun the Don and a', And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be For the sair field of Harlaw.

They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, They hae bridled a hundred black, With a chafron of steel on each horse's head And a good knight upon his back.

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, A mile, but barely ten, When Donald came branking down the brae Wi' twenty thousand men.

Their tartans they were waving wide, Their glaives were glancing clear, The pibrochs rang frae side to side, Would deafen ye to hear.

The great Earl in his stirrups stood, That Highland host to see: 'Now here a knight that's stout and good May prove a jeopardie:

What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay, That rides beside my reyne, Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day, And I were Roland Cheyne?

To turn the rein were sin and shame, To fight were wondrous peril: What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, Were ye Glenallan's Earl?'

'Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, And ye were Roland Cheyne, The spur should be in my horse's side, And the bridle upon his mane.

If they hae twenty thousand blades, And we twice ten times ten, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, And we are mail-clad men.

My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern, Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude Grow cauld for Highland kerne.'

_Scott._

LXI

FAREWELL

Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear Has left its last soft tone with you; Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew.

The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown's controlling check, Must give the word, above the storm, To cut the mast and clear the wreck.

The timid eye I dared not raise, The hand that shook when pressed to thine, Must point the guns upon the chase, Must bid the deadly cutla.s.s shine.

To all I love, or hope, or fear, Honour or own, a long adieu!

To all that life has soft and dear, Farewell! save memory of you!

_Scott._

LXII

BONNY DUNDEE

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke, 'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!'

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat; But the Provost, douce man, said, 'Just e'en let him be, The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee.'

As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow; But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee, Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee!

With sour-featured Whigs the Gra.s.smarket was crammed, As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged; There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e, As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.