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And, noble earl, receive my hand.”
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :-
“My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone;
The hand of Douglas is his own ;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp !”
Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,

And “ This to me!” he said,
“ An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared

To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,

E’en in thy pitch of pride,
Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)

I tell thee, thou ’rt defied !
And if thou said'st I am not a peer

lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!”
On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O’ercame the ashen hue of age:
Fierce he broke forth : “ And darest thou, then,
To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall ?
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no !-

To any

Up drawbridge, grooms ! — what, warder, ho!

Let the portcullis fall.”
Lord Marmion turned, well was his need, -
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous gate behind him rung :
To pass, there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise ;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim :
And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
A shout of loud defiance pours,
And shakes his gauntlet at the towers ! Sir W. Scoth.



IBROCH of Donuil Dhu, pibroch of Donuil,

Wake thy wild voice anew, summon Clan Conuil.
Come away, come away, hark to the summons !
Come in your war-array, gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen, and from mountain so rocky;
The war-pipe and pennon are at Inverlocky.
Come every hill-plaid, and true heart that wears one,

every steel blade, and strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd, the flock without shelter ;
Leave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the altar;
Leave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets and barges :
Come with your fighting gear, broadswords and targes.

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, vassal, page


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 ! Sir W. Scott.


THE BATTLE OF NASEBY. OH, wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North, With

your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red ? And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout ? And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which


tread ? Oh, evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit,

And crimson was the juice, of the vintage that we trod! For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong,

Who sat in high places, and slew the saints of God. It was about the noon of a glorious day of June,

That we saw their banners dance, and their cuirasses shine ; And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essencéd hair,

And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of the Rhine. Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword,

The General rode along us, to form us to the fight, When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled into a shout,

Among the godless horsemen, upon the tyrant's right. And hark ! like the roar of the billows on the shore,

The cry of battle rises along their charging line ! “For God! for the Cause! for the Church ! for the Laws!

For Charles, King of England, and Rupert of the Rhine!” The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums,

His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of Whitehall ; They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes, close your

ranks, For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall.

They are here! They rush on! We are broken ! We are gone !

Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast. O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right !

Stand back to back, in God's name, and fight it to the last.

Stout Skippon hath a wound; the centre hath given ground; Hark! hark! what means this trampling of horsemen in our

rear ? Whose banner do I see, boys? 'T is he, thank God ! 't is he,

boys! Bear up another minute ; brave Oliver is here.

Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row,

Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dikes ; Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst,

And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes.

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Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide

Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple Bar And he he turns, he flies :

shame on those cruel eyes That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war.




LOOK not upon the wine when it

Is red within the cup !
Stay not for pleasure when she fills

Her tempting beaker up !
Though clear its depths, and rich its glow,
A spell of madness lurks below.

They say 't is pleasant on the lip,

And merry on the brain ;
They say it stirs the sluggish blood,

And dulls the tooth of pain.

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THAT last day in Lucknow fort;

We knew that it was the last,
That the enemy's mines had crept surely in,

And the end was coming fast.

To yield to that foe meant worse than death,

And the men and we all worked on; It was one day more of smoke and roar,

And then it would all be done.

There was one of us, a corporal's wife,

A fair young gentle thing, Wasted with fever in the siege,

And her mind was wandering.

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