Lyra Heroica Part 20

These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers; But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free, At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock, And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke; 'Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.'

The Gordon demands of him which way he goes: 'Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!

Your Grace in short s.p.a.ce shall hear tidings of me, Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth, If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North; There are wild Duniewa.s.sals three thousand times three, Will cry _hoigh!_ for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

There's bra.s.s on the target of barkened bull-hide; There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside; The bra.s.s shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks, Ere I owe an usurper, I'll couch with the fox; And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee, You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!'

He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown, The kettle-drums clashed, and the hors.e.m.e.n rode on, Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle the horses and call up the men, Come open your gates, and let me gae free, For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!

_Sir Walter Scott._

LXIII

ROMANCE

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But O! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flas.h.i.+ng eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.

_Coleridge._

LXIV

SACRIFICE

Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom At Aulis, and when all beside the King Had gone away, took his right hand, and said, 'O father! I am young and very happy.

I do not think the pious Calchas heard Distinctly what the G.o.ddess spake. Old-age Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood While I was resting on her knee both arms And hitting it to make her mind my words, And looking in her face, and she in mine, Might he not also hear one word amiss, Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus?'

The father placed his cheek upon her head, And tears dropt down it, but the king of men Replied not. Then the maiden spake once more.

'O father! say'st thou nothing? Hear'st thou not Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour, Listened to fondly, and awakened me To hear my voice amid the voice of birds, When it was inarticulate as theirs, And the down deadened it within the nest?'

He moved her gently from him, silent still, And this, and this alone, brought tears from her, Although she saw fate nearer: then with sighs, 'I thought to have laid down my hair before Benignant Artemis, and not have dimmed Her polisht altar with my virgin blood; I thought to have selected the white flowers To please the Nymphs, and to have asked of each By name, and with no sorrowful regret, Whether, since both my parents willed the change, I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipt brow; And (after those who mind us girls the most) Adore our own Athena, that she would Regard me mildly with her azure eyes.

But, father! to see you no more, and see Your love, O father! go ere I am gone.' ...

Gently he moved her off, and drew her back, Bending his lofty head far over hers, And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst.

He turned away; not far, but silent still.

She now first shuddered; for in him, so nigh, So long a silence seemed the approach of death, And like it. Once again she raised her voice.

'O father! if the s.h.i.+ps are now detained, And all your vows move not the G.o.ds above, When the knife strikes me there will be one prayer The less to them: and purer can there be Any, or more fervent than the daughter's prayer For her dear father's safety and success?'

A groan that shook him shook not his resolve.

An aged man now entered, and without One word, stept slowly on, and took the wrist Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw The fillet of the priest and calm cold eyes.

Then turned she where her parent stood, and cried, 'O father! grieve no more: the s.h.i.+ps can sail.'

_Landor._

LXV

SOLDIER AND SAILOR

I love contemplating, apart From all his homicidal glory, The traits that soften to our heart Napoleon's story!

'Twas when his banners at Boulogne Armed in our island every freeman, His navy chanced to capture one Poor British seaman.

They suffered him, I know not how, Unprisoned on the sh.o.r.e to roam; And aye was bent his longing brow On England's home.

His eye, methinks, pursued the flight Of birds to Britain half-way over With envy; _they_ could reach the white Dear cliffs of Dover.

A stormy midnight watch, he thought, Than this sojourn would have been dearer, If but the storm his vessel brought To England nearer.

At last, when care had banished sleep, He saw one morning--dreaming--doating, An empty hogshead from the deep Come sh.o.r.eward floating;

He hid it in a cave, and wrought The live-long day laborious; lurking Until he launched a tiny boat By mighty working.

Heaven help us! 'twas a thing beyond Description, wretched: such a wherry Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond, Or crossed a ferry.

For ploughing in the salt-sea field, It would have made the boldest shudder; Untarred, uncompa.s.sed, and unkeeled, No sail--no rudder.

From neighb'ring woods he interlaced His sorry skiff with wattled willows; And thus equipped he would have pa.s.sed The foaming billows--

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, His little Argo sorely jeering; Till tidings of him chanced to reach Napoleon's hearing.

With folded arms Napoleon stood, Serene alike in peace and danger; And, in his wonted att.i.tude, Addressed the stranger:--