448

When hymns of other worlds she sung
In ecstasy of sweet devotion,

O, then the glen was all in motion!
The wild beasts of the forest came,

Broke from their bughts" and faulds the tame,
And goved" around, charm'd and amazed;
Even the dull cattle croon'd and gazed,
And murmur'd and look'd with anxious pain
For something the mystery to explain.
The buzzard came with the throstle-cock;
The corby" left her houf in the rock;
The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew;
The hind came tripping o'er the dew;
The wolf and the kid their raike" began,

52

And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran;

The hawk and the hern attour" them hung,

And the merle and the mavis forhooy'd" their young;
And all in a peaceful ring were hurl'd;

It was like an Eve in a sinless world!

When a month and a day had come and gane,
Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene;

There laid her down on the leaves sae green,
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen.
But O, the words that fell from her mouth
Were words of wonder, and words of truth!
But all the land were in fear and dread,

For they kendna whether she was living or dead.
It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain;
She left this world of sorrow and pain,
And return'd to the land of thought again.

WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME

COME all ye jolly shepherds,
That whistle through the glen,

I'll tell ye of a secret

That courtiers dinna ken:

Where, on thy dewy wing,
Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red steamer that heralds the day,
Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,

Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming comes,

Low in the heather blooms,

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place

O to abide in the desert with thee!

450

LOCK THE DOOR, LARISTON

Lock the door, Lariston, lion of Liddisdale,
Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther come on,
The Armstrongs are flying,

The widows are crying,

The Castletown's burning, and Oliver's gone!

Lock the door, Lariston,-high on the weather-gleam,
See how the Saxon plumes bob on the sky,—

Yeoman and carbinier,
Bilman and halberdier;

Fierce is the foray, and far is the cry.

Bewcastle brandishes high his broad scimitar;
Ridley is riding his fleet-footed grey;

Hidley and Howard there,

Wandale and Windermere,

Lock the door, Lariston; hold them at bay.

Why dost thou smile, noble Elliot of Lariston?
Why do the joy-candles gleam in thine eye?
Thou bold Border ranger,

Beware of thy danger;

Thy foes are relentless, determined, and nigh.

Jock Elliot raised up his steel bonnet and lookit, His hand grasped the sword with a nervous embrace; 'Ah, welcome, brave foemen,

On earth there are no men

More gallant to meet in the foray or chase!

'Little know you of the hearts I have hidden here; Little know you of our moss-troopers' might

Lindhope and Sorbie true,
Sundhope and Milburn too,

Gentle in manner, but lions in fight!

'I've Mangerton, Ogilvie, Raeburn, and Netherbie, Old Sim of Whitram, and all his array;

Come, all Northumberland,

Teesdale and Cumberland,

Here at the Breaken tower end shall the fray.'

Scowl'd the broad sun o'er the links of green Liddisdale, Red as the beacon-light tipp'd he the wold;

Many a bold martial eye,

Mirror'd that morning sky,

Never more oped on his orbit of gold!

Shrill was the bugle's note! dreadful the warriors'

shout!

Lances and halberds in splinters were borne;

Helmet and hauberk then

Braved the claymore in vain,

Buckler armlet in shivers were shorn.

See how they wane-the proud files of the Winder

mere!

Howard-ah! woe to thy hopes of the day!

Hear the wide welkin rend,
While the Scots' shouts ascend,
Elliot of Lariston, Elliot for aye!'

451

ROBERT SURTEES

[1779-1834]

BARTHRAM'S DIRGE

THEY shot him dead on the Nine-Stone rig,
Beside the Headless Cross,

And they left him lying in his blood,
Upon the moor and moss.

They made a bier of the broken bough,
The sauch and the aspen gray,

And they bore him to the Lady Chapel,
And waked him there all day.

A lady came to that lonely bower
And threw her robes aside,
She tore her long yellow hair,
And knelt at Barthram's side.

She bath'd him in the Lady-Well
His wounds so deep and sair,

And she plaited a garland for his breast,
And a garland for his hair.

They rowed him in a lily sheet,

And bare him to his earth,

(And the Grey Friars sung the dead man's mass,

As they passed the Chapel Garth).

They buried him at the midnight,
(When the dew fell cold and still,
When the aspen grey forgot to play,
And the mist clung to the hill).

They dug his grave but a bare foot deep,
By the edge of the Nine-Stone Burn,

And they covered him o'er with the heather-flower,
The moss and the Lady fern.

A Grey Friar staid upon the grave,

And sang till the morning tide,

And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul,
While Headless Cross shall bide.

452

THOMAS CAMPBELL

[1777-1844]

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd;
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw

By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw;
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array
Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track:
'Twas Autumn,—and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.