Each age has deemed the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer:
Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did drain;
High on the beach his galleys drew,
And feasted all his pirate crew;
Then in his low and pine-built hall,
Where shields and axes decked the wall,
They gorged upon the half-dressed steer;
Caroused in seas of sable beer;
While round, in brutal jest, were thrown
The half-gnawed rib and marrow-bone;
Or listened all, in grim delight,
While Scalds yelled out the joys of fight.
Then forth in frenzy would they hie,
While wildly-loose their red locks fly;
And, dancing round the blazing pile,
They make such barbarous mirth the while,
As best might to the mind recall
The boisterous joys of Odin's hall.

And well our Christian sires of old
Loved when the year its course had rolled
And brought blithe Christmas back again
With all its hospitable train.
Domestic and religious rite
Gave honour to the holy night:

On Christmas eve the bells were rung;
On Christmas eve the mass was sung;
That only night, in all the year,
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen;
The hall was dressed with holly green;
Forth to the wood did merry-men go,
To gather in the mistletoe.
Then opened wide the baron's hall
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;
Power laid his rod of rule aside;
And Ceremony doffed her pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,
That night might village partner choose;
The lord, underogating, share
The vulgar game of "post and pair."
All hailed with uncontrolled delight,
And general voice, the happy night
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,
Went roaring up the chimney wide;
The huge hall-table's oaken face,
Scrubbed till it shone, the day of grace,
Bore then upon its massive board
No mark to part the squire and lord.
Then was brought in the lusty brawn,

By old blue-coated serving-man;

Then the grim boar's-head frowned on high Crested with bays and rosemary.

Well can the green-garbed ranger tell
How, when, and where the monster fell;
What dogs before his death he tore,
And all the baiting of the boar.
The wassail round, in good brown bowls,
Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls.
There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;
Nor failed old Scotland to produce,
At such high-tide, her savoury goose.
Then came the merry maskers in,
And carols roared with blithesome din;
If unmelodious was the song,
It was a hearty note, and strong.
Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery;

White skirts supplied the masquerade,
And smutted cheeks the visors made:
But, O! what maskers richly dight
Can boast of bosoms half so light!
England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale;
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man's heart through half the year.

MARMION AND DOUGLAS

FROM MARMION, CANTO VI

XIII

Not far advanced was morning day, When Marmion did his troop array

To Surrey's camp to ride;

He had safe conduct for his band, Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide: The ancient Earl, with stately grace, Would Clara on her palfrey place, And whispered in an undertone, "Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." The train from out the castle drew, But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:"Though something I might plain," he said, "Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your king's behest, While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, Part we in friendship from your land, 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."

XIV

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,
Even 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 peer
To any 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, -
To beard the lion in his den,

25

ΙΟ

20

"And dar'st thou then

SOLDIER, REST! THY WARFARE O'ER

FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE
CANTO I

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking.

In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,

Fairy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more;

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Armour's clang, or war-steed champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come

At the daybreak from the fallow,
And the bittern sound his drum,

Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near
Guards nor warders challenge here;
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,

While our slumbrous spells assail ye,

Dream not, with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveille.1

Sleep! the deer is in his den;

IO

20

I come with banner, brand, and bow,
As leader seeks his mortal foe.
For lovelorn swain, in lady's bower,
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour,
As I, until before me stand
This rebel Chieftain and his band."

IX

"Have, then, thy wish!" He whistled shrill,
And he was answered from the hill;
Wild as the scream of the curlew,
From crag to crag the signal flew.

Instant, through copse and heath, arose
Bonnets and spears and bended bows;
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles grey their lances start,
The bracken bush sends forth the dart,
The rushes and the willow wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior armed for strife.
That whistle garrisoned the glen
At once with full five hundred men,
As if the yawning hill to heaven
A subterranean host had given.
Watching their leader's beck and will,
All silent there they stood, and still.
Like the loose crags whose threatening mass
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass,

As if an infant's touch could urge

Their headlong passage down the verge,

25

ΙΟ

20

- yet scarce believed

Fitz-James looked round,
The witness that his sight received;
Such apparition well might seem
Delusion of a dreadful dream.
Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed,
And to his look the Chief replied:

Fear naught — nay, that I need not say But doubt not aught from mine array. Thou art my guest; - I pledged my word As far as Coilantogle ford:

Nor would I call a clansman's brand

For aid against one valiant hand,

Though on our strife lay every vale
Rent by the Saxon from the Gael.
- I only meant

So move we on;
To show the reed on which you leant,
Deeming this path you might pursue
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu."
They moved; - I said Fitz-James was brave,
As ever knight that belted glaive;

Yet dare not say that now his blood
Kept on its wont and tempered flood,
As, following Roderick's stride, he drew
That seeming lonesome pathway through,
Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife
With lances, that, to take his life,
Waited but signal from a guide,
So late dishonoured and defied.
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round
The vanished guardians of the ground,
And still, from copse and heather deep,
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep,
And in the plover's shrilly strain
The signal whistle heard again.
Nor breathed he free till far behind
The pass was left; for then they wind
Along a wide and level green,

20

Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, Nor rush nor bush of broom was near, To hide a bonnet or a spear.

XII

The Chief in silence strode before,

And reached that torrent's sounding shore,
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,
From Vennachar in silver breaks,

Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines
On Bochastle the mouldering lines,
Where Rome, the Empress of the world,

Of yore her eagle wings unfurled.

And here his course the Chieftain stayed,
Threw down his target and his plaid,
And to the Lowland warrior said:
"Bold Saxon! to his promise just,
Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust.
This murderous Chief, this ruthless man,
This head of a rebellious clan,

Hath led thee safe through watch and ward,
Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard.
Now, man to man, and steel to steel,

A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.

See, here, all vantageless I stand,
Armed, like thyself, with single brand;
For this is Coilantogle ford,

And thou must keep thee with thy sword."

XIII

The Saxon paused: “I ne'er delayed, When foeman bade me draw my blade; Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed thy death: Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,

And my deep debt for life preserved,

A better meed have well deserved:

Can naught but blood our feud atone? Are there no means?" "No, Stranger, none. And hear, to fire thy flagging zeal, The Saxon cause rests on thy steel; For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred Between the living and the dead: 'Who spills the foremost foeman's life His party conquers in the strife."" "Then, by my word," the Saxon said, "The riddle is already read.

I plight my honour, oath, and word, That, to thy native strengths restored, With each advantage shalt thou stand, That aids thee now to guard thy land."

XIV

Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye:
"Soars thy presumption, then, so high,
Because a wretched kern ye slew,
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu?
He yields not, he, to man nor fate!
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate:
My clansman's blood demands revenge.
Not yet prepared? - By Heaven, I change
My thought, and hold thy valour light
As that of some vain carpet knight,
Who ill deserved my courteous care,
And whose best boast is but to wear
A braid of his fair lady's hair."

"I thank thee, Roderick, for the word!
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword;
For I have sworn this braid to stain
In the best blood that warms thy vein.
Now, truce, farewell! and, ruth, begone!
Yet think not that by thee alone,

Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown;

Though not from copse, nor heath, nor cairn, Start at my whistle clansmen stern,

Of this small horn one feeble blast

Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu,
That on the field his targe he threw,
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide
Had death so often dashed aside;
For, trained abroad his arms to wield,
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield.
He practised every pass and ward,
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard;
While less expert, though stronger far,
The Gael maintained unequal war.
Three times in closing strife they stood,
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood:
No stinted draught, no scanty tide,
The gushing floods the tartans dyed.

Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain,
And showered his blows like wintry rain;
And, as firm rock or castle-roof
Against the winter shower is proof,
The foe, invulnerable still,
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill;
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand,
And, backwards borne upon the lea,
Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.

XVI

"Now yield thee, or, by Him who made
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!"
"Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy!

Let recreant yield, who fears to die."
Like adder darting from his coil,
Like wolf that dashes through the toil,
Like mountain-cat who guards her young,
Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung;
Received, but recked not of a wound,
And locked his arms his foeman round.
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own!
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown!

That desperate grasp thy frame might feel
Through bars of brass and triple steel!

They tug! They strain! Down, down they go,
The Gael above, Fitz-James below.

The Chieftain's gripe his throat compressed,

His knee was planted in his breast;

His clotted locks he backward threw,
Across his brow his hand he drew,
From blood and mist to clear his sight,
Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright!
But hate and fury ill supplied
The stream of life's exhausted tide,
And all too late the advantage came,
To turn the odds of deadly game;
For, while the dagger gleamed on high,
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye.
Down came the blow! but in the heath
The erring blade found bloodless sheath.
The struggling foe may now unclasp
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp;
Unwounded from the dreadful close,
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

COUNTY GUY

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,

The orange-flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.

The lark, his lay who trill'd all day,
Sits hush'd his partner nigh;

20

ΙΟ

20

30