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XII. But soou he knew himself the most unfit Ofman to herd with Man; with whom he held Little in common; untaught to submit His thoughts to others, though his soul was quell'd In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompellid, He would not yield dominion of his mind To spirits against whom his own rebell’d;
Proud though in desolation; which could find A life within itself, to breathe without mankind.
XIII. Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends; Where rollid the ocean, thereon was his home Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, He had the passion and the power to roam; The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, Were unto him companionship; they spake A mutual language, clearer than the tome
Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake.
XIV. Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars, Till he had peopled, them with beings bright As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born jars, And human frailties, were forgotten quite: Could he have kept his spirits to that flight He had been happy? but his clay will sink Its spark immortal, envying it the light
To which it mounts, as if to break the link
Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat
XVI. Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again, With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom. The very knowledge that he liv'd in varn, That all was over on this side the tomb, Had made Despair a smilingness assame, Which, though 'twerewild, -as on the plundered wreck When mariners would madly meet their doom
With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck,
And is this all the world has gained by thee,
Ambition's life and labours all were vain;
Pay the Wolf homage; proffering lowly gaze
XX, If uot, o'er one fallen despot boast no more! In vain fair cheeks were furrowed with hot tears For Europe's flowers long rooted up before 'The trampler of her vineyards; in vain years Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, Have all been borne, and broken by the accord Of roused-up millions; all that most endears
Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword Such as Harinodius (2) drew on Athen's tyrant lord.
And (3) all went merry as a marriage-bell;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm ! it is—it is the cannoy's opening roar!
XXIII Within a windowed niche, of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieften; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; And when they smiled because lie deem'd it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which strech'd his father on a bloody bier
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fel!,
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,
(they come !" And wild and high the “ Cameron's gathering"rose ! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes : How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fills the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instils (“The stirring memory of a thousand years, (ears! And (4) Evan's (5) Donald's fame rings in each clansman's
XXVII. And Ardennes (6) waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inapimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,-alas!
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass • Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall enoulder cold and low.
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse, friend, foe, in one red burial blent.
Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd,
[Howard! There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And mine were nothing, had I such to give; But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, Which living waves there thou didst cease to live, And saw around me the wild field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Come forth her work of gladness to contrive,
With all her reckless birds upon the wing, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring.
The fever of vain longing, and the name