Strown, scattered. Foe, enemy. Surf, the foam of the waves. Distorted, twisted out ral shape. Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.* For the angel of death spread his wings on the And breathed in the face of the foe* as he passed; 10 chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the 15 turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.* of the regular or natu- And there lay the rider, distorted* and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; Mail, chain armour. Asshur, Assyria, once * a great and powerful And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown. country; capital, Nineveh. Baal, the sun-god, worshipped in Assyria under the name of Bel or Belus. Gentile, all other na tions but the Jews were generally called Gentiles. Unsmote by the sword, destroyed without the aid of man. And the widows of Asshur* are loud in their wail; And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ;* sword,* Hath melted like snow in the glance of the 20 YOUNG LOCHINVAR.*-Scott. SIR WALTER SCOTT (1771-1832), the greatest of English romantic poets and novelists, was born at Edinburgh. He was a lawyer by profession. His poems were published for the most part between 1805 and 1814. Scott was a man of the most generous and amiable nature. He was made a baronet by George IV. Chief works: Lay of the Last Minstrel, Marmion, Lady of the Lake, Rokeby, Lord of the Isles, Waverley Novels, Tales of a Grandfather, &c. Border, the land a few OH, young Lochinvar is come out of the west; miles on either side of Through all the wide Border * his steed was the * Lochinvar, a lake in Kirkcudbrightshire, in the centre of which stood the ancient fortified castle of Lochinvar, the seat of the Gordons. Hence the chief is also called Lochinvar. And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none; He rode all unarmed,* and he rode all alone. 5 So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight * like the young Lochinvar. ΙΟ of Unarmed, without He stayed not for brake,* and he stopped not rank. honour. He swam the Esk* river where ford * there was brambles. none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, Esk, a river in Dumfriesshire. Ford, a shallow part The bride had consented-the gallant came late: of a river. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,* 15 Then he spoke the bride's father, his hand on 20 his sword, Laggard, a sluggish, backward person. Dastard, a coward. Netherby Hall, a fortified place about ten miles from Middleby in Dumfriesshire. (For the poor craven * bridegroom said never a Craven, cowardly. word), "Ho! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal,* young Lord Lochin- Bridal, wedding. "I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;— tide And now I am come, with this lost love of mine Solway, a river in the south of Scotland. To lead but one measure,* drink one cup of wine. Measure, a dance. 25 The bride kissed the goblet ;* the knight took Goblet, drinking cup. 30 it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup; Quaffed, drank. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, So stately his form, and so lovely her face, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet Galliard, one whose nature it is to be gay and active; it also means a dance. and plume; Bride-maidens, those And the bride-maidens* whispered, ""Twere 35 who were in attend ance on the bride. hind the saddle. better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young One touch to her hand, one word in her ear, * Croupe, a place be- So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung!- 40 "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, Scaur, a steep bank of a river. They'll have fleet steeds that follow!" quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode Cannobie Lea, a plain There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea,* 45 in Eskdale. Gallant, a lover. see! So daring in love and so dauntless in war, THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.*-Wolfe. CHARLES WOLFE (1791-1823) was born at Dublin. He was a poet of great Byron considered this poem one of the most perfect in the promise. language. Corse, a dead body. Farewell shot, it is * Nor a drum was heard, not a funeral note, * We buried him darkly at dead of night, 5 * Sir John Moore was a distinguished military commander. After a skilful and arduous retreat before a superior force of the French, he fell mortally wounded by a cannon ball, under the walls of Corunna, a town on the north-west coast of Spain, January 16, 1809. ΙΟ No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; With his martial cloak * around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; 15 But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, 20 And we bitterly thought of the morrow.* We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed That the foe* and the stranger would tread o'er The foe, the French his head, And we far away on the billow.* Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 25 But half of our heavy task was done 30 5 ΙΟ When the clock struck the hour for retiring; Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; under Marshal Soult, Billow, the sea. Upbraid, to reproach. Random, at hazard. Gory, bloody. Raised not a stone, tombstone * no was erected, nor inscripmade to mark his grave. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.* -Southey. It was a summer's evening, And by him sported on the green She saw her brother Peterkin In playing there had found; Rivulet, a stream, a small river. * Battle of Blenheim, a victory gained at Blenheim in Bavaria, over the French and Bavarians, by the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene in 1704. He came to ask, what he had found, And then the old man shook his head, "'Tis some poor fellow's skull,” said he, "I find them in the garden, For there's many* here about; * The ploughshare turns them out; "Now tell us, what 'twas all about," And little Wilhelmine looks up "It was the English," Kasper cried, 15 20 25 30 Famous, great. 66 But everybody said," quoth he, 35 My father lived at Blenheim then, They burned his cottage to the ground, 40 Wasted, destroyed, laid bare. Tender, very kind, affectionate. And he was forced to fly; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head., |