And, noble earl, receive my hand." "My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still To each one whom he lists, howe'er And "This to me!" he said, "An 't were not for thy hoary beard, And if thou said'st I am not a peer To any lord in Scotland here, 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: "And darest thou, then, To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall? And hopest thou hence unscathed to go? No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! Up drawbridge, grooms!-what, warder, ho! Let the portcullis fall." Lord Marmion turned, well was his need, – And dashed the rowels in his steed, The steed along the drawbridge flies, And when Lord Marmion reached his band, And shakes his gauntlet at the towers! Sir W. Scott. CLXV. HIGHLAND WAR-SONG. PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu, pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, summon Clan Conuil. Come away, come away, hark to the summons! Come in your war-array, gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and from mountain so rocky; Come every hill-plaid, and true heart that wears one, Leave untended the herd, the flock without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the altar; Leave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets and barges : Come with your fighting gear, broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when forests are rended, Faster come, faster come, faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom, tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come; see how they gather! Sir W. Scott. CLXVI. DAVID'S LAMENT FOR ABSALOM. THE king stood still Till the last echo died; then, throwing off "Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die! "Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill, Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, "But death is on thee; I shall hear the gush But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come "And oh ! when I am stricken, and my heart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! "And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee! — And thy dark sin! oh! I could drink the cup, If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My lost boy, Absalom!" He covered up his face, and bowed himself As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. N. P. Willia CLXVII. "LOOK NOT UPON THE WINE." OOK not upon the wine when it Is red within the cup! Stay not for pleasure when she fills Her tempting beaker up! Though clear its depths, and rich its glow, A spell of madness lurks below. They say 't is pleasant on the lip, And merry on the brain; They say it stirs the sluggish blood, And dulls the tooth of pain. DAY When at the altar of the temple stood Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off His costly raiment for the leper's garb, And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip Hid in a loathsome covering, stood still, Waiting to hear his doom : "Depart! depart, O child Of Israel, from the temple of thy God! For He has smote thee with His chastening rod, |