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Late, late to-night will Dian cheer

The swain, and chase the boatman's fear;
Till then, no beacon on the cliff

May shape the course of struggling skiff;
The scattered lights that skirt the bay,
All, one by one, have died away:
The only lamp of this lone hour

Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower.

Yes, there is light in that lone chamber,
And o'er her silken ottoman

Are thrown the fragrant beads of amber,
O'er which her fairy fingers ran;
Near these, with emerald rays beset,
(How could she thus that gem forget?)
Her mother's sainted amulet,
Whereon engraved the Korsee text,
Could smooth this life, and win the next;
And by her Comboloio lies

A Koran of illumin'd dyes :

And many a bright emblazon'd rhyme
By Persian scribes redeemed from time;
And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute,
Reclines her now neglected lute;
And round her lamp of fretted gold
Bloom flowers in urns of China's mould;
The richest work of Iran's loom,
And Sheeraz tribute of perfume;

All that can eye or sense delight

Are gathered in that gorgeous room,
But yet it hath an air of gloom.

She, of this Peri cell the sprite,

What doth she hence, and on so rude a night?

The Bride of Abydos.

THE BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN

Scott.

It was a night of lovely June,

High rode in cloudless blue the moon,
Demayet smiled beneath her ray;
Old Stirling's towers arose in light,
And twined in links of silver bright,
Her winding river lay.

Ah gentle planet! other sight
Shall greet the next returning night,
Of broken arms, and banners tore,
And marshes dark with human gore,
And piles of slaughter'd men and horse,
And Forth that floats the frequent corse,
And many a wounded wretch to plain,
Beneath thy silver light in vain.

But now, from England's host, the cry
Thou hears't of wassail revelry,
While from the Scottish legions pass

The murmur'd prayer, the early mass!

Here, numbers had presumption given ;

There, bands o'ermatched sought aid from heaven.

On Gillie's hill, whose height commands

The battle-field, fair Edith stands,

With serf and page unfit for war,

To eye the conflict from afar:
O with what doubtful agony
She sees the dawning tint the sky!
Now on the Pehil gleams the sun,
And glistens now Demayet dun.

Is it the lark that carols shrill,

Is it the bittern's early hum?
No!-distant but encreasing still,
The trumpet's sound swells up the hill,

With the deep murmur of the drum.
Responsive from the Scottish host,
Pipe-clang and bugle-sound, were toss❜d,
His breast and brow each soldier cross'd,
And started from the ground,
Arm'd and array'd for instant fight,
Rose archer, spearman, squire, and knight,
And in the pomp of battle might

The dread battalia frown'd.

Now onward, and in open view,

The countless ranks of England drew,

Dark rolling like the ocean tide,

When the rough wind had chafed his pride,
And his deep roar sends challenge wide
To all that bars his way!

In front the gallant archers trode,
The men-at-arms behind them rode,
And midmost of the phalanx broad,
The Monarch held his sway.
Beside him many a war-horse fumes,
Around him waves a sea of plumes,
Where many a knight in battle known,
And some who spurs had first braced on,
And deem that day should see them won,
King Edward's hests obey.

De Argentine attends his side,

With stout de Valence, Pembroke's pride,
Selected champions from the train,
To wait upon his bridle-rein.
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed-
At once before his sight amazed,
Sunk banner spear and shield;

Each weapon point is downward sent, Each warrior to the ground is bent"The rebels, Argentine, repent!

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"For pardon they have kneeled." Aye!—but they bend to other powers, "And other pardon sue than our's; "See where yon barefoot Abbot stands, "And blesses them with lifted hands!

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Upon the spot where they have kneeled, "These men will die, or win the field." "Then prove we if they die or win, "Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin." Earl Gilbert wav'd his truncheon high, Just as the northern ranks arose, Signal for England's archery,

To halt and bend their bows. Then stepped each yeoman forth a pace, Glanced at the intervening space, And raised his left-hand high; To the right ear the cords they bringAt once ten thousand bowstrings ring, Ten thousand arrows fly!

Nor paused on the devoted Scot,

The ceaseless fury of their shot;

As fiercely and as fast;

Forth whistling came the grey-goose wing As the wild hailstones pelt and ring, Adown December's blast.

Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide, Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide; Woe! woe! to Scotland's banner'd pride, last!

If the fell shower may

Upon the right behind the wood

Each by his steed, dismounted, stood

The Scottish chivalry ;—

With foot in stirrup, hand on mane,
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain
His own keen heart, his eager train,
Until the archers gain'd the plain;

Then, "Mount ye gallants free!"
He cried, and vaulting from the ground,
His saddle every horseman found.
On high their glittering crests they toss
As springs the wildfire from the moss;
The shield hangs down on every breast,
Each ready lance is in the rest,

And loud shouts Edward Bruce,"Forth Marshal, on the peasant foe! "We'll tame the terrors of their bow, "And cut the bowstring loose !"

Then spurs were dashed in chargers' flanks,
They rush'd among the archer ranks;
No spears were there, the shock to let,
No stakes to turn the charge were set,
And how shall yeoman's armour slight,
Stand the long lance, and mace of might?
Or what may their short swords avail,
'Gainst barbed horse and shirts of mail?
Amidst their ranks the chargers sprung,
High o'er their heads the weapons swung,
And shriek, and groan, and vengeful shout
Give note of triumph and of rout!
Awhile, with stubborn hardihood,
Their English hearts the strife made good;
Borne down at length on every side,
Compell'd to flight they scatter wide.-
Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee,
And bound the deer of Dallorn Lee!

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