Gone are all the barons bold,

Gone are all the knights and squires,
Gone the abbot, stern and cold,
And the brotherhood of friars ;
Not a name

Remains to fame,

From those mouldering days of old!
But the poet's memory here

Of the landscape makes a part;
Like the river, swift and clear,

Flows his song through many a heart;
Haunting still

That ancient mill,

In the Valley of the Vire.

47.

H. W. LONGfellow.

Remembrance of a Deed of Valour.

AND still his name sounds stirring
Unto the men of Rome,

As the trumpet blast that cries to them
To charge the Volscian home;

And wives still pray to Juno

For boys with hearts as bold

As his who kept the bridge so well
In the brave days of old.

And in the nights of winter,

When the cold north winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow;
When round the lonely cottage
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus
Roar louder yet within;

When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit;

When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And the kid turns on the spit;

When young and old in circle

Around the firebrands close;

When the girls are weaving baskets,
And the lads are shaping bows;

I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Düffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the halfchime,

So, Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray :
And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;
And one eye's black intelligence,—ever that glance
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her,
We'll remember at Aix"-for one heard the quick wheeze
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,

As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So, we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Loo

The br

'N

T

d past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
bove laughed a pitiless laugh,

roke the brittle bright stubble like chaff;
em a dome-spire sprang white,
sped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

ot us!"—and all in a moment his roan
croup over, lay dead as a stone;
by Roland to bear the whole weight
ich alone could save Aix from her fate,
3 like pits full of blood to the brim,
s of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

h

Coat, each holster let fall. s let go belt and all, baned, patted his ent

-name, my horse without peer;

ed and sang, any noise, bad or

... Roland galloped and stood.

es, friends flocking round bead 'twixt my knees on the ground; t was praising this Roland of mine, is throat our last measure of wine, ne burgesses voted by common consent)

re than his due who brought good news from

Id of late, how the great Sophy once
fying a noble falcon at the berne.

In comes by chance an eage sousing by:
Wan when the hawk espies, leaves her first game,
A. I boldly ventures on the king of birds;
Ion; tugged they in the air, till at the length
Th falcon better breathed sized on the eagle,
And struck it dead. The barons praised the bird,
And for her courage she was peerless held.
The emperor, after some deliberate thoughts,
Miele her no less; he caused a crown of gold
To be now framed, and fitted to her head,
In honour of her courage: then the bird
With great applause, was to the market-place
In troph borne; where, when her utmost worth
Had bech proclaimed, the common executioner
Lat, by the king's command, took off her crown,
And dier with a sword struck off her head,

Aone no better than a noble traitor

Into the king of birds.

T. HEYWOOD.

51.

Gathering Song of Donald the Black.
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 mountains so rocky;
The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlocky.

Come every hill-plaid, and
True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade, and
Strong hand that bears 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,

Come as the waves come, when

Navies are stranded :
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!
Wide waves the eagle plume

Blended with heather.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set!

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu

Knell for the onset !

SIR W. SCOTT.