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50

And new-born baby died;

But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

IX.

"They say it was a shocking sight

After the field was won;

For many thousand bodies here

Lay rotting in the sun;

But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.

X.

55

Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won,
And our good Prince Eugene."

"Why 'twas a very wicked thing!"

Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay

nay

my little girl," quoth he,

60 "It was a famous victory.

XI.

"And every body praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win."

66

But what good came of it at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin.

65"Why that I cannot tell," said he,
"But 'twas a famous victory."

MY DAYS AMONG THE DEAD ARE PAST

(Written at Keswick, 1818)

I.

My days among the Dead are past;

Around me I behold,

Where'er these casual eyes are cast,

The mighty minds of old;

5 My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day.

10

II.

With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;

And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,

My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

III.

My thoughts are with the Dead; with them
I live in long-past years;

15 Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears,

And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.

IV.

20

My hopes are with the Dead; anon
My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on

Through all Futurity:

Yet leaving here a name, I trust,

That will not perish with the dust.

Joseph Blanco White

1775-1841

SONNET TO NIGHT

(First published 1828)

Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew Thee by report Divine, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this goodly frame, This glorious canopy of light and blue? 5 But through a curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the hues of the great setting flame, Hesperus with the Host of Heaven came, And lo! creation broadened to man's view. Who could have guessed such darkness lay concealed

10 Within thy beams, O Sun! or who divined

Whilst bud, and flower, and insect stood revealed, Thou to such countless worlds hadst made us

blind?

Why should we, then, shun death with anxious strife,

If Light conceals so much, wherefore not Life?

Sir Walter Scott

1771-1832

HAROLD'S SONG TO ROSABELLE

(From Lay of the Last Minstrel)

CANTO VI.-XXIII.

(1805)

"O listen, listen, ladies gay!

No haughty feat of arms I tell;

Soft is the note, and sad the lay,

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

66

5 Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay!

10

Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.

66 The blackening wave is edged with white;
To inch and rock the sea-mews fly;
The fishes have heard the Water-Sprite,

Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh.

"Last night the gifted Seer did view

A wet shrowd swathed round ladye gay; 15 Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch: Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?"

20

""Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir
To-night at Roslin leads the ball,
But that my ladye-mother there

Sits lonely in her castle-hall.

""Tis not because the ring they ride,
And Lindesay at the ring rides well,
But that my sire the wine will chide,
If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.-"

25 O'er Roslin all that dreary night,

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;
'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light,
And redder than the bright moonbeam.

It glared on Roslin's castled rock, 30

It ruddied all the copse-wood glen;
'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak,
And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden.

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud,

Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie,

35 Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply.

40

Seem'd all on fire within, around,

Deep sacristy and altar's pale;
Shone every pillar foliage bound,

And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair-
So still they blaze, when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high St. Clair.

45 There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold
Lie buried within that proud chapelle;
Each one the holy vault doth hold-

50

But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle!

And each St. Clair was buried there,

With candle, with book, and with knell;
But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung,
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.

BALLAD

ALICE BRAND

(From The Lady of the Lake, 1810)

CANTO IV.

XII.

Merry it is in the good greenwood,

When the mavis and merle are singing,
When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in

cry,

And the hunter's horn is ringing.

5 "O Alice Brand, my native land

Is lost for love of you;

And we must hold by wood and wold,
As outlaws wont to do.

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