How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!! XXVII. And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, -alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. XXVIII. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 1 Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, the "gentle Lochiel" of the "forty-five." The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, Battle's magnificently stern array! - the day. The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from the proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong, And partly that bright names will hallow song; And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard! XXX. There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And mine were nothing, had I such to give; But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree, Which living waves where thou didst cease to live, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, With all her reckless birds upon the wing, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring. XXXI. I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of Fame May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake So honor'd, but assumes a stronger, bitterer claim. XXXII. They mourn, but smile at length; and, smiling, mourn: The tree will wither long before it fall; The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn; The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall In massy hoariness; the ruin’d wall Stands when its wind-worn battlements are gone; The bars survive the captive they enthral; The day drags through though storms keep out the sun; And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on: XXXIII. Even as a broken mirror, which the glass The same, and still the more, the more it breaks; And thus the heart will do which not forsakes, Living in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold, And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches, Yet withers on till all without is old, Showing no visible sign, for such things are untold. XXXIV. There is a very life in our despair, Vitality of poison, a quick root Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were As nothing did we die; but life will suit Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore, All ashes to the taste: Did man compute Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er Such hours 'gainst years of life, he name threescore ? - say, would XXXV. The Psalmist number'd out the years of man: They are enough: and if thy tale be true, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleet ing span, More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say, 66 Here, where the sword united nations drew, Our countrymen were warring on that day! And this is much, and all which will not pass away. |