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As if his dearest friend to clasp ;
“Make way for liberty!” he cried,
Their keen points met from side to side;
He bowed amongst them like a tree,
And thus made way for liberty.
Swift to the breach his comrades fly; “ Make way for liberty !" they cry, And through the Austrian phalanx dart, As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart ; While instantaneous as his fall, Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all : An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow.
Thus Switzerland again was free; Thus death made way for liberty!
But see-he starts—what heard he then ?
That dreadful shout !-across the glen
From the land-side it comes, and loud
Rings through the chasm; as if the crowd
Of fearful things, that haunt that dell,
Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of hell,
Had all in one dread howl broke out,
So loud, so terrible that shout!
They come—the Moslems come !" he cries,
His proud soul mounting to his eyes,
“ Now spirits of the brave, who roam
Enfranchised through yon starry dome,
Rejoice—for souls of kindred fire
Are on the wing to join your choir !"
He said-and, light as bridegrooms bound
To their young loves, re-climbed the steep
And gained the shrine-his chiefs stood round-
Their swords, as with instinctive leap,
Together, at that cry accurst,
Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst,
And hark !-again-again it rings;
Near and more near its echoings
Peal through the chasm-Oh ! who that then
Had seen those listening warrior-men,
With their swords grasped, their eyes of flame
Turned on their chief-could doubt the shame,
The indignant shame with which they thrill
To hear those shouts and yet stand still ?
He read their thoughts—they were his own-
“What! while our arms can wield these blades, Shall we die tamely ? die alone ?
Without one victim to our shades,
One Moslem heart, where, buried deep,
The sabre from its toil may sleep!
No—God of Iran's burning skies !
Thou scorn'st the inglorious sacrifice.
No-though of all earth's hope bereft,
Life, swords, and vengeance still are left.
We'll make yon valley's reeking caves
Live in the awestruck minds of men,
Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves
Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen.
Follow, brave hearts this pile remains
Our refuge still from life and chains ;
But his the best, the holiest bed,
Who sinks entombed in Moslem dead.!"
Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the west !
Through all the wide border his steed was the best!
And save his good broadsword he weapon
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young
He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none:
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late :.
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave. Lochinvar.
So, boldly he entered the Netherby. hall,
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
Then, spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
“ Oh come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young lord Lochinvar ?"
“ I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;-
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide-
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine ;-
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup;
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,
“ Now tread we a measure !” said
Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; While her mother diď fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bridemaidens whispered, “ 'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush and scaur ; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting ʼmong Græmes of the Netherby clan; Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant, like young
There were sounds of mirth and joyousness
Broke forth in the lighted hall,
And there was many a merry laugh,
many a merry call;
And the glass was freely passed around,
And the nectar freely quaffed;
And many a heart felt light with glee
And the joy of the thrilling draught.
A voice arose in that place of mirth,
And a glass was flourished high; “I drink to life,” said a son of earth,
“ And I do not fear to die ; I have no fear, I have no fear
Talk not of the vagrant death; For he is a grim old gentleman,
And he wars but with his breath.
Cheer, comrades, cheer! We drink to life,
And we do not fear to die !"
Just then a rushing sound was heard,
As of spirits sweeping by ;
And presently the latch flew up,
And the door flew open wide;
And a stranger strode within the hall,
With an air of martial pride.
He spoke : "I join in your revelry,
Bold sons of the bacchan rite; And I drink the toast you have drank before,
The pledge of your dauntless knight. Fill high-fill high-we drink to life,
And we scorn the reaper death ; For he is a grim old gentleman,
And he wars but with his breath.
He's a noble soul, that champion knight,
And he bears a martial brow;
Oh, he'll pass the gates of paradise,
To the regions of bliss below!"
This was too niuch for the bacchan ;
Fire flashed from his angry eye ;
A muttered curse, and a vengeful oath-
"Intruder, thou shalt die!"
He struck-and the stranger's guise fell off,
And a phantom form stood thereA grinning, and ghastly, and horrible thing,
With rotten and mildewed hair!
And they struggled awhile, till the stranger blew
A blast of his withering breath;
And the bacchanal fell at the phantom's feet,
And his conqueror was—death!
Henry was every morning fed
With a full mess of milk and bread.
One day the boy his breakfast took,
And ate it by a purling brook.
His mother lets him have his way-
With free leave, Henry every day
Thither repairs, until she heard
Him talking of a fine gray bird.
This pretty bird, he said, indeed,
Came every day with him to feed,
And it loved him, and loved his milk,
And it was smooth and soft like silk.
On the next morn she follows Harry,
And carefully she sees him carry
Through the long grass his heaped-up mess-
What was her terror and distress,
When she saw the infant take
His bread and milk-close to a snake!
Upon the grass he spreads his feast,
And sits down by his frightful guest,
Who had waited for the treat;
And now they both began to eat.
Fond mother! shriek not, Oh beware
The least small noise! Oh have a care!
The least small noise that may be made,
The wily snake will be afraid
If he hear the slightest sound,
He will inflict the envenomed wound.
-She speaks not, moves not, scarce does breathe,
As she stands the trees beneath.
No sound she utters; and she soon
Sees the child lift