« ZurückWeiter »
Discoursed a while, 'mongst other matter,
“Hold there !” the other quick replies,
“I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
“'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye"“ Green !” cries the other in a fury
Why, sir-d'ye think I've lost my eyes ?” “ 'Twere no great loss,” the friend replies ;
For, if they always serve you thus, You 'll find 'em but of little use."
So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows: When luckily came by a thirdTo him the question they referr'd; And begg'd he'd tell 'em, if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue. “Sirs," cries the umpire, “cease your pother, The creature's neither one nor t’ other, I caught the animal last night, And view'd it o'er by candlelight: I mark'd it well—'twas black as jetYou stare—but, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it."-"Pray, sir, do :
SCENE AFTER THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.
ALP wander'd on, along the beach,
As it slipp'd through their jaws when their edge grew
dull, As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, When they scarce could rise from the spot where they
So well had they broken a lingering fast
Alp turn'd him from the sickening sight:
Lean dogs.-All over the East, dogs are the great scaven
gers. Compare the account of the death of Jezebel as given in 2 Kings ix. 30-37.
LOCHIEL'S WARNING. Wizard. Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight: They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far! 'Tis thine, O Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led ! Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead : For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave. Lochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling
seer ! Or, if gory
Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight! This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. Wizard. Ha! laugh’st thou, Lochiel, my vision to
scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth, From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north ? Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! Ah ! home let him speed—for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast, Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven.
O crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might,
Lochiel. False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled
my clan :
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! They are true to the last of their blood and their
breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud ; All plaided and plumed in their tartan array
Wizard. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! For, dark and despairing, iny sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal : 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive
king Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my
sight: Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors ; Culloden is lost, and my country deplores : But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, Like a limb from his cou ry cast blee and torn ?