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And, throned in beauty on thy cliffs, again
It is a
NOTE. —" And Yackandandah takes the place of Yarm.” The name in the text never fails to strike an Englishman, hearing it for the first time, with astonishment. picturesque little town, however, and situated amid as lovely a region as heart could wish. Mountains, wooded to their tops, surround it on all sides save one, and in every dell and dingle and winter-fretted ravine, there is the gurgle and tinkling laugh of running water.
“ Yackandandah” means the “Rock between the Waters ;” and is aptly named, for it stands above the junction of two of the fairest streams that ever flowed out of mountain-side. But besides beauty, one of them hid in its sands and in its banks the fatal dower of gold. Under a bird's-nest by the waterside the “prospectors ” first found gold, and after that the beauty quickly vanished, and the wild duck, the teal, the pelican, and black swan had to seek another home.
THE BATTLE OF DUNBAR.
We wrestled with the Lord of Hosts
In strong prevailing prayer,
Like the lion in his lair;
Waits, till with twilight's gloom,
Shall unsuspecting come.
We watched from day to day,
Old Lesley's army lay ;
We longed, all fighting-ripe,
God should give them to our gripe.
The soldier of the Lord ;
Who smote like God's own sword,
With words of godly cheer,
Deliverance was near.
The Scots are coming down;
They deem the prey their own ;
But Oliver is watching them,
Sees how the fight will go,
We'll be upon the foe.
And 'mid the ocean's moan,
The Scots are two to one ;
Whose hearts are proud and stern, And for their Covenant and King
With battle ardour burn. “Stand to your arms !” from troop to troop
The word of battle sped;
We were for fight arrayed.
Go flitting through the sky,
Tells that the day is nigh.
A trumpet peal rings clear;
“Were Lambert only here !”
He's far off on the right,
Is chafing for the fight.
“Now quit yourselves like men, “Upon them," shouted Oliver,
“ In God's great name, Amen !” The trumpets sound the battle,
Our shouts the welkin break, Along the line our cannon
In thunder-peals awake.
“ The Lord of Hosts! The Lord of Hosts !”
Our charge hath burst away,
The night reels into day.
The Scots throng to the burn;
Back with them through the corn.
To win the grassy steep, When all their horse upon us
Down like a whirlwind sweep.
They roll us back again,
With wounded men and slain.
O make us doubly strong, Avenge us now upon our foes,
And break the teeth of wrong! “ The Lord of Hosts! The Lord of Hosts !”
Resounds upon our right,
They will restore the fight;
Their right is bent and torn,
Goes streaming through the corn.
The left is giving way;
Like lions on the prey.
Bursts out above the sea;
It was the voice of Oliver,
Who prayed like one inspired; His words flew on from rank to rank,
With faith our hearts were fired, And charging home upon them,
With one victorious shout, We rolled the Scots before us
In utter headlong rout, As when into some river
Brim-fed by winter snows,
Its giant volume throws,
Bursts down into the plain,
And headlong rush of rain,
And huge uprooted trees,
Go sweeping to the seas. “They run ! they run !" quoth Oliver,
“Now halt, and give God praise, Until our horse have time to breathe
And gather for the chase.” And from ten thousand warrior throats,
Upon the morning wind, Our mighty psalm of victory
Did to the Lord ascend;
So gloriously had wrought,
So far beyond our thought.
And by the stroke of noon,
Ten thousand captives won ;