Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime, At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris "Stay spur! And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight! "How they'll greet us!"—and all in a moment his roan And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is,-friends flocking round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; Was no more than his due who brought good news from Robert Browning [1812-1889] THE OLD SCOTTISH CAVALIER COME listen to another song, Should make your heart beat high, Bring crimson to your forehead, And the luster to your eye;— It is the song of the olden time, As e'er wore sword on thigh! Like a brave old Scottish cavalier, He kept his castle in the north, Hard by the thundering Spey; And a thousand vassals dwelt around, And not a man of all that clan Had ever ceased to pray For the Royal race they loved so well, From the steadfast Scottish cavaliers, His father drew the righteous sword And chiefs of ancient names, And died at Killiecrankie Pass Like a true old Scottish cavalier He never owned the foreign rule, But kept his clan in peace at home, And when they asked him for his oath, That bore the white cockade: At length the news ran through the land— O'er mountain and through glen; And our old Baron rose in might, Like a lion from his den, And rode away across the hills To Charlie and his men, With the valiant Scottish cavaliers, All of the olden time! He was the first that bent the knee He gave his soul to God, Like a good old Scottish cavalier, Oh, never shall we know again The fair White Rose has faded From the garden where it grew, And no fond tears, save those of heaven, Of the last old Scottish cavalier All of the olden time! William Edmondstoune Aytoun [1813-1865] THE BALLAD OF KEITH OF RAVELSTON From "A Nuptial Eve " THE murmur of the mourning ghost That keeps the shadowy kine, "O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line!" Ravelston, Ravelston, The merry path that leads Ravelston, Ravelston, The stile beneath the tree, The maid that kept her mother's kine, The song that sang she! She sang her song, she kept her kine, When Andrew Keith of Ravelston His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring, O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line! Year after year, where Andrew came, Her misty hair is faint and fair, O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line! I lay my hand upon the stile, Yet, stranger! here, from year to year, She keeps her shadowy kine; O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line! Step out three steps, where Andrew stood Why blanch thy cheeks for fear? The ancient stile is not alone, 'Tis not the burn I hear! She makes her immemorial moan, She keeps her shadowy kine; O Keith of Ravelston, The sorrows of thy line! Sydney Dobell [1824-1874] |