Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd. 5 As home his footsteps he hath turn'd, From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,— Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown,

10

15

And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung.

O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
20 Land of the mountain and the flood,

1 broth

Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band,
That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Still as I view each well-known scene,

25 Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as to me, of all bereft,

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left;

And thus I love them better still,

Even in extremity of ill.

30 By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, Though none should guide my feeble way; Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, Although it chill my wither'd cheek; Still lay my head by Teviot Stone, 35 Though there, forgotten and alone,

The bard may draw his parting groan.

Not scorn'd like me, to Branksome Hall The minstrels came at festive call; Trooping they came, from near and far, 40 The jovial priests of mirth and war; Alike for feast and fight prepar'd, Battle and banquet both they shar'd. Of late, before each martial clan, They blew their death-note in the van, 45 But now, for every merry mate, Rose the porteullis' iron grate; They sound the pipe, they strike the string, They dance, they revel, and they sing, Till the rude turrets shake and ring.

And much of wild and wonderful In these rude isles might fancy cull; For thither came, in times afar, 325 Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war, The Norsemen, train'd to spoil and blood, Skill'd to prepare the raven's food; Kings of the main their leaders brave, Their barks the dragons of the wave. 330 And there, in many a stormy_vale, The Scald1 had told his wondrous tale; And many a runic2 column high Had witness'd grim idolatry. And thus had Harold in his youth 335 Learn'd many a Saga's rhyme uncouth Of that Sea-Snake,3 tremendous curl'd, Whose monstrous circle girds the world; Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yell Maddens the battle's bloody swell;

1 Norse singer of heroic poems.

'carved with runes (characters used in writing by the early Germanic peoples)

The jormungandr, or Snake of the Ocean, which in Norse mythology encircles the earth. The Valkyriur, or Choosers of the Slain, who directed the course of battle. See Gray's The Fatal Sisters (p. 66).

It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden.

HUNTING SONG
1808

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear! 5 Hounds are in their couples1 yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily, merrily, mingle they, "Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 10 The mist has left the mountain gray, Springlets in the dawn are steaming, Diamonds on the brake2 are gleaming: And foresters have busy been, To track the buck in thicket green; 15 Now we come to chant our lay, "Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
20 Fleet of foot, and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;
You shall see him brought to bay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

25 Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we;

Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk, 30 Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk: Think of this, and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay.

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;

And save his good broadsword he weapons had none;

He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.

5 So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake,1 and he stopped not for stone;

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 10 The bride had consented, the gallant came late:

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in

35 And

whispered,

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 croupe2 the fair lady he

swung,

40 So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

As chief, who hears his warder call. "To arms! the foemen storm the wall," 40 The antler'd monarch of the waste

Sprung from his heathery couch in haste, But, ere his fleet career he took, The dew-drops from his flanks he shook; Like crested leader proud and high, 45 Toss'd his beam'd frontlet to the sky; A moment gazed adown the dale, A moment snuff'd the tainted gale, A moment listen'd to the cry,

That thicken'd as the chase drew nigh; 50 Then, as the headmost foes appear'd, With one brave bound the copse he clear'd, And, stretching forward free and far, Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var.

Yell'd on the view the opening pack; 55 Rock, glen, and cavern, paid them back; To many a mingled sound at once The awaken'd mountain gave response. A hundred dogs bay'd deep and strong, Clatter'd a hundred steeds along,

60 Their peal the merry horns rung out, A hundred voices join'd the shout; With hark and whoop and wild halloo, No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. Far from the tumult fled the roe, 65 Close in her covert cower'd the doe; The falcon, from her cairn1 on high,

1 crag; peak (literally, a heap of stones)