And the evening star was shining
On Schehallion's distant head,
When we wiped our bloody broadswords,
And returned to count the dead.
There we found him gashed and gory,
Stretched upon the cumbered plain,
As he told us where to seek him,
In the thickest of the slain.
And a smile was on his visage,
For within his dying ear
Pealed the joyful note of triumph,
And the clansman's clamorous cheer:

So, amidst the battle's thunder,

Shot, and steel, and scorching flame,

In the glory of his manhood

Passed the spirit of the Græme!

Open wide the vaults of Atholl,

Where the bones of heroes rest,

Open wide the hallowed portals
To receive another guest!

Last of Scots and last of freemen,

Last of all that dauntless race,

Who would rather die unsullied

Than outlive the land's disgrace!

79. MARMION AND DOUGLAS.-Sir Walter Scott.

Idem, varied melody and movement.

The train from out the castle drew,

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu: —

66

"Though something I might 'plain," he said,

"Of cold respect to stranger guest,

Sent thither by your king's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed,
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble Earl, receive my hand."
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:-

66

My manors, halls, and bowers shall still

Be open, at my sovereign's will,

To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer;
My castle's are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation stone,-
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

"An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upor your lord,
And lay your hand upon your sword,)
I tell thee thou 'rt defied!

And if thou saidst I am not peer

To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age:

Fierce he broke forth,-"And dar'st thou then
To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?
No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up drawbridge, grooms!-What, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall.'

Lord Marmion turned,-well was his need!-
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim;

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,

He halts and turns with clenched hand,

And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!" But soon he reined his fury's pace:

"A royal messenger he came,

Though most unworthy of the name.

80. THE SONG OF THE CAMP.--Bayard Taylor.

AN INCIDENT OF THE CRIMEAN WAR.

Effusive and expulsive O., medium pitch, sustained force. "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried,

The outer trenches guarding,
When the heated guns of the camps allied

Grew weary of bombarding.

The dark Redan, in silent scoff,

Lay, grim and threatening, under;
And the tawny mound of the Malakoff
No longer belched its thunder.

There was a pause. A guardsman said:
"We storm the forts to-morrow;

Sing while we may, another day

Will bring enough of sorrow."

They lay along the battery's side,
Below the smoking cannon;

Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde,
And from the banks of Shannon.

They sang of love and not of fame;
Forgot was Britain's glory;
Each heart recalled a different name,
But all sang "Annie Laurie."

Voice after voice caught up the song,
Until its tender passion

Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,-
Their battle-eve confession.

Dear girl, her name he dared not speak,
But, as the song grew louder,
Something upon the soldier's cheek

Washed off the stains of powder.

Beyond the darkening ocean burned
The bloody sunset's embers,
While the Crimean valleys learned
How English love remembers.

And once again a fire of hell

Rained on the Russian quarters,
With scream of shot, and burst of shell,
And bellowing of the mortars!

And Irish Nora's eyes are dim

For a singer, dumb and gory;
And English Mary mourns for him
Who sang of "Annie Laurie."

Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest
Your truth and valor wearing:

The bravest are the tenderest,—
The loving are the daring.

224. Moderate Movement.

81.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.-Henry W. Longfellow. Effusive and expulsive O., medium and high pitch, varied melody.

It was the schooner Hesperus

That sailed the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter

To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,

His pipe was in his mouth,

And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now west now south.