Altho' perchance its final breath May vibrate in the ear of death? Vain terrors all! be ours to-day, Tho' ere the morrow wrapt in clay; And tho' our latest strain, be ours The song that rings thro' Cheviot bow'rs. THE RENCOUNTER. · PLEDGE, hunters, pledge our noble host,' The Percy cried, with scornful boast, As midst his gallant company The beechen bowl he lifted high- • Were but its bounteous master here! But good Earl Douglas, well I deem, Holds his fat bucks in light esteem, He paus'd-At once his hand was laid Instinctive on his battle-blade; Half from his grassy seat uprais'd, Check'd on the startled speaker's tongue, They catch each rising sound-they hear The quiet river murmuring near ; They hear the busy zephyr stir Thro' the deep shade of pine and fir— Hear they no doubtful sound beside? 'Tis not the river's quiet tide Singing along its pebbled bed; But near approach of hostile tread ; Not the fresh breeze that sways the larch; But heavy tramp of hasty march, Growing and doubling on the ear— Scarce had the Percy seiz'd his spear, When o'er the green a horseman spurr'd, Ere yet in view, his voice was heard; And as he from the wood emerg'd, His straining steed he fiercely urg'd And clamour'd his alarum cry The Douglas comes the foe is nigh; 6 Full twenty hundred Scottish spears! Their arms, that in the sun-beam shine, • Mark thro' the woods their winding line; • Where round that cliff the river flows ‹ Their course is bent.'—'Then take your bows,' Your arrows, steep'd in red-deer's blood, • Shall shortly drink a richer flood: Broad is that red-deer's velvet flank, From which your shafts the life-blood drank, But full as broad a Scottish breast Ring out a signal to the rest ; And let us forth, my merry-men, To hunt these rovers home again.' |