« VorigeDoorgaan »
“ Hail Cavalry, thou mountain hoar, “ Wet with our Redeemer's gore ! “ Ye trampled tombs, ye fanes forlorn, “ Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn; " Your vish'd honours to restore, “ Fearless we climb this hostile shore ! " And thou, the sepulchre of god ! “ By mocking pagans rudely trod, “ Bereft of every awful rite, “ And quench'd thy lamps that beam'd so
bright; « For thee, from Britain's distant coast, “ Lo, Richard leads his faithful host! « Aloft in his heroic hand, “ Blazing like the beacon's brand, “O'er the far-affrighted fields, “ Resistless Kaliburn he wields. “ Proud Saracen, pollute no more “ The shrines by martyrs built of yore! " From each wild mountain's trackless crown “ In vain the gloomy castles frown: “ Thy battering engines, huge and high, “ In vain our steel-clad steeds defy; “ And rolling in terrific state, “ On giant-wheels harsh thunders grate. “ When eve has hush'd the buzzing camp, “ Amid the moon-light vapours damp, “ Thy necromantic forms, in vain, “ Haunt us on the tented plain,
" We bid those spectre-shapes avaunt,
“ Salem, in antient majesty
J. AIKIN, M.D.
As o'er the heath, amid his steel-clad Thanes,
The royal DUNCAN rode in martial pride, Where, full to view, high-topp'd with glittering vanes, Macbeth's strong towers o'erhung the mountain's
In dusky mantle wrapp'd, a grisly form
Rush'd with a giant's stride across his way ; And thus, while howld around the rising storm,
In hollow thundering accents pour'd dismay.
Stop, O King! thy destin'd course,
Hear'st thou not the raven's croak !
Feel'st thou not the loaded sky?
Lo, yon' castle banners glare
Murder, like an eagle waits
Let not plighted faith beguile ; Honour's semblance, Beauty's smile : Fierce Ambition's venom'd dart Rankles in the fest'ring heart.
Treason, arm’d against thy life,
Now 'tis time ; ere guilty night Closes round thee, speed thy Aight. If the threshold once be crost, DUNCAN! thou’rt for ever lost.