EAD me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud
Upon the top of Nevis, blind in mist!
I look into the chasms, and a shroud
Vaporous doth hide them,
Mankind do know of hell;
just so much I wist I look o'erhead, And there is sullen mist, even so much Mankind can tell of heaven; mist is spread Before the earth, beneath me, even such, Even so vague is man's sight of himself! Here are the craggy stones beneath my feet, Thus much I know that, a poor witless elf, I tread on them, that all my eye doth meet Is mist and crag, not only on this height, But in the world of thought and mental might! John Keats.
T was a wild and strange retreat,
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet.
The dell, upon the mountain's crest,
Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast ;
Its trench had stayed full many a rock,
Hurled by primeval earthquake shock
From Benvenue's gray summit wild,
And here, in random ruin piled,
They frowned incumbent o'er the spot,
And formed the rugged sylvan grot.
The oak and birch, with mingled shade,
At noontide there a twilight made,
Unless when short and sudden shone
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone,
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye
Gains on thy depth, Futurity.
No murmur waked the solemn still,
Save tinkling of a fountain rill;
But when the wind chafed with the lake,
A sullen sound would upward break,
With dashing hollow voice, that spoke
The incessant war of wave and rock.
Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway,
Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray.
From such a den the wolf had sprung,
In such the wildcat leaves her young;
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair
Sought for a space their safety there.
S it befell, and hapinit into deid,
Upon ane rever the quhilk is callit Tweid;
At Tweidis mouth thair stands ane noble toun,
Quhair mony lordis hes bene of grit renoune,
And mony a lady bene fair of face,
And mony ane fresche lusty galand was.
Into this toune, the quhilk is callit Berwik,
Apoun the sey, thair standis nane it lyk,
For it is wallit weill about with stane,
And dowbil stankis castin mony ane.
And syne the castell is so strang and wicht,
With staitelie towrs, and turrats hé on hicht,
With kirnalis wrocht craftelie with all;
The portculis most subtellie to fall,
Quhen that thame list to draw thame upon hicht,
That it may be into na mannis micht,
To win that hous by craft or subtiltie.
Quhairfoir it is maist fair alluterrlie ;
Into my tyme, quhairever I have bein,
Most fair, most gudelie, most pleasand to be sene.
The toun, the castel, and the pleasand land;
The sea wallis upon the uther hand;
The grit Croce kirk, and eik the Mason dew;
The Jacobine of the quhyt hew,
The Carmeletis, and the monks eik
Of the four ordours war nocht to seik;
Thay wer all into this toun dwelling.
Bring her frae the Border;
Yon sweet bonny lassie,
Let her gae nae farther.
English loons will twine ye
O' the lovely treasure;
But we'll let them ken
A sword wi' them we 'll measure.
Go to Berwick, Johnnie,
And regain your honor;
Drive them o'er the Tweed,
And show our Scottish banner.
I am Rob, the King,
And ye are Jock, my brither;
But, before we lose her,
We'll a' there thegither.
OR, THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE.
EVEN daughters had Lord Archibald,
All children of one mother:
You could not say in one short day
What love they bore each other.
A garland, of seven lilies, wrought!
Seven sisters that together dwell;
But he, bold knight as ever fought,
Their father, took of them no thought,
He loved the wars so well.
Sing mournfully, O, mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,
And from the shores of Erin,
Across the wave, a rover brave
To Binnorie is steering:
Right onward to the Scottish strand
The gallant ship is borne;
The warriors leap upon the land,
And hark! the leader of the band
Hath blown his bugle-horn.
Sing mournfully, O, mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
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