MILES STANDISH

"Good sir," I said, "you seem much stirred; The sacred compromises "—

Half rose the ghost, and half drew out
The ghost of his old broadsword,
Then thrust it slowly back again,

And said, with reverent gesture,
"No, Freedom, no! blood should not stain
The hem of thy white vesture.

"I feel the soul in me draw near
The mount of prophesying;
In this bleak wilderness I hear

A John the Baptist crying;
Far in the east I see upleap

The streaks of first forewarning,
And they who sowed the light shall reap
The golden sheaves of morning.

I Child of our travail and our woe,
Light in our day of sorrow,
Through my rapt spirit I foreknow
The glory of thy morrow;

I hear great steps, that through the shade
Draw nigher still and nigher,
And voices call like that which bade
The prophet come up higher."

I looked, no form mine eyes could find,
I heard the red cock crowing,
And through the window-chinks the wind
A dismal tune was blowing;

155

156

MILES STANDISH

Thought I, my neighbor Buckingham
Hath somewhat in him gritty,
Some Pilgrim-stuff that hates all sham,
And he will print my ditty.

JAMES RUSSELL Lowell

BANNOCKBURN

SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,

Scots, wham Bruce has often led,

Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to glorious victory!

Now's the day, and now's the hour; See the front o' battle lour; See approach proud Edward's power,Edward! chains and slavery!

"" Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Traitor! coward! turn and flee!

"Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa', Caledonia! on wi' me!

"By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be-shall be free!

158

BANNOCKBURN

"Lay the proud usurpers low,

Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Forward! let us do or die!"

ROBERT BURNS.

FIDELITY

A BARKING sound the shepherd hears,

A cry as of a dog or fox;

He halts and searches with his eyes
Among the scattered rocks:

And now at distance can discern
A stirring in a brake of fern;
And instantly a dog is seen,
Glancing through that covert green.

The dog is not of mountain breed;
Its motions, too, are wild and shy;
With something as the shepherd thinks,
Unusual in its cry:

Nor is there any one in sight

All round, in hollow or on height;
Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear;
What is the creature doing here?

It was a cove, a huge recess,

That keeps, till June, December's snow;
A lofty precipice in front,

A silent tarn below!

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,

Remote from public road or dwelling,

Pathway, or cultivated land;

From trace of human foot or hand.