Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers and Other Poems Part 16

By the light that never fadeth, Underneath eternal skies, When the dawn of resurrection Breaks o'er deathless Paradise.

THE OLD CAMP

WRITTEN IN A ROMAN FORTIFICATION IN BAVARIA

I.

There is a cloud before the sun, The wind is hushed and still, And silently the waters run Beneath the sombre hill.

The sky is dark in every place, As is the earth below: Methinks it wore the self-same face Two thousand years ago.

II.

No light is on the ancient wall, No light upon the mound; The very trees, so thick and tall, Cast gloom, not shade, around.

So silent is the place and cold, So far from human ken, It hath a look that makes me old, And spectres time again.

III.

I listen, half in thought to hear The Roman trumpet blow-- I search for glint of helm and spear Amidst the forest bough: And armour rings, and voices swell-- I hear the legion's tramp, And mark the lonely sentinel Who guards the lonely camp.

IV.

Methinks I have no other home, No other hearth to find; For nothing save the thought of Rome Is stirring in my mind.

And all that I have heard or dreamed, And all I had forgot, Are rising up, as though they seemed The household of the spot.

V.

And all the names that Romans knew Seem just as known to me, As if I were a Roman too-- A Roman born and free: And I could rise at Caesar's name, As though it were a charm To draw sharp lightning from the tame, And brace the coward's arm.

VI.

And yet, if yonder sky were blue, And earth were sunny gay, If nature wore the summer hue That decked her yesterday, The mound, the trench, the rampart's s.p.a.ce, Would move me nothing more Than many a sweet sequestred place That I have marked before.

VII.

I could not feel the breezes bring Rich odours from the trees; I could not hear the linnets sing, And think on themes like these.

The painted insects as they pa.s.s In swift and motley strife, The very lizard in the gra.s.s Would scare me back to life.

VIII.

Then is the past so gloomy now That it may never bear The open smile of nature's brow, Or meet the sunny air?

I know not that--but joy is power, However short it last; And joy befits the present hour, If sadness fits the past.

DANUBE AND THE EUXINE

"Danube, Danube! wherefore com'st thou Red and raging to my caves?

Wherefore leap thy swollen waters Madly through the broken waves?

Wherefore is thy tide so sullied With a hue unknown to me; Wherefore dost thou bring pollution To the old and sacred sea?"

"Ha! rejoice, old Father Euxine!

I am br.i.m.m.i.n.g full and red; n.o.ble tidings do I carry From my distant channel-bed.

I have been a Christian river Dull and slow this many a year, Rolling down my torpid waters Through a silence morne and drear; Have not felt the tread of armies Trampling on my reedy sh.o.r.e; Have not heard the trumpet calling, Or the cannon's gladsome roar; Only listened to the laughter From the village and the town, And the church-bells, ever jangling, As the weary day went down.

So I lay and sorely pondered On the days long since gone by, When my old primaeval forests Echoed to the war-man's cry; When the race of Thor and Odin Held their battles by my side, And the blood of man was mingling Warmly with my chilly tide.

Father Euxine! thou rememb'rest How I brought thee tribute then-- Swollen corpses, gashed and gory, Heads and limbs of slaughter'd men?

Father Euxine! be thou joyful!

I am running red once more-- Not with heathen blood, as early, But with gallant Christian gore!

For the old times are returning, And the Cross is broken down, And I hear the tocsin sounding In the village and the town; And the glare of burning cities Soon shall light me on my way-- Ha! my heart is big and jocund With the draught I drank to-day.

Ha! I feel my strength awakened, And my brethren shout to me; Each is leaping red and joyous To his own awaiting sea.

Rhine and Elbe are plunging downward Through their wild anarchic land, Everywhere are Christians falling By their brother Christians' hand!

Yea, the old times are returning, And the olden G.o.ds are here!

Take my tribute, Father Euxine, To thy waters dark and drear.

Therefore come I with my torrents, Shaking castle, crag, and town; Therefore, with the shout of thunder, Sweep I herd and herdsman down; Therefore leap I to thy bosom, With a loud triumphal roar-- Greet me, greet me, Father Euxine, I am Christian stream no more!"

THE SCHEIK OF SINAI IN 1830

FROM THE GERMAN OF FREILIGRATH

I.

"Lift me without the tent, I say,-- Me and my ottoman,-- I'll see the messenger myself!

It is the caravan From Africa, thou sayest, And they bring us news of war?

Draw me without the tent, and quick!

As at the desert well The freshness of the purling brook Delights the tired gazelle, So pant I for the voice of him That cometh from afar!"

II.

The Scheik was lifted from his tent, And thus outspake the Moor:-- "I saw, old Chief, the Tricolor On Algiers' topmost tower-- Upon its battlements the silks Of Lyons flutter free.

Each morning, in the market-place, The muster-drum is beat, And to the war-hymn of Ma.r.s.eilles The squadrons pace the street.

The armament from Toulon sailed: The Franks have crossed the sea."