Narrative and Lyric Poems (first series) for use in the Lower School | Page 2

ladie, 5
Sae comely to be seen"--
But aye she loot[2] the
tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
"Now let this wilfu' grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale; 10

Young Frank is chief of Errington,
And lord of Langley-dale;
His
step is first in peaceful ha',
His sword in battle keen"--
But aye she
loot the tears down fa' 15
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
"A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor
mettled hound, nor managed[3] hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair; 20

And you, the foremost o' them a'
Shall ride our forest-queen"--

But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.
The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, 25
The tapers glimmer'd fair;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are
there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha'.
The ladie was not
seen! 30
She's o'er the border, and awa'
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean!
--Scott
[1] sall. shall.
[2] loot. let.
[3] managed. trained.

HORATIUS.
A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX.
According to legend, Tarquinius Superbus, or Tarquin the Proud, the
last of the early kings of Rome, was driven out of the city, partly on
account of his own tyranny, and partly because of the misdeeds of his
son Sextus Tarquin. The immediate cause of the expulsion of the
Tarquins was "the deed of shame," committed by Sextus against
Lucretia, the wife of one of the Roman governors. After two
unsuccessful attempts to regain the throne, Tarquinius Superbus sought
the aid of the Etruscans and Latins, and under the leadership of Lars
Porsena, the head of the Etruscan League, the combined forces
marched upon Rome. It was then that the incident recorded in the story
of Horatius is supposed to have taken place. After the defence of the
bridge by Horatius, Lars Porsena laid siege to the city and at last
reduced it to submission. He did not, however, insist upon the
reinstatement of the Tarquins. A fourth and last attempt was made by
Tarquin the Proud to regain the throne, by the aid of his Latin allies,
under Mamilius of Tusculum. The story of this expedition forms the
subject of The Battle of Lake Regulus.
I
Lars[1] Porsena of Clusium[2]
By the Nine Gods[3] he swore
That
the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the
Nine Gods he swore it, 5
And named a trysting day,[4]
And bade
his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To
summon his array.
II
East and west and south and north 10
The messengers ride fast,

And tower and town and cottage
Have heard the trumpet's blast.

Shame on the false Etruscan,
Who lingers in his home, 15
When
Porsena of Clusium
Is on the march to Rome.

III
The horsemen and the footmen
Are pouring in amain
From many a
stately market-place, 20
From many a fruitful plain,
From many a
lonely hamlet,
Which, hid by beech and pine,
Like an eagle's nest,
hangs on the crest
Of purple Apennine; 25
IV
From lordly Volaterrae,[5]
Where scowls the far-famed hold
Piled
by the hands of giants
For godlike kings of old;
From seagirt
Populonia, 30
Whose sentinels descry
Sardinia's snowy
mountain-tops
Fringing the southern sky;
V
From the proud mart of Pisse,[6]
Queen of the western waves, 35

Where ride Massilia's triremes[7]
Heavy with fair-haired slaves,

From where sweet Olanis[8] wanders
Through corn and vines and
flowers,
From where Cortona lifts to heaven 40
Her diadem of
towers.
VI
Tall are the oaks whose acorns
Drop in dark Auser's[9] rill;
Fat are
the stags that champ the boughs
Of the Ciminian hill;[10] 45

Beyond all streams Clitumnus[11]
Is to the herdsman dear;
Best of
all pools the fowler loves
The great Volsinian mere.[12]
VII
But now no stroke of woodman 50
Is heard by Auser's rill;
No
hunter tracks the stag's green path
Up the Ciminian hill;
Unwatched
along Clitumnus
Grazes the milk-white steer; 55
Unharmed the
waterfowl may dip
In the Volsinian mere.

VIII
The harvests of Arretium,[13]
This year, old men shall reap,
This
year, young boys in Umbro[14] 60
Shall plunge the struggling sheep;

And in the vats of Luna,
This year, the must[15] shall foam

Round the white feet of laughing girls
Whose sires have marched to
Rome.
IX
There be thirty chosen prophets,
The wisest of the land,
Who alway
by Lars Porsena
Both morn and evening stand:
Evening and morn
the Thirty 70
Have turned the verses o'er,
Traced from the right[16]
on linen white
By mighty seers of yore,
X
And with one voice the Thirty
Have their glad answer given: 75

"Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;
Go forth, beloved of Heaven:
Go,
and return in glory
To Clusium's royal dome;
And hang round
Nurscia's[17] altars 80
The golden shields[18] of Rome."
XI
And now hath every city
Sent up her tale[19] of men:
The foot are
fourscore thousand,
The horse are thousands ten. 85
Before the
gates of Sutrium[20]
Is met the great array.
A proud man was Lars
Porsena
Upon the trysting day.
XII
For all the Etruscan armies 90
Were ranged beneath his eye
And
many a banished Roman,
And many a stout ally;
And with a mighty
following
To join the muster came 95
The Tusculan Mamilius,[21]

Prince of the Latian[22] name.

XIII
But by the yellow Tiber
Was tumult