THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ And, home returning, filled the hall

       With revel, wassail-rout, and brawl.

       Methought that still, with trump and clang,

       The gateway’s broken arches rang;

       Methought grim features, seamed with scars,

       Glared through the window’s rusty bars,

       And ever, by the winter hearth,

       Old tales I heard of woe or mirth,

       Of lovers’ slights, of ladies’ charms,

       Of witches’ spells, of warriors’ arms;

       Of patriot battles, won of old

       By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold;

       Of later fields of feud and fight,

       When, pouring from their Highland height,

       The Scottish clans, in headlong sway,

       Had swept the scarlet ranks away.

       While stretched at length upon the floor,

       Again I fought each combat o’er,

       Pebbles and shells, in order laid,

       The mimic ranks of war displayed;

       And onward still the Scottish Lion bore,

       And still the scattered Southron fled before.

      Still, with vain fondness, could I trace,

       Anew, each kind familiar face,

       That brightened at our evening fire!

       From the thatched mansion’s grey-haired sire,

       Wise without learning, plain and good,

       And sprung of Scotland’s gentler blood;

       Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen,

       Showed what in youth its glance had been;

       Whose doom discording neighbours sought,

       Content with equity unbought;

       To him the venerable priest,

       Our frequent and familiar guest,

       Whose life and manners well could paint

       Alike the student and the saint;

       Alas! whose speech too oft I broke

       With gambol rude and timeless joke:

       For I was wayward, bold, and wild,

       A self-willed imp, a grandame’s child;

       But, half a plague, and half a jest,

       Was still endured, beloved, caressed.

       For me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask

       The classic poet’s well-conned task?

       Nay, Erskine, nay—On the wild hill

       Let the wild heathbell flourish still;

       Cherish the tulip, prune the vine,

       But freely let the woodbine twine,

       And leave untrimmed the eglantine:

       Nay, my friend, nay—Since oft thy praise

       Hath given fresh vigour to my lays;

       Since oft thy judgment could refine

       My flattened thought, or cumbrous line;

       Still kind, as is thy wont, attend,

       And in the minstrel spare the friend.

       Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale,

       Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my tale!

Canto Third

       Table of Contents

       The Inn

       I

      The livelong day Lord Marmion rode:

       The mountain path the Palmer showed,

       By glen and streamlet winded still,

       Where stunted birches hid the rill.

       They might not choose the lowland road,

       For the Merse forayers were abroad,

       Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey,

       Had scarcely failed to bar their way.

       Oft on the trampling band, from crown

       Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down;

       On wing of jet, from his repose

       In the deep heath, the blackcock rose;

       Sprung from the gorse the timid roe,

       Nor waited for the bending bow;

       And when the stony path began,

       By which the naked peak they wan,

       Up flew the snowy ptarmigan.

       The noon had long been passed before

       They gained the height of Lammermoor;

       Thence winding down the northern way,

       Before them, at the close of day,

       Old Gifford’s towers and hamlet lay.

       II

      No summons calls them to the tower,

       To spend the hospitable hour.

       To Scotland’s camp the lord was gone;

       His cautious dame, in bower alone,

       Dreaded her castle to unclose,

       So late, to unknown friends or foes,

       On through the hamlet as they paced,

       Before a porch, whose front was graced

       With bush and flagon trimly placed,

       Lord Marmion drew his rein:

       СКАЧАТЬ