Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE GLEN OF ROSLIN, by DAVID MACBETH MOIR Poet's Biography First Line: Hark! 'twas the trumpet rung! Last Line: As opal pure each morn! Alternate Author Name(s): Delta Subject(s): Peace; Scotland; Scottish Translations; Victory; War | ||||||||
I. HARK! 'twas the trumpet rung! Commingling armies shout; And echoing far yon woods among, The ravage and the rout! The voice of triumph and of wail, Of victor and of vanquish'd blent, Is wafted on the vernal gale: A thousand bows are bent, And, 'mid the hosts that throng the vale, A shower of arrows sent. II. For Saxon foes invade The Baliol's kingless realm: Their myriads swarm in yonder shade, The weak to overwhelm: 'Tis Seagrave, on destruction bent, From Freedom's roll to blot the land, By England's haughty Edward sent; But never on her mountain strand Shall Caledonia sit content Content with fetter'd hand. III. Not while one patriot breathes Not while each broomy vale And cavern'd cliff bequeaths Some old heroic tale! The Wallace and the Græme have thrown The lustre of their deeds behind, The children to their fathers' own Unconquer'd straths to bind; By every hearth their tale is known, In every heart enshrined. IV. The Comyn lets not home To tell a bloodless tale, And forth in arms with Frazer come The chiefs of Teviotdale. In Roslin's wild and wooded glen The clash of swords the shepherd hears, And from the groves of Hawthornden Gleam forth ten thousand spears: For Scottish mothers bring forth men Of might, that mock at fears! V. Three camps divided raise Their snowy tops on high; The breeze-unfurling flag displays Its lions to the sky: While chants the mountain lark in air Its matin carols of delight, The tongue of mirth is jocund there; Nor is it dreamt, ere night, The sun shall shed its golden glare On thousands slain in fight! VI. Baffled, and backward borne, Is England's foremost war; The Saxon battle-god, forlorn, Remounts his raven car. 'Tis vaina third time Victory's cheer Bursts forth from that resistless foe, Who, headlong, on their fierce career, Like mountain torrents go: The invaders are dispersed like deer, And whither none may know! VII. Three triumphs in a day! Three hosts subdued by one! Three armies scattered, like the spray, Beneath one vernal sun! Who, pausing 'mid this solitude Of rocky streams, o'erhung with trees, Where rears the cushat-dove its brood, And foxglove lures the bees, Could think that men had shed the blood Of man in haunts like these! VIII. A dreama nightmare dream Of shadowy ages gone, When daylight wore a demon gleam, And fact like fiction shone: A dream!and it hath left no power To blast these beauteous scenes around, Which look as if a halcyon bower All gentlest things had found Here, in this paradise, where flower, And tree, and bird abound. IX. Yes! the great Mother still Claims Roslin for her own, And Summer, girt with rock and rill, Here mounts a chosen throne: Blue Esk to Gorton's listening woods Is meekly murmuring all day long, And birds for sheltering solitudes Pay tributary song: Check'd be each step that here intrudes To offer Nature wrong. X. St Clair! thy princely halls In ruin sink decay'd, And moss now greens the chapel walls Where thy proud line is laid! What sees the stranger musing here, Where mail-clad men no longer dwell? A bleach-field spreads its whiteness near, And smoke-wreaths round the dell Show whence the Christian worshipper Obeys the Sabbath bell. XI. Thus let it ever be! Let human discord cease, And earth the blest millennium see Of purity and peace! Die sin awayas dies the mist Before the cleansing sunrise borne And Pity, vainly watchful, list For Misery's moan forlorn! Bright be each eve as amethyst, As opal pure each morn! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I AM YOUR WAITER TONIGHT AND MY NAME IS DIMITRI by ROBERT HASS MITRAILLIATRICE by ERNEST HEMINGWAY RIPARTO D'ASSALTO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY WAR VOYEURS by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA THE DREAM OF WAKING by RANDALL JARRELL THE SURVIVOR AMONG GRAVES by RANDALL JARRELL SO MANY BLOOD-LAKES by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE RUSTIC LAD'S LAMENT IN THE TOWN by DAVID MACBETH MOIR |
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