English

I

Flee from London, good my Walter! boundless jail of bricks and gas,
Weary purgatorial flagstones, dreary parks of burnt-up grass,
Exhibitions, evening parties, dust and swelter, glare and crush,
Fashion's costly idle pomp, Mammon's furious race and rush;
Leave your hot tumultuous city for the breaker's rival roar,
Quit your small suburban garden for the rude hills by the shore,
Leagues of smoke for morning vapour lifted off a mountain-range,
Silk and lace for barefoot beauty, and for " something new and strange"

First of mankind bid we our eagles pause
Before the pure tribunal of the mind,
Where swordless justice shall the sentence find,
And righteous reason arbitrate the cause!
First of mankind, whom yet no power o'erawes,
One kin let us confederate and bind;
Let the great instrument be made and signed,
The mould and pattern of earth's mightier laws!

Crown with this act the thousand years of thought,
O English Race, and wheresoever roams
Thy sea-flown brood, and bulwarked states has wrought

Then the West answered: " Is the sword's keen edge
Like to the mind for sharpness? Doth the flame
Devour like thought? Many with chariots came,
Squadron and phalanx, legion, square, and wedge;
They mounted up; they wound from ledge to ledge
Of battle-glory dark with battle-shame;
But God hath hurled them from the heights of fame
Who from the soul took no eternal pledge.

Because above her people and her throne
She hath erected reason's sovereignty;
Because wherever human speech is known

What is the strength of England, and her pride
Among the nations, when she makes her boast?
Has the East heard it, where her far-flung host
Hangs like a javelin in India's side?
Does the sea know it, where her navies ride,
Like towers of stars, about the silver coast,
Or from the great Capes to the uttermost
Parts of the North like ocean meteors glide?

Answer, O South, if yet where Gordon sank,
Spent arrow of the far and lone Soudan,
There comes a whisper out of wasted death!
O every ocean, every land, that drank

Sheriff Parnassus Gongorilla,
because you live tenths you do
peace and convents,
cap another chapel in the chapel:
Guadarrama if not, Calcaborra.
or delete your shameless gray
or older charms of your brain:
contrition happens to the wicked;
no death finds you in these lips,
or in those cortezones,
instead of misereres, coridones.

Your tenth've read
against lame, enlightened poet.
I admire his wit, not his step
I do not if you;
if you do it,
Jerky of Parnassus

PART III.

Being near Fort Niagara in the year fifty-nine,
On the thirtieth of July, as he always did incline
To frequent the green-wood, at some distant place,
To breathe out his sorrows his mind to solace.
Among the savage Indians, alas! there he fell,
But how he was murdered we cannot well tell,
For on the next morning they found him there dead.
Two Indians lay by him, each wanting his head.

Cut off with his broadsword, as is understood,
As there all about him was nothing but blood;

PART II.

Her mother next morning, by the blink of her eye,
Betwixt her and Grigor great love did espy.
And she to her husband the same soon revealed,
Giving orders to watch them when down in the field.
All day then her father went looking about.
And after her he still kept a look out,
Till hard on the evening she went to the glen,
Where Grigor was waiting to hear her explain
The way they would manage and make matters go.
Her father did follow and heard them also,

PART I.

All ye young lovers in Scotland draw near,
Unto the sad story which now ye shall hear,
Concerning two lovers that lived in the north,
Amongst the high mountains that stand beyond Forth.
The maid was the daughter of a gentleman
Of the name of M'Farlane, and of the same clan;
But Grigor was born in a Highland isle,
And by blood relation her cousin we style.

But where riches are wanting we oftentimes see
Few men are esteemed for their pedigree.

Part III

The knyght has sent hys servyng menne
In secret haste awaie,
To spie some place besyde the sea
Where he mote safelie staie.

The land of Mathers all was hys,
And on the steepie shore
A fearfull rocke looks o'er the waves,
A-lystening to their roar.

So there thae buyld a lordlie kaim
All onne the stonie rock,
Which mote defie the sovereign's arms,

The huntsman's merry horn hath wound
Its call so loud and shrylle;
And manie a knyght and nymble steed
Hath met on Garvock hylle.

Pittarow's gallaunt knyght was there,
And the laird of Laurystoun;
Glenbervy with hys brothers twae
And Edzell with hys sonne.

The wycked Sheriff too was there,
Philip Melvil was hys name;
And twenty more frae the sea coast,
With gloomy Urie came.

Now up thae mount with fleet griehound
And through the forest steer —
Thae thynk nought of the goodlie syght,