Not faster o'er thy heathery braes,
Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,
Rushing, in conflagration strong,
Thy deep ravines and dells along,
Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow,
And reddening the dark lakes below
Not faster speeds it, nor so far,
As o'er thy heaths the voice of war.
The signal roused to martial coil
The sullen margin of Loch Voil,

Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source
Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course;
Thence southward turned its rapid road
Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad,
Till rose in arms each man might claim
A portion in Clan-Alpine's name,
From the grey sire, whose trembling hand
Could hardly buckle on his brand,
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow
Were yet scarce terror to the crow.
Each valley, each sequestered glen,
Mustered its little horde of men,
That met as torrents from the height
In Highland daies their streams unite,
Still gathering, as they pour along,
A voice more loud a tide more strong,
Till at the rendezvous they stood

By hundreds prompt for blows and blood;
Each trained to arms since life began,

Owing no tie but to his clan,

No oath, but by his chieftain's hand,
No law, but Roderick Dhu's command.

Sir W. Scott.

THE ASSAULT.

(The Siege of Corinth.)

THE night is past, and shines the sun
As if that morn were a jocund one,
Lightly and brightly breaks away
The Morning from her mantle grey,
And the Noon will look on a sultry day.

Hark to the trump, and the drum,

And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn,

And the flap of the banners, that fit as they're borne,
And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude's hum,
And the clash, and the shout, 'They come! they come!'
The horsetails are plucked from the ground, and the sword
From its sheath; and they form, and but wait for the word.
Tartar, and Spahi, and Turcoman,

Strike your tents, and throng to the van;

Mount ye, spur ye, skirr the plain,

That the fugitive may flee in vain,

When he breaks from the town; and none escape,
Aged or young, in the Christian shape;

While your fellows on foot, in a fiery mass,
Bloodstain the breach through which they pass.
The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein;
Curved is each neck, and flowing each mane;
White is the foam of their champ on the bit :
The spears are uplifted; the matches are lit;
The cannon are pointed, and ready to roar,
And crush the wall they have crumbled before :
Forms in his phalanx each Janizar;

Alp at their head; his right arm is bare,
So is the blade of his scimitar;

The khan and the pachas are all at their post;
The vizier himself at the head of the host.
When the culverin's signal is fired, then on :
Leave not in Corinth a living one-

A priest at her altars, a chief in her halls,

A hearth in her mansions, a stone on her walls.
God and the prophet-Alla Hu!

Up to the skies with that wild halloo !

'There the breach lies for passage, the ladder to scale;
And your hands on your sabres, and how should ye fail!
He who first downs with the red cross may crave
His heart's dearest wish; let him ask it, and have!'
Thus uttered Coumourgi, the dauntless vizier;
The reply was the brandish of sabre and spear,
And the shout of fierce thousands in joyous ire :-
Silence-hark to the signal-fire!

As the wolves, that headlong go
On the stately buffalo,

Though with fiery eyes, and angry roar,

And hoofs that stamp, and horns that gore,

He tramples on earth, or tosses on high

The foremost, who rush on his strength but to die :
Thus against the wall they went,

Thus the first were backward bent;

Many a bosom, sheathed in brass,
Strewed the earth like broken glass,
Shivered by the shot that tore

The ground whereon they move no more :
Even as they fell, in files they lay,
Like the mower's grass at the close of day,

When his work is done on the levelled plain;
Such was the fall of the foremost slain.

As the spring-tides, with heavy plash,
From the cliffs invading dash

Huge fragments, sapped by the ceaseless flow,
Till white and thundering down they go,
Like the avalanche's snow

On the Alpine vales below;

Thus at length, outbreathed and worn,
Corinth's sons were downward borne
By the long and oft renewed

Charge of the Moslem multitude.

In firmness they stood, and in masses they fell,
Heaped by the host of the infidel,

Hand to hand, and foot to foot:

Nothing there, save death, was mute:
Stroke, and thrust, and flash, and cry
For quarter or for victory,

Mingle there with the volleying thunder,
Which makes the distant cities wonder
How the sounding battle goes,

If with them, or for their foes;

If they must mourn, or may rejoice

In that annihilating voice,

Which pierces the deep hills through and through

With an echo dread and new :

You might have heard it, on that day,

O'er Salamis and Megara;

(We have heard the hearers say,)

Even unto Pireus' bay.

Lord Byron.

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.

I.

OF Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone;

By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land

Led them on.

II.

Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line:

It was ten of April morn by the chime:

As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;

And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.-

III.

But the might of England flushed

To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rushed

O'er the deadly space between,