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If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn could rise ?
And there was mounting in hot haste: the
steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar, Aud near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips, "The foe! They
come ! they come !"
And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering"
rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes ! How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which
fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instills The stirring memory of a thousand years, Aud Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's
And Ardennes waves above them her greeu
leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave�alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall molder cold
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife;
The morn, the marshaling in arms; the day,
Battle's maguificeutly stern array!
The thuuder - clouds close o'er it, which, when
rent, The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and
pent, Rider and horse � friend, foe � in one red burial
The saying of an ancient sage, Repeated still from age to age, Bids man his inner self explore If he would open wisdom's door.
For deep within the key is found Whereby all knowledge is unbound ; And he is wisest who best knows The narrow heart whence life outflows.
First stage whereby the soul ascends, The dawn where idle dreaming ends, To know thyself may cost thee tears, May be the work of patient years.
But harder lessou yet remains, And wider knowledge for thy pains : " Forget thyself," a Voice divine Whispers within the inner shrine.
" Forget thyself," if thou wouldst rise From earth, and higher good surprise; " Forget thyself," if thou wouldst love And know the spring of life above.
Who loses self in brotherhood, Forth-giving, ever gathers good ; And who for truth or right would die In falling gains the victory.
The spirit wrought to noble aim, The thought that sets the mind aflame, The faith that wins in deadly fight, Forgetting self, have greatest might.
So wisdom centres at the heart, Like subtle sense that every part Moves unperceived in perfect health; And knowledge thrives in larger wealth.
But chiefest to the soul perplext, By doubt or wayward evil vext, Oppressed with woes, or worn with strife, This whisper opes the gate of life:
Not what thou art, but what He is In whom thou livest, makes thy bliss; Count self and all its searchings loss Before this wisdom of the Cross.