THOSE were wild times-the antipodes What fancies can be ours ere we have of ours: Ladies were then who oftener saw themselves pleasure In viewing our own form, our pride and passions, In the broad lustre of a foeman's Reflected in a shape grotesque as Watching to see which way the balance HEAVEN knows its time; the bullet sway'd, swallow'd him? Upon Saint Andrew thrice can they thus cry, And thrice they shout on height, Or hath he melted like some airy And then match'd them phantom That shuns the approach of morn and the young sun? Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness, And pass'd beyond the circuit of the sight With things of the night's shadows? Anonymous. Englishmen, As I have told you right. Saint George the bright, our ladies' knight, To name they were full fain; Our Englishmen they cried on height, END OF POETRY AND VERSE FROM THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. King Since I left Scotland for the wars of Ill fate, that we should lack the noble Palestine, And then the flower of all the Scottish And all his champions now! Time nobles call'd them not, Were known to me; and I, in my For when I parted hence for Pales VIP. Retire, retire, good Father! Think not on me. Here comes an ancient friend, Brother in arms, with whom to-day I'll join me. Sure 'tis a gallant show! The Bruce Back to your choir, assemble all your himself brotherhood, Hath often conquer'd at the head of And weary Heaven with prayers for fewer And worse appointed followers. VIP. Ay, but 'twas Bruce that led ¦ them. Reverend Father, 'Tis not the falchion's weight decides a combat ; It is the strong and skilful hand that wields it. victory. PRI. Heaven's blessing rest with thee, Champion of Heaven, And of thy suffering country! [Exit PRIOR. VIPONT draws a little aside and lets down the beaver of his helmet. |