The Battle of Largs A Gothic Poem. With Several Miscellaneous Pieces [by John Galt] |
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| 5. | CANTO FIFTH. |
 | The Battle of Largs |  |
49
CANTO FIFTH.
‘Unfurl the standard, sound the horn!
‘High on the battlements of morn,
‘The warder of the day appears,
‘And, hark, the eager army cheers;
‘The foe already shines prepar'd,
‘And deems unconquer'd Scotland shared.’
‘High on the battlements of morn,
‘The warder of the day appears,
‘And, hark, the eager army cheers;
‘The foe already shines prepar'd,
‘And deems unconquer'd Scotland shared.’
Sublim'd by hope and dauntless pride,
The gallant King impatient cried,
While Hako still by Erie spell'd,
The Scottish force advance, beheld;
Nor bade his murmuring legions charge,
Though rough in rear the ocean's marge
Denied retreat, and gaining ground,
His front and flanks the Scots surround
As when from Hecla's smould'ring side
Red rolls the sulph'rous lava tide,
And mingles with the madding brine,
The Scots and Danes in battle join.
From either host thick hailing flew
The barbed vengeance of the yew;
Encount'ring targets crashing rung,
And spears repel'd vindictive sung;
The curses hoarse of grappling foes,
Groans, shouts and shrieks, and clangour rose,—
Blood satiates earth's greedy spunge,
And hoofs in brains and bowels plunge;
The dying soldier's casqueless head,
Is crush'd beneath his brother's tread;
The slaughter'd father's mangled breast
The son to fix his foot has prest;
And rais'd upon his darling's corse,
The sire, with renovated force,
Exulting as th' invaders fly,
Joins the huzza of Victory.
Confusion deepens, Horror drives,
His utmost hardy Valour strives,
And mad Despair's outrageous sway
Through Havoc hews a dreadful way.
The gallant King impatient cried,
While Hako still by Erie spell'd,
The Scottish force advance, beheld;
Nor bade his murmuring legions charge,
Though rough in rear the ocean's marge
Denied retreat, and gaining ground,
His front and flanks the Scots surround
50
Red rolls the sulph'rous lava tide,
And mingles with the madding brine,
The Scots and Danes in battle join.
From either host thick hailing flew
The barbed vengeance of the yew;
Encount'ring targets crashing rung,
And spears repel'd vindictive sung;
The curses hoarse of grappling foes,
Groans, shouts and shrieks, and clangour rose,—
Blood satiates earth's greedy spunge,
And hoofs in brains and bowels plunge;
The dying soldier's casqueless head,
Is crush'd beneath his brother's tread;
The slaughter'd father's mangled breast
The son to fix his foot has prest;
And rais'd upon his darling's corse,
The sire, with renovated force,
Exulting as th' invaders fly,
Joins the huzza of Victory.
51
His utmost hardy Valour strives,
And mad Despair's outrageous sway
Through Havoc hews a dreadful way.
Sublimely stern as all the waves
And winter storms dark Ailsa braves,
Norweyan Sweno, drench'd in blood,
Unmov'd amidst the conflict stood.
And winter storms dark Ailsa braves,
Norweyan Sweno, drench'd in blood,
Unmov'd amidst the conflict stood.
In every place, with giant might,
Fierce Buchan rages in the fight;
His furious vassals rank'd behind,
Still as he moves through carnage wind.
As when around the kindling skies,
In dire career a comet flies,
And trailing through the fading stars,
A fiery length of woes and wars,
Shakes from his lurid sparkling hair,
To ruffians hope, to kings despair.
Fierce Buchan rages in the fight;
His furious vassals rank'd behind,
Still as he moves through carnage wind.
As when around the kindling skies,
In dire career a comet flies,
And trailing through the fading stars,
A fiery length of woes and wars,
Shakes from his lurid sparkling hair,
To ruffians hope, to kings despair.
As o'er the main an isle of ice
Comes with its crystal precipice,
And silv'ry spires, and dazzling streams,
All orient in the summer beams;
Awhile the seaman pleas'd surveys
The glorious pageant's distant blaze;
But as it nears, the freezing air
Turns his delight to chill despair;
And oft he strives, and strives in vain,
The open rippling sea to gain,
Till shipwreckt on the coast he lies,
And more by fear than suffering dies;
So gay afar, so dreadful near,
Did bold Strathern in fight appear:
His milk white charger pranc'd along,
And champing, neigh'd the Danes among,
Where faint and languid Drakoff breath'd,
His visor up, his falchion sheath'd,—
Strathern his truncheon wav'd and pass'd—
But Buchan, ruthless as the blast,
That fiercely besoms all the plain,
And whelms the tree where many a swain
Beneath its calm embowery shade,
The vow of guileless passion made,
And children held their mirthful sport,
The charter'd redbreast's old resort,
Forward rush'd, high whirls his brand,
And Drakoff welters on the strand.
‘O shame,’ a hundred voices call,
‘Revenge, revenge our fathers fall.’
The Danes are rous'd, the battle burns,
The Scots recoil, and hope returns;
Enormous carnage swells beneath,
Gorg'd with the revelries of Death.
As when the clouds, by tempests driven
Confus'd along the fields of heaven,
Hurl darkly wild, on every side
Before the eddying battle's tide;
The Scots retire, for now the Danes
(As o'er the trim Batavian plains,
When rous'd by storms, the billows roar
Through the torn barriers of the shore,
And on the deluge, raving loose,
Rides Ruin multitudinous)
Roll'd bloody, and behind them spread
In heaps the dying and the dead.
Like lone Palmyra in the waste,
That travellers pass with anxious haste;
For there the rifling Arab lies,
When the rich caravan he spies,
Slow fretting with the sinking sun,
The distant desert horizon.
Comes with its crystal precipice,
52
All orient in the summer beams;
Awhile the seaman pleas'd surveys
The glorious pageant's distant blaze;
But as it nears, the freezing air
Turns his delight to chill despair;
And oft he strives, and strives in vain,
The open rippling sea to gain,
Till shipwreckt on the coast he lies,
And more by fear than suffering dies;
So gay afar, so dreadful near,
Did bold Strathern in fight appear:
His milk white charger pranc'd along,
And champing, neigh'd the Danes among,
Where faint and languid Drakoff breath'd,
His visor up, his falchion sheath'd,—
Strathern his truncheon wav'd and pass'd—
But Buchan, ruthless as the blast,
That fiercely besoms all the plain,
And whelms the tree where many a swain
53
The vow of guileless passion made,
And children held their mirthful sport,
The charter'd redbreast's old resort,
Forward rush'd, high whirls his brand,
And Drakoff welters on the strand.
‘O shame,’ a hundred voices call,
‘Revenge, revenge our fathers fall.’
The Danes are rous'd, the battle burns,
The Scots recoil, and hope returns;
Enormous carnage swells beneath,
Gorg'd with the revelries of Death.
As when the clouds, by tempests driven
Confus'd along the fields of heaven,
Hurl darkly wild, on every side
Before the eddying battle's tide;
The Scots retire, for now the Danes
(As o'er the trim Batavian plains,
When rous'd by storms, the billows roar
Through the torn barriers of the shore,
54
Rides Ruin multitudinous)
Roll'd bloody, and behind them spread
In heaps the dying and the dead.
Like lone Palmyra in the waste,
That travellers pass with anxious haste;
For there the rifling Arab lies,
When the rich caravan he spies,
Slow fretting with the sinking sun,
The distant desert horizon.
‘Who will not for their sovereign stand?’
Cried bold Dunbar, and wav'd his brand.
‘Oh shame, ye recreant warriors, shame,
‘Dead to your country's ancient fame!
‘And shall this foe triumphant gain
‘What mighty Rome assail'd in vain?
‘Turn, turn or yield your fathers' swords,
‘And drudge at once to foreign lords.’
Back at his cry with keener rage
The Scots again the battle wage,
Around their King devoted stood,
Smoking with toil and lav'd with blood,
A little troop. Before them rose
A rampart dire of slaughter'd foes,
While ever and anon they call,
‘This day old Scotland shall not fall.’
Cried bold Dunbar, and wav'd his brand.
‘Oh shame, ye recreant warriors, shame,
‘Dead to your country's ancient fame!
‘And shall this foe triumphant gain
‘What mighty Rome assail'd in vain?
‘Turn, turn or yield your fathers' swords,
‘And drudge at once to foreign lords.’
Back at his cry with keener rage
The Scots again the battle wage,
55
Smoking with toil and lav'd with blood,
A little troop. Before them rose
A rampart dire of slaughter'd foes,
While ever and anon they call,
‘This day old Scotland shall not fall.’
Thus while green Largo's breezy shore
Tumultuous strife deform'd with gore,
Deep in their dark eternal den
The Sisters spun the fates of men;
Urd turn'd the wheels whose griding jar
Roll'd horribly to suit the war;
The orbed spokes with furious sweep
Send deadly blasts across the deep,
Wirandi twines with backward tread,
And stretched arms, the destin'd thread,
Which Sculdi, wrapt in shades and fears,
Parts with her loud-resounding shears,
And as the mortal texture falls,
The victim's earthly name she calls.
Dim through the gloom, a various crew,
Th' invisible pervaders flew,
Who nurse the germs of human schemes,
And raise our night and noon-day dreams:
Sometimes upon the thread of Fate
A crowned imp, wild fluttering sat,
With talons dropping blood, and whiles
An angel form with beamy smiles.
Here in created forms are drest,
The passions of the human breast,
Still swaying as by fits they light
The transient weak terrestrial wight.
‘Twine quickly, weird Sisters, twine
‘Dread Destiny's mysterious line,’
Dark Sculdi sings. ‘The wolf of war,
‘Rude Buchan, dies with many a scar.
‘Grim Sweno, tower of Danish force,
‘Is stretch'd a ghastly gory corse;
‘See in the air high arching flies,
‘A rainbow through the stormy skies,
‘The glittering lance of bold Strathern,
‘And ends proud Birnioff the stern.
‘High let the solemn requiem swell,
‘By Askitin the Stewart fell.
‘Slain by the Knight of Eglesham,
‘Sir Askitin receives his fame.
‘Twine, weird Sister, twist and twine,
‘For thicker still the squadrons join.
‘The wind of Urd's harsh-labouring wheels
‘The battle's conflagration feels,
‘And fiercer burns, and quicker kills.
‘But mark aloft the scales of Fate,
‘Hanging on Jah's finger, vibrate,
‘Loaded with two human lots,
‘The left the Danes, the right the Scots;
‘King Hako's wanting lightly flies,
‘While firm at rest the Scottish lies.’
Tumultuous strife deform'd with gore,
Deep in their dark eternal den
The Sisters spun the fates of men;
Urd turn'd the wheels whose griding jar
Roll'd horribly to suit the war;
The orbed spokes with furious sweep
Send deadly blasts across the deep,
Wirandi twines with backward tread,
And stretched arms, the destin'd thread,
Which Sculdi, wrapt in shades and fears,
Parts with her loud-resounding shears,
And as the mortal texture falls,
The victim's earthly name she calls.
56
Th' invisible pervaders flew,
Who nurse the germs of human schemes,
And raise our night and noon-day dreams:
Sometimes upon the thread of Fate
A crowned imp, wild fluttering sat,
With talons dropping blood, and whiles
An angel form with beamy smiles.
Here in created forms are drest,
The passions of the human breast,
Still swaying as by fits they light
The transient weak terrestrial wight.
‘Twine quickly, weird Sisters, twine
‘Dread Destiny's mysterious line,’
Dark Sculdi sings. ‘The wolf of war,
‘Rude Buchan, dies with many a scar.
‘Grim Sweno, tower of Danish force,
‘Is stretch'd a ghastly gory corse;
‘See in the air high arching flies,
‘A rainbow through the stormy skies,
57
‘And ends proud Birnioff the stern.
‘High let the solemn requiem swell,
‘By Askitin the Stewart fell.
‘Slain by the Knight of Eglesham,
‘Sir Askitin receives his fame.
‘Twine, weird Sister, twist and twine,
‘For thicker still the squadrons join.
‘The wind of Urd's harsh-labouring wheels
‘The battle's conflagration feels,
‘And fiercer burns, and quicker kills.
‘But mark aloft the scales of Fate,
‘Hanging on Jah's finger, vibrate,
‘Loaded with two human lots,
‘The left the Danes, the right the Scots;
‘King Hako's wanting lightly flies,
‘While firm at rest the Scottish lies.’
Twas thus tremendous Sculdi sung,
In concord as the warfare rung,
Till spent by an excess of strife,
The wretched Danes, to shelter life,
Back to their boats by vengeance driven,
Like chaff before the storms of heaven
Tumultuous fled. But now the main,
Urg'd by the winds, retreat made vain;
The white waves, vext to anger, tore
The vessels from the slaughter-shore,
And in fantastic eddies whirl'd,
To wreck the floating refuge hurl'd.
Dashing the insolent surges by,
To reach the barks some boldly try,
And on their shoulders bear the King,
While others down their armour fling,
And mercy beg. Some with despair
The victor host outrageous dare,
And madly struggling unsubdued,
With vital crimson dye the flood.
Then pealing loud from Goatfield's brow,
Huge thunder shook the world below,
And carr'd upon the cloudy blast,
The weird Sisters hurrying past,
Round Ailsa hand in hand unite,
And thus exulting close their rite.
‘Rejoice! rejoice! our work is done,
‘And Hako's heart to Lok is won;
‘No more his dismal haggard cheek
‘Shall the blithe dawn of gladness streak,
‘But hate of life and fears of death,
‘His every night and day bequeath;
‘And crimes of guile and deeds of force
‘Shall tear his soul with sharp remorse;
‘For all his proud audacious schemes,
‘Like the alchymist's golden dreams,
‘Have burst away with dire explosion,
‘Tumultuous ruin and confusion.’
In concord as the warfare rung,
58
The wretched Danes, to shelter life,
Back to their boats by vengeance driven,
Like chaff before the storms of heaven
Tumultuous fled. But now the main,
Urg'd by the winds, retreat made vain;
The white waves, vext to anger, tore
The vessels from the slaughter-shore,
And in fantastic eddies whirl'd,
To wreck the floating refuge hurl'd.
Dashing the insolent surges by,
To reach the barks some boldly try,
And on their shoulders bear the King,
While others down their armour fling,
And mercy beg. Some with despair
The victor host outrageous dare,
And madly struggling unsubdued,
With vital crimson dye the flood.
Then pealing loud from Goatfield's brow,
Huge thunder shook the world below,
59
The weird Sisters hurrying past,
Round Ailsa hand in hand unite,
And thus exulting close their rite.
‘Rejoice! rejoice! our work is done,
‘And Hako's heart to Lok is won;
‘No more his dismal haggard cheek
‘Shall the blithe dawn of gladness streak,
‘But hate of life and fears of death,
‘His every night and day bequeath;
‘And crimes of guile and deeds of force
‘Shall tear his soul with sharp remorse;
‘For all his proud audacious schemes,
‘Like the alchymist's golden dreams,
‘Have burst away with dire explosion,
‘Tumultuous ruin and confusion.’
| The Battle of Largs | |