 | Youthful Verses by Francis Thompson |  |
DIRGE OF DOUGLAS.
Let no ruthful burying song
Lament the Earl of Douglas,
But let his praises loud and long
Echo the rocks and hills among,
Poured from the lips of warriors strong,
The doughty Earl of Douglas!
Lament the Earl of Douglas,
But let his praises loud and long
Echo the rocks and hills among,
Poured from the lips of warriors strong,
The doughty Earl of Douglas!
8
Well the Southrons know his might,
The dreadful chief of Douglas!
The English yeoman turned white
When he saw the flaming homesteads' light
Gird with a fiery ring the night;—
“'Tis the Black Earl James of Douglas!”
The dreadful chief of Douglas!
The English yeoman turned white
When he saw the flaming homesteads' light
Gird with a fiery ring the night;—
“'Tis the Black Earl James of Douglas!”
There was not a man on English ground
But feared the name of Douglas!
There was not a heart in England found
From the basest churl to the monarch crowned,
But hated as hell the very sound
Of the awful name of Douglas!
But feared the name of Douglas!
There was not a heart in England found
From the basest churl to the monarch crowned,
But hated as hell the very sound
Of the awful name of Douglas!
But the Southron kite it knew full well
The roll of the drum and the long low swell,
Of the clarion sounding the English knell
That told the march of Douglas:
And the wolf that howls as she battens on dead
Loveth the hand that oft hath fed
Herself and her cubs with a banquet red,
The weighty hand of Douglas.
The roll of the drum and the long low swell,
Of the clarion sounding the English knell
That told the march of Douglas:
And the wolf that howls as she battens on dead
Loveth the hand that oft hath fed
Herself and her cubs with a banquet red,
The weighty hand of Douglas.
Long from afar will look the kite
For the gleaming spears of Douglas!
Long, long the wolf may strain his sight
To see the banner of Scotland's fight
Tossing adown the mountain height
Proclaim the march of Douglas!
For the gleaming spears of Douglas!
Long, long the wolf may strain his sight
To see the banner of Scotland's fight
Tossing adown the mountain height
Proclaim the march of Douglas!
Bear him to his grave with a warlike pace,
Sing no sad requiem o'er him;
The mightiest he of all his race,
He is gone, and none can fill his place!
Let the champion lie in his warrior's grace
Where his forefathers lay before him.
Sing no sad requiem o'er him;
The mightiest he of all his race,
He is gone, and none can fill his place!
Let the champion lie in his warrior's grace
Where his forefathers lay before him.
And it shall ring from pole to pole,
This burying of Douglas!
For villages shall burn, and the drums shall roll,
And the clangour of arms his knell shall toll,
And the shriek of many a parting soul
Shall sing the Dirge of Douglas!
This burying of Douglas!
For villages shall burn, and the drums shall roll,
And the clangour of arms his knell shall toll,
And the shriek of many a parting soul
Shall sing the Dirge of Douglas!
| Youthful Verses by Francis Thompson | |