 | Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) |  |
126
MARION'S FEAST.
“Praise the Lord for the mountains old!”
For the rocks and dark ravine,
Where the plunging torrent's might,
Heard afar, is never seen;
Where the herbless crags on high,
Crowned for aye with trackless snow,
Castles built by Nature's hand,
Frown defiance on the foe.
For the rocks and dark ravine,
Where the plunging torrent's might,
Heard afar, is never seen;
Where the herbless crags on high,
Crowned for aye with trackless snow,
Castles built by Nature's hand,
Frown defiance on the foe.
“Praise the Lord for the mountains old!”
Thus did the early Christian's hymn
Soar aloft from the icy crags,
Soar aloft from the cataract's brim.
“Praise the Lord! for freedom sits
On their huge and earth-fast throne.
Like the eagle upward gazing,
Proud, invincible, alone.”
Thus did the early Christian's hymn
Soar aloft from the icy crags,
Soar aloft from the cataract's brim.
“Praise the Lord! for freedom sits
On their huge and earth-fast throne.
Like the eagle upward gazing,
Proud, invincible, alone.”
But no mountains were the rampart
Of our sunny southern strand;
Precipice nor torrent held us
Safe from Tarleton's bloody brand;
Not a hill nor hoary rock
Fenced the calm and level scene,
Carolina's woodland plain,
Georgia's soft savannahs green.
Of our sunny southern strand;
Precipice nor torrent held us
Safe from Tarleton's bloody brand;
Not a hill nor hoary rock
Fenced the calm and level scene,
Carolina's woodland plain,
Georgia's soft savannahs green.
127
Yet as stubbornly and well
Did the sons of freedom stand,
Strove as sternly for the rights
Of that fair and gentle land,
As the bravest mountaineer
Ever plied the broad claymore,
Ever plied the Switzer's halbert
By Luzerne or Leman's shore.
Did the sons of freedom stand,
Strove as sternly for the rights
Of that fair and gentle land,
As the bravest mountaineer
Ever plied the broad claymore,
Ever plied the Switzer's halbert
By Luzerne or Leman's shore.
Crag and cliff may tower aloft;
Crag and cliff have oft been taken;
Forts may thunder, strongest forts
Have by the cannon's breath been shaken.
Where, if not in mountain passes,
Nor in trenched and rampired ground,
Where shall help in time of trouble,
Where shall a nation's strength be found?
Crag and cliff have oft been taken;
Forts may thunder, strongest forts
Have by the cannon's breath been shaken.
Where, if not in mountain passes,
Nor in trenched and rampired ground,
Where shall help in time of trouble,
Where shall a nation's strength be found?
Not, oh! not i' the highland pass,
Not i' the deep and fordless stream,
Not i' the trenched and rampired rock,
Not i' the serried bayonets' gleam.
But in the hands and hearts that rally
At the first alarum's sound,
Matters not in hill or valley
Where the foe may best be found.
Not i' the deep and fordless stream,
Not i' the trenched and rampired rock,
Not i' the serried bayonets' gleam.
But in the hands and hearts that rally
At the first alarum's sound,
Matters not in hill or valley
Where the foe may best be found.
Not a rock or hill was there,
Not a trenched or guarded post;
Yet was every wood a fortress,
Every brake had its armèd host;
Dim morass of cypress gray,
Upland waste of stunted pine,
Tangled swamp of densest bay,
Thorny brier and poisonous vine.
Not a trenched or guarded post;
Yet was every wood a fortress,
Every brake had its armèd host;
Dim morass of cypress gray,
Upland waste of stunted pine,
Tangled swamp of densest bay,
Thorny brier and poisonous vine.
128
Deep bayou and dark lagoon,
Where the stagnant waters sleep;
Where the cayman waits his prey,
Where the venomed serpents creep;
Where the rivers slow and sad
Filter through their oozy banks,
Fenced by walls of verdant gloom,
Matted canes in serried ranks.
Where the stagnant waters sleep;
Where the cayman waits his prey,
Where the venomed serpents creep;
Where the rivers slow and sad
Filter through their oozy banks,
Fenced by walls of verdant gloom,
Matted canes in serried ranks.
There did Marion's bugle muster
Many a friend to the buff and blue;
Oh, but their steeds were swift as wind!
Oh, but their rifles as death were true!
Often, often at dead of night,
When they heard that bugle ring,
The British host in guarded post
To their arms in haste would spring.
Many a friend to the buff and blue;
Oh, but their steeds were swift as wind!
Oh, but their rifles as death were true!
Often, often at dead of night,
When they heard that bugle ring,
The British host in guarded post
To their arms in haste would spring.
Seen no foe, their best lie low,
While the rifle's mortal gleam
Flashes from the nearest covert,
From the marge of the reedy stream;
Every fern-tuft speeds a death-shot,
Every bush a marksman hides;
Through their camps at noon of night
Thus with his men stout Marion rides.
While the rifle's mortal gleam
Flashes from the nearest covert,
From the marge of the reedy stream;
Every fern-tuft speeds a death-shot,
Every bush a marksman hides;
Through their camps at noon of night
Thus with his men stout Marion rides.
Evening sees a tented plain;
Evening sees a banner fair;
Whitening to the level sun,
Waving to the summer air;
Morning sees a pile of ashes,
Smoking still, though quenched in gore;
Sees a black and shivering staff,
Whence shall wave no banner more;
Evening sees a banner fair;
Whitening to the level sun,
Waving to the summer air;
Morning sees a pile of ashes,
Smoking still, though quenched in gore;
Sees a black and shivering staff,
Whence shall wave no banner more;
129
Sees the Britons muster boldly
Boldly march i' the forest shade;
Watchful eyes in every leaf,
Ambushed foes in every glade;
March from dawn to the set of sun,
Meeting not a living thing,
Save the heron on the marsh,
And the wild deer at the spring.
Boldly march i' the forest shade;
Watchful eyes in every leaf,
Ambushed foes in every glade;
March from dawn to the set of sun,
Meeting not a living thing,
Save the heron on the marsh,
And the wild deer at the spring.
Not a living thing they met
While the sun was in the sky;
Every lonesome hut forsaken,
Moss-grown every well and dry;
Not a woodman in the glade,
Not a fisher by the lake,
Not a ploughman in the furrow,
Not a hunter in the brake.
While the sun was in the sky;
Every lonesome hut forsaken,
Moss-grown every well and dry;
Not a woodman in the glade,
Not a fisher by the lake,
Not a ploughman in the furrow,
Not a hunter in the brake.
Not a foeman could they meet
While they mustered in their force,
Though they swept the country over
With their fleet and fearless horse.
But as soon as twilight fell,
'Ere to hoot the owls began,
Over upland, and through swamp,
Fast and far the summons ran.
While they mustered in their force,
Though they swept the country over
With their fleet and fearless horse.
But as soon as twilight fell,
'Ere to hoot the owls began,
Over upland, and through swamp,
Fast and far the summons ran.
Fast and far the rifles rallied
To the holloa and the horn,
To the foray and the firing,
As the reapers to the corn;
Fast and far the rifles rallied:
When the early sun came back,
You might trace their wild career
By the havoc in their track.
To the holloa and the horn,
To the foray and the firing,
As the reapers to the corn;
Fast and far the rifles rallied:
When the early sun came back,
You might trace their wild career
By the havoc in their track.
130
There was care among the chiefs,
There was doubt among the men;
They were perishing by scores
In the forest and the fen;
They were perishing by hundreds—
Not a foe there was to see,
Not a foe to bide a buffet,
From the mountain to the sea.
There was doubt among the men;
They were perishing by scores
In the forest and the fen;
They were perishing by hundreds—
Not a foe there was to see,
Not a foe to bide a buffet,
From the mountain to the sea.
Came the British chiefs to council:
Rawdon, stately earl, was there,
And Tarleton with the fiery eye,
And the waving lovelocks fair.
Rawdon's brow was black as night,
And his soul was steeped in gloom,
But Tarleton only dallied
With his sword-knot and his plume.
Rawdon, stately earl, was there,
And Tarleton with the fiery eye,
And the waving lovelocks fair.
Rawdon's brow was black as night,
And his soul was steeped in gloom,
But Tarleton only dallied
With his sword-knot and his plume.
But no plan they might devise,
From his swamp to lure the foe,
And the council all were mute,
For their hearts were sad and low,
Thinking of the British blood
Unavenged and vainly spilt.
But Tarleton only played the more
With his sabre's golden hilt.
From his swamp to lure the foe,
And the council all were mute,
For their hearts were sad and low,
Thinking of the British blood
Unavenged and vainly spilt.
But Tarleton only played the more
With his sabre's golden hilt.
Then a mighty oath he sware,
But a mighty oath sware he:
“I will have him to the field,
If a gentleman he be;
I will have him face to face;
I will have him blow to blow:
This Marion and his merry men,
Come weal of it or woe!”
But a mighty oath sware he:
“I will have him to the field,
If a gentleman he be;
I will have him face to face;
I will have him blow to blow:
This Marion and his merry men,
Come weal of it or woe!”
131
Then he called his gallant cornet;
Not a braver man than he
In the glorious little isle,
In the empress of the sea.
“Saddle, saddle straight,” he said,
“Saddle straight your dappled steed,
For I know you well,” he said,
“Tried and true i' the hour of need.
Not a braver man than he
In the glorious little isle,
In the empress of the sea.
“Saddle, saddle straight,” he said,
“Saddle straight your dappled steed,
For I know you well,” he said,
“Tried and true i' the hour of need.
“Tarry not to belt your brand,
But unfurl a flag of white;
We have scoured the country through,
From the dawn of day to night;
Now away and scour it thou,
All from sunset unto morn,
Till you find me Marion out,
With his rifles and his horn.
But unfurl a flag of white;
We have scoured the country through,
From the dawn of day to night;
Now away and scour it thou,
All from sunset unto morn,
Till you find me Marion out,
With his rifles and his horn.
“Tell him Tarleton greets him well,
Bids him fairly to the fight,
To the field, and not the wood,
To the day, and not the night!
Fit is night for murder foul,
But for gallant deeds the day!
Fit for rapine is the wood,
But the field for open fray!
Bids him fairly to the fight,
To the field, and not the wood,
To the day, and not the night!
Fit is night for murder foul,
But for gallant deeds the day!
Fit for rapine is the wood,
But the field for open fray!
“If a gentleman he be,
As a gentleman he should,
If a Christian and a soldier,
Let him leave the cursèd wood;
And we'll fight the good fight fairly
For the country and the crown,
With the sun in heaven to see us,
Until one of us is down.”
As a gentleman he should,
If a Christian and a soldier,
Let him leave the cursèd wood;
And we'll fight the good fight fairly
For the country and the crown,
With the sun in heaven to see us,
Until one of us is down.”
132
Stayed he not to belt his brand,
Saddled straight his dappled steed,
Rode away into the wild wood—
Oh, but he was true at need!
Long ago the sun had set,
Blacker grew the cypress shade;
Onward, onward still he rode;
Over upland and through glade.
Saddled straight his dappled steed,
Rode away into the wild wood—
Oh, but he was true at need!
Long ago the sun had set,
Blacker grew the cypress shade;
Onward, onward still he rode;
Over upland and through glade.
Onward, onward still he rode
Heard no sound and saw no sight,
Till the twilight gleams were lost
In the gloom of utter night.
Sounded then that eldritch horn,
North and south and east and west,
Not an echo near or far,
For the bugle blast had rest.
Heard no sound and saw no sight,
Till the twilight gleams were lost
In the gloom of utter night.
Sounded then that eldritch horn,
North and south and east and west,
Not an echo near or far,
For the bugle blast had rest.
Sudden from the covert deep
Sprung a hundred forms to life;
Glittered through the murky gloom,
Rifle, sabre, axe, and knife.
But he drew his bridle rein,
And displayed his flag of white,
Showed them how he sought their chief,
Through the mist of the summer night.
Sprung a hundred forms to life;
Glittered through the murky gloom,
Rifle, sabre, axe, and knife.
But he drew his bridle rein,
And displayed his flag of white,
Showed them how he sought their chief,
Through the mist of the summer night.
He alighted from his steed,
And he bade them bind his eyes;
But they came not to the camp
Till the sun was in the skies.
In the darksome place it was;
Scarce the blessed morning air
Played among the stirless leaves,
Scarce the blessed light shone there.
And he bade them bind his eyes;
But they came not to the camp
Till the sun was in the skies.
In the darksome place it was;
Scarce the blessed morning air
Played among the stirless leaves,
Scarce the blessed light shone there.
133
Heavy gloomed the boughs above,
Heavy cypress, giant pine;
Solid grew the brake around,
Cane, and bays, and tangled vine,
Stabled there were a hundred steeds,
A hundred steeds of the noblest strain;
From the branches swung on high
Gun and sabre, selle and rein.
Heavy cypress, giant pine;
Solid grew the brake around,
Cane, and bays, and tangled vine,
Stabled there were a hundred steeds,
A hundred steeds of the noblest strain;
From the branches swung on high
Gun and sabre, selle and rein.
On the greensward here and there
Scattered groups of troopers lay,
Burnishing the rusted blade,
Fealty for the coming fray.
Scouring here the rifle-lock,
Running there the leaden ball,
Dark of aspect, strange of garb,
Stalwart, meagre, gaunt, and tall.
Scattered groups of troopers lay,
Burnishing the rusted blade,
Fealty for the coming fray.
Scouring here the rifle-lock,
Running there the leaden ball,
Dark of aspect, strange of garb,
Stalwart, meagre, gaunt, and tall.
Here a suit of buff and blue,
There a hunting-shirt of green;
Here a horseman's spur and boot,
There an Indian moccasin.
But beneath the soldier's garb,
And beneath the forest gear,
Breathed one soul alive to honor,
Throbbed one bosom void of fear!
There a hunting-shirt of green;
Here a horseman's spur and boot,
There an Indian moccasin.
But beneath the soldier's garb,
And beneath the forest gear,
Breathed one soul alive to honor,
Throbbed one bosom void of fear!
Many a son of proudest sires,
Rich with the old patrician blood,
In that wild and woodland camp,
Clad i' the hunter's raiment, stood,
Mustering round their chief adored;
Gallant partisans as ever
Charged, with patriotic hate,
Through morass, ravine, and river.
Rich with the old patrician blood,
In that wild and woodland camp,
Clad i' the hunter's raiment, stood,
Mustering round their chief adored;
Gallant partisans as ever
Charged, with patriotic hate,
Through morass, ravine, and river.
134
Small was he and slight of limb,
Mild of face and soft of speech,
Yet no fiercer spirit ever
Battled in the deadly breach.
Wild his garb as e'er might deck
Lawless rover of the night,
Crimson trews and jerkin green,
Cap of fur, and crescent bright!
Mild of face and soft of speech,
Yet no fiercer spirit ever
Battled in the deadly breach.
Wild his garb as e'er might deck
Lawless rover of the night,
Crimson trews and jerkin green,
Cap of fur, and crescent bright!
And the rapier on his thigh,
It had ne'er been seen to shine,
Nor had left its scabbard once,
Though he ever led the line,
Though, the foremost in the charge,
And the latest in retreat,
He was still the lucky leader,
Who had never known defeat.
It had ne'er been seen to shine,
Nor had left its scabbard once,
Though he ever led the line,
Though, the foremost in the charge,
And the latest in retreat,
He was still the lucky leader,
Who had never known defeat.
Then the cornet bowed him low,
And his message straight began,
Though he marvelled at the camp,
And the raiment, and the man.
“Tarleton greets you well,” he said,
“Bids you fairly to the fight,
To the field, and not the wood,
In the day, and not the night.
And his message straight began,
Though he marvelled at the camp,
And the raiment, and the man.
“Tarleton greets you well,” he said,
“Bids you fairly to the fight,
To the field, and not the wood,
In the day, and not the night.
“Fit the night for murder foul,
But for gallant deeds the day;
Fit for rapine is the wood,
But the field for open fray.
If a gentleman you be,
As a gentleman you should,
If a Christian and a soldier,
You will leave this cursèd wood,
But for gallant deeds the day;
Fit for rapine is the wood,
But the field for open fray.
If a gentleman you be,
As a gentleman you should,
If a Christian and a soldier,
You will leave this cursèd wood,
135
“That fight you may the good fight,
For the country and the crown,
With the sun in heaven to see you,
Until one of you go down.
Now my message it is given,
So dispatch me on my way,
For my task it must be done
Ere the closing of the day.”
For the country and the crown,
With the sun in heaven to see you,
Until one of you go down.
Now my message it is given,
So dispatch me on my way,
For my task it must be done
Ere the closing of the day.”
Marion turned him on his heel,
And he smiled a merry smile,
And his answer made he thus,
Loudly laughed his men the while:
“Hie thee back to gallant Tarleton,
Greet him soldierly for me,
I have seen him do his devoir,
And that fearlessly and free.
And he smiled a merry smile,
And his answer made he thus,
Loudly laughed his men the while:
“Hie thee back to gallant Tarleton,
Greet him soldierly for me,
I have seen him do his devoir,
And that fearlessly and free.
“And if I be a gentleman,
As I surely think to be,
Pray him read, for me, this riddle
Which I riddle now to thee:
Said the lion to the eagle,
As he floated in the sky,
With the dun deer in his talons,
‘Stoop thy pinion from on high,
As I surely think to be,
Pray him read, for me, this riddle
Which I riddle now to thee:
Said the lion to the eagle,
As he floated in the sky,
With the dun deer in his talons,
‘Stoop thy pinion from on high,
“‘And come down and fight me here,
Let the dun deer be the prize.’
'Twas the lion ruled the earth,
But the eagle swayed the skies.
As a Christian and a soldier,
I will meet him face to face;
But 'tis I will choose the weapons,
And 'tis I will name the place.
Let the dun deer be the prize.’
'Twas the lion ruled the earth,
But the eagle swayed the skies.
As a Christian and a soldier,
I will meet him face to face;
But 'tis I will choose the weapons,
And 'tis I will name the place.
136
“Let him seek me, if he will,
When the morning skies are bright,
All as I shall seek for him
In the shadow of the night.
If he love the lightsome day.
He must meet me in the wood;
He shall find me in the field,
If he hold the night as good.
When the morning skies are bright,
All as I shall seek for him
In the shadow of the night.
If he love the lightsome day.
He must meet me in the wood;
He shall find me in the field,
If he hold the night as good.
“I have spoken all my riddle,
Now repose thee on the grass;
Thou must taste a soldier's meal,
Then in safety shalt thou pass.
Let the board be spread, my comrades,
And bring forth our choicest fare;
Worthy is the gallant guest,
Worthy our repast to share.”
Now repose thee on the grass;
Thou must taste a soldier's meal,
Then in safety shalt thou pass.
Let the board be spread, my comrades,
And bring forth our choicest fare;
Worthy is the gallant guest,
Worthy our repast to share.”
Then the board was spread in haste;
But their board it was the sod,
Where the merry men had mustered,
And the chargers' hoofs had trod;
And their fare it was but water,
Muddy water from the lake,
And the roots from the morass,
And the berries from the brake.
But their board it was the sod,
Where the merry men had mustered,
And the chargers' hoofs had trod;
And their fare it was but water,
Muddy water from the lake,
And the roots from the morass,
And the berries from the brake.
When the choice repast was ended,
And the courtesies were done,
He turned him to the camp again,
And reached it ere the set of sun.
Tarleton waited for him there,
With his hand upon his hilt,
Which he trusted on the morrow
Should with rebel blood be gilt.
And the courtesies were done,
He turned him to the camp again,
And reached it ere the set of sun.
Tarleton waited for him there,
With his hand upon his hilt,
Which he trusted on the morrow
Should with rebel blood be gilt.
137
But his hopes they faded all
When the cornet's tale was told,
Of the leader and his riddle,
Of the troopers and their hold.
“Sure their spirits must be hot,
And determined in the cause,
If their drink be muddy water,
And their food be hips and haws.
When the cornet's tale was told,
Of the leader and his riddle,
Of the troopers and their hold.
“Sure their spirits must be hot,
And determined in the cause,
If their drink be muddy water,
And their food be hips and haws.
“If such fools these rebels be,
On such filthy fare to pine,
Were I King George I'd leave them
To their liberty divine.
There is nothing in the land
To be won by so much slaughter;
I would leave the rogues, by Heaven,
To their roots and muddy water!”
On such filthy fare to pine,
Were I King George I'd leave them
To their liberty divine.
There is nothing in the land
To be won by so much slaughter;
I would leave the rogues, by Heaven,
To their roots and muddy water!”
| Poems of "Frank Forester" (Henry William Herbert) | |