The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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The Russiadde:
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
The Russiadde:
A FRAGMENT OF AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM, SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY GILBERT HUME, A SUTOR OF SELKIRK.
BOOK FIRST.
A song of sooth and sober sadness,
Of matchless might and motley madness,
Long as the reach of morning lingle,
And brisk as blaze of evening ingle,
Begin, my Borough Muse, and sing;—
And Janet's wheel her boldest string
Shall vibrate to thy swelling note,
Of days, and deeds so long forgot.
Of matchless might and motley madness,
Long as the reach of morning lingle,
And brisk as blaze of evening ingle,
Begin, my Borough Muse, and sing;—
And Janet's wheel her boldest string
Shall vibrate to thy swelling note,
Of days, and deeds so long forgot.
In Selkirk, famed in days of yore
For sutors, but for heroes more:
When wont to raise her hundreds duly,
Her sutors then were heroes truly;
And on red Flodden's dreadful day,
When other powerful clans gave way,
And left our king in fatal fray,
The burly sutors firmly stood,
And dyed the field with Southron blood:
Though flanked, and turned, and flanked again,
Still round them rose the walls of slain;
Though galled by darts, by horses trode on,
They bore their standard off from Flodden,
Which still, on that returning day,
We bear aloft in proud array.
For sutors, but for heroes more:
When wont to raise her hundreds duly,
Her sutors then were heroes truly;
And on red Flodden's dreadful day,
When other powerful clans gave way,
And left our king in fatal fray,
The burly sutors firmly stood,
And dyed the field with Southron blood:
Though flanked, and turned, and flanked again,
Still round them rose the walls of slain;
Though galled by darts, by horses trode on,
They bore their standard off from Flodden,
295
We bear aloft in proud array.
My ancient town of hides and rosin!
I'll blow thy foes up by the dozen.
Selkirk! thou earned thy very name,
Rekindling Freedom's sacred flame.
When Europe's chiefs all prostrate lay,
Beneath a haughty Pontiff's sway,
Thou mock'd the mighty, blind alliance,
And Christendom set at defiance;
Dared on his flagrant bulls to trample,
Before king John set the example;
And ere his anathemas ceased,
Sold thy d---d kirk and hanged the priest.
I'll blow thy foes up by the dozen.
Selkirk! thou earned thy very name,
Rekindling Freedom's sacred flame.
When Europe's chiefs all prostrate lay,
Beneath a haughty Pontiff's sway,
Thou mock'd the mighty, blind alliance,
And Christendom set at defiance;
Dared on his flagrant bulls to trample,
Before king John set the example;
And ere his anathemas ceased,
Sold thy d---d kirk and hanged the priest.
Selkirk, for these exploits so famed,
And hundreds more I have not named,
Shall yet, I hope, in future days,
Raised by her sons' romantic lays,
Above all Scottish towns prevail,
As scene of this heroic tale.
And hundreds more I have not named,
Shall yet, I hope, in future days,
Raised by her sons' romantic lays,
Above all Scottish towns prevail,
As scene of this heroic tale.
Well then;—as all old tales began,
“In Selkirk once there lived a man;”
But such a man! Ah! shall we ever
Behold his like again? No, never!
His name was John; his trade, 'tis true,
Was boots and shoes to shape and sew:
My muse has so much cant about her—
In short, he was a Selkirk sutor.
“In Selkirk once there lived a man;”
But such a man! Ah! shall we ever
Behold his like again? No, never!
His name was John; his trade, 'tis true,
Was boots and shoes to shape and sew:
My muse has so much cant about her—
In short, he was a Selkirk sutor.
Genius of Virgil, here inspire me,
That men may read, though not admire me!
Of every method of description,
In verse, or prose, without restriction,
For saying most, and telling least,
Thine is the easiest and the best.
That men may read, though not admire me!
Of every method of description,
In verse, or prose, without restriction,
For saying most, and telling least,
Thine is the easiest and the best.
John was a man near six feet high,
Who had a dark and piercing eye;
His hair and beard were black and bushy;
His nose was high, his brows were brushy;
Large were his limbs, his shoulders broad,
Fitted to bear a mighty load.
Of manly make from crown to sole,
Though his work dress was coarse and droll,
Such was the man; view him with fears,
He'll turn even worse than he appears.
Who had a dark and piercing eye;
His hair and beard were black and bushy;
His nose was high, his brows were brushy;
Large were his limbs, his shoulders broad,
Fitted to bear a mighty load.
Of manly make from crown to sole,
Though his work dress was coarse and droll,
Such was the man; view him with fears,
He'll turn even worse than he appears.
Alas, how ill ourselves we know;
So much to mark in outward show!
From which 'tis hard the soul to scan—
'Tis that within which forms the man.
So much to mark in outward show!
From which 'tis hard the soul to scan—
'Tis that within which forms the man.
John had six sons of mettle keen,
As ever in Selkirk town were seen.
At every feat of strength, or art,
Requiring steady hand or heart;
At breaking brand with Border foe;
Or aiming shaft from hunter's bow,
To wound the erne or mountain roe;
Or piercing salmon in the stream,
Though darting like the lightning's gleam;
Whoever tried to prove their equal,
Were always baffled in the sequel.
Their bread in honesty they earned,
Their father's trade they all had learned;
Yet sooth to say, they never staid
From muster field or Border raid.
As ever in Selkirk town were seen.
At every feat of strength, or art,
Requiring steady hand or heart;
At breaking brand with Border foe;
Or aiming shaft from hunter's bow,
To wound the erne or mountain roe;
Or piercing salmon in the stream,
Though darting like the lightning's gleam;
Whoever tried to prove their equal,
Were always baffled in the sequel.
Their bread in honesty they earned,
Their father's trade they all had learned;
Yet sooth to say, they never staid
From muster field or Border raid.
In youth, John had a warrior been,
Had many a bloody battle seen;
Yet though his strength was unabated,
Of deeds of death his soul was sated;
And weary of its murderous noise,
He now delighted most in boys:
He'd play with them at bat or ball,
Or any game they chose to call.
No oath was minced while John was by;
No word spoke angrily or high;
But each strove to outdo the others
In generous acts, as all were brothers:
So high they valued his esteem,
What he approved they all would seem.
His stall was large and seated round,
There every boy a shelter found;
Even dogs that were ill-used at home,
To this abode of peace would come,
And fawn on all with much affection,
Aye sure to meet a kind reception.
Had many a bloody battle seen;
Yet though his strength was unabated,
Of deeds of death his soul was sated;
And weary of its murderous noise,
He now delighted most in boys:
He'd play with them at bat or ball,
Or any game they chose to call.
No oath was minced while John was by;
No word spoke angrily or high;
But each strove to outdo the others
In generous acts, as all were brothers:
So high they valued his esteem,
What he approved they all would seem.
His stall was large and seated round,
There every boy a shelter found;
Even dogs that were ill-used at home,
To this abode of peace would come,
And fawn on all with much affection,
Aye sure to meet a kind reception.
On winter evenings cold and bright,
That stall was crowded every night
With those who loved his minstrelsy,
For many a tale and song had he;
And much he loved to see them all
Silent as squires in courtly hall.
And how their ardour rose and fell,
As different tales he chose to tell!
What pleasure glowed in every face,
At Robin Hood or Chevy Chace!
And how it thrilled each stripling's blood,
To hear how Maitland victor stood!
That stall was crowded every night
With those who loved his minstrelsy,
For many a tale and song had he;
And much he loved to see them all
Silent as squires in courtly hall.
And how their ardour rose and fell,
As different tales he chose to tell!
What pleasure glowed in every face,
At Robin Hood or Chevy Chace!
And how it thrilled each stripling's blood,
To hear how Maitland victor stood!
That day their good king James was born,
The boys came all to dine with John.
In four close circles, on the green,
His youthful guests, all neat and clean,
John eyed with pride and high delight;
And in the middle stood upright,
To see that each got ample share
Of homely, healthy, Forest fare.
But none would taste, till John addressing
His Maker, asked on all a blessing.
The boys came all to dine with John.
In four close circles, on the green,
His youthful guests, all neat and clean,
John eyed with pride and high delight;
And in the middle stood upright,
To see that each got ample share
Of homely, healthy, Forest fare.
But none would taste, till John addressing
His Maker, asked on all a blessing.
His night-cap in his coat disposed,
With folded hands and eye-lids closed;
Bent one foot forward from erect,
And attitude of great respect;
With reverend tone, and fervent air,
He thus to God preferred his prayer:—
With folded hands and eye-lids closed;
Bent one foot forward from erect,
And attitude of great respect;
With reverend tone, and fervent air,
He thus to God preferred his prayer:—
“O thou who rul'st above the sky,
Yet feed'st the ravens young that cry;
Make grateful us poor worthless sinners,
For this and all our plenteous dinners,
Whilst many better have nor bread,
Nor house nor home to hide their head:
These gifts, so kindly given by thee,
I give to those I love to see.
My God! may every tender breast
With grace and virtue be impressed;
And in whatever state they stand,
May they be honours to our land;
And each fond parent's hope surmised,
In all be fully realized;
Nor ever vice or lucre draw
Them off from thee, their King, and law.
May every nation under heaven
Have grace of thee, and sins forgiven:
And mind old Scotland 'mongst the rest;
And be thy name for ever blessed.”
Yet feed'st the ravens young that cry;
Make grateful us poor worthless sinners,
For this and all our plenteous dinners,
296
Nor house nor home to hide their head:
These gifts, so kindly given by thee,
I give to those I love to see.
My God! may every tender breast
With grace and virtue be impressed;
And in whatever state they stand,
May they be honours to our land;
And each fond parent's hope surmised,
In all be fully realized;
Nor ever vice or lucre draw
Them off from thee, their King, and law.
May every nation under heaven
Have grace of thee, and sins forgiven:
And mind old Scotland 'mongst the rest;
And be thy name for ever blessed.”
No morning dawned on Ettrick fair,
That John did not begin with prayer;
No evening closed on his abode,
He did not close with thanks to God.
In each man's joy he bore a part,
And each man's sorrow wrung his heart.
That John did not begin with prayer;
No evening closed on his abode,
He did not close with thanks to God.
In each man's joy he bore a part,
And each man's sorrow wrung his heart.
Oh, how can language paint the distance,
'Twixt such a life and mere existence!
How many eat, drink, sleep, and then
Just eat and drink to sleep again;
And lose the fragrance of the morn
For qualms, by base intemperance born!
'Twixt such a life and mere existence!
How many eat, drink, sleep, and then
Just eat and drink to sleep again;
And lose the fragrance of the morn
For qualms, by base intemperance born!
Others employ the immortal mind,
To wrest and vex the human kind;
Foul slander, strife, and litigation,
Are all their aim and meditation;
And nought so well repay their labours,
As losses which affect their neighbours.
And he whom Fortune sore hath crushed,
They joy to humble in the dust;
Nought left in life wherein to trust.
The partial law of substance fleeces,
And these his good name tear to pieces.
To wrest and vex the human kind;
Foul slander, strife, and litigation,
Are all their aim and meditation;
And nought so well repay their labours,
As losses which affect their neighbours.
And he whom Fortune sore hath crushed,
They joy to humble in the dust;
Nought left in life wherein to trust.
The partial law of substance fleeces,
And these his good name tear to pieces.
Another loves to rob and plunder;
O'er fields of death to guide the thunder;
And still his fev'rish mind is brewing
How to arise on others' ruin.
The nations groan, for pity crying,
The fields are heaped with dead and dying;
No qualm of conscience! no disgust!
For power and rule is all his lust.
But thanks to Him who rules on high,
And lightens nature with his eye,
That few such monsters, very few
On earth these ravages renew.
Two such within an age are sure
As much as mankind can endure,
And God in mercy oft sends fewer.
O'er fields of death to guide the thunder;
And still his fev'rish mind is brewing
How to arise on others' ruin.
The nations groan, for pity crying,
The fields are heaped with dead and dying;
No qualm of conscience! no disgust!
For power and rule is all his lust.
But thanks to Him who rules on high,
And lightens nature with his eye,
That few such monsters, very few
On earth these ravages renew.
Two such within an age are sure
As much as mankind can endure,
And God in mercy oft sends fewer.
But when stern death, with look determined,
Approaches grim—the mind, in ferment,
Views worlds beyond the grave aghast,
And fearful glancing o'er the past,
No action to insure the future—
Who would not then be John the Sutor?
And with him rather take their chance,
Than with the Pope or King of France?
Approaches grim—the mind, in ferment,
Views worlds beyond the grave aghast,
And fearful glancing o'er the past,
No action to insure the future—
Who would not then be John the Sutor?
And with him rather take their chance,
Than with the Pope or King of France?
“But, Muse, you promised me a story:
Leave off your prosing, I implore ye;
Page after page I here have wrote,
And all the length that I have got
Is just no more, nor further than,
In Selkirk once there lived a man:
If thus you wind and wind about her,
I'll ne'er get on with John the Sutor.”
Leave off your prosing, I implore ye;
Page after page I here have wrote,
And all the length that I have got
Is just no more, nor further than,
In Selkirk once there lived a man:
If thus you wind and wind about her,
I'll ne'er get on with John the Sutor.”
Well, well, my master, I obey thee:
Where left I off my story, pray thee?
But 'tis so good and so sublime,
I'll tell it o'er a second time.
Where left I off my story, pray thee?
But 'tis so good and so sublime,
I'll tell it o'er a second time.
I said, as all old tales began,
In Selkirk once there lived a man;
Mentioned his name, and recreations,
His sons, their might, and occupations.
I hate description's meagre art,
And love a tale with all my heart;
And this that I am going to tell,
John said (and I believe it well)
Was strictly true. But who can doubt o't?
It bears't upon the very snout o't,
And proved to Selkirk boys a feast
Full twenty times a-year at least.
In Selkirk once there lived a man;
Mentioned his name, and recreations,
His sons, their might, and occupations.
I hate description's meagre art,
And love a tale with all my heart;
And this that I am going to tell,
John said (and I believe it well)
Was strictly true. But who can doubt o't?
It bears't upon the very snout o't,
And proved to Selkirk boys a feast
Full twenty times a-year at least.
Once on a day, in Mercia's bound,
There lived a man for might renowned,
His name was Russell; but in sport,
Or else because the name was short,
Men called him Russ: no doubt, his name
You oft have heard, and wondrous fame.
So great his strength that, in this age,
The truth no credit will engage.
The pine that on the mountain grew,
With ease up from its hold he drew:
Huge rocks, which mortals ne'er had shoved,
Nor ever thought to be removed,
From Eildon's proud vermilioned brow,
He dashed upon the plain below.
Once by a furious bull o'erthrown,
Quite unawares, and all alone—
A bull, for strength of horn and hide,
Unequalled on the Border side—
Russ rose, renewed the rough attack,
And tossed him fairly on his back!
Carved with his sword ('tis truth I tell ye)
Saint Andrew's cross on his broad belly:
He rolled, he bellowed, torn with pain,
Then groaned to death upon the plain.
If this is not heroic writing,
I give the palm up for inditing.
There lived a man for might renowned,
His name was Russell; but in sport,
Or else because the name was short,
Men called him Russ: no doubt, his name
You oft have heard, and wondrous fame.
So great his strength that, in this age,
The truth no credit will engage.
The pine that on the mountain grew,
With ease up from its hold he drew:
Huge rocks, which mortals ne'er had shoved,
Nor ever thought to be removed,
From Eildon's proud vermilioned brow,
He dashed upon the plain below.
Once by a furious bull o'erthrown,
Quite unawares, and all alone—
A bull, for strength of horn and hide,
Unequalled on the Border side—
Russ rose, renewed the rough attack,
And tossed him fairly on his back!
Carved with his sword ('tis truth I tell ye)
Saint Andrew's cross on his broad belly:
He rolled, he bellowed, torn with pain,
Then groaned to death upon the plain.
If this is not heroic writing,
I give the palm up for inditing.
297
In small affray, stout men a score
Would sink, or fly his fist before;
But in a regular field of blood,
Unarmed, impatient, still he stood:
He never missed, at the first blow,
To break his sword or cleave his foe.
Would sink, or fly his fist before;
But in a regular field of blood,
Unarmed, impatient, still he stood:
He never missed, at the first blow,
To break his sword or cleave his foe.
One day, Laird Coom beheld him stand
Amid the ranks with hilt in hand;
And brought him mighty goad of steel,
Meant for a belt to waggon wheel,
Which Russell quickly heaved on high,
While pleasure lightened in his eye.
Woe to the man was nigh that day!
He mowed the Southrons down like hay;
Nor once perceived that, as he drew
Each stroke, as many Scots he slew.
The English saw, and stooping low,
Evited oft the dreadful blow,
Which coming round withouten stay,
Aye swept whole ranks of Scots away.
Laird Coom came up, and d---n'd and swore,
“Hold, Russ; for love of Christ give o'er;
Your club is dyed with kinsmen's blood,
You do ten times more ill than good.”
Amid the ranks with hilt in hand;
And brought him mighty goad of steel,
Meant for a belt to waggon wheel,
Which Russell quickly heaved on high,
While pleasure lightened in his eye.
Woe to the man was nigh that day!
He mowed the Southrons down like hay;
Nor once perceived that, as he drew
Each stroke, as many Scots he slew.
The English saw, and stooping low,
Evited oft the dreadful blow,
Which coming round withouten stay,
Aye swept whole ranks of Scots away.
Laird Coom came up, and d---n'd and swore,
“Hold, Russ; for love of Christ give o'er;
Your club is dyed with kinsmen's blood,
You do ten times more ill than good.”
But Russ, this great and wondrous man,
A hero was more ways than one:
Perhaps no mortal e'er so far
Excelled in that called Venus' war.
Through all the country flew his fame,
Myriads of fair he overcame;
And then for children (precious things)
He beat the Turks or Persian kings!
A hero was more ways than one:
Perhaps no mortal e'er so far
Excelled in that called Venus' war.
Through all the country flew his fame,
Myriads of fair he overcame;
And then for children (precious things)
He beat the Turks or Persian kings!
It happened ill, it happened worse,
(Men's joys too often earn a curse!)
Two lovely sisters fell to crying—
Their parents thought the girls were dying:
Sent for the bishop, then beside them
Sung psalms, and prayed for grace to guide them.
For sooth, the bishop said, 'twas hard
If two such flowers should not be spared
To bloom awhile in youthful beauty,
And patterns prove of filial duty;
That so much love and harmless frolic
Should be cut off by windy cholic!
Two doctors then in haste are sent for,
Who came well furnished at a venture,
And eased the maids with little bustle;
But ah! the blame fell sore on Russell.
For the goodman, in one short hour,
Instead of twain, as heretofore,
Of daughter, grandchild, brother, cousin,
Could now count o'er the round half dozen.
(Men's joys too often earn a curse!)
Two lovely sisters fell to crying—
Their parents thought the girls were dying:
Sent for the bishop, then beside them
Sung psalms, and prayed for grace to guide them.
For sooth, the bishop said, 'twas hard
If two such flowers should not be spared
To bloom awhile in youthful beauty,
And patterns prove of filial duty;
That so much love and harmless frolic
Should be cut off by windy cholic!
Two doctors then in haste are sent for,
Who came well furnished at a venture,
And eased the maids with little bustle;
But ah! the blame fell sore on Russell.
For the goodman, in one short hour,
Instead of twain, as heretofore,
Of daughter, grandchild, brother, cousin,
Could now count o'er the round half dozen.
The church, the law, are up in arms;
Fear for his champion Coom alarms:
“By heavens,” said he, “my noble fellow,
You must escape, ere they compel you
Before their court to stand your trial,
And drink of death the bitterest vial:
If once you come within their power,
Not distant is your dying hour.”
Coom loved the man, plain be it spoken,
He was a shield not easily broken;
And Lady Coom, that lovely creature,
The sweetest work of wayward nature,
Would rather all her lands and rents,
Her turrets, domes, and battlements,
And her old laird in death were dubbed,
Before her favourite Russ was snubbed.
This must be noted to be plain,
A laird's wife was called lady then.
Fear for his champion Coom alarms:
“By heavens,” said he, “my noble fellow,
You must escape, ere they compel you
Before their court to stand your trial,
And drink of death the bitterest vial:
If once you come within their power,
Not distant is your dying hour.”
Coom loved the man, plain be it spoken,
He was a shield not easily broken;
And Lady Coom, that lovely creature,
The sweetest work of wayward nature,
Would rather all her lands and rents,
Her turrets, domes, and battlements,
And her old laird in death were dubbed,
Before her favourite Russ was snubbed.
This must be noted to be plain,
A laird's wife was called lady then.
This champion, this most wondrous youth,
Had foresight of right stunted growth,
So short, that, as the proverb goes,
He scarcely saw before his nose.
The lady gave her favourite horse;
A sword, a lance, and heavy purse;
And bade him ride, nor make a stand,
Till in the midst of Cumberland;
And she would soon, for his mischance,
Remission gain from Rome or France.
Had foresight of right stunted growth,
So short, that, as the proverb goes,
He scarcely saw before his nose.
The lady gave her favourite horse;
A sword, a lance, and heavy purse;
And bade him ride, nor make a stand,
Till in the midst of Cumberland;
And she would soon, for his mischance,
Remission gain from Rome or France.
Away rode Russ, for England bound,
Swift as in chase of hawk or hound;
Dash went the steed through mire and ford,
Without or spur or cheering word,
For he was proven of mettle keen,
And oft had in the foray been.
Three miles, at least, thus Russell flew,
When rose a humble cot in view,
Where dwelt a damsel, fair and gay
As e'er was meadow-flower in May.
Russ knew her well, she was so good,
So gentle, and so kind of mood,
He could not pass, but lighted down—
His haste was o'er, his fear was flown.
Fear, said I? that ne'er reached his heart,
Except for thirst or hunger's smart.
Swift as in chase of hawk or hound;
Dash went the steed through mire and ford,
Without or spur or cheering word,
For he was proven of mettle keen,
And oft had in the foray been.
Three miles, at least, thus Russell flew,
When rose a humble cot in view,
Where dwelt a damsel, fair and gay
As e'er was meadow-flower in May.
Russ knew her well, she was so good,
So gentle, and so kind of mood,
He could not pass, but lighted down—
His haste was o'er, his fear was flown.
Fear, said I? that ne'er reached his heart,
Except for thirst or hunger's smart.
Russ spent the day, and eke the night,
In raptures of supreme delight.
Unhappy man! his passions fooled him;
The impulse of the moment ruled him;
There sat he, trifling, toying, laughing,
The blood-red wine in torrents quaffing,
Till next day's sun the hills illumines,
All thoughtless of the church's summons.
In raptures of supreme delight.
Unhappy man! his passions fooled him;
The impulse of the moment ruled him;
There sat he, trifling, toying, laughing,
The blood-red wine in torrents quaffing,
Till next day's sun the hills illumines,
All thoughtless of the church's summons.
The country heard, the country ran,
Resolved to catch the sinful man,
And his huge bulk to jelly boil
In caldron of offensive oil.
Russell's brave courser neighed in stall;
His sword and lance were hung in hall,
If hall it could be called, where smoke
Brooded condense o'er hearth of rock:
One only room the house contained,
Where Russell and his flower remained.
Resolved to catch the sinful man,
And his huge bulk to jelly boil
In caldron of offensive oil.
Russell's brave courser neighed in stall;
His sword and lance were hung in hall,
If hall it could be called, where smoke
Brooded condense o'er hearth of rock:
One only room the house contained,
Where Russell and his flower remained.
His courser first the mob secured,
And next his lance and trusty sword;
Then rushed they in, while fierce before
Gleamed halbert, pitchfork, and claymore;
And loud they raised the dreadful cry,
“Yield, yield thee, sinner; yield or die!”
And next his lance and trusty sword;
298
Gleamed halbert, pitchfork, and claymore;
And loud they raised the dreadful cry,
“Yield, yield thee, sinner; yield or die!”
Bold Russ sprung up, the table held
Before him as a general shield,
And swore by man's congenial mother,
He'd neither do the one nor the other.
Before him as a general shield,
And swore by man's congenial mother,
He'd neither do the one nor the other.
The damsel screamed—that note of fear
Acted as charm on Russell's ear;
For who would not his best blood spend
To please the fair, and them defend?
That note of fear was watch-word good,
And cost a few their precious blood.
Like tiger o'er his tender young,
Russ on the crowd in fury sprung;
Swords, lances, pitchforks, men and all,
Bore with his table 'gainst the wall,
Their bodies squeezed as thin as paper,
And laughed to see them grin and caper;
While squirting blood so fiercely played,
That holes were in the ceiling made.—
Now, gallant Muse, I think thou'lt show 'em
Thou can'st indite heroic poem.
Acted as charm on Russell's ear;
For who would not his best blood spend
To please the fair, and them defend?
That note of fear was watch-word good,
And cost a few their precious blood.
Like tiger o'er his tender young,
Russ on the crowd in fury sprung;
Swords, lances, pitchforks, men and all,
Bore with his table 'gainst the wall,
Their bodies squeezed as thin as paper,
And laughed to see them grin and caper;
While squirting blood so fiercely played,
That holes were in the ceiling made.—
Now, gallant Muse, I think thou'lt show 'em
Thou can'st indite heroic poem.
Priest, monk, and peasant, next advance guard,
And every vent with sword and lance guard,
And then, at once to end their fears,
They fired the house about his ears.
Russ coughed, and sneezed, and rubbed his eyes,
As clouds of smoke began to rise,
“What! shall I like a dolt,” said he,
“Be smoked to death like silly bee?
Nor once my utmost vigour prove,
To save myself, and save my love?
Come, follow me; I'll clear a path,
Or like a hero yield my breath.”
And every vent with sword and lance guard,
And then, at once to end their fears,
They fired the house about his ears.
Russ coughed, and sneezed, and rubbed his eyes,
As clouds of smoke began to rise,
“What! shall I like a dolt,” said he,
“Be smoked to death like silly bee?
Nor once my utmost vigour prove,
To save myself, and save my love?
Come, follow me; I'll clear a path,
Or like a hero yield my breath.”
The bolts and bars like reeds he tore,
The door from off its hinges bore,
And like the cloud-struck ocean wave,
That hurls the tar to watery grave;
So on the crowd our hero bore,
While cowl and mitre sunk before.
The door from off its hinges bore,
And like the cloud-struck ocean wave,
That hurls the tar to watery grave;
So on the crowd our hero bore,
While cowl and mitre sunk before.
But though the door was breast-plate strong,
And crushed at first the opposing throng;
Although a shield of sure defence,
It would not wield to any sense,
But flapped as slowly to the ground
As arm of windmill in its round.
The door away in rage he threw,
And looked around for weapon true;
For sword or lance he did not hover,
He knew, one stroke and these were over.
And crushed at first the opposing throng;
Although a shield of sure defence,
It would not wield to any sense,
But flapped as slowly to the ground
As arm of windmill in its round.
The door away in rage he threw,
And looked around for weapon true;
For sword or lance he did not hover,
He knew, one stroke and these were over.
But time was precious, for the train
Were rallying to the strife amain;
What weapon Russ chose in his haste,
No human foresight will suggest,
Nor mind approve—withouten jest
It was a lean and sordid priest,
That chanced among his feet to lie,
Not dead, but in extremity.
Were rallying to the strife amain;
What weapon Russ chose in his haste,
No human foresight will suggest,
Nor mind approve—withouten jest
It was a lean and sordid priest,
That chanced among his feet to lie,
Not dead, but in extremity.
Him by the heels he roughly drew,
And soon in air his reverence flew
With rapid whirl, and broken howls,
Pouring destruction on their souls;
All those on whom the strokes alighted
Sunk calmly down, in death benighted.
Of every mace, or sword, in field red,
That Russell e'er before had wielded,
None ever wrought such dreadful doom
As did this limb of papal Rome.
The monks and peasants mixed were lying,
The field was strewed with dead and dying;
The rest from ravage so uncivil
Fled, swearing Russell was the devil.
And soon in air his reverence flew
With rapid whirl, and broken howls,
Pouring destruction on their souls;
All those on whom the strokes alighted
Sunk calmly down, in death benighted.
Of every mace, or sword, in field red,
That Russell e'er before had wielded,
None ever wrought such dreadful doom
As did this limb of papal Rome.
The monks and peasants mixed were lying,
The field was strewed with dead and dying;
The rest from ravage so uncivil
Fled, swearing Russell was the devil.
Our hero gazed all thoughtful—drew
One hand across his dripping brow;
The other still above his breast,
Held by the heel the mangled priest;
In case of more malignant foes,
That weapon he wished not to lose.
One hand across his dripping brow;
The other still above his breast,
Held by the heel the mangled priest;
In case of more malignant foes,
That weapon he wished not to lose.
The news spread o'er the Merse like fire;
The people all were roused to ire,
And flocked in crowds from east and west,
Our hero quite to circumvest;
And either bind his hands and feet,
Or pierce him through with arrows fleet.
The people all were roused to ire,
And flocked in crowds from east and west,
Our hero quite to circumvest;
And either bind his hands and feet,
Or pierce him through with arrows fleet.
Still stood bold Russell, all alone;
His steed and armour both were gone:
He tried to reason, but his thought
In vain was called, in vain was sought;
'Twas gone!—evanished in the blast
Of toils and pleasures newly past.
Nought could he settle, nothing frame,
Save travelling back the way he came.
His steed and armour both were gone:
He tried to reason, but his thought
In vain was called, in vain was sought;
'Twas gone!—evanished in the blast
Of toils and pleasures newly past.
Nought could he settle, nothing frame,
Save travelling back the way he came.
Short then had been his span of life,
For thousands hastened to the strife,
Had not dame Venus, from the sky,
Beheld him with a pitying eye;
And hasted, on celestial wing,
Her favourite hero off to bring.
For thousands hastened to the strife,
Had not dame Venus, from the sky,
Beheld him with a pitying eye;
And hasted, on celestial wing,
Her favourite hero off to bring.
Russ saw, descending full in view,
Something like swan or white sea-mew,
Swift as the eagle of the main,
Or red bolt reeling through the rain,
Which lighting on the level nigh,
Russ chanced to turn a curious eye.
Something like swan or white sea-mew,
Swift as the eagle of the main,
Or red bolt reeling through the rain,
Which lighting on the level nigh,
Russ chanced to turn a curious eye.
But how surprised was he, to see
A nymph come smiling o'er the lea;
Straight as the stateliest pine that grows,
And fresh as bosom of the rose;
Taper and round was every limb,
Her waist was short—not over slim:
The veil, o'er her fair bosom thrown,
Though muslin of the sky, seemed brown.
Never did air become so well,
Never did form so sweetly swell.
Her sweet ripe lips of rosy hue,
Her speaking eye so soft and blue;
Her locks light waving as she run,
Like yellow clouds before the sun;
Her blushes sly, that went and came,
Set Russell's gallant heart on flame.
“Brave youth,” she said, “cheer up thy heart;
I cannot bear with thee to part;
For me and mine thou hast done more
Than ever Scotsman did before.
Say, wilt thou leave this field of blood,
And go with me for ill or good?”
A nymph come smiling o'er the lea;
Straight as the stateliest pine that grows,
And fresh as bosom of the rose;
Taper and round was every limb,
Her waist was short—not over slim:
The veil, o'er her fair bosom thrown,
Though muslin of the sky, seemed brown.
299
Never did form so sweetly swell.
Her sweet ripe lips of rosy hue,
Her speaking eye so soft and blue;
Her locks light waving as she run,
Like yellow clouds before the sun;
Her blushes sly, that went and came,
Set Russell's gallant heart on flame.
“Brave youth,” she said, “cheer up thy heart;
I cannot bear with thee to part;
For me and mine thou hast done more
Than ever Scotsman did before.
Say, wilt thou leave this field of blood,
And go with me for ill or good?”
Russell looked sly, with sheepish grin,
His heart-strings thrilled his breast within!
“Yes, madam, yes; be 't ill or well,
By Heaven, I'll follow thee to hell!”
His heart-strings thrilled his breast within!
“Yes, madam, yes; be 't ill or well,
By Heaven, I'll follow thee to hell!”
“Then come along,” she quick replied,
“Your foes approach on every side;
Come on my back without delay,
I'll bear thee from their rage away.”
“Your foes approach on every side;
Come on my back without delay,
I'll bear thee from their rage away.”
“What! on your back?—indeed! indeed!
Madam, you'll make but sober speed.
Come on your back!—use you so ill!
No, curse me, madam, if I will.”
Madam, you'll make but sober speed.
Come on your back!—use you so ill!
No, curse me, madam, if I will.”
“Thou art my champion,” she replied,
“And whether well or woe betide,
Thou'st given thy word, thou'st given thy oath,
And Russell thou shalt keep them both:
Yes; soon shalt thou of wonders tell,
Seen in the farthest nook of hell.
Come, haste thee; see, thy foes are near;
An hundred shafts are pointed here,
All waiting but the twang of string,
In thy brave blood to wet the wing.
Thou art my hope, my only care;
I'll bear thee through the yielding air,
Through bowels of the earth and sea,
And every danger shield from thee.
The rainbow's lovely arch we'll climb;
Sail on yon saffron cloud sublime;
Then souse, our panting breasts to lave,
In ocean's green and shelvy wave,
Till in Breadalbane's deepest dell,
Where this green world is but a shell,
An easy passage there I know
Down to the dismal shades below.
Come, haste, we have no time to stay,
I'll bear thee from this mob away.”
“And whether well or woe betide,
Thou'st given thy word, thou'st given thy oath,
And Russell thou shalt keep them both:
Yes; soon shalt thou of wonders tell,
Seen in the farthest nook of hell.
Come, haste thee; see, thy foes are near;
An hundred shafts are pointed here,
All waiting but the twang of string,
In thy brave blood to wet the wing.
Thou art my hope, my only care;
I'll bear thee through the yielding air,
Through bowels of the earth and sea,
And every danger shield from thee.
The rainbow's lovely arch we'll climb;
Sail on yon saffron cloud sublime;
Then souse, our panting breasts to lave,
In ocean's green and shelvy wave,
Till in Breadalbane's deepest dell,
Where this green world is but a shell,
An easy passage there I know
Down to the dismal shades below.
Come, haste, we have no time to stay,
I'll bear thee from this mob away.”
Russell's dull reason found her household
Of crude ideas all bamboozled:
Of all that speech, from end to end,
One word he could not comprehend;
But stood with head on shoulder leaning,
As striving to conceive her meaning.
Of crude ideas all bamboozled:
Of all that speech, from end to end,
One word he could not comprehend;
But stood with head on shoulder leaning,
As striving to conceive her meaning.
Then by the wrists she griped him fast,
And lightly o'er her shoulders cast;
Clasped his huge fists around her bosom;
Bade him hold fast lest she should lose him:
Then, swift as heron or curlew,
Began to scale the ether blue.
No other hold beneath the sky
Could have induced bold Russ to fly;
He was so high too ere he knew,
That, though he soon began to rue,
For fear of rocks and rails below,
He durst not for his soul let go.
And lightly o'er her shoulders cast;
Clasped his huge fists around her bosom;
Bade him hold fast lest she should lose him:
Then, swift as heron or curlew,
Began to scale the ether blue.
No other hold beneath the sky
Could have induced bold Russ to fly;
He was so high too ere he knew,
That, though he soon began to rue,
For fear of rocks and rails below,
He durst not for his soul let go.
They entered soon a thunder cloud,
When Russell shrunk, and sighed as loud
As if the dame had popped him in
An icy river to the chin;
And held a gripe like grisly death,
Till Venus almost lost her breath.
When Russell shrunk, and sighed as loud
As if the dame had popped him in
An icy river to the chin;
And held a gripe like grisly death,
Till Venus almost lost her breath.
The sights that there our hero saw,
Were far surpassing reason's law;
He saw the royals of the sky
Play off their dread artillery:
A thousand warriors, tall and grim,
Plied in the cloud so dark and dim;
Loading their guns of monstrous frame,
With bowls of elemental flame.
A spectre colonel, tall and gray,
Bawled out the order, “fire away!”
Crash went the bolts, in thunder borne;—
The bosom of the cloud was torn,
The earth was bored, the rocks were riven,
And scarcely 'scaped the halls of heaven;
The rude concussion broke so high,
It jingled the windows of the sky.
Russ every moment was in dread
The burning bolts would singe his head;
Or that the tubes would interpose,
And break his forehead or his nose;
But rolling sulphur, hail, and flame,
All oped before the lovely dame.—
Well done, my Muse! by that same rule,
Virgil's a prosing drivelling fool.
Were far surpassing reason's law;
He saw the royals of the sky
Play off their dread artillery:
A thousand warriors, tall and grim,
Plied in the cloud so dark and dim;
Loading their guns of monstrous frame,
With bowls of elemental flame.
A spectre colonel, tall and gray,
Bawled out the order, “fire away!”
Crash went the bolts, in thunder borne;—
The bosom of the cloud was torn,
The earth was bored, the rocks were riven,
And scarcely 'scaped the halls of heaven;
The rude concussion broke so high,
It jingled the windows of the sky.
Russ every moment was in dread
The burning bolts would singe his head;
Or that the tubes would interpose,
And break his forehead or his nose;
But rolling sulphur, hail, and flame,
All oped before the lovely dame.—
Well done, my Muse! by that same rule,
Virgil's a prosing drivelling fool.
Far up the welkin now they wind,
And leave the speckled world behind.
Russ never saw a scene so fair
As Scotland from the ambient air.
O'er valleys clouds of vapour rolled,
While others beamed in burning gold;
And stretching far and wide between,
Were fading shades of fairy green.
The glassy sea that round her quakes,
Her thousand isles and thousand lakes,
Her mountains frowning o'er the main,
Her waving fields of golden grain—
On such a scene, so sweet, so mild,
The radiant sunbeam never smiled.
Let him who dares my lay asperse,
Try match a Selkirk sutor's verse.
And leave the speckled world behind.
Russ never saw a scene so fair
As Scotland from the ambient air.
O'er valleys clouds of vapour rolled,
While others beamed in burning gold;
And stretching far and wide between,
Were fading shades of fairy green.
The glassy sea that round her quakes,
Her thousand isles and thousand lakes,
Her mountains frowning o'er the main,
Her waving fields of golden grain—
On such a scene, so sweet, so mild,
The radiant sunbeam never smiled.
Let him who dares my lay asperse,
Try match a Selkirk sutor's verse.
As up the firmament he flew,
Still less and less the island grew;
At length, as on a map unfurled,
He looked on half the glowing world,
Where oceans rolled and rivers ran,
To bound the aims of sinful man.
Still less and less the island grew;
300
He looked on half the glowing world,
Where oceans rolled and rivers ran,
To bound the aims of sinful man.
Russ looked above, he looked below,
But one from the other could not know;
Knew neither east, west, up nor down,
Which was the earth, or which the moon;
Each seemed the same, in each degree,
And each seemed high and low as he:
His senses all began to vary,
He felt a strange and bad quandary.
But one from the other could not know;
Knew neither east, west, up nor down,
Which was the earth, or which the moon;
Each seemed the same, in each degree,
And each seemed high and low as he:
His senses all began to vary,
He felt a strange and bad quandary.
“Bless me,” said Russ, “where are we now?
Madam, why all this great ado?
If for Breadalbane's bounds thou bearest,
Thou'rt going round to seek the nearest;
Besides, the air's become so rarefied,
For breath my bosom must be scarified.
Keep from the moon, I humbly pray,
Else there I shall be forced to stay;
The attraction's strong, and I'm so heavy,
That doubtless you'll be forced to leave me.
Madam, why all this great ado?
If for Breadalbane's bounds thou bearest,
Thou'rt going round to seek the nearest;
Besides, the air's become so rarefied,
For breath my bosom must be scarified.
Keep from the moon, I humbly pray,
Else there I shall be forced to stay;
The attraction's strong, and I'm so heavy,
That doubtless you'll be forced to leave me.
Dame Venus laughed, yet was afraid
It might prove just as Russ had said;
And round her atmosphere so blue
Took of the moon a distant view.
Russ saw his sinful countryman
Beneath his burden groaning wan,
Who to the moon was whipped up one day,
For stealing sticks upon a Sunday.
He saw, besides, an iron gate,
At which a hungry colt did wait;
Over the spikes his nose was lying,
And Russell thought he whiles was neighing.
The new moon glowed in all her charms,
Yet clasped the old moon in her arms,
Much like himself and lovely dame:
All this he saw, then off they came.
It might prove just as Russ had said;
And round her atmosphere so blue
Took of the moon a distant view.
Russ saw his sinful countryman
Beneath his burden groaning wan,
Who to the moon was whipped up one day,
For stealing sticks upon a Sunday.
He saw, besides, an iron gate,
At which a hungry colt did wait;
Over the spikes his nose was lying,
And Russell thought he whiles was neighing.
The new moon glowed in all her charms,
Yet clasped the old moon in her arms,
Much like himself and lovely dame:
All this he saw, then off they came.
He was so near the ample sky,
Its plain he fairly could espy:
Whether 'twas made of crystal blue,
Or bottle-glass, he scarcely knew;
But 'twas the one, and he could prove it:
The stars were lamps that burnt above it;
The sun a fire that flamed amain,
On which the coals were showered like rain.
And when the damps rose from below,
A haze upon this glass would grow,
Till little seraphs scrubbed it clean,
Then fire and lamps again were seen.
On polar swivel it kept its twirl,
And swept around with rapid whirl;
Thus sun and stars about were borne—
That these were facts Russ could have sworn.
Its plain he fairly could espy:
Whether 'twas made of crystal blue,
Or bottle-glass, he scarcely knew;
But 'twas the one, and he could prove it:
The stars were lamps that burnt above it;
The sun a fire that flamed amain,
On which the coals were showered like rain.
And when the damps rose from below,
A haze upon this glass would grow,
Till little seraphs scrubbed it clean,
Then fire and lamps again were seen.
On polar swivel it kept its twirl,
And swept around with rapid whirl;
Thus sun and stars about were borne—
That these were facts Russ could have sworn.
They reached this nether world again,
Just in the middle of the main:
Sweet Venus' bosom beat so high
With her huge burden through the sky,
She hovered low, her limbs to lave
Slight on the bow of emerald wave;
Each billow tipt, her breast to cool,
Like swallow on the evening pool,
While trembling sailors shunned the track
Of dolphin on the mermaid's back.
Just in the middle of the main:
Sweet Venus' bosom beat so high
With her huge burden through the sky,
She hovered low, her limbs to lave
Slight on the bow of emerald wave;
Each billow tipt, her breast to cool,
Like swallow on the evening pool,
While trembling sailors shunned the track
Of dolphin on the mermaid's back.
Some roguish tricks she next began,
Floating on wave like buoyant swan,
Light o'er the billows heaved on high,
Then sunk between from human eye.
Russ capered sore with phiz uncouth;
He shut his eyes, he shut his mouth,
Expecting, every wave that broke,
With brine his bellows-pipe would choke.
Floating on wave like buoyant swan,
Light o'er the billows heaved on high,
Then sunk between from human eye.
Russ capered sore with phiz uncouth;
He shut his eyes, he shut his mouth,
Expecting, every wave that broke,
With brine his bellows-pipe would choke.
Sly Venus laughed, then dived below,
The wonders of her power to show:
Russ from the lady durst not sever,
But thought he then was gone for ever.
Then first his heart perceived alarms
For the effects of female charms.
The wonders of her power to show:
Russ from the lady durst not sever,
But thought he then was gone for ever.
Then first his heart perceived alarms
For the effects of female charms.
No, Russell, no—the lovely creatures
Have nought malicious in their natures.
If woman's gentle heart you gain,
True to the last she will remain;
Nor danger, poverty, nor pride,
Nought, nought will drive her from thy side:
Though fickle's buckled to her name,
Our sex for ever are to blame.
Have nought malicious in their natures.
If woman's gentle heart you gain,
True to the last she will remain;
Nor danger, poverty, nor pride,
Nought, nought will drive her from thy side:
Though fickle's buckled to her name,
Our sex for ever are to blame.
Soon on the channels of the tide
Sat Russell and his lovely guide;
He felt as light, and breathed as pure,
As in the glens of Lammermuir.
But here my Muse her breath must draw,
Before she sing what Russell saw.
Sat Russell and his lovely guide;
He felt as light, and breathed as pure,
As in the glens of Lammermuir.
But here my Muse her breath must draw,
Before she sing what Russell saw.
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