VIII. Brave hearts! to Britain's pride With the gallant good Riou 1 Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave! And the mermaid's song condoles, Of the brave! 1805. 1 Captain Riou, justly entitled the gallant and the good by Lord Nelson, when he wrote home his despatches. HOHENLINDEN. ON Linden, when the sun was low, But Linden saw another sight, By torch and trumpet fast array'd, Then shook the hills with thunder riven, But redder yet that light shall glow 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Few, few, shall part where many meet! 1802. THIS poem was composed in the year 1802, and printed anonymously with "Lochiel," being dedicated to the Rev. A. Alison. It has been described as the only representation of a modern battle which possesses either interest or sublimity." Washington Irving, in a "Biographical Sketch of Campbell," appended to "The Poetry and History of Wyoming, containing Campbell's 'Gertrude,'" speaks of this piece and Lochiel, as "Exquisite gems, sufficient of themselves to establish his title to the sacred name of poet;" and Sir Walter Scott, during a visit of the same gifted individual to Abbotsford, made the following observation-"And there's that glorious little poem too of 'Hohenlinden;' after he had written it he did not seem to think much of it, but considered some of it d―d drum and trumpet lines. I got him to recite it to me, and I believe that the delight I felt and expressed had an effect in inducing him to print it. 66 The fact is," added he, "Campbell is in a manner a bugbear to himself. The brightness of his early success is a detriment to all his further efforts. He is afraid of the shadow that his own fame casts before him." GLENARA. O HEARD ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail? 'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear; And her sire, and the people, are call'd to her bier. Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud; Her kinsmen they follow'd, but mourn'd not aloud : Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around; They march'd all in silence,-they look'd on the ground. In silence they reach'd over mountain and moor, To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar: "Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn : Why speak ye no word!"—said Glenara the stern. "And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse, Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?" So spake the rude chieftain :-no answer is made, But each mantle unfolding, a dagger display'd. “I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud: "And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream! O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn: "I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borneNow joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn! |