OME, let us away! The morn is bright;
The hills are steeped in a golden light;
And the sun, like a new-crowned king, looks forth
In festal pomp on the smiling earth.

II.

Come, let us away! The wars are done;
'Tis a noble field thy knight hath won;

84

HAWKING SONG.

His dinted shield on the wall is hung,

And his deeds in the minstrel's lays are sung!

III.

'Tis a time of peace, and the land is free;
The unherded cattle graze peacefully;

And the hermit sits in the forest shade,

No more of the coming foe afraid.

IV.

Then let us away! 'Tis many a year

Since thou and I rode hawking here;

Since we passed, in the pride of our youthful will,

As it liked us best, over holt or hill.

V.

Oh, I long to visit the merlin's glen,

And to ride by the druid-stone again;

And to see our birds, from the mountain's crown,

Bring, as of yore, their quarry down!

VI.

Thou know'st the well in the forest old,
Where the ancient crone our fortunes told;
'Twas a rhymed spell, and its burthen lay
In a clouded morn and a cloudless day.

VII.

We have seen the clouds part east and west,
And the day shine out on a land at rest;
And our crowned king, in his own domain,
Sit down on his father's throne again.

THOUSAND vassals mustered round,

With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound;
And I might see the youth intent,

Guard every pass with crossbow bent;

And through the brake the rangers stalk,

And falconers hold the ready hawk ;

And foresters in green-wood trim,

Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim,

Attentive, as the bratchet's bay

From the dark covert drove the prey,

To slip them as he broke away.

The startled quarry bounds amain,

As fast the gallant greyhounds strain ;
Whistles the arrow from the bow,
Answers the harquebuss below;

While all the rocking hills reply

To hoof clang, hound, and hunter's cry,
And bugles ringing lightsomely.

SCOTT.

85

86

LOVE HAWKING.

LOVE HAWKING.

HO! a ho!

Love's horn doth blow,

And he will out a-hawking go.

His shafts are light as beauty's sighs,
And bright as midnight's lightest eyes;
And round his starry way

The swan-winged horses of the skies,
With summer's music in their manes,
Curve their fair necks to Zephyr's reins,
And urge their graceful play.

A ho! a ho!

Love's horn doth blow,

And he will out a-hawking go.

The sparrows flutter round his wrist,

The feathery thieves that Venus kissed
And taught their morning song;

The linnets seek the airy list;

And swallows too, small pets of spring,

Beat back the gale with swifter wing,

And dart and wheel along.

A ho! a ho!

Love's horn doth blow,

And he will out a-hawking go.

Now woe to every gnat that skips
To filch the fruit of lady's lips!

His felon blood is shed;

ROW gallantly thy soaring wing
Hath won yon place on high!
And there remains, unwavering,

As if its home were in the sky.
Usurper! thence thou spread'st afar

Terror-like some portentous star.
The birds that skim the lower air,
To covert dark, with shrieks repair;
For well thy sudden swoop they know,
Thy lightning glance and deadly blow.
The leveret crouches close and still,
On rushy brake and sheltering hill;

With rustling wing, and fearful wail,
Slow round their young the plovers sail;
And Man's dim eye and giddy brain

Up to that dazzling height strain after thee in vain.

II.

Yet now, as o'er the city's walls

In sorrowing mood I bend,

Thy sight no piteous thought recalls,

Thou seem'st an old, remembered friend.

S7