December, 1697
The Rhine is running deep and red, the island lies before,— "Now is there one of all the host will dare to venture o'er? For not alone the river's sweep might make a brave man quail; The foe are on the further side, their shot comes fast as hail. God help us, if the middle isle we may not hope to win;5 Now is there any of the host will dare to venture in?" "The ford is deep, the banks are steep, the island-shore lies wide; Nor man nor horse could stem its force, or reach the further side. See there! amidst the willow-boughs the serried bayonets gleam; They've flung their bridge,—they've won the isle; the foe have cross'd the stream!10 Their volley flashes sharp and strong,—by all the saints! I trow There never yet was soldier born could force that passage now!"
So spoke the bold French Mareschal with him who led the van, Whilst rough and red before their view the turbid river ran. Nor bridge nor boat had they to cross the wild and swollen Rhine,15 And thundering on the other bank far stretch'd the German line. Hard by there stood a swarthy man was leaning on his sword, And a sadden'd smile lit up his face as he heard the Captain's word. "I've seen a wilder stream ere now than that which rushes there; I've stemm'd a heavier torrent yet and never thought to dare.20 If German steel be sharp and keen, is ours not strong and true? There may be danger in the deed, but there is honour too."
The old lord in his saddle turn'd, and hastily he said, "Hath bold Duguesclin's fiery heart awaken'd from the dead? Thou art the leader of the Scots,—now well and sure I know,25 That gentle blood in dangerous hour ne'er yet ran cold nor slow, And I have seen ye in the fight do all that mortal may: If honour is the boon ye seek, it may be won this day,— The prize is in the middle isle, there lies the adventurous way, And armies twain are on the plain, the daring deed to see,—30 Now ask thy gallant company if they will follow thee!"
Right gladsome look'd the Captain then, and nothing did he say, But he turn'd him to his little band, O, few, I ween, were they! The relics of the bravest force that ever fought in fray. No one of all that company but bore a gentle name,35 Not one whose fathers had not stood in Scotland's fields of fame. All they had march'd with great Dundee to where he fought and fell, And in the deadly battle-strife had venged their leader well; And they had bent the knee to earth when every eye was dim, As o'er their hero's buried corpse they sang the funeral hymn;40 And they had trod the Pass once more, and stoop'd on either side. To pluck the heather from the spot where he had dropp'd and died; And they had bound it next their hearts, and ta'en a last farewell Of Scottish earth and Scottish sky, where Scotland's glory fell. Then went they forth to foreign lands like bent and broken men,45 Who leave their dearest hope behind, and may not turn again.
"The stream," he said, "is broad and deep, and stubborn is the foe,— Yon island-strength is guarded well,—say, brothers, will ye go? From home and kin for many a year our steps have wander'd wide, And never may our bones be laid our fathers' graves beside.50 No children have we to lament, no wives to wail our fall; The traitor's and the spoiler's hand have reft our hearths of all. But we have hearts, and we have arms, as strong to will and dare As when our ancient banners flew within the northern air. Come, brothers! let me name a spell shall rouse your souls again,55 And send the old blood bounding free through pulse and heart and vein. Call back the days of bygone years,—be young and strong once more; Think yonder stream, so stark and red, is one we've cross'd before.
Rise, hill and glen! rise, crag and wood! rise up on either hand,— Again upon the Garry's banks, on Scottish soil we stand!60 Again I see the tartans wave, again the trumpets ring; Again I hear our leader's call: 'Upon them for the King!' Stay'd we behind that glorious day for roaring flood or linn? The soul of Græme is with us still,—now, brothers, will ye in?"
No stay,—no pause. With one accord, they grasp'd each other's hand,65 Then plunged into the angry flood, that bold and dauntless band. High flew the spray above their heads, yet onward still they bore, Midst cheer, and shout, and answering yell, and shot, and cannon-roar,— "Now, by the Holy Cross! I swear, since earth and sea began, Was never such a daring deed essay'd by mortal man!"70 Thick blew the smoke across the stream, and faster flash'd the flame: The water plash'd in hissing jets as ball and bullet came. Yet onward push'd the Cavaliers all stern and undismay'd, With thousand armed foes before, and none behind to aid Once, as they near'd the middle stream, so strong the torrent swept,75 That scarce that long and living wall their dangerous footing kept. Then rose a warning cry behind, a joyous shout before: "The current's strong,—the way is long,—they'll never reach the shore! See, see! they stagger in the midst, they waver in their line! Fire on the madmen! break their ranks, and whelm them in the Rhine!"80
Have you seen the tall trees swaying when the blast is sounding shrill, And the whirlwind reels in fury down the gorges of the hill? How they toss their mighty branches struggling with the tempest's shock; How they keep their place of vantage, cleaving firmly to the rock? Even so the Scottish warriors held their own against the river;85 Though the water flashed around them, not an eye was seen to quiver; Though the shot flew sharp and deadly, not a man relax'd his hold; For their hearts were big and thrilling with the mighty thoughts of old. One word was spoken among them, and through the ranks it spread,— "Remember our dead Claverhouse!" was all the Captain said.90 Then, sternly bending forward, they wrestled on a while, Until they clear'd the heavy stream, then rush'd toward the isle.
The German heart is stout and true, the German arm is strong; The German foot goes seldom back where armed foemen throng. But never had they faced in field so stern a charge before,95 And never had they felt the sweep of Scotland's broad claymore. Not fiercer pours the avalanche adown the steep incline, That rises o'er the parent springs of rough and rapid Rhine,— Scarce swifter shoots the bolt from heaven than came the Scottish band Right up against the guarded trench, and o'er it sword in hand.100 In vain their leaders forward press,—they meet the deadly brand!
O lonely island of the Rhine,—where seed was never sown, What harvest lay upon thy sands, by those strong reapers thrown? What saw the winter moon that night, as, struggling through the rain, She pour'd a wan and fitful light on marsh, and stream, and plain?105 A dreary spot with corpses strewn, and bayonets glistening round; A broken bridge, a stranded boat, a bare and batter'd mound; And one huge watch-fire's kindled pile, that sent its quivering glare To tell the leaders of the host the conquering Scots were there.
And did they twine the laurel-wreath, for those who fought so well?110 And did they honour those who liv'd, and weep for those who fell? What meed of thanks was given to them let agèd annals tell. Why should they bring the laurel-wreath,—why crown the cup with wine? It was not Frenchmen's blood that flow'd so freely on the Rhine,— A stranger band of beggar'd men had done the venturous deed:115 The glory was to France alone, the danger was their meed. And what cared they for idle thanks from foreign prince and peer? What virtue had such honey'd words the exiled heart to cheer? What matter'd it that men should vaunt and loud and fondly swear, That higher feat of chivalry was never wrought elsewhere?120 They bore within their breasts the grief that fame can never heal,— The deep, unutterable woe which none save exiles feel. Their hearts were yearning for the land they ne'er might see again,— For Scotland's high and heather'd hills, for mountains, loch and glen— For those who haply lay at rest beyond the distant sea,125 Beneath the green and daisied turf where they would gladly be!
Long years went by. The lonely isle in Rhine's tempestuous flood Has ta'en another name from those who bought it with their blood: And, though the legend does not live,—for legends lightly die— The peasant, as he sees the stream in winter rolling by,130 And foaming o'er its channel-bed between him and the spot Won by the warriors of the sword, still calls that deep and dangerous ford The Passage of the Scot.
—William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Preparatory.—Narrate briefly the events of this poem, and show by a blackboard diagram the situation of the island, the position of the armies, etc.
Into how many dramatic scenes can the poem be divided? Describe each one, showing what part of the poem it covers.
For exercise in dramatic rendering, see notes on Highland Hospitality, pp. [153] and 154.
In what state of mind are the first two speakers? Compare their speeches in this respect with the first speech of the Scottish Captain—"I've seen a wilder," etc. What is the difference in Time, Pitch, and Stress?
3. RIVER'S SWEEP, FOE. Which is more emphatic? Compare MAN and HORSE, l. 8.
10-12. Give some examples of Climax in the second stanza and show how the Force and the Pitch are affected.
24. "Hath bold Duguesclin's," etc. Supply the undercurrent of thought between the first line of this speech and the second. How is this suggested in reading? (Introduction, p. [14].)