Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan Conuil. Come away, come away,5 Hark to the summons! Come in your war array, Gentles and commons.
Come from deep glen, and From mountains so rocky,10 The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlocky. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and15 Strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterr'd The bride at the altar;20 Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges: Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes.
Come as the winds come, when25 Forests are rended, Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded; Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster,30 Chief, vassal, page and groom, Tenant and master.
Fast they come, fast they come; See how they gather! Wide waves the eagle plume,35 Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Knell for the onset!40
—Sir Walter Scott
HERD, UNINTERR'D. What sound has the vowel e? (Appendix [A, 1].)
Gentles and commons; nets and barges; fighting gear; Broadswords and targes; Forests are rended; Navies are stranded. (Appendix [A, 3] and [A, 6].)
For Pause read (Introduction, pp. [7] and [8].)
How is the gradually increasing excitement and energy indicated in Time, Pitch, and Force? (Introduction, pp. [13], [23], and [27].)
THE DAY IS DONE
The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downwards From an eagle in its flight.
I see the lights of the village5 Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain,10 And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling,15 And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time.20
For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavour; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet,25 Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labour, And nights devoid of ease,30 Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction35 That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.40
And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.