The great Earl in his stirrups stood, That Highland host to see: ‘Now here a knight that's stout and good May prove a jeopardie:
What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay, That rides beside my reyne, Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day, And I were Roland Cheyne?
To turn the rein were sin and shame, To fight were wondrous peril: What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, Were ye Glenallan's Earl?’
‘Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, And ye were Roland Cheyne, The spur should be in my horse's side, And the bridle upon his mane.
If they hae twenty thousand blades, And we twice ten times ten, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, And we are mail-clad men.
My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern, Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude Grow cauld for Highland kerne.’
Scott.
[LXI]
FAREWELL
Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear Has left its last soft tone with you; Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew.
The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown's controlling check, Must give the word, above the storm, To cut the mast and clear the wreck.