English Poetry II: From Collins to Fitzgerald.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
James Hogg
450. Lock the Door, Lariston
L
Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther come on,
The Armstrongs are flying,
The widows are crying,
The Castletown’s burning, and Oliver’s gone!
See how the Saxon plumes bob on the sky,—
Yeoman and carbinier,
Bilman and halberdier;
Fierce is the foray, and far is the cry.
Ridley is riding his fleet-footed grey;
Hidley and Howard there,
Wandale and Windermere,—
Lock the door, Lariston; hold them at bay.
Why do the joy-candles gleam in thine eye?
Thou bold Border ranger,
Beware of thy danger;—
Thy foes are relentless, determined, and nigh.
His hand grasped the sword with a nervous embrace;
‘Ah, welcome, brave foemen,
On earth there are no men
More gallant to meet in the foray or chase!
Little know you of our moss-troopers’ might—
Lindhope and Sorbie true,
Sundhope and Milburn too,
Gentle in manner, but lions in fight!
Old Sim of Whitram, and all his array;
Come, all Northumberland,
Teesdale and Cumberland,
Here at the Breaken tower end shall the fray.’
Red as the beacon-light tipp’d he the wold;
Many a bold martial eye,
Mirror’d that morning sky,
Never more oped on his orbit of gold!
Lances and halberds in splinters were borne;
Helmet and hauberk then
Braved the claymore in vain,
Buckler armlet in shivers were shorn.
Howard—ah! woe to thy hopes of the day!
Hear the wide welkin rend,
While the Scots’ shouts ascend,
‘Elliot of Lariston, Elliot for aye!’