Last, sunset comes the solemn joy and might
Borne from the West when cloudless day declines
Low, flutelike breezes sweep the waves of light,
And lifting dark green tresses of the pines,
Till every lock is luminous gently float,
Fraught with hale odors up the heavens afar
To faint when twilight on her virginal throat
Wears for a gem the tremulous vesper star.
MACDONALD S RAID 1780
I remember it well; t was a morn dull and gray, And the legion lay idle and listless that day, A thin drizzle of rain piercing chill to the soul, And with not a spare bumper to brighten the bowl, When Macdonald arose, and unsheathing his blade, Cried, "Who'll back me, brave comrades? I m hot for a raid. Let the carbines be loaded, the war harness ring, Then swift death to the Redcoats, and down with the King!" We leaped up at his summons, all eager and bright, To our finger tips thrilling to join him in fight; Yet he chose from our numbers four men and no more.
"Stalwart brothers," quoth he, "you'll be strong as fourscore, If you follow me fast wheresoever I lead, With keen sword and true pistol, stanch heart and bold steed. Let the weapons be loaded, the bridle bits ring, Then swift death to the Redcoats, and down with the King!" In a trice we were mounted; Macdonald s tall form Seated firm in the saddle, his face like a storm When the clouds on Ben Lomond hang heavy and stark, And the red veins of lightning pulse hot through the dark;
