a 
POETRY. 931 
s< Then specd thee, noble Chatlerault! 
Spread to the wind thy banner’d tree! 
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow ! 
Murray is fall’n and Scotland free.” 
Vaults every warrior to his steed, 
Loud bugles join their wild acclaim, 
<¢ Murray is fall’n, and Scotland free’d ! . 
Couch, Arran! couch thy spear of flame !” 
But, see! the minstrel vision fails, 
The glimmering spears are seen no more 5 
The shouts of war die on the gales, 
Or sink in Evan’s lonely roar. 
For the loud bugle, pealing high, 
The blackbird whistles down the vale, 
And sunk in ivy’d ruins lie 
The banner’d towers of Evandale: 
For chiefs, intent on bloody deed, 
And vengeance shouting o’er the slain ; 
Lo! high-born beauty rules the steed, 
Or graceful guides the silken rein. 
And long may peace and pleasure own, 
The maids, who list the minstrel’s tale 3 
Nor e’er a ruder guest be known, 
On the fair banks of Evandale! 
- LINES 
Written a few Miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the Banks of 
the Wye. 
By Mr. Worpswortn. 
ny years have pass’d 5 five summers, with the length 
Of five long winters! and again I hear 
These waters, rolling from their mountain springs 
With a sweet inland murmur.* Once again 
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, 
Which, on a wild, secluded scene impress 
Thoughts of more deep seclusion ; and connect 
The landscape with the quiet of the sky. 
The, day is come when I again repose, 
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 
302 These 
* The river is not allegted with the tide a few miles above Tintern, 
