THE last of our steers on the board has been spread, And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red; Up, up, my brave kinsmen! belt swords and begone, There are dangers to dare, and there's spoil to be won. The eyes, that so lately mix'd glances with ours, For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the towers, And strive to distinguish through tempest and gloom The prance of the steed and the toss of the plume. The rain is descending; the wind rises loud; And the moon her red beacon has veil'd with a cloud; 'Tis the better, my mates! for the warder's dull eye Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigh. Our steeds are impatient! I hear my blithe Grey! There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his neigh; Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane Shall marshal your march through the darkness and rain. The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle has blown; One pledge is to quaff yet -- then mount and begone! -- To their honour and peace, that shall rest with the slain; To their health and their glee, that see Teviot again! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STROLLER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS FOUR LITTLE FOXES by LEW SARETT VOICES by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A SHADOW OF THE NIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNET: 19 by RICHARD BARNFIELD DIDO TO AENEAS by JOACHIM DU BELLAY |