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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538114" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Island Of The Scots</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Rhine is running deep and red,<br>The island lies before-<br>'Now is there one of all the host<br>Will dare to venture o'er?<br>For not alone the river's sweep<br>Might make a brave man quail:<br>The foe are on the further side,<br>Their shot comes fast as hail.<br>God help us, if the middle isle<br>We may not hope to win!<br>Now, is there any of the host<br>Will dare to venture in?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The ford is deep, the banks are steep,<br>The island-shore lies wide:<br>Nor man nor horse could stem its force,<br>Or reach the further side.<br>See there! amidst the willow boughs<br>The serried bayonets gleam;<br>They've flung their bridge-they've won the isle;<br>The foe have crossed the stream!<br>Their volley flashes sharp and strong-<br>By all the Saints, I trow,<br>There never yet was soldier born<br>Could force that passage now!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So spoke the bold French Mareschal<br>With him who led the van,<br>Whilst rough and red before their view<br>The turbid river ran.<br>Nor bridge nor boat had they to cross<br>The wild and swollen Rhine,<br>And thundering on the other bank<br>Far stretched the German line.<br>Hard by there stood a swarthy man<br>Was leaning on his sword,<br>And a saddened smile lit up his face<br>As he heard the Captain's word.<br>'I've seen a wilder stream ere now<br>Than that which rushes there;<br>I've stemmed a heavier torrent yet<br>And never thought to dare.<br>If German steel be sharp and keen,<br>Is ours not strong and true?<br>There may be danger in the deed,<br>But there is honour too.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The old lord in his saddle turned,<br>And hastily he said-<br>'Hath bold Dugueselin's fiery heart<br>Awakened from the dead?<br>Thou art the leader of the Scots-<br>Now well and sure I know,<br>That gentle blood in dangerous hour<br>Ne'er yet ran cold nor slow,<br>And I have seen ye in the fight<br>Do all that mortal may:<br>If honour is the boon ye seek<br>It may be won this day.<br>The prize is in the middle isle,<br>There lies the venturous way;<br>And armies twain are on the plain,<br>The daring deed to see-<br>Now ask thy gallant company<br>If they will follow thee!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>V.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Right gladsome looked the Captain then,<br>And nothing did he say,<br>But he turned him to his little band-<br>Oh few, I ween, were they!<br>The relics of the bravest force<br>That ever fought in fray.<br>No one of all that company<br>But bore a gentle name,<br>Not one whose fathers had not stood<br>In Scotland's fields of fame.<br>All they had marched with great Dundee<br>To where he fought and fell,<br>And in the deadly battle-strife<br>Had venged their leader well;<br>And they had bent the knee to earth<br>When every eye was dim,<br>As o'er their hero's buried corpse<br>They sang the funeral hymn;<br>And they had trod the Pass once more,<br>And stooped on either side<br>To pluck the heather from the spot<br>Where he had dropped and died;<br>And they had bound it next their hearts,<br>And ta'en a last farewell<br>Of Scottish earth and Scottish sky,<br>Where Scotland's glory fell.<br>Then went they forth to foreign lands<br>Like bent and broken men,<br>Who leave their dearest hope behind,<br>And may not turn again!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The stream,' he said, 'is broad and deep,<br>And stubborn is the foe-<br>Yon island-strength is guarded well-<br>Say, brothers, will ye go?<br>From home and kin for many a year<br>Our steps have wandered wide,<br>And never may our bones be laid<br>Our fathers' graves beside.<br>No sisters have we to lament,<br>No wives to wail our fall;<br>The traitor's and the spoiler's hand<br>Have reft our hearths of all.<br>But we have hearts, and we have arms<br>As strong to will and dare<br>As when our ancient banners flew<br>Within the northern air.<br>Come, brothers; let me name a spell<br>Shall rouse your souls again,<br>And send the old blood bounding free<br>Through pulse, and heart, and vein!<br>Call back the days of bygone years-<br>Be young and strong once more;<br>Think yonder stream, so stark and red,<br>Is one we've crossed before.<br>Rise, hill and glen! rise, crag and wood!<br>Rise up on either hand-<br>Again upon the Garry's banks,<br>On Scottish soil we stand!<br>Again I see the tartans wave,<br>Again the trumpets ring;<br>Again I hear our leader's call-<br>'Upon them, for the King!'<br>Stayed we behind that glorious day<br>For roaring flood or linn?<br>The soul of Græme is with us still-<br>Now, brothers! will ye in?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No stay-no pause. With one accord<br>They grasped each others' hand,<br>And plunged into the angry flood,<br>That bold and dauntless band.<br>High flew the spray above their heads,<br>Yet onward still they bore,<br>Midst cheer, and shout, and answering yell,<br>And shot and cannon roar.<br>'Now by the Holy Cross! I swear,<br>Since earth and sea began<br>Was never such a daring deed<br>Essayed by mortal man!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thick blew the smoke across the stream,<br>And faster flashed the flame:<br>The water plashed in hissing jets<br>As ball and bullet came.<br>Yet onwards pushed the Cavaliers<br>All stern and undismayed,<br>With thousand armèd foes before,<br>And none behind to aid.<br>Once, as they neared the middle stream,<br>So strong the torrent swept,<br>That scarce that long and living wall,<br>Their dangerous footing kept.<br>Then rose a warning cry behind,<br>A joyous shout before:<br>'The current's strong-the way is long-<br>They'll never reach the shore!<br>See, see! They stagger in the midst,<br>They waver in their line!<br>Fire on the madmen! break their ranks,<br>And whelm them in the Rhine!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IX.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Have you seen the tall trees swaying<br>When the blast is piping shrill,<br>And the whirlwind reels in fury<br>Down the gorges of the hill?<br>How they toss their mighty branches,<br>Striving with the tempest's shock;<br>How they keep their place of vantage,<br>Cleaving firmly to the rock?<br>Even so the Scottish warriors<br>Held their own against the river;<br>Though the water flashed around them,<br>Not an eye was seen to quiver;<br>Though the shot flew sharp and deadly,<br>Not a man relaxed his hold:<br>For their hearts were big and thrilling<br>With the mighty thoughts of old.<br>One word was spoke among them,<br>And through the ranks it spread-<br>'Remember our dead Claverhouse!'<br>Was all the Captain said.<br>Then, sternly bending forward,<br>They struggled on awhile,<br>Until they cleared the heavy stream,<br>Then rushed towards the isle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>X.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The German heart is stout and true,<br>The German arm is strong;<br>The German foot goes seldom back<br>Where armèd foemen throng.<br>But never had they faced in field<br>So stern a charge before,<br>And never had they felt the sweep<br>Of Scotland's broad claymore.<br>Not fiercer pours the avalanche<br>Adown the steep incline,<br>That rises o'er the parent springs<br>Of rough and rapid Rhine-<br>Scarce swifter shoots the bolt from heaven<br>Than came the Scottish band,<br>Right up against the guarded trench,<br>And o'er it, sword in hand.<br>In vain their leaders forward press-<br>They meet the deadly brand!<br>O lonely island of the Rhine,<br>Where seed was never sown,<br>What harvest lay upon thy sands,<br>By those strong reapers thrown?<br>What saw the winter moon that night,<br>As, struggling through the rain,<br>She poured a wan and fitful light<br>On marsh, and stream, and plain?<br>A dreary spot with corpses strewn,<br>And bayonets glistening round;<br>A broken bridge, a stranded boat,<br>A bare and battered mound;<br>And one huge watch-fire's kindled pile,<br>That sent its quivering glare<br>To tell the leaders of the host<br>The conquering Scots were there!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And did they twine the laurel-wreath<br>For those who fought so well?<br>And did they honour those who lived,<br>And weep for those who fell?<br>What meed of thanks was given to them<br>Let aged annals tell.<br>Why should they twine the laurel-wreath-<br>Why crown the cup with wine?<br>It was not Frenchman's blood that flowed<br>So freely on the Rhine-<br>A stranger band of beggared men<br>Had done the venturous deed:<br>The glory was to France alone,<br>The danger was their meed.<br>And what cared they for idle thanks<br>From foreign prince and peer?<br>What virtue had such honeyed words<br>The exiles' hearts to cheer?<br>What mattered it that men should vaunt,<br>And loud and fondly swear,<br>That higher feat of chivalry<br>Was never wrought elsewhere?<br>They bore within their breasts the grief<br>That fame can never heal-<br>The deep, unutterable woe<br>Which none save exiles feel.<br>Their hearts were yearning for the land<br>They ne'er might see again-<br>For Scotland's high and heathered hills,<br>For mountain, loch, and glen-<br>For those who haply lay at rest<br>Beyond the distant sea,<br>Beneath the green and daisied turf<br>Where they would gladly be!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Long years went by. The lonely isle<br>In Rhine's impetuous flood<br>Has ta'en another name from those<br>Who bought it with their blood:<br>And though the legend does not live,<br>For legends lightly die,<br>The peasant, as he sees the stream<br>In winter rolling by,<br>And foaming o'er its channel-bed<br>Between him and the spot<br>Won by the warriors of the sword,<br>Still calls that deep and dangerous ford<br>The Passage of the Scot.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Edmondstoune+Aytoun">William Edmondstoune Aytoun</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538114" data-title="The Island Of The Scots de William Edmondstoune Aytoun" data-description="I.

The Rhine is running deep and red,
The island lies before-
'Now is there one of all the host
Will dare to venture o'er?
For not alone the river's sweep
Might make a brave man quail:
The foe are on the further side,
Their shot comes fast as hai..."></div>
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