4523836Poems — The Sword of WallaceMary Caroline Denver
THE SWORD OF WALLACE.
["Among the relics and curiosities preserved in Rinfauns Castle, Perthshire, the seat of Lord Grey, is a sword, said to have belonged to Sir William Wallace. Rinfauns was at one time the property of Sir Adam de Longueville, the friend of Wallace; and the tradition, or history of the family is that the Scottish Patriot, about 1300, presented the weapon to his friend, by whom it was carefully cherished, and bequeathed to his successor."]
Sword of the mighty dead! amidst the bloom And splendor shining ronnd thee—the perfume That haunts the air, and makes it almost seem The breathing beauty of a pictured dream— Amidst the music and the voice of glee, Prom all their witcheries I turn to thee, Grasp thee and tread the path that Wallace trod When thou wast drawn for Freedom and for God.
Imposing 'midst the crust of years art thou, Stern as the frown on war's relentless brow; Unbending now, amidst this after-life, As when thou sought'st the firmament of strife, And drank the blood that freedom bade thee draw, When thy great master followed nature's law. And sought the freedom peace would not afford, Bidding it flash from out the vengeful sword.
Sword of the brave! the train of years long fled Passes me by like mourners of the dead! The beautiful and brave have gazed on thee, Will thy stern spirit pause to speak to me? Tell me the vengeance of thy mighty wrath, Of all the tears that followed in thy path, Of all the hopes that on thine absence hung, And all the glory round thy presence flung!
Tell me of Scotland's woes, of Scotland's tears, The gathered agony of long, long years, Which her torn bosom felt, so dark and deep That 'midst them all she scarce had room to weep! Then tell me of her many victories won, The proud achievements of her martyred son, Tell of her Wallace found, of Wallace lost, Answer me, Sword! for thou wast freedom's host.
"What would'st thou, mortal! can a voice of mine Else from this silent steel to answer thine? Oh! I could tell of many a deed sublime, Whose brightness long has lit the stream of time. How many centuries have passed away, How many thrones have crumbled to decay, Since first within these walls my light was shed, A sacred relic of the mighty dead!
"Wallace! immortal Wallace! on thy name Is cast the light of never-dying fame; What though no marble o'er thy dust is placed, Thy name in every freeman's heart is traced! There be thy living monuments of fame, There shines engraved the glory of thy name; Ever to live divine! ever to be, A watchword for the sons of liberty.
"From out the ceaseless silence reigning round, Methinks I sometimes hear the battle-sound; And from its mute inglorious life afar, My spirit leaps to join the tide of war! Oh! for the master-hand that bore me on! Oh! for the light that on my pathway shone! Both gone alike, lost with oblivion's wave; Gone down forever to the silent grave!
"Not there forever will his spirit rest, Who clasped the woes of Scotland to his breast;, Whose owji brave heart received the blow prepared Tor her, and who to die so nobly dared! Still, when the light of freedom blazes far, Shall his firm spirit lead the van of war, And into each heart pour, what erst he poured, Strength to the freeman—valor to the sword.
"I must be silent! seek no more to know; It is not thine to hear—mine to bestow— Yet when thou seest me, tales of other years Will rise before thee, clothed in blood and tears! And from the heart of Scotland's mountain-home, And from her streams a mighty voice shall come, Filling the bosom with its startling cry, 'Like Wallace nobly live, or bravely die!'"
