INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH.
113
For fosse and turret proud to stand,
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land.
Thy thousands, train'd to martial toil,
Full red would stain their native soil,
105Ere from thy mural crown there fell
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle.
And if it come,—as come it may,
Dun-Edin! that eventful day,—
Renown'd for hospitable deed,
110That virtue much with Heaven may plead,
In patriarchal times whose care
Descending angels deign'd to share;
That claim may wrestle blessings down
On those who fight for The Good Town,
115Destined in every age to be
Refuge of injured royalty;
Since first, when conquering York arose,
To Henry meek she gave repose,
Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe,
120Great Bourbon's relics, sad she saw.
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land.
Thy thousands, train'd to martial toil,
Full red would stain their native soil,
105Ere from thy mural crown there fell
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle.
And if it come,—as come it may,
Dun-Edin! that eventful day,—
Renown'd for hospitable deed,
110That virtue much with Heaven may plead,
In patriarchal times whose care
Descending angels deign'd to share;
That claim may wrestle blessings down
On those who fight for The Good Town,
115Destined in every age to be
Refuge of injured royalty;
Since first, when conquering York arose,
To Henry meek she gave repose,
Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe,
120Great Bourbon's relics, sad she saw.
Truce to these thoughts!--for, as they rise,
How gladly I avert mine eyes,
Bodings, or true or false, to change,
For Fiction's fair romantic range,
125Or for Tradition's dubious light,
That hovers 'twixt the day and night:
Dazzling alternately and dim
Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim,
Knights, squires, and lovely dames, to see,
130Creation of my fantasy,
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen,
And make of mists invading men.—
Who loves not more the night of June
Than dull December's gloomy noon?
135The moonlight than the fog of frost?
But can we say, which cheats the most?
How gladly I avert mine eyes,
Bodings, or true or false, to change,
For Fiction's fair romantic range,
125Or for Tradition's dubious light,
That hovers 'twixt the day and night:
Dazzling alternately and dim
Her wavering lamp I'd rather trim,
Knights, squires, and lovely dames, to see,
130Creation of my fantasy,
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen,
And make of mists invading men.—
Who loves not more the night of June
Than dull December's gloomy noon?
135The moonlight than the fog of frost?
But can we say, which cheats the most?
