9
Are not unwilling to see the north and south forgather.
And, surely, seldom have Scotch and English more joyously mingled;
Scarcely with warmer hearts, clearer sense of mutual manhood,
Even in tourney, and foray, and fray, and regular battle,
Where the life and the strength come out in the tug and tussle,
Scarcely, where man confronted man, and soul clasped soul,
Close as the bodies and intertwining limbs of athletic wrestlers
When for a final bout are a day's two champions mated,—
In the grand old times of bows, and bills, and claymores,
At the old Flodden-field—Bannockburn—Culloden.
—(And he paused a moment, for breath, and because of cheering,)
We are the better friends, I fancy, for that old fighting,
Better friends, inasmuch as we know each other better,
We can now shake hands without subterfuge or shuffling.
On this passage followed a great tornado of cheering,
Tables were rapped, feet stamped, a glass or two got broken:
He, ere the cheers had died wholly away, and while still there was stamping,
Added with a smile in an altered voice his sarcastic conclusion.
Yet I myself have little claim to this honour of having my health drunk,
For I am not a game-keeper, I think, nor a game-preserver.
So he said, and sat down, but his satire was not taken.
Only the Men, who were all on their legs as concerned in the thanking,
Were a trifle confused, but mostly stared without laughing;
Lindsay alone, close-facing the chair, shook his fist at the speaker.
Only a Liberal member, away at the end of the table,
Started, remembering sadly the chance of a coming election,
Only the Attaché sneered to the Guardsman, who twirled his moustachio,
Only the Marquis faced round, but not quite clear of the meaning
Joined with the joyous Sir Hector, who lustily beat on the table.
And soon after the chairman arose, and the feast was over:
Now should the barn be cleared and forthwith adorned for the dancing,
And our friends, retiring to wait for this consummation,
Were, as they stood in the doorway uncertain, debating together,
By the good chieftain so joyous invited hard-by to the castle.
But as the doorway they quitted, a thin man clad as the Saxon,
Trouser and cap and jacket of home-spun blue, hand-woven,
Singled out, and said with determined accent to Hewson,
Resting his hand on his shoulder, while each with eyes dilating
Firmly scanned each: Young man, if ye pass through the Braes o' Lochaber,
See by the loch-side ye come to the Bothie of Toper-na-fuosich.
