The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, with memoir of the author.

SCENE I.]

HALIDON HILL.

279

'Tis not the falchion's weight decides a combat;
It is the strong and skilful hand that wields it.
Ill fate, that we should lack the noble King,
And all his champions now! Time call'd them
not,
For when I parted hence for Palestine,
The brows of most were free from grizzled hair.
Pri. Too true, alas! But well you know, in
Scotland,
Few hairs are silver'd underneath the helmet;
'Tis cowls like mine which hide them. 'Mongst
the laity,
War's the rash reaper, who thrusts in his sickle
Before the grain is white. In threescore years
And ten, which I have seen, I have outlived
Wellnigh two generations of our nobles.
The race which holds1 yon summit is the third.
Vip. Thou mayst outlive them also.
Pri. Heaven forefend!
My prayer shall be, that Heaven will close my
eyes,
Before they look upon the wrath to come.
Vip. Retire, retire, good Father!-Pray for
ScotlandThink not on me. Here comes an ancient friend,
Brother in arms, with whom to-day I'll join me.
Back to your choir, assemble all your brotherhood,
And weary Heaven with prayers for victory.2
1 [MS.-" The youths who hold," &c. "are."]
2 [MS. -" with prayers for Scotland's weal."]