Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/254



on, graze on, there comes no sound Of border-warfare here, No slogan cry of gathering clan, No battle-axe or spear; No belted knight in armour bright, With glance of kindling ire, Doth change the sports of Chevy-Chase To conflict stern and dire.

Ye wist not that ye press the spot Where Percy held his way Across the marches, in his pride The "chiefest hearts to slay," And where the stout Earl Douglas rode Upon his milk-white steed, With fifteen hundred Scottish spears To stay the invader's deed.

Graze on, graze on, there's many a rill, Wild wandering through the glade, Where you may freely slake your thirst, With none to make afraid; There's many a murmuring stream that flows From Cheviot's terraced side, Yet not one drop of warrior's gore Distains its crystal tide.