For men of mist what care e'er was In constant souls; if flesh and bone, (Such by their bearing are alone This gallant band) as I believe, As such I greet them and receive, Good, gallant soldiers for our King-- For them shall then the welkin ring." No sooner said, but seized his horn; Around the mountain echoes borne Resounds the bugle far and wide. The spectred steedmen then descried A mile's full quarter, seem'd to halt; The youth again, with lips at fault, Seized mad the ill-directed horn; His hand the pedlar seized with scorn; "Unhallowed, dare not thus deride What heaven's all pregnant powers confide, For man's instruction is this vision sent;" (With that the bugle from his hand he rent); "Young gentleman, be wise, be ruled:" The lost musician stood in silence school'd. The shadowy troops with sword and lance, And martial pride elate, advance; Within a hundred yards they seem; Terrific now their hauberks gleam-- As dazzling more than mortal sight. Yet 'midst my trance of wild affright, I marked them, as along they went, And living forms as such they meant, I then imagined that I knew Of many men in dreadful hue-- Death's pale discolour--doomed the ghost to yield, Instance exact to perish in the field, Or in cold blood to wait their doom-- The scaffold's fate--without a tomb; Pride of the Stuart's strength, nor unallied, In blood, that Brunswick's happier host defied; The Maxwells, Boyds, Drummonds, and Gordons famed, Scots, Ogilvies, Camerons, Foresters, high named! One youth there was--for now the battle raged, A band more powerful, vengeance nigh presaged, A fierce assault proclaims the adverse power-- One youth there was, amidst destruction's lour, Turned still the stream and every foe defied, Oft raised his arm, and oft in blood 'twas dyed; And, as his faint companions fell, he stood Erect in arms, and drenched in hostile blood; At last his prowess sunk--a falchion keen Light' on his helmet, and burst the warrior's screen; Then, as he fell, a visage too well known Burst on my view, with death's stern front though prone, 'Twas Selby's self--his dread eidolon's form, Like Brutus threatened in Philippi's storm. Selby looked thunderstruck with wild amaze, But mortal eye could not abide the gaze. He sunk, forestalled the agonies of death, And on the ground suspended was his breath; His horn then sounds the melody of woe, Some few sad notes that reach the issue's flow, E're the seer's hand had checked his purpose bold; Such notes the furies whilsom did unfold, When Plato gave to Proserpine his hand, And love stood awed, nor dared his force withstand The tyrant's force--we wait all frenzied o'er, And Selby yet alive, as dead, deplore.