“We bid those spectre-shapes avaunt, "Nor magic charms, nor fiends of hell, "Ye Barons, to the sun unfold "Our Cross with crimson wove and gold!" ODE IX. DUNCAN'S WARNING. BY J. AIKIN, M.D. As o'er the heath, amid his steel-clad Thanes, In dusky mantle wrapp'd, a grisly form Stop, O King! thy destin'd course, Hear'st thou not the raven's croak? Feel'st thou not the loaded sky? Lo, yon' castle banners glare Murder, like an eagle waits Let not plighted faith beguile; Honour's semblance, Beauty's smile : Fierce Ambition's venom'd dart Rankles in the fest'ring heart. Treason, arm'd against thy life, Steels his unrelenting soul, Now 'tis time, ere guilty night Closes round thee, speed thy flight. If the threshold once be crost, DUNCAN! thou'rt for ever lost. |