Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Scotland: Vols. VI–VIII. 1876–79. | | | | Liddesdale | | Lock the Door, Lariston | | James Hogg (1770–1835) |
| | | LOCK the door, Lariston, lion of Liddisdale, | |
| Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther comes on, | |
| The Armstrongs are flying, | |
| Their widows are crying, | |
| The Castletown ’s burning, and Oliver ’s gone; | 5 |
| Lock the door, Lariston,—high on the weather-gleam | |
| See how the Saxon plumes bob on the sky, | |
| Yeoman and carbineer, | |
| Billman and halberdier; | |
| Fierce is the foray, and far is the cry. | 10 |
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| Bewcastle brandishes high his broad scimitar, | |
| Ridley is riding his fleet-footed gray, | |
| Hidley and Howard there, | |
| Wandale and Windermere,— | |
| Lock the door, Lariston, hold them at bay. | 15 |
| Why dost thou smile, noble Elliot of Lariston? | |
| Why does the joy-candle gleam in thine eye? | |
| Thou bold Border ranger, | |
| Beware of thy danger,— | |
| Thy foes are relentless, determined, and nigh. | 20 |
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| Jock Elliot raised up his steel bonnet and lookit, | |
| His hand grasped the sword with a nervous embrace; | |
| “Ah, welcome, brave foemen, | |
| On earth there are no men | |
| More gallant to meet in the foray or chase! | 25 |
| Little know you of the hearts I have hidden here, | |
| Little know you of our moss-troopers’ might, | |
| Lindhope and Sorby true, | |
| Sundhope and Milburn too, | |
| Gentle in manner, but lions in fight! | 30 |
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| “I ’ve Mangerton, Ogilvie, Raeburn, and Netherby, | |
| Old Sim of Whitram, and all his array; | |
| Come, all Northumberland, | |
| Teesdale and Cumberland, | |
| Here at the Breaken Tower end shall the fray.” | 35 |
| Scowled the broad sun o’er the links of green Liddisdale, | |
| Red as the beacon-light tipped he the wold; | |
| Many a bold martial eye | |
| Mirrored that morning sky, | |
| Never more oped on his orbit of gold! | 40 |
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| Shrill was the bugle’s note, dreadful the warrior shout, | |
| Lances and halberts in splinters were borne; | |
| Halberd and hauberk then | |
| Braved the claymore in vain, | |
| Buckler and armlet in shivers were shorn. | 45 |
| See how they wane, the proud files of the Windermere, | |
| Howard,—ah! woe to thy hopes of the day! | |
| Hear the wide welkin rend, | |
| While the Scots’ shouts ascend, | |
| “Elliot of Lariston, Elliot for aye!” | 50 | | | |
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