Proem to the Kalevala

From the Finnish by John Martin Crawford
From “The Kalevala” (Land of heroes), the National Epic of Finland

MASTERED 1 by desire impulsive,
By a mighty inward urging,
I am ready now for singing,
Ready to begin the chanting
Of our nation’s ancient...

Poet: Anonymous
Battle Scene

From the Spanish by John Ormsby
From “The Cid”
THEN cried my Cid—“In charity, as to the rescue—ho!”
With bucklers braced before their breasts, with lances pointing low,
With stooping crests and heads bent down above the saddle-bow,
All firm of hand and high...

Poet: Anonymous
The Lord of Butrago

From the Spanish by John Gibson Lockhart
“YOUR horse is faint, my King, my Lord! your gallant horse is sick,—
His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick;
Mount, mount on mine, O mount apace, I pray thee, mount and fly!
Or in my arms I ’ll...

Poet: Anonymous
Chevy-Chace

   [A modernized form of the old ballad of the “Hunting o’ the Cheviot.” Some circumstances of the battle of Otterbourne (A.D. 1388) are woven into the ballad, and the affairs of the two events are confounded. The ballad preserved in the “Percy Reliques” is probably as old as 1574. The one...

Poet: Anonymous
Sir Patrick Spens

   [A confused echo of the Scotch expedition which should have brought the Maid of Norway to Scotland, about 1285.]

THE KING sits in Dunfermline town,
  Drinking the blude-red wine,
“O whare will I get a skeely skipper,
  To sail this new ship of mine!”

...

Poet: Anonymous
The Douglas Tragedy

   [This ballad exists in Denmark, and in other European countries. The Scotch point out Blackhouse, on the wild Douglas Burn, a tributary of the Yarrow, as the scene of the tragedy.]

“RISE up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas,” she says,
  “And put on your armor so bright;
Let...

Poet: Anonymous
The Dance

[Published soon after the surrender of Cornwallis]

CORNWALLIS led a country dance,
  The like was never seen, sir,
Much retrograde and much advance,
  And all with General Greene, sir.

They rambled up and rambled down,
  Joined hands, then off...

Poet: Anonymous
The Countersign

Alas! the weary hours pass slow,
  The night is very dark and still,
And in the marshes far below
  I hear the bearded whippoorwill.
I scarce can see a yard ahead;
  My ears are strained to catch each sound;
I hear the leaves about me shed,...

Poet: Anonymous
Three Hundred Thousand More

[September, 1861]
we are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more!
From Mississippi’s winding stream and from New England’s shore;
We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear...

Poet: Anonymous
Tramp, Tramp, Tramp

In the prison cell I sit,
  Thinking, mother dear, of you,
And our bright and happy home so far away,
  And the tears they fill my eyes,
Spite of all that I can do,
  Tho’ I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.

Trump, tramp, tramp, the boys are...

Poet: Anonymous