Fair Banner! 'gainst thee bloody Claver'se came hewing His road through our helms, and our glory sub. duing; And Nithsdale Dalzell-his fierce deeds to requite, Smote thee down, thou fair Banner, all rudely, and left Thee defiled, and the skull of the bannerman cleft. Fair Banner, fair Banner, a century of wo And now, lovely Banner! led captive and placed, 'Mid the spoils of the scoffer, and scorned and disgraced, And hung with the helm and the glaive on the wall, 'Mongst idolatrous figures to wave in the hall, Where the lips, wet with wine, jested with thee profane, And the minstrel, more graceless, mixed thee with his strain, Till the might and the pride of thy conqueror fell, And the owl sat and whoop'd in the halls of Dal zell. O thou holy Banner! in weeping and wail my tale. And yet, lovely Banner! thus torn from the brave, And disgraced by the graceless, and sold by the slave, And hung o'er a hostel, where rich ruddy wine, And the soul-cheering beverage of barley divine, Floated glorious, and sent such a smoke-in his flight The lark stayed in air, and sung, drunk with delight. Does this lessen thy lustre ? or tarnish thy glory? Diminish thy fame, and traduce thee in story? Oh, no, beauteous Banner! loosed free on the beam, By the hand of the chosen, long, long shalt thou stream! And the damsel dark-eyed, and the Covenant swain, Shall bless thee, and talk of dread Bothwell again. THE VOICE LIFTED UP AGAINST AND will ye forsake the balmy, free air, The green earth and heaven's blue vault for me. Wo! wo! to the time when to the heath-bell And leave the mount written with martyr story, The sun beaming bright in his bridegroom glory; And leave the green birks, and the lang flowering broom, The breath of the woodland steeped rich in perfume; And barter our life's sweetest flour for the bran, The glory of God for the folly of man. JOHN MALCOLM. THE WISH. "Oh! that I had the wings of a dove, that I might flee away and be at rest. So prayed the Psalmist to be free From mortal bonds and earthly thrall ; And such, or soon or late, shall be Full oft the heart-breathed prayer of all; And we, when life's last sands we rove, With faltering foot and aching breast, While hearts are young and hopes are high, Its sounds are music to the ear: And of its joys no more possessed, We, like the captive of the cage, Would flee away and be at rest. Is ours fair woman's angel smile, And we, with speechless grief opprest, Beyond the hills-beyond the sea,- MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. EXTRACT FROM A CAMBRIDGE PRIZE POEM ON THE RESTORATION OF LEARNING IN THE EAST, BY THE RIGHT HON. CHARLES GRANT. BRITAIN, thy voice can bid the dawn ascend, Awake and meet the purpose of the skies! |