Page images
PDF
EPUB

And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;

Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,
My sister and my fae,

Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword
That through thy soul shall gae:

The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;

Nor the balm that drops on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.

!

My son my son! may kinder stars

Upon thy fortune shine;

And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine!
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee:

And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!

Oh! soon, to me, may summer-suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!

And in the narrow house o' death
Let winter round me rave;

And the next flowers that deck the spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave!

2. HIGHLAND MARY.

Ye banks and braes, and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers.
Your waters never drumlie!

There simmer first unfald her robes,
And there the langest tarry;

For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,

As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,

Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' monie a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But oh! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay.
That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!

And closed for aye the sparkling glance,
That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mould'ring now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

3. BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS.
Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front of battle lower;

See approach proud Edward's power—
Chains and slaverie !

Wha will be a traitor knave?

Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'?
Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do or die!

4. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.
November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh,
The short'ning winter-day is near a close:
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;
The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose;
The toil-worn cotter frae his labour goes,

This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward

At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;

[bend.

Th' expectant wee things, toddlin' stacher through
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' noise an' glee.

His wee bit ingle, blinkin' bonnily,

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wific's smile,

The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile,

An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toil.

Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in,

At service out, amang the farmers roun';
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin
A cannie errand to a neebor town:

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e,
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown,
Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee,

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be

Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet,
An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers;

The social hours, swift-wing'd, unnoticed fleet;
Each tells the unco's that he sees or hears;
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years;
Anticipation forward points the view.
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers,
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new;
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due.

Their master's and their mistress's command,
The younkers a' are warned to obey ;
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand.
An' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play:
"An', oh, be sure to fear the Lord alway!
An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night!
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray,

Implore His counsel and assisting might: [aright!"
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord
But hark a rap comes gently to the door;
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same,
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor,
To do some errands, and convoy her hame.
The wily mother sees the conscious flame
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek;
With heart-struck anxious care inquires his name,
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak;

[rake. Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild worthless Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben;

A strappin youth, he takes the mother's eye; Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill-ta'en :

The father's crack of horses, pleughs, and куe. The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, But blate an' laithiu', scarce can weel behave; The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy

What makes the youth sae bashiu' an' sae grave, Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. O, happy love! where love like this is found! O heart-felt raptures! bliss beyond compare! I've pacéd much this weary mortal round,

And sage experience bids me this declare.-"If Heaven a draft of heavenly pleasure spare, One cordial in this melancholy vale,

'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair,

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale,

Is there in human form, that bears a heart,—

[gale."

Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening

A wretch a villain! lost to love and truth!
That can with studied, sly, ensnaring art,

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth?
Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth!
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled?
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth,

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ?
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild!
But now the supper crowns their simple board!
The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food:
The soupe their only hawkie does afford,

That 'yont the hallan snugly chews her cood:
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebbuck, fell,
An' aft he's press'd an aft he ca's it guid;

The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell,

How 'twas a towmond auld, sin lint was i' the bell.
The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face,
They round the ingle form a circle wide:
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace,
The big Ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride;
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside,

His lyart haffets wearin' thin an' bare;

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wales a portion with judicious care;

And "Let us worship God," he says wi' solemn air.
They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name,
Or noble Elgin beats the heavenward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays :
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickled ear no heartfelt raptures raise,
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise.

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »