Page images
PDF
EPUB

Long years of hope deceived
That conquered Swede must prove;
Patkul thou art avenged!

Long years of idleness

That restless soul must bear ;

Patkul thou art avenged!

The Despot's savage anger took thy life, Thy death has stabb'd his fame.

The DEATH of WALLACE.

Joy, joy in London now!

He goes, the rebel Wallace goes to death, At length the traitor meets the traitor's doom, Joy, joy in London now!

He on a sledge is drawn,

His strong right arm unweapon'd and in chains,
And garlanded around his helmless head
The laurel wreath of scorn.

They throng to view him now

Who in the field had fled before his sword, Who at the name of Wallace once grew pale

And faltered out a prayer.

Yes they can meet his eye,

That only beams with patient courage now;
Yes they can gaze upon those manly limbs
Defenceless now and bound.

And that eye did not shrink
As he beheld the pomp of infamy;
Nor did one rebel feeling shake those limbs
When the last moment came.

What tho' suspended sense Was by their damned cruelty revived, What tho' ingenious vengeance lengthened life To feel protracted death;

What tho' the hangman's hand

Graspt in his living breast the heaving heart,.. In the last agony, the last sick pang,

Wallace had comfort still.

He called to mind his deeds

Done for his country in the embattled field;

He thought of that good cause for which he died And that was joy in death!

Go Edward triumph now!

Cambria is fallen, and Scotland's strength is crush'd;
On Wallace, on Llewellyn's mangled limbs
The fowls of Heaven have fed.

Unrivalled, unopposed,

Go Edward full of glory to thy grave !
The weight of patriot blood upon thy soul
Go Edward to thy God!

TO A FRIEND,

Enquiring if I would live over my youth again.

Do I regret the past?
Would I again live o'er
The morning hours of life?

Nay, William! nay, not so!

In the warm joyaunce of the summer sun
I do not wish again

The changeful April day.

Nay, William! nay, not so!

Safe haven'd from the sea.

I would not tempt again

The uncertain ocean's wrath.

Praise be to him who made me what I am,

Other I would not be.

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »