Long years of hope deceived 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, 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; And that eye did not shrink 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; Unrivalled, unopposed, Go Edward full of glory to thy grave ! TO A FRIEND, Enquiring if I would live over my youth again. Do I regret the past? Nay, William! nay, not so! In the warm joyaunce of the summer sun 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. |