On them gleamed the moon's wan lustre,
When the shade of Hosier brave
His pale bands was seen to muster,
Rising from their watery grave:
O'er the glimmering wave he hied him,
Where the Burford reared her sail,
With three thousand ghosts beside him,
And in groans did Vernon hail:

'Heed, O heed, our fatal story.

I am Hosier's injured ghost,
You, who now have purchased glory
At this place where I was lost;
Though in Porto-Bello's ruin

You now triumph free from fears,
When you think on our undoing,
You will mix your joy with tears.

'See these mournful spectres, sweeping Ghastly o'er this hated wave,

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Whose wan cheeks are stained with weeping; 35
These were English captains brave :
Mark those numbers pale and horrid,
Those were once my sailors bold;
Lo! each hangs his drooping forehead,
While his dismal tale is told.

'I, by twenty sail attended,

Did this Spanish town affright :
Nothing then its wealth defended
But my orders not to fight :
Oh! that in this rolling ocean

I had cast them with disdain,

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And obeyed my heart's warm motion,

To have quelled the pride of Spain.

'For resistance I could fear none,

But with twenty ships had done

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What thou, brave and happy Vernon,
Hast achieved with six alone.
Then the bastimentos never

Had our foul dishonour seen,
Nor the sea the sad receiver

Of this gallant train had been.

Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying,
And her galleons leading home,
Though condemned for disobeying,

I had met a traitor's doom;

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To have fall'n, my country crying,
He has played an English part,

Had been better far than dying

Of a grieved and broken heart.

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'Unrepining at thy glory,

Thy successful arms we hail;
But remember our sad story,
And let Hosier's wrongs prevail ;
Sent in this foul clime to languish,
Think what thousands fell in vain,
Wasted with disease and anguish,
Not in glorious battle slain.

'Hence, with all my train attending
From their oozy tombs below,
Through the hoary foam ascending,

Here I feed my constant woe:

Here the bastimentos viewing,

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After this proud foe subduing,

When your patriot friends you see,
Think on vengeance for my ruin,

And for England shamed in me.'

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Richard Glover.

CXLVII

LAMENT FOR FLODDEN.

I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking,

Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day;

But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning—

The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning,

Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae;

Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing,
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her away.

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray;
At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching—
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play;
But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie-
The Flowers of the Forest are weded away.

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'Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.
We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning-
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

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Jane Elliott.

CXLVIII

WAE'S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE.

A wee bird came to our ha' door;
He warbled sweet and clearly;

And aye the o'ercome o' his sang

Was 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie!'

Oh! when I heard the bonny, bonny bird,

The tears came drapping rarely ;

I took my bonnet aff my head,

For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.

Quoth I: 'My bird, my bonny, bonny bird,
Is that a tale ye borrow?

Or is't some words ye've learned by rote,
Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow?'
'Oh no, no, no,' the wee bird sang,
'I've flown sin' morning early;
But sic a day o' wind and rain-
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie !

'O'er hills that are by right his ain

He roams a lonely stranger;
On ilka hand he's pressed by want,
On ilka side by danger.
Yestreen I met him in the glen,
My heart near bursted fairly:

For sadly changed indeed was he-
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie !

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'Dark night came on; the tempest howled

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Out owre the hills and valleys;

And whare was't that your Prince lay down,
Whase hame should be a palace?

He rowed him in a Highland plaid,
Which covered him but sparely,
And slept beneath a bush o' broom-
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!'

But now the bird saw some red coats,
And he shook his wings wi' anger :

'Oh, this is no a land for me

I'll tarry here nae langer.'
A while he hovered on the wing,

Ere he departed fairly;

But weel I mind the farewell strain

'Twas 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie !'

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William Glen.

CXLIX

AN ODE.

IN IMITATION OF ALCEUS.

What constitutes a State?

Not high-raised battlement or laboured mound,
Thick wall or moated gate;

Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned;
Not bays and broad-armed ports,

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride;
Not starred and spangled courts,

Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride.
No-men, high-minded men,

With powers as far above dull brutes endued

In forest, brake, or den,

As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude;

Men, who their duties know,

But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain,

Prevent the long-aimed blow,

And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain :

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