THE PALMER. O OPEN the door, some pity to show; The glen is white with the drifted snow; "No Outlaw seeks your castle-gate, From chasing the king's deer, Though even an Outlaw's wretched state Might claim compassion here. "A weary Palmer, worn and weak, O open, for your lady's sake, "I'll give you pardons from the pope, "The hare is crouching in her form, An aged man, amid the storm, "You hear the Ettricke's sullen roar, Dark, deep, and strong is he, And I must ford the Ettricke o'er, "The iron gate is bolted hard, At which I knock in vain; "Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant, The Ranger on his couch lay warm, But oft amid December's storm, For lo, when, through the vapours dank, A corpse amid the alders rank, WANDERING WILLIE. ALL joy was bereft me the day that you left me, And banned it for parting my Willie and me. Now I hae gotten my Willie again. When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing, I sate on the beach wi' the tear in my e'e, And thought o' the bark where my Willie was sailing, Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring, That ere o'er Inch Keith drove the dark ocean faem. When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle, And blithe was each heart for the great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle, And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen, And, trust me, I'll smile, though my e'en they may glisten; And oh how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers, When there's naething to speak to the heart through the e'e; How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers, And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. Till, at times, could I help it? I pined and I pondered, If love would change notes like the bird on the treeNow I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wandered, Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel, Hardships and danger despising for fame, Furnishing story for glory's bright annal, Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame. Enough now thy story in annals of glory Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain; No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave me, I never will part with my Willie again. THE MAID OF NEIDPATH THERE is a tradition in Tweeddale, that, when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted between a daughter of that noble family and a son of the laird of Tushielaw, in Ettricke Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence, the lady fell in a consumption; and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her organs, that she is said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on, without recognizing her, or even slackening his pace. The lady was unable to support the shock, and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants. There is an incident similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's "Fleur d'Epine." O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Mary's bower, All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, By fits, a sultry hectic hue Across her cheek was flying; By fits, so ashy pale she grew Yet keenest powers, to see and hear, Ere scarce a distant form was kenned, And o'er the battlement did bend, He came he passed-a heedless gaze, THE BARD'S INCANTATION. WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION, IN AUTUMN OF 1804. Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register, 1808. It is all of black pine, and the dark oak-tree; The moon looks through the drifting storm, There is a voice among the trees That mingles with the groaning oak That mingles with the stormy breeze, And the lake-waves dashing against the rock; There is a voice within the wood, The voice of the Bard in fitful mood, His song was louder than the blast, THE As the Bard of Glenmore through the forest passed. "Souls of the mighty! wake and say, To what high strain your harps were strung, b The forest of Glenmore is haunted by a spirit called Lhamdearg, Red-hand. All by your harpings doomed to die "Mute are ye all? No murmurs strange Were hovering near your mountain strand. "O yet awake the strain to tell, "By all their swords, by all their scars, At the dread voice of other years- TO A LADY. WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL. Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1808. TAKE these flowers, which, purple waving, Where, the sons of freedom braving, Where the Norwegian invader of Scotland received two bloody defeats. d The Galgacus of Tacitus. |