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Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!

Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we;

Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk, Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk; Think of this, and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay.

The Resolve.1

IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM.

1808.

My wayward fate I needs must plain,
Though bootless be the theme;

I loved, and was beloved again,
Yet all was but a dream:

For, as her love was quickly got,

So it was quickly gone;

No more I'll bask in flame so hot,
But coldly dwell alone.

Not maid more bright than maid was e'er
My fancy shall beguile,

By flattering word, or feigned tear,
By gesture, look, or smile:

No more I'll call the shaft fair shot,

Till it has fairly flown,

Nor scorch me at a flame so hot ;-
I'll rather freeze alone.

Each ambush'd Cupid I'll defy,

In cheek, or chin, or brow, And deem the glance of woman's eye As weak as woman's vow: I'll lightly hold the lady's heart, That is but lightly won; I'll steel my breast to beauty's art, And learn to live alone.

The flaunting torch soon blazes out,
The diamond's ray abides;
The flame its glory hurls about,
The gem its lustre hides;
Such gem I fondly deem'd was mine,
And glow'd a diamond stone,
But, since each eye may see it shine,
I'll darkling dwell alone.

No waking dream shall tinge my thought

With dyes so bright and vain,

No silken net, so slightly wrought,

Shall tangle me again:

No more I'll pay so dear for wit,
I'll live upon mine own,
Nor shall wild passion trouble it,—

I'll rather dwell alone.

And thus I'll hush my heart to rest,

"Thy loving labor's lost;

Thou shalt no more be wildly blest,

To be so strangely crost;

The widow'd turtles mateless die,
The phoenix is but one;

They seek no loves-no more will I-
I'll rather dwell alone."

Epitaph,2

DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT

IN LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF THE FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD.

[spread,

AMID these aisles, where once his precepts show'd
The Heavenward pathway which in life he trod,
This simple tablet marks a Father's bier,
And those he loved in life, in death are near;
For him, for them, a Daughter bade it rise,
Memorial of domestic charities.
Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble
In female grace the willow droops her head;
Why on her branches, silent and unstrung,
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung;
What poet's voice is smother'd here in dust
Till waked to join the chorus of the just,—
Lo! one brief line an answer sad supplies,
Honor'd, beloved, and mourn'd, here SEWARD lies:
Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship say;
Go seek her genius in her living lay.

Prologue

TO MISS BAILLIE'S PLAY OF THE FAMILY LEGEND.

1809.

"Tis sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh, Through forests tinged with russet, wail and die;

poet could write in the same exquisite taste."-Life of Scott vol. iii. p. 330. * Edinburgh Annual Register, 1809.

1 Published anonymously in the Edinburgh Annual Register of 1808. Writing to his brother Thomas, the author says, "The Resolve is mine; and it is not-or, to be less enigmatial. it is an old fragment, which I coopered up into its present state with the purpose of quizzing certain judges of poetry, who have been extremely delighted, and declare that no living | friend, Mr. Daniel Terry.

3 Miss Baillie's Family Legend was produced with considerable success on the Edinburgh stage in the winter of 1809-10. This prologue was spoken on that occasion by the Author's

"Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear
Of distant music, dying on the ear;
But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand,
We list the legends of our native land,
Link'd as they come with every tender tie,
Memorials dear of youth and infancy.

Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son. Whether on India's burning coasts he toil, Or till Acadia's' winter-fetter'd soil,

Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings.
Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind
Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind:
Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees,
That baulks the snare, yet battens on the cheese
Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe,
Our buckskinn'd justices expound the law,
Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain,
And for the netted partridge noose the swain;
And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke
The last light fetter of the feudal yoke,

He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes, To give the denizens of wood and wild,
And, as he hears, what dear illusions rise!

It opens on his soul his native dell,

The woods wild waving, and the water's swell;
Tradition's theme, the tower that threats the plain,
The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain;
The cot, beneath whose simple porch were told,
By gray-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old,

Nature's free race, to each her free-born child.
Hence hast thou mark'd, with grief, fair London's

race,

Mock'd with the boon of one poor Easter chase,
And long'd to send them forth as free as when
Pour'd o'er Chantilly the Parisian train,
When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined,

The infant group, that hush'd their sports the And scarce the field-pieces were left behind!

while,

And the dear maid who listen'd with a smile.
The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain,
Is denizen of Scotland once again.

Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined,
And sleep they in the Poet's gifted mind?
Oh no! For She, within whose mighty page
Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and rage,
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire,
And to your own traditions tuned her lyre.
Yourselves shall judge-whoe'er has raised the sail
By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale.
The plaided boatman, resting on his oar,
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night
Our humble stage shall offer to your sight;
Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts give
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live;
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve
The filial token of a Daughter's love.

The Poacher.

WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF CRABBE, AND PUBLISHED
IN THE EDINBURGH ANNUAL REGISTER OF 1809.2
WELCOME, grave Stranger to our green retreats,
Where health with exercise and freedom meets!
Thrice welcome, Sage, whose philosophic plan
By nature's limits metes the rights of man;
Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls,
Now gives full value for true Indian shawls:
O'er court, o'er customhouse, his shoe who flings,

1 Acadia, or Nova Scotia.

A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dismay'd
On every covey fired a bold brigade;
La Douce Humanité approved the sport,
For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt,
Shouts patriotic solemnized the day,
And Seine re-echo'd Vive la Liberté !
But mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur again,
With some few added links resumes his chain.
Then, since such scenes to France no more are
known,

Come, view with me a hero of thine own!
One, whose free actions vindicate the cause
Of silvan liberty o'er feudal laws.

Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'er-
tops

Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse,
Leaving between deserted isles of land,
Where stunted heath is patch'd with ruddy sand;
And lonely on the waste the yew is seen,
Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green.
Here, little worn, and winding dark and steep,
Our scarce mark'd path descends yon dingle deep:
Follow-but heedful, cautious of a trip,-
In earthly mire philosophy may slip.
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream,
Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steam,
We reach the frail yet barricaded door
Of hovel form'd for poorest of the poor;
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives,
The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves;
For, if such hut, our forest statutes say,
Rise in the progress of one night and day
(Though placed where still the Conqueror's hests
o'erawe,

And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law),

Sce Life of Scott vol. iii. p. 329.

The builder claims the unenviable boon,

To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore On the bleak coast of frost-barr'd Labrador.'

Approach, and through the unlatticed window peep

Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep;
Sunk 'mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun
Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done.
Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate
hand,

Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand;
While round the hut are in disorder laid
The tools and booty of his lawless trade;
For force or fraud, resistance or escape,
The crow, the saw,
the bludgeon, and the crape.
His pilfer'd powder in yon nook he hoards,
And the filch'd lead the church's roof affords-
(Hence shall the rector's congregation fret,
That while his sermon's dry his walls are wet.)
The fish-spear barb'd, the sweeping net are there,
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of hare,
Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare.
Barter'd for game from chase or warren won,
Yon cask holds moonlight, run when moon was
none;

And late-snatched spoils lie stow'd in hutch apart,
To wait the associate higgler's evening cart.

Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest:
What scenes perturb'd are acting in his breast!
His sable brow is wet and wrung with pain,
And his dilated nostril toils in vain;

For short and scant the breath each effort draws,
And 'twixt each effort Nature claims a pause.
Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth stretch'd,
His sinewy throat seems by convulsion twitch'd,
While the tongue falters, as to utterance loth,
Sounds of dire import-watchword, threat, and
oath.

Though, stupefied by toil, and drugg`d with gin,
The body sleep, the restless guest within
Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade,
Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismay'd.—

"Was that wild start of terror and despair, Those bursting eyeballs, and that wilder'd air, Signs of compunction for a murder'd hare? Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows arch, For grouse or partridge massacred in March ?"—

No, scoffer, no! Attend, and mark with awe, There is no wicket in the gate of law!

1 Such is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tending greatly to increase the various settlements of thieves, smugglers, and deer-stealers, who infest it. In the forest courts the presiding judge wears as a badge of office an antique stir

He, that would e'er so lightly set ajar
That awful portal, must undo each bar:
Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride,
Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrier
wide.

That ruffian, whom true men avoid and dread, Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black Ned,

Was Edward Mansell once;-the lightest heart,
That ever play'd on holiday his part!
The leader he in every Christmas game,
The harvest feast grew blither when he came,
And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance,
When Edward named the tune and led the dance.
Kind was his heart, his passions quick and strong,
Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song;
And if he loved a gun, his father swore,
""Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o'er,
Himself had done the same some thirty years bo-
fore."

But he whose humors spurn law's awful yoke, Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are broke,

The common dread of justice soon allies
The clown, who robs the warren, or excise,
With sterner felons train'd to act more dread,
Even with the wretch by whom his fellow bled.
Then, as in plagues the foul contagions pass,
Leavening and festering the corrupted mass,—
Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives
draw,

Their hope impunity, their fear the law;
Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same,
Till the revenue baulk'd, or pilfer'd game,
Flesh the young culprit, and example leads
To darker villany, and direr deeds.

Wild howl'd the wind the forest glades along, And oft the owl renew'd her dismal song; Around the spot where erst he felt the wound, Red William's spectre walk'd his midnight round. When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look, From the green marshes of the stagnant brook The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook! The waning moon, with storm presaging gleam, Now gave and now withheld her doubtful beam; The old Oak stoop'd his arms, then flung them high, Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky'Twas then, that, couch'd amid the brushwood sere, In Malwood-walk young Mansell watch'd the deer: The fattest buck received his deadly shotThe watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot. rup, said to have been that of William Rufus. See Mr William Rose's spirited poem, entitled "The Red King." "To the bleak coast of savage Labrador."-FALCONER 2 A cant term for smuggled spirits.

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'Twas a Maréchal of France, and he fain would When they meet the bold dragoons, with their

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long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, &c.

On the Massacre of Glencoe."

1814.

"In the beginning of the year 1692, an action of unexampled barbarity disgraced the government

2 In their hasty evacuation of Campo Mayor, the French pulled down a part of the rampart, and marched out over the glacis

* First published in Thomson's Select Melodies, 1814.

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the kindest entertainment. Till the 13th of the month the troops lived in the utmost harmony and familiarity with the people; and on the very night of the massacre the officers passed the evening at cards in Macdonald's house. In the night, Lieutenant Lindsay, with a party of soldiers, called in a friendly manner at his door, and was instantly admitted. Macdonald, while in the act of rising to receive his guest, was shot dead through the back with two bullets. His wife had already dressed; but she was stripped naked by the sol

Those

teeth. The slaughter now became general, and
neither age nor infirmity was spared. Some wo-
men, in defending their children, were killed; boys
imploring mercy were, shot dead by officers on
whose knees they hung. In one place nine per-
sons, as they sat enjoying themselves at table, were
butchered by the soldiers. In Inverriggon, Camp-
bell's own quarters, nine men were first bound by
the soldiers, and then shot at intervals, one by one.
Nearly forty persons were massacred by the troops;
and several who fled to the mountains perished by
famine and the inclemency of the season.
who escaped owed their lives to a tempestuous
night. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, who had re-
ceived the charge of the execution from Dalrym-
ple, was on his march with four hundred men, to
guard all the passes from the valley of Glencoe;
but he was obliged to stop by the severity of the
weather, which proved the safety of the unfortu-
nate clan. Next day he entered the valley, laid
the houses in ashes, and carried away the cattle
and spoil, which were divided among the officers
and soldiers."-Article "BRITAIN;" Encyc. Britan
nica-New Edition.

of King William III. in Scotland. In the August preceding, a proclamation had been issued, offering an indemnity to such insurgents as should take the oaths to the King and Queen, on or before the last day of December; and the chiefs of such tribes as had been in arms for James, soon after took advantage of the proclamation. But Macdonald of Glencoe was prevented by accident, rather than by design, from tendering his submission within the limited time. In the end of December he went to Colonel Hill, who commanded the garrison in Fort William, to take the oaths of allegiance to the gov-diers, who tore the rings off her fingers with their ernment; and the latter having furnished him with a letter to Sir Colin Campbell, sheriff of the county of Argyll, directed him to repair immediately to Inverary, to make his submission in a legal manner before that magistrate. But the way to Inverary lay through almost impassable mountains, the season was extremely rigorous, and the whole country was covered with a deep snow. So eager, however, was Macdonald to take the oaths before the limited time should expire, that, though the road lay within half a mile of his own house, he stopped not to visit his family, and after various obstructions, arrived at Inverary. The time had elapsed, and the sheriff hesitated to receive his submission; but Macdonald prevailed by his importunities, and even tears, in inducing that functionary to administer to him the oath of allegiance, and to certify the cause of his delay. At this time Sir John Dalrymple, afterwards Earl of Stair, being in attendance upon William as Secretary of State for Scotland, took advantage of Macdonald's neglecting to take the oath within the time prescribed, and procured from the king a warrant of military execution against that chief and his whole clan. This was done at the instigation of the Earl of Breadalbane, whose lands the Glencoe men had plundered, and whose treachery to government in negotiating with the Highland clans, Macdonald himself had exposed. The King was accordingly persuaded that Glencoe was the main obstacle to the pacification of the Highlands; and the fact of the unfortunate chief's submission having been concealed, the sanguinary orders for proceeding to military execution against his clan were in consequence obtained. The warrant was both signed and countersigned by the King's own hand, and the Secretary urged the officers who commanded in the Highlands to execute their orders with the utmost rigor. Campbell of Glenlyon, a captain in Argyle's regiment, and two subalterns, were ordered to repair to Glencoe on the first of February with a hundred and twenty men. Campbell, being uncle to young Macdonald's wife, was received by the father with all manner of friendship and hospitality. The men were lodged at free quarters in the houses of his tenants, and received

"O TELL me, Harper, wherefore flow
Thy wayward notes of wail and woe,
Far down the desert of Glencoe,

Where none may list their melody!
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly,
Or to the dun-deer glancing by,
Or to the eagle, that from high

Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?"

"No, not to these, for they have rest,—
The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest,
The stag his lair, the erne her nest,
Abode of lone security.
But those for whom I pour the lay,
Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain-gray,
Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day,
Could screen from treach'rous cruelty.

"Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum, The ve household dogs were dumb,

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