For lo, when through the vapours dank, Morn shone on Ettrick fair, A corpse amid the alders rank, The Maid of Neidpath. 1806. There is a tradition in Tweeddale, that, when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls March, a mutual passion subsisted between a daughter of that noble family, and a son of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence, the lady fell into 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 slacken- | ing 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. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Till through her wasted hand, at night, By fits, a sultry hectic hue Across her check were flying; Yet keenest powers to see and hear, Seem'd in her frame residing; Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear, She heard her lover's riding; Ere scarce a distant form was ken'd, He came he pass'd-an heedless gaze, Wandering Willie. 1806. ALL joy was bereft me the day that you left me, And climb'd the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea; O weary betide it! I wander'd beside it, And bann'd it for parting my Willie and me. Far o'er the wave hast thou follow'd thy fortune, When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing, I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my ee, And thought o' the bark where my Willie was sailing, And wish'd that the tempest could a' blaw on me. Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring, 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, Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar; And trust me, I'll smile, though my een they may glisten; For sweet after danger 's the tale of the war. And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers, When there's naething to speak to the heart thro' the ee; How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers, And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. With rapture you'll drink to the toast that I givo: Till, at times-could I help it ?—I pined and I pon- MELVILLE for ever, and long may he live! If love could change notes like the bird on the What were the Whigs doing, when boldly pursuing, tree Now I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wander'd, Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel, Enough, now thy story in annals of glory PITT banish'd Rebellion, gave Treason a string? Why, they swore on their honour, for ARTHU O'CONNOR, And fought hard for DESPARD against country and king. Well, then, we knew, boys, PITT and MELVILLE were true boys, And the tempest was raised by the friends of Reform. Weep to his memory; Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Low lies the pilot that weather'd the storm! No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou And pray, don't you mind when the Blues first were leave me, I never will part with my Willie again. Health to Lord Melville.1 1806. AIR-Carrickfergus. raising, And we scarcely could think the house safe o'er our When villains and coxcombs, French politics praising, Stepp'd forth our old Statesmen example to give. Drink the Blue grenadier Here's to old HARRY, and long may he live! They would turn us adrift; though rely, sir, upon it— Each loyal Volunteer, long may he live! "The impeachment of Lord Melville was among the first measures of the new (Whig) Government; and personal affection and gratitude graced as well as heightened the zeal with which Scott watched the issue of this, in his eyes, vindictive proceeding; but, Is though the ex-minister's ultimate acquittal was, as to all the charges involving his personal honour, complete, it must now be allowed that the investigation brought out many circumstances by no means creditable to his discretion; and the rejoicings of his friends ought not, therefore, to have been scornfully jubilant. Such they were, however—at least in Edinburgh; and Scott took his share in them by inditing a song, which was sung by James Ballantyne, and received with clamorous applauses, at a public dinner given in honour of the event, on the 27th of June 1806."-Life, vol. ii., P. The thanks that his country to valour can give: 322. SINCE here we are set in array round the table, Five hundred good fellows well met in a hall, 1 Published on a broadside, and reprinted in the life of Scott, 1837 "Tis not us alone, boys—the Army and Navy Come, boys, Drink it off merrily, SIR DAVID and POPHAM, and long may they live! And then our revenue-Lord knows how they view'd it, And the pig-iron duty a shame to a pig. In vain is their vaunting, What poet's voice is smother'd here in dust Prologue TO MISS BAILLIE'S PLAY OF THE FAMILY LEGEND." 1809. "Tis sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh, 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, He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes, 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 grey-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old, Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined, Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night This prologue was spoken on that occasion by the Author's friend, Mr. Daniel Terry. Acadia or Nova Scotia. Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts give The Baacher. WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF CRABBE, AND PUBLISHED Mock'd with the boon of one poor Easter chase, A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dismay'd On every covey fired a bold brigade; La Douce Humanité approved the sport, With some few added links resumes his chain. Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'ertops Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse, 1 See Life of Scott, vol. iii., p. 329. 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 Leaving between deserted isles of land, In earthly mire philosophy may slip. o'erawe, And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law,) Approach, and through the unlatticed window peep Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep; hand, Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand; Yon cask holds moonlight, run when moon was none; And late-snatch'd spoils lie stow'd in hutch apart, |