UP rose the sun o'er moor and mead;
Up with the sun rose Percy Rede;
Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed,
Career'd along the lea;
The palfrey sprung with sprightly
bound,

As if to match the gamesome hound;
His horn the gallant huntsman wound:
They were a jovial three!

Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame,
To wake the wild deer never came,
Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game
On Cheviot's rueful day;
Keeldar was matchless in his speed,
Than Tarras, ne'er was stauncher steed,
A peerless archer, Percy Rede :

And right dear friends were they. The chase engross'd their joys and

woes,

Together at the dawn they rose,
Together shared the noon's repose,

By fountain or by stream;
And oft, when evening skies were red,
The heather was their common bed,
Where each, as wildering fancy led,

Still hunted in his dream.

Now is the thrilling moment near,
Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear,
Yon thicket holds the harbour'd deer,

The signs the hunters know ;—
With eyes of flame, and quivering ears,
The brake sagacious Keeldar nears;
The restless palfrey paws and ears;
The archer strings his bow.
The game's afoot!-Halloo! Halloo!
Hunter, and horse, and

pursue :

hound

But woe the shaft that erring flew—
That e'er it left the string!

And ill betide the faithless yew!
The stag bounds scathless o'er the dew,
And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true

Has drench'd the grey-goose wing.

The noble hound—he dies, he dies, Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes, Stiff on the bloody heath he lies,

Without a groan or quiver. Now day may break and bugle sound, And o'er his couch the stag may bound And whoop and hallow ring around,

But Keeldar sleeps for ever.

Dilated nostrils, staring eyes,
Mark the poor palfrey's mute surprise,

He knows not that his comrade dies,
Nor what is death-but still

His aspect hath expression drear
Of grief and wonder, mix'd with fear,
Like startled children when they hear
Some mystic tale of ill.

But he that bent the fatal bow,
Can well the sum of evil know,
And o'er his favourite, bending low,
In speechless grief recline;
Can think he hears the senseless clay
In unreproachful accents say,
"The hand that took my life away,

Dear master, was it thine?

"And if it be, the shaft be bless'd, Which sure some erring aim address'd, Since in your service prized, caress'd

I in your service die ; And you may have a fleeter hound, To match the dun-deer's merry bound, But by your couch will ne'er be found So true a guard as I.”

And to his last stout Percy rued Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud, The fatal chance; for when he stood

And fell amid the fray, E'en with his dying voice he cried, "Had Keeldar but been at my side, Your treacherous ambush had been spied

I had not died to-day!" Remembrance of the erring bow Long since had joined the tides which flow,

Conveying human bliss and woe

Down dark oblivion's river;

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 labour'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."

MR. KEMBLE'S FAREWELL

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 glowed a diamond stone,
But, since each eye may see it shine,
I'll darkling dwell alone.

ADDRESS,

LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE.

subdued

Beneath the burning glow of gratitude? Ah no!-the taper, wearing to its close,

Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows; But all too soon the transient gleam is past

It cannot be renew'd, and will not last; Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage

But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age.

Yes! it were poor, remembering what I was,

To live a pensioner on your applause, To drain the dregs of your endurance dry,

And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy;

Till every sneering youth around inquires,

"Is this the man who once could please our sires ?"

And scorn assumes

doubtful mien,

compassion's

To warn me off from the encumber'd

How oft around your circle this weak hand

Has waved immortal Shakspeare's magic wand,

Till the full burst of inspiration came, And I have felt, and you have fann'd the flame!

By mem'ry treasured, while her reign endures,

Those hours must live-and all their charms are yours.

O favour'd Land, renown'd for arts and arms,

For manly talent, and for female charms,

Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line,

What fervent benedictions now were thine!

But my last part is play'd, my knell is

rung,

When e'en your praise falls faltering from my tongue;

And all that you can hear, or I can tell,

Is-Friends and Patrons, hail! and FARE YOU WELL!

LINES,

No longer dare he think his toil
Can merit aught his patron's smile;
Too light appears the distant way,
The chilly eve, the sultry day-
All these endured no favour claim,

But murmuring forth the sainted name,
He lays his little offering down,
And only deprecates a frown.

We, too, who ply the Thespian art,
Oft feel such bodings of the heart,
And, when
our utmost powers are

strain'd, Dare hardly hope your favour gain'd. She, who from sister climes has sought The ancient land where Wallace fought

[house? And whar's the Weigh

hearts,

She, as the flutterings here avow,
Feels all the pilgrim's terrors now;
Yet sure on Caledonian plain
The stranger never sued in vain.
'Tis yours the hospitable task
To give the applause she dare not ask;
And they who bid the pilgrim speed,
The pilgrim's blessing be their meed.

EPILOGUE

TO THE DRAMA FOUNDED ON 66 ST. RONAN'S WELL."

1824.

"After the play, the following humorous address (ascribed to an eminent literary character) was spoken with infinite effect by Mr. Mackay in the character of MEG DODS."-Edinburgh Weekly Journal, 9th June, 1824.

Enter MEG DODS, encircled by a crowd of unruly boys, whom a Town's Officer is driving off.

THAT'S right, friend-drive the gaitlings back,

And lend yon muckle ane a whack; Your Embro' bairns are grown a pack Sae proud and saucy,

Except the Playhouse.

Yoursells are changed frae head to

With clashing hufe and rattling wheel,
And horses canterin',
Wha's father's daunder'd hame as weel
Wi' lass and lantern.

Mysell being in the public line,
I look for howfs I kenn'd lang syne,
Whar gentles used to drink gude wine,
And eat cheap dinners;
But deil a soul gangs there to dine,
Of saunts or sinners!

Fortune's and Hunter's gane, alas!
And Bayle's is lost in empty space;
And now, if folk would splice a brace,
Or crack a bottle,

They gang to a new-fangled place
They ca' a Hottle.

Weel, sirs, gude-e'en, and have a care The bairns mak fun o' Meg nae mair; For gin they do, she tells you fair,

And without failzie,

As sure as ever ye sit there,

She'll tell the Bailee.

1 The Edinburgh Theatre.

Alexandre, the ventriloquist.

Teviot again!