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For lo, when through the vapours dank,
Morn shone on Ettrick fair, A corpse amid the alders rank,
The Palmer welter'd there.
Ere scarce a distant form was ken’d,
She knew, and waved to greet him ;
As on the wing to meet him.
He came—he pass’d-an heedless gaze,
As o'er some stranger glancing;
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,
Lost in his courser's prancing
The castle arch, whose hollow tone
Returns each whisper spoken,
Which told her heart was broken.
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 Ettrick Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad.
CU andering Willie. During his absence, the lady fell into a consumption ; and at length, as the only means of saviny her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On
1806. 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 All joy was bereft me the day that you left me, a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, that she And climb'd the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea; might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eager- O weary betide it! I wander'd beside it, ness gave such force to her organs, that she is said to And bann'd it for parting my Willie and me. have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change Far o'er the wave hast thou follow'd thy fortune, in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain; place, rode on without recognizing her, or even slacken- Ae kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting, ing his pace. The lady was unable to support the
Now I hae gotten my Willie again. shock; and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants. There is an incident similar to this tra- When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were ditional tale in Count Hamilton's " Fleur d'Epine."
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. O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, And lovers' ears in hearing;
Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring, And love, in life's extremity,
Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame,
Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring, Disease had been in Mary's bower,
That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean faem. And slow decay from mourning, Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower, When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they To watch her love's returning.
And blithe was each heart for the great victory, All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,
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, By fits, a sultry hectic hue
Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar; Across her cheek were flying;
And trust me, I'll smile, though my een they may By fits, so ashy pale she grew,
glisten; Her maidens thought her dying.
For sweet after danger 's the tale of the war.
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:
And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween
lovers, When there's naething to speak to the heart thro'
How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers, With rapture you'll drink to the toast that I give: And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea.
Off with it merrily-
der'd, If love could change notes like the bird on the What were the Whigs doing, when boldly pursuing, tree
Pitt banish'd Rebellion, gave Treason a string ! Now I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wander'd, Why, they swore on their honour, for ARTHUR Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me.
And fought hard for DESPARD against country and Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel, king. Hardships and danger despising for fame,
Well, then, we knew, boys, Furnishing story for glory's bright annal,
Pitt and MELVILLE were true boys, Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame! And the tempest was raised by the friends of Reform.
Weep to his memory;
Spain; No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou And pray, don't you mind when the Blues first wero leave me,
raising, I never will part with my Willie again.
And we scarcely could think the house safe o'er our
heads? When villains and coxcombs, French politics praising, Drove peace from our tables and sleep from our beds?
Our hearts they grew bolder
When, musket on shoulder,
Stepp'd forth our old Statesmen example to give.
Come, boys, never fear,
Drink the Blue grenadier-
They would turn us adrift; though rely, sir, upon it“ The impeachment of Lord Melville was among the free mountaineer and his bonny blue bonnet
Our own faithful chronicles warrant us that the first measures of the new (Whig) Government; and personal affection and gratitude graced as well
Have oft gone as far as the regular's hat.
We laugh at their taunting, as heightened the zeal with which Scott watched the
For all we are wanting issue of this, in his eyes, vindictive proceeding ; but,
Is licence our life for our country to give. though the ex-minister's ultimate acquittal was, as to
Off with it merrily, all the charges involving his personal honour, complete, it must now be allowed that the investigation brought Each loyal Volunteer, long may he live!
Horse, foot, and artillery, out many circumstances by no means creditable to his discretion; and the rejoicings of his friends ought | 'Tis not us alone, boys—the Army and Navy not, therefore, to have been scornfully jubilant. Such
Have each got a slap ʼmid their politic pranks; they were, however-at least in Edinburgh; and Scott
CORNWALLIS cashier'd, that watch'd winters to save ye, took his share in them by inditing a song, which was
And the Cape call'd a bauble, unworthy of thanks sung by James Ballantyne, and received with clamo
But vain is their taunt, rous applauses, at a public dinner given in honour of
No soldier shall want the event, on the 27th of June 1806.”—Life, vol. ii., p. The thanks that his country to valour can give: 322.
Drink it off merrily,
Sir David and POPHAM, and long may they live! SINCE here we are set in array round the table, Five hundred good fellows well met in a hall,
And then our revenue-Lord knows how they view'd it, Come listen, brave boys, and I'll sing as I'm able
While each petty statesman talk'd lofty and big; How innocence triumph'd and pride got a fall. But push round the claret
But the beer-tax was weak, as if Whitbread had
brew'd it, Come, stewards, don't spare it
And the pig-iron duty a shame to a pig.
In vain is their vaunting, | Published on a broadside, and reprinted in the Life of Scott, 1837.
Too surely there's wanting
What judgment, experience, and steadiness give: Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming:
And foresters have busy been,
Now we come to chant our lay, Our King, too--our Princess--I dare not say more, “ Waken, lords and ladies gay.”
sir,May Providence watch them with mercy and might! Waken, lords and ladies gay, While there's one Scottish hand that can wag a clay- To the green-wood haste away; more, sir,
We can show you where he lies, They shall ne'er want a friend to stand up for their Fleet of foot, and tall of size; right.
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;
You shall see him brought to bay,
“ Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, And since we must not set Auld Reekie in glory,
Run a course as well as we; And make her brown visage as light as her Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk, heart;
Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk; Till each man illumine his own upper story,
Think of this, and rise with day, Nor law-book nor lawyer shall force us to part. Gentle lords and ladies gay.
In GRENVILLE and SPENCER,
And some few good men, sir,
IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEY.
1 The Magistrates of Edinburgh had rejected an application ter of 1808. Writing to his brother Thomas, the author save, for illumination of the town, on the arrival of the news of “ The Resolve is mine; and it is not--or, to be less enigmati. Lord Melville's acquittal.
cal, it is an old fragment, which I coopered up into its present 2 First published in the continuation of Strutt's Queenhoo-state with the purpose of quizzing certain judges of poetry, hall, 1808, inserted in the Edinburgh Annual Register of the who have been extremely delighted, and declare that no livsame year, and set to a Welsh air in Thomson's Select Melo- | ing poet could write in the same exquisite taste."--Life Q dies, vol. iii. 1817.
Scotl, vol. iii., p. 330. 8 Published anonymously in the Edinburgh Annual Regis
And thus I'll hush my heart to rest,
Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, “ Thy loving labour's lost;
Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son.
Whether on India's burning coasts he toil,
Or till Acadia’s 3 winter-fetter'd soil,
He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes, The phenix is but one;
And, as he hears, what dear illusions rise !
It opens on bis soul his native dell,
The woods wild waving, and the water's swell;
The infant group, that hush'd their sports the 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? AMID these aisles, where once his precepts show'd
Oh no! For She, within whose mighty page The Heavenward pathway which in life he trod, Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and rage, This simple tablet marks a Father's bier,
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire, And those he loved in life, in death are near; And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. For him, for them, a Daughter bade it rise,
Yourselves shall judge-whoe'er has raised the sail Memorial of domestic charities.
By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale. Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble spread, The plaided boatman, resting on his oar, In female grace the willow droops her head; Points to the fatal rock amid the roar Why on her branches, silent and unstrung,
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night The minstrel harp is emblematic hung;
Our humble stage shall offer to your sight;
1 Edinburgh Annual Register, 1809.
This prologue was spoken on that occasion by the Author's * Miss Baillie's Family Legend was produced with consider-friend, Mr. Daniel Terry. able success on '-.e Edinburgh stage in the winter of 1809-10. 3 Acadia, or Nova Scotia
Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts give
Leaving between deserted isles of land, Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live; Where stunted heath is patch'd with ruddy sand; More proudly yet, should Caledon approve
And lonely on the waste the yew is seen,
Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green.
In earthly mire philosophy may slip.
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream,
Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steam, WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF CRABBE, AND PUBLISHED We reach the frail yet barricaded door IN THE EDINBURGH ANNUAL REGISTER OF 1809.1
Of hovel form’d for poorest of the poor;
No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives, W'ELCOME, grave Stranger, to our green retreats, The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves ; Where health with exercise and freedom meets ! For, if such hut, our forest statutes say, Thrice welcome, Sage, whose philosophic plan Rise in the progress of one night and day, By nature's limits metes the rights of man;
(Though placed where still the Conqueror's hesta Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls,
o'erawe, Now gives full value for true Indian shawls:
And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law,)
As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore
peepOur buckskinn'd justices expound the law,
Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep; Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain, Sunk ’mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun And for the netted partridge noose the swain; Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done. And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate The last light fetter of the feudal yoke,
hand, To give the denizens of wood and wild,
Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand; Nature's free race, to each her free-born child. While round the hut are in disorder laid Hence hast thou mark’d, with grief, fair London's The tools and booty of his lawless trade; race,
For force or fraud, resistance or escape, Mock'd with the boon of one poor Easter chase, The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. And long'd to send them forth as free as when His pilfer'd powder in yon nook he hoards, Pour'd o'er Chantilly the Parisian train,
And the filch'd lead the church's roof affordsWhen musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined, (Hence shall the rector's congregation fret, And scarce the field-pieces were left behind ! That while his sermon's dry his walls are wet.) A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dismay'd The fish-spear barb’d, the sweeping net are there, On every covey fired a bold brigade;
Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of hare, La Douce Humanité approved the sport,
Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare. For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt; Barter'd for game from chase or warren won, Shouts patriotic solemnized the day,
Yon cask holds moonlight,3 run when moon was And Seine re-echo'd Vive la Liberté !
none; But mad Citoyen, meek Monsicur again,
And late-snatch'd spoils lie stow'd in hutch apart, With some few added links resumes his chain. To wait the associate higgler's evening cart. Then, since such scenes to France no more are known, Come, view with me a hero of thine own!
Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest: One, whose free actions vindicate the cause
What scenes perturb’d are acting in his breast ! Of silvan liberty o'er feudal laws.
Ais sable brow is wet and wrung with pain,
And his dilated nostril toils in vain; Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'ertops For short and scant the breath each effort draws, Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse,
And 'twixt each effort Nature claims a pause.
i See Life of Scott, vol. iii., p. 329.
rup, said to have been that of William Rufus. See Mr. 2 Such is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tending William Rose's spirited poem, entitled “ The Red King." greatly to increase the various settlements of thieves, smug
" To the bleak coast of sarage Labrador."-FALCONER. glers, and deer-stealers, who infest it. In the forest courts the presiding judge wears as a badge of office an antique stir- 3 A cant term for smuggled spirits.