Imágenes de páginas

“Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your The Return to Ulster.'

train, And restore me the dream of my spring-tide again.”


Sock of Wazeldean.
Once again,—but how changed since my wand'rings

AIR-A Border Melody.
I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann,
And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar

That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore.
Alas ! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou burn?
With the scenes of my youth can its raptures return? The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The others
Can I live the dear life of delusion again,

were written for Mr. Campbell's Albyn's Anthology. That flow'd when these echoes first mix'd with my strain ?

I. It was then that around me, though poor and un- “Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? known,

Why weep ye by the tide ? High spells of mysterious enchantment were thrown; I'll wed ye to my youngest son, The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew,

And ye sall be his bride: The land was an Eden, for fancy was new.

And ye sall be his bride, ladie, I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire

Sae comely to be seen ”-
At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of their But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.
To me 'twas not legend, nor tale to the car,
But a vision of noontide, distinguish'd and clear.


“ Now let this wilfu' grief be done, Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call,

And dry that cheek so pale;
And renew'd the wild pomp of the chase and the Young Frank is chief of Errington,

And lord of Langley-dale;
And the standard of Fion flash'd fierce from on high, His step is first in peaceful ha',
Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh."

His sword in battle keen”It seem'd that the harp of green Erin once more

But aye she loot the tears down fa' Could renew all the glories she boasted of yore.

For Jock of Hazeldean. Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, shouldst thou burn?

III. They were days of delusion, and cannot return.

“ A chain of gold ye sall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your bair; But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood by, Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, And listed my lay, while she turn’d from mine eye?

Nor palfrey fresh and fair; Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to view,

And you, the foremost o' them a', Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to dew?

Shall ride our forest queen ”_ Oh ! would it had been so,-Oh! would that her eye But aye she loot the tears down fa' Had been but a star-glance that shot through the For Jock of Hazeldean.

And her voice that was moulded to melody's thrill,

Had been but a zephyr, that sigh'd and was still ! The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmer'd fair;
Oh! would it had been so,—not then this poor heart The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
Had learn’d the sad lesson, to love and to part;

And dame and knight are there. To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care,

They sought her baith by bower and ha'; While I toil'd for the wealth I had no one to share.

The ladie was not seen ! Not then had I said, when life's summer was done,

She's o'er the Border, and awa' And the hours of her autumn were fast speeding on,

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.


| First published in Mr. G. Thomson's Collection of Irish Airs. 1816.

2 In ancient Irish poetry, the standard of Fion, or Fingal, i. called the Sun-burst, an epithet feebly rendered by the Sun beam of Macpherson.

Come as the winds come, when

Forests are rended, pibrach of Donald Dhii.

Come as the waves come, when

Navies are stranded:
AIR“ Piobair of Donuil Dhuidh.".

Faster come, faster come,

Faster and faster, 1816.

Chief, vassal, page and groom,

Tenant and master.

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| “The pibroch of Donald the Black.” This song was 2 Compare this with the gathering-song in the third canto
written for Campbell's Albyn's Anthology, 1816. It may also of the Lady of the Lake, ante.
be seen, sot to music. in Thomson's Collection, 1830.

3 "I will never go with him."
4 See also Mr. Thomson's Scottish Collection. 1822.

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I “ The MacGregor is come."

other to the property or possession of Craig-Royston, a domain ? For the history of the clan, see Introduction to Rob Roy, of rock and forest, lying on the east side of Loch Lomond, Waverley Novels, vol. vii.

where that beautiful lake stretches into the dusky mountains 3 " Rob Roy MacGregor's own designation was of Inner- of Glenfalloch."--Introduction to Rob Roy, Waverley Novels, snaid; but he appears to have acquired a right of some kind or vol. vi. p. 31.

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“ As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the hut, he “ The window of a turret, which projected at an was surprised to hear the shrill tremulous voice of angle with the wall, and thus came to be very near Elspeth chanting forth an old ballad in a wild and Lovel's apartment, was half open, and from that doleful recitative:"quarter he heard again the same music which had probably broken short his dream. With its visionary The herring loves the merry moon-light, character it had lost much of its charms—it was now The mackerel loves the wind, nothing more than an air on the harpsicord, tolerably But the oyster loves the dredging sang, well performed-such is the caprice of imagination For they come of a gentle kind. as affecting the fine arts. A female voice sung, with some taste and great simplicity, something between Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, song and a hymn, in words to the following effect :". And listen great and sma',

And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl “ Why sit'st thou by that ruin'a hall,

That fought on the red Harlaw.
Thou aged carle so stern and grey ?
Dost thou its former pride recal,

The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
Or ponder how it pass’d away?”—

And doun the Don and a',

And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be “ Know'st thou not me?" the Deep Voice cried ; For the sair field of Harlaw.

“ So long enjoy’d, so oft misused -Alternate, in thy fickle pride,

They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, Desired, neglected, and accused !

They hae bridled a hundred black,

With a chafron of steel on each horse's head, “ Before my breath, like blazing flax,

And a good knight upon his back.
Man and his marvels pass away!
And changing empires wane and wax,

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
Are founded, flourish, and decay.

A mile, but barely ten,

1 Mr., afterwards Sir William Arbuthnot, the Lord Provost Walter Scott's; and these Verses, with their heading, are now of Edinburgh, who had the honour to entertain the Grand-given from the newspapers of 1816. Duke, now Emperor of Russia, was a personal friend of Sir

2 T

When Donald came branking down the brae failed, eked it out with invention. I believe that, in Wi’ twenty thousand men.

some cases, where actual names are affixed to the sup

posed quotations, it would be to little purpose to seek Their tartans they were waving wide,

them in the works of the authors referred to. In Their glaives were glancing clear,

some cases, I have been entertained when Dr. Watts The pibrochs rung frae side to side,

and other graver authors have been ransacked in vain Would deafen ye to hear.

for stanzas for which the novelist alone was responsi. ble.”

Introduction to Chronicles of the Canongate. The great Earl in his stirrups stood, That Highland host to see:

1. “ Now here a knight that 's stout and good

I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, May prove a jeopardie:

Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him;

But he was shrewish as a wayward child, " What would'st thou do, my squire so gay,

And pleased again by toys which childhood please ; That rides beside my reyne,

As—book of fables graced with print of wood, Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,

Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, And I were Roland Cheyne?

Or the rare melody of some old ditty,

That first was sung to please King Pepin's cradle. “ To turn the rein were sin and shame, To fight were wond'rous peril,

(2.)-CHAP. IX. What would ye do now, Roland Cheyve,

“ Be brave," she cried, “ you yet may be our guest. Were ye Glenallan's Earl ?”

Our haunted room was ever held the best:

If, then, your valour can the fight sustain “ Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,

Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain; And ye were Roland Cheyne,

If your courageous tongue have powers to talk, The spear should be in my horse's side,

When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk, And the bridle upon his mane.

If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb,

I'll see your sheets well air'd, and show the room.' “ If they hae twenty thousand blades,

True Storm And we twice ten times ten, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,

(33)-CHAP. XI. And we are mail-clad men.

Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent,

And order'd all the pageants as they went; “ My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play, As through the moorland fern,

The loose and scatter'd relics of the day.
Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude
Grow cauld for Highland kerne.”

(4.)-CHAP. XII.
Beggar!-the only freemen of your Commonwealth
Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws,
Obey no governor, use no religion

But what they draw from their own ancient customs He turn'd him right and round again,

Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebels. Said, Scorn na at my mither;

Brom. Light loves I may get mony a ano, But minnie ne'er anither.

(5.)-CHAP. XIX.
Chap. xl.

Here has been such a stormy encounter,
Betwixt my cousin Captain, and this soldier,

About I know not what !-nothing, indeed; MOTTOES IN THE ANTIQUARY.

Competitions, degrees, and comparatives

Of soldiership!“The scraps of poetry which have been in most cases

A Fuire Quarrel. tacked to the beginning of chapters in these Novels, are sometimes quoted either from reading or from

(6.)-CHAP. XX. memory, but, in the general case, are pure invention.

If you fail honour here, I found it too troublesome to turn to the collection of Never presume to serve her any more; the British Poets to discover apposite mottoes, and, in Bid farewell to the integrity of arms, the situation of the theatrical mechanist, who, when the And the honourable name of soldier white paper which represented his shower of snow was Fall from you, like a shiver'd wreath of laurel exhausted, continued the shower by snowing brown, I By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead. drew on my memory as long as I could, and when that

A Faire Quarrel.

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