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FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THE PITT CLUB Though right be aft put down by strength,

As mony a day we saw that,
The true and leilfu' cause at length

Shall bear the grie for a' that.
For a' that an' a' that,
Guns, guillotines, and a' that,

O, DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the omen, The Fleur-de-lis, that lost her right,

When the brave on Marengo lay slaughter'd in Is queen again for a' that!


And beholding broad Europe bow'd down by her We'll twine her in a friendly knot

foemen, With England's Rose, and a' that ;

Pitt closed in his anguish the map of her reign! The Shamrock shall not be forgot,

Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his brave For Wellington made braw that.


To take for his country the safety of shame; Sung at the first meeting of the Pitt Club of Scotland ; and "O, then in her triumph remember his merit, published in the Scots Magazine for July, 1814.

And hallow the goblet that flows to his name.

Pharos Loquitur.'

Round the husbandman's head, while he traces the

furrow, The mists of the winter may mingle with rain, He may plough it with labor, and sow it in sorrow,

And sigh while he fears he has sow'd it in vain ; He may die ere his children shall reap in their

gladness, But the blithe harvest-home shall remember his

claim; And their jubilee-shout shall be soften'd with sad

ness, While they hallow the goblet that flows to his

Far in the bosom of the deep,
O'er these wide shelves my watch I keep;
A ruddy gem of changeful light,
Bound on the dusky brow of night,
The seaman bids my lustre hail,
And scorns to strike his timorous sail.



Though anxious and timeless his life was expended, ADDRESSED TO RANALD MACDONALD, ESQ., OF STAFFA.”

In toils for our country preserved by his care, Though he died ere one ray o'er the nations as

1814. cended, To light the long darkness of doubt and despair ; The storms he endured in our Britain's December,

STAFFA, sprung from high Macdonald, The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame,

Worthy branch of old Clan-Ranald! In her glory's rich harvest shall Britain remember,

Staffa! king of all kind fellows!. And hallow the goblet that flows to his name.

Well befall thy hills and valleys,

Lakes and inlets, deeps and shallows, Nor forget His gray head, who, all dark in affliction,

Cliffs of darkness, caves of wonder, Is deaf to the tale of our victories won,

Echoing the Atlantic thunder; And to sounds the most dear to paternal affection,

Mountains which the gray mist covers, The shout of his people applauding his Son;

Where the Chieftain spirit hovers, By his firmness unmoved in success and disaster,

Pausing while his pinions quiver,
By his lang reign of virtue, remember his claim ; Stretch'd to quit our land for ever!
With our tribute to Pitt join the praise of his

Each kind influence reign above thee!

Warmer heart, 'twixt this and Staffa
Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his

Beats not, than in heart of Staffa !


Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad

Letter in Verse
The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid,
To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright


NORTHERN LIGHTS. The wisdom that plann'd, and the zeal that obey'd ;

“Of the letters which Scott wrote to his friends Fill WELLINGTON's cup till it beam like his glory, during those happy six weeks, I have recovered Forget not our own brave DalHOUSIE and only one, and it is, thanks to the leisure of the GRAME;

yacht, in verse. The strong and easy heroics of A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their the first section prove, I think, that Mr. Canning story,

did not err when he told him that if he chose he And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame. might emulate even Dryden's command of that 1 "On the 30th of July, 1814, Mr. Hamilton,* Mr. Erskine, t : Afterwards Sir Reginald Macdonald Stewart Seton of and Mr. Duff, I Commissioners, along with Mr. (now Sir) Wal- Staffa, Allanton, and Touch, Baronet, He died 16th April, ter Scott, and the writer, visited the Lighthouse; the Com- 1838, in his 61st year. The reader will find a warm tribute to missioners being then on one of their voyages of Inspection, Staffa's character as a Highland landlord, in Scott's article on noticed in the Introduction. They breakfasted in the Library, Sir John Carr's Caledonian Sketches.- Miscellaneous Prose when Sir Walter, at the entreaty of the party, upon inscribing Works, vol. xix. his name in the Album, added these interesting lines."-STEVENsox's Account of the Bell-Rock Lighthouse, 1824. Scott's Diary of the Voyage is now published in the 4th volume

• The late Robert Hamilton, Esq., Advocate, long Sheriff-Depute of of his Life.

Lanarkhsire, and afterwards one of the Principal Clerks of Session in Scot

land-died in 1831. 2 These lines were written in the Album, kept at the Sound

+ Afterwards Lord Kinneder. of Ulva Inn in the month of August, 1814.

1 The late Adam Duff, Esq., Sheriff-Depute of the county of Edinburgh. more

And eyes

noble measure; and the dancing anapæsts of the To moor his fishing-craft by Bressay's shore; second, show that he could with equal facility Greets every former mate and brother tar, have rivalled the gay graces of Cotton, Anstey, or Marvels how Lerwick 'scaped the rage of var, Moore.”—LOOKHART, Life, vol. iv. p. 372.

Tells many a tale of Gallic outrage done,
And ends by blessing God and Wellington
Here too the Greenland tar, a fiercer guest,

Claims a brief hour of riot, not of rest; TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, Proves each wild frolic that in wine has birth, &c. dc. dc.

And wakes the land with brawls and boisterous
Lighthouse Yacht in the Sound of Lerwick,

Zetland, 8th August, 1814. A sadder sight on yon poor vessel's prow
HEALTH to the chieftain from his clansman true! The captive Norseman sits in silent woe,
From her true minstrel, health to fair Buccleuch!

the flags of Britain as they flow. Health from the isles, where dewy Morning weaves

Hard fate of war, which bade her terrors sway Her chaplet with the tints that Twilight leaves; His destined course, and seize so mean a prey; Where late the sun scarce vanish'd from the sight, A bark with planks so warp'd and seams so riven, And his bright pathway graced the short-lived She scarce might face the gentlest airs of heaven: night,

Pensive he sits, and questions oft if none Though darker now as autumn's shades extend, Can list his speech, and understand his moan; The north winds whistle and the mists ascend ! In vain-no Islesman now can use the tongue Health from the land where eddying whirlwinds of the bold Norse, from whom their lineage toss

sprung The storm-rock'd cradle of the Cape of Noss;

Not thus of old the Norsemen hither came, On outstretch'd cords the giddy engine slides, Won by the love of danger or of fame; His own strong arm the bold adventurer guides, On every storm-beat cape a shapeless tower And he that lists such desperate feat to try, Tells of their wars, their conquests, and their May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt surf and sky,

power; And feel the mid-air gales around him blow, For ne'er for Grecia's vales, nor Latian land, And see the billows rage five hundred feet below. Was fiercer strife than for this barren strand;

A race severe--the isle and ocean lords,
Here, by each stormy peak and desert shore, Loved for its own delight the strife of swords;
The hardy islesman tugs the daring oar,

With scornful laugh the mortal pang defied,
Practised alike his venturous course to keep, And blest their gods that they in battle died.
Through the white breaker or the pathless deep,
By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain

Such were the sires of Zetland's simple race,
A wretched pittance from the niggard main. And still the eye may faint resemblance trace
And when the worn-out drudge old ocean leaves, In the blue eye, tall form, proportion fair,
What comfort greets him, and what hut receives? The limbs athletic, and the long light hair-
Lady! the worst your presence ere has cheer'd (Such was the mien, as Scald and Minstrel sings,
(When want and sorrow fled as you appear'd) Of fair-hair'd Harold, first of Norway's Kings);
Were to a Zetlander as the high dome

But their high deeds to scale these crags confined, Of proud Drumlanrig to my humble home. Their only warfare is with waves and wind. Here rise no groves, and here no gardens blow, Here even the hardy heath scarce dares to grow; Why should I talk of Mousa's castled coast ? But rocks on rocks, in mist and storm array'd, Why of the horrors of the Sumburgh Rost! Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade,

May not these bald disjointed lines suffice, With many a cavern seam'd, the dreary haunt Penn'd while my comrades whirl the rattling Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant.

diceWild round their rifted brows, with frequent cry

While down the cabin skylight lessening shine As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly,

The rays, and eve is chased with mirth and wine ! And from their sable base, with sullen sound, Imagined, while down Mousa’s desert day In sheets of whitening foam the waves rebound. Our well-trimm'd vessel urged her nimble way,

While to the freshening breeze she lean'd her side, Yet even these coasts a touch of envy gain And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy tide? From those whose land has known oppression's chain;

Such are the lays that Zetland Isles supply; For here the industrious Dutchman comes once Drench'd with the drizzly spray and dropping sky,

Weary and wet, a sea-sick minstrel I.-W. Scott.



To see this huge marvel full fain would we go,

But Wilson, the wind, and the current, said no. Kirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814.

We have now got to Kirkwall, and needs I must In respect that your Grace has commission'd a

stare Kraken,

When I think that in verse I have once call'd it You will please be inform’d that they seldom are

fair; taken;

'Tis a base little borough, both dirty and meanIt is January two years, the Zetland folks say, There is nothing to hear, and there's naught to be Since they saw the last Kraken in Scalloway bay;

seen, He lay in the offing a fortnight or more,

Save a church, where, of old times, a prelate haBut the devil a Zetlander put from the shore,

rangued, Though bold in the seas of the North to assail And a palace that's built by an earl that was The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus and hang'd. whale.

But, farewell to Kirkwall-aboard we are going, If your Grace thinks I'm writing the thing that is The anchor's a-peak, and the breezes are blowing: not,

Our commodore calls all his band to their places, You may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. Scott- And 'tis time to release you-good night to your (He's not from our clan, though his merits de- Graces!

serve it,
But springs, I'm inform’d, from the Scotts of Scot-

He question’d the folks who beheld it with eyes,
But they differ'd confoundedly as to its size.
For instance, the modest and diffident swore

Verses from Waverley. That it seem'd like the keel of a ship, and no

1814. Those of eyesight more clear, or of fancy more

high, Said it rose lik an island 'twixt ocean and sky- “ The following song, which has been since borBut all of the hulk had a steady opinion

rowed by the worshipful author of the famous That 'twas sure a live subject of Neptune's do- History of Fryar Bacon,' has been with difficulty minion

deciphered. It seems to have been sung on occaAnd I think, my Lord Duke, your Grace hardly sion of carrying home the bride."

would wish, To cumber your house, such a kettle of fish.

(1.)—BRIDAL SONG. Had your order related to night-caps or hose, Or mittens of worsted, there's plenty of those.

To the tune of I have been a Fiddler," &c. Or would you be pleased but to fancy a whale ? And did ye not hear of a mirth befell And direct me to send it—by sea or by mail ?

The morrow after a wedding day, The season, I'm told, is nigh over, but still

And carrying a bride at home to dwell? I could get you one fit for the lake at Bowhill. And away to Tewin, away, away! Indeed, as to whales, there's no need to be thrifty, Since one day last fortnight two hundred and fifty, The quintain was set, and the garlands were Pursued by seven Orkneymen's boats and no more,

made, Betwixt Truffness and Luffness were drawn on the 'Tis pity old customs should ever decay; shore !

And woe be to him that was horsed on a jade, You'll ask if I saw this same wonderful sight;

For he carried no credit away, away.
I own that I did not, but easily might
For this mighty shoal of leviathans lay

We met a concert of fiddle-de-dees;
On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop of the bay, We set them a cockhorse, and made them
And the islesmen of Sanda were all at the spoil,

play And flinching (so term it) the blubber to boil; The winning of Bullen, and Upsey-frees, (Ye spirits of lavender, drown the reflection

And away to Tewin, away, away! That awakes at the thoughts of this odorous dissection)

There was ne'er a lad in all the parish

That would go to the plough that day; i The Scotts of Scotstarvet, and other families of the name in Fife and elsewhere, claim no kindred with the great clan

But on his fore-horse his wench he carries, of the Border,--and their armorial bearings are different.

And away to Tewin, away, away!

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“On receiving intelligence of his commission as captain of a troop of horse in Colonel Gardiner's regiment; his tutor, Mr. Pembroke, picked up about Edward's room some fragments of irregular verse, (3.)—DAVIE GELLATLEY'S SONG. which he appeared to have composed under the influence of the agitating feelings occasioned by

“ HE (Daft Davie Gellatley) sung with grea* this sudden page being turned up to him in the earnestness, and not without some taste, a frag book of life.”

ment of an old Scotch ditty :"

Late, when the autumn evening fell
On Mirkwood-Mere's romantic dell,
The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam,
The purple cloud, the golden beam:
Reflected in the crystal pool,
Headland and bank lay fair and cool;
The weather-tinted rock and tower,
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower,
So true, so soft, the mirror gave,
As if there lay beneath the wave,
Secure from trouble, toil, and care,
A world than earthly world more fair.

False love, and hast thou play'd me this

In summer among the flowers ?
I will repay thee back again

In winter among the showers.
Unless again, again, my love,

Unless you turn again ;
As you with other maidens rove,

I'll smile on other men,

" This is a genuine ancient fragment, with some alteration in the last two lines."

The questioned party replied, and, like the witch of Thalaba, still his speech was song.'”

But distant winds began to wake,
And roused the Genius of the Lake!
He heard the groaning of the oak,
And donn'd at once his sable cloak,
As warrior, at the battle cry,
Invests him with his panoply:
Then, as the whirlwind nearer press'd,
He 'gan to shake his foamy crest
O'er furrow'd brow and blacken'd cheek,
And bade his surge in thunder speak.
In wild and broken eddies whirld,
Flitted that fond ideal world;
And, to the shore in tumult tost,
The realms of fairy bliss were lost.

The Knight's to the mountain

His bugle to wind;
The Lady's to greenwood

Her garland to bind.
The bower of Burd Ellen

Has moss on the floor,
That the step of Lord William
Be silent and sure.

Chap. ix.

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