Which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in,— Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench, Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition. The Prison, Scene iii. Acti (4.)-CHAP. XXVII. Far as the eye could reach no tree was seen, (5.) CHAP. XXXI. "Woe to the vanquish'd!" was stern Brenno's word, When sunk proud Rome beneath the Gallic sword A SPOKEN BY MRS. HENRY SIDDONS, A CAT of yore (or else old Æsop lied) With the tempestuous question, Up or down?” Mackrimmon's Lament." 1818. AIR-" Cha till mi tuille."5 Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said to have composed this Lament when the Clan was about to depart upon a distant and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; and hence the Gaelic words, "Cha till mi tuille; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon," "1 shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return!” The piece is but too well known, from its being the strain with which the emigrants from the West Highlands and Isles usually take leave of their native shore. MACLEOD'S wizard flag from the gray castle sallies, The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys; Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target and quiver, Yes, times are changed; for, in your fathers' age, As Mackrimmon sings, "Farewell to Dunvegan The lawyers were the patrons of the stage; However high advanced by future fate, There stands the bench (points to the Pit) that first received their weight. The future legal sage, 'twas ours to see, But now, astounding each poor mimic elf, Instead of lawyers comes the law herself; Tremendous neighbor, on our right she dwells, Builds her high towers and excavates her cells; While on the left she agitates the town, 1 "The Appeal," a Tragedy, by John Galt, the celebrated author of the "Annals of the Parish," and other Novels, was played for four nights at this time in Edinburgh. 2 It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece are all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience. The new prisons of the city, on the Calton Hill, are not far from the theatre. for ever! Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming; Farewell, each dark glen, in which red-deer are roaming; Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river; Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never! "Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are sleeping; Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are weeping; 3 At this time the public of Edinburgh was much agitated by a lawsuit betwixt the Magistrates and many of the Inhabitants of the City, concerning a range of new buildings on the western side of the North Bridge; which the latter insisted should be removed as a deformity. 4 Written for Albyn's Anthology. "We return no more." From the Heart of Mid-Lothian. 1818. (1.)-MADGE WILDFIRE'S SONGS. WHEN the gledd's in the blue cloud, The lavrock lies still; When the hound's in the green-wood, The hind keeps the hill. O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade, Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers, Dub a dub, dub a dub; Have at old Beelzebub, Oliver's running for fear. I glance like the wildfire through country and town; I'm seen on the causeway-I'm seen on the down; What did ye wi' the bridal ring-bridal ringbridal ring? What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little cutty quean, O? I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger, I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' mine, O. Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee; The form and the features, the speech and degree, Of the man that true lover of mine shall be. It is the bonny butcher lad, That wears the sleeves of blue, He sells the flesh on Saturday, On Friday that he slew. There's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald Wood, Up in the air, On my bonnie gray mare, And I see, and I see, and I see her yet. In the bonnie cells of Bedlam, And merry whips, ding-dong, And prayer and fasting plenty. My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard And it is but my blithsome ghaist I'm Madge of the country, I'm Madge of the town, I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of May, And I lead the blithe ring round the May-pole to day; The wild-fire that flashes so far and so free Was never so bright, or so bonnie as me. He that is down need fear no fall, Have God to be his guide. Fulness to such a burthen is That go on pilgrimage; Here little, and hereafter bliss, Is best from age to age. "As Jeanie entered, she heard first the air, and then a part of the chorus and words of what had been, perhaps, the song of a jolly harvest-home." Our work is over-over now, The goodman wipes his weary brow, The last long wain wends slow away, And we are free to sport and play. The night comes on when sets the sun, "The attendant on the hospital arranged her in her bed as she desired, with her face to the wall, and her back to the light. So soon as she was quiet in this new position, she began again to sing in the same low and modulated strains, as if she was recovering the state of abstraction which the interruption of her visitants had disturbed. The strain, however, was different, and rather resembled the music of the methodist hymns, though the measure of the song was similar to that of the former :" When the fight of grace is fought,- |