No! for, 'mid storms of Fate opposing,

Still higher swell'd thy dauntless heart, And, while Despair the scene was closing,

Commenced thy brief but brilliant part.

'Twas then thou sought'st on Albyn's hill
(When England's sons the strife resign'd,)
A rugged race resisting still,

And unsubdued though unrefined.

Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail,
No holy knell thy requiem rung ;
Thy mourners were the plaided Gael,
Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch sung.

Yet who, in Fortune's summer-shine
To waste life's longest term away,
Would change that glorious dawn of thine,
Though darken'd ere its noontide day?

Be thine the Tree whose dauntless boughs
Brave summer's drought and winter's gloom!
Rome bound with oak her patriots' brows,
As Albyn shadows Wogan's tomb.

GLEE FOR KING CHARLES

From Woodstock

BRING the bowl which you boast,
Fill it up to the brim;
"Tis to him we love most,
And to all who love him.

Brave gallants, stand up,

And avaunt, ye base carles!

Were there death in the cup,

Here's a health to King Charles!

Though he wanders through dangers,
Unaided, unknown,

Dependent on strangers,

Estranged from his own;

Though 'tis under our breath,
Amidst forfeits and perils,
Here's to honour and faith,

And a health to King Charles!

Let such honours abound

As the time can afford,
The knee on the ground,

And the hand on the sword;

But the time shall come round,

When, 'mid Lords, Dukes, and Earls,

The loud trumpets shall sound

Here's a health to King Charles!

MAJOR BELLENDEN'S SONG

From Old Mortality

AND what though winter will pinch severe Through locks of grey and a cloak that's old,

Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier,

For a cup of sack shall fence the cold.

For time will rust the brightest blade,

And years will break the strongest bow;

Was never wight so starkly made,

But time and years would overthrow !

"Who makes the bridal bed,

Birdie, say truly ? ”— "The grey-headed sexton

That delves the grave duly.

"The glow-worm o'er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady;
The owl from the steeple sing,
'Welcome, proud lady.""

LUCY ASHTON'S SONG

From The Bride of Lammermoor

Look not thou on beauty's charming,—
Sit thou still when kings are arming,
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens,-
Speak not when the people listens,—
Stop thine ear against the singer,-
From the red gold keep thy finger,-
Vacant heart, and hand, and eye,
Easy live and quiet die.

"TWIST YE, TWINE YE"

From Guy Mannering

(MEG MERRILIES' SONG)

TWIST ye, twine ye! even so,

Mingle shades of joy and woe,

Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, In the thread of human life.

Whilst the mystic twist is spinning,
And the infant's life beginning,
Dimly seen through twilight bending,
Lo, what varied shapes attending!

Passions wild, and follies vain,
Pleasures soon exchanged for pain;
Doubt, and jealousy, and fear,
In the magic dance appear.

Now they wax, and now they dwindle,
Whirling with the whirling spindle.
Twist ye, twine ye! even so,
Mingle human bliss and woe.--

YOUTH AND AGE

From Waverley

YOUNG men will love thee more fair and more fast;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?
Old men's love the longest will last,

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.

The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?

But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire,

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.

The young man will brawl at the evening board;
Heard ye so merry the little bird sing?

But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword,
And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing.

FALSE LOVE

From Waverley

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.

REBECCA'S HYMN

From Ivanhoe

WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved,
Out from the land of bondage came,
Her fathers' God before her moved,

An awful guide in smoke and flame.
By day, along the astonish'd lands
The clouded pillar glided slow;
By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands
Return'd the fiery column's glow.

There rose the choral hymn of praise,
And trump and timbrel answer'd keen,
And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays,
With priest's and warrior's voice between.
No portents now our foes amaze,

Forsaken Israel wanders lone:

Our fathers would not know THY ways, And THOU hast left them to their own.

But present still, though now unseen!
When brightly shines the prosperous day,
Be thoughts of THEE a cloudy screen
To temper the deceitful ray.

And oh, when stoops on Judah's path
In shade and storm the frequent night,
Be THOU, long-suffering, slow to wrath,
A burning and a shining light!

Our harps we left by Babel's streams,
The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn;
No censer round our altar beams,

And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn.
But THOU hast said, The blood of goat,
The flesh of rams I will not prize;
A contrite heart, a humble thought,
Are mine accepted sacrifice.