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After this proud foe subduing,
When your patriot friends you see,
LAMENT FOR FLODDEN.
I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking,
Lasses a’ lilting before dawn o' day;
4. At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning,
Lassies are lonely and dowie and wae;
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her away.
Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray;
The. Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
'Bout stacks wi’ the lasses at bogle to play ; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie
15 The Flowers of the Forest are weded away.
Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border !
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae; Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning-The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
WAE’S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE.
A wee bird came to our ha' door;
He warbled sweet and clearly ;
Was Wae's me for Prince Charlie!'
The tears came drapping rarely;
For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.
Quoth I; “My bird, my bonny, bonny bird,
borrow? Or is't some words ye've learned by rote,
Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow?' Oh no, no, no,' the wee bird sang,
* I've flown sin’ morning early ; But sic a day o'wind and rain
Oh wae's me for Prince Charlie !
• O'er hills that are by right his ain
He roams a lonely stranger ;
On ilka side by danger.
My heart near bursted fairly : For sadly changed indeed was he
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!
• Dark night came on; the tempest howled
Out owre the hills and valleys;
Whase hame should be a palace?
He rowed him in a Highland plaid,
Which covered him but sparely,
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!'
But now the bird saw some red coats,
And he shook his wings wi' anger : • Oh, this is no a land for me
Ere he departed fairly;
40 Williain Glen.
IN IMITATION OF ALCÆUS.
What constitutes a State ?
Thick wall or moated gate ;
Not bays and broad-armed ports,
Not starred and spangled courts,
No :—men, high-minded men,
In forest, brake, or den,
Men, who their duties know,
Prevent the long-aimed blow,
These constitute a State,
O'er thrones and globes elate,
Smit by her sacred frown,
And e'en the all-dazzling Crown
Such was this heaven-loved isle,
No more shall Freedom smile ?
Since all must life resign,
'Tis folly to decline,
Sir William Jones,
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1746.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By fairy hands their knell is rung;
ODE TO THE CUCKOO.
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove !