But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand, A Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes, The woods wild waving, and the water's swell; Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined, And sleep they in the poet's gifted mind? Oh no! for she, within whose mighty page Each tyrant passion shows his woe and rage, Has felt the wizard influence they inspire, And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. Yourselves shall judge-whoe'er has raised the sail By Mull's dark coast has heard this evening's tale. The plaided boatman, resting on his oar, Points to the fatal rock amid the roar Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night Our humble stage shall offer to your sight; Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts give Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live; More proudly yet, should Caledon approve The filial token of a daughter's love! FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. FROM THE GAELIC THE original verses are arranged to a beautiful Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorrams, or boat-songs. They were composed by the family bard upon the departure of the Earl of Seaforth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, after an unsuccessful effort at insurrection in favour of the Stuart family, in the year 1718. FAREWELL to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North, Acadia, or Nova Scotia. Though thus he dealt in petty treason, And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. SONG, FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THE PITT CLUB OF O DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the omen, O then in her triumph remember his merit, And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. Round the husbandman's head, while he traces the furrow, The mists of the winter may mingle with rain. Though anxious and timeless his life was expended, Nor forget His gray head, who, all dark in affliction, By his long reign of virtue, remember his claim! With our tribute to PITT join the praise of his Master, Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his name. Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad measure, SONG, ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE HOUSE OF BUCCLEUGO, At a great Foot-ball Match on Carterhaugh. FROM the brown crest of Newark its summons exten log. CHORUS. Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more; In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her, With heart and with hand, like our fathers before. When the southern invader spread waste and disorder, At the glance of her crescents he paused and withdrew, For around them were marshall'd the pride of the Border, The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of BUCCLEUGH. Then up with the Banner, etc. A stripling's weak hand to our revel has borne her, We forget each contention of civil dissension, And hail like our brethren, HOME, DOUGLAS, and CAR; And ELLIOT and PRINGLE in pastime shall mingle, As welcome in peace as their fathers in war. Then up with the Banner, etc. Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the weather, And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall, There are worse things in life than a tumble on heather, And life is itself but a game at foot-ball. Then up with the Banner, etc. And when it is over, we 'll drink a blithe measure To each laird and each lady that witness'd our fun, And to every blithe heart that took part in our pleasure, To the lads that have lost and the lads that have won. Then up with the Banner, etc. May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and Landward, From the hall of the peer to the herd's ingle-nook; And huzza! my brave hearts, for BUCCLEUGH and his standard, For the King and the Country, the Clan and the Duke! Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more; In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her, With heart and with hand, like our fathers before. IMPROMPTU. TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE. Of yore, in old England, it was not thought good A OTHES THE END. |