is A chain of gold ye sall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair ; Nor mettled hound, nor managed

hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you, the foremost o'them a',

Shall ride our forest queen.”-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock o' Hazeldean.

Fast they come, fast they come;

See how they gather!
Wide waves the eagle plume,

Blended with heather.
Cast your plaids, draw your blades,

Forward each man set ! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Knell for the onset!

1816.

TIME

The kirk was decked at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmered fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the

bride, And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and

ba'; The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border and awa'

Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean. 1816.

PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU

" Why sit'st thou by that ruined hall,

Thou aged carle so stern and gray ? Dost thou its former pride recall,

Or ponder how it passed away?” * Know'st thou not me?” the Deep

Voice cried : “So long enjoyed, so oft misused Alternate, in thy fickle pride,

Desired, neglected, and accused ! “Before my breath, like blazing flax,

Man and his marvels pass away! And changing empires wane and wax,

Are founded, flourish, and decay. “Redeem mine hours—the space is

briefWhile in my glass the sand-grains

shiver, And measureless thy joy or grief, When Time and thou shalt part forever!"

From The Antiquary, 1816.

PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu,

Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew,

Summon Clan Conuil. Come away, come away,

Hark to the summons ! Come in your war array,

Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen and

From mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon

Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid and

True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade and

Strong hand that bears one.

CAVALIER SONG

Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterred,

The bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer,

Leave nets and barges : Come with your fighting gear,

Broadswords and targes.

AND what though winter will pinch

severe Through locks of gray 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,

From Old Mortality, 1816.

CLARION SOUND, sound the clarion, fill the fife:

To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name.

From Old Mortality, 1816.

Come as the winds come when

Forests are rended ; Come as the waves come when

Navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come,

Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom,

Tenant and master.

THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW

HILL

“ The glow-worm o'er grave and stone

Shall light thee steady.
The owl from the steeple sing,

Welcome, proud lady.'"
From The Heart of Midlothian, 1818.

TRUE-LOVE, AN THOU BE TRUE

“It was while struggling with such languor, on one lovely evening of this autumn (1817), that he co osed the following beautiful verses. They mark the very spot of their birth,-namely, the then naked height overhanging the northern side of the Cauldshields Loch, from which Mel. rose Abbey to the eastward, and the hills of Et. trick and Yarrow to the west, are now visible over a wide range of rich woodland, -all the work of the poet's hand." Lockhart's Life of Scott, Chapter 39. The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill

In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet ; The westland wind is hush and still,

The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it

bore, Though evening with her richest dye

Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore.

TRUE-LOVE, an thou be true,

Thou hast ane kittle part to play, For fortune, fashion, fancy, and thou

Maun strive for many a day. I've kend by mony a friend's tale,

Far better by this heart of mine, What time and change of fancy avail,

A true love-knot to untwine. From The Bride of Lammermoor, 1819.

REBECCA'S HYMN

With listless took along the plain

I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane

Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the

tree Are they still such as once they were,

Or is the dreary change in me? Alas! the warped and broken board,

How can it bear the painter's dye ? The harp of strained and tuneless chord,

How to the minstrel's skill reply ? To aching eyes each landscape lowers, To feverish pulse each gale blows

chill; And Araby's or Eden's bowers Were barren as this moorland hill.

1817. PROUD MAISIE

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 astonished lands

The cloudy pillar glided slow;
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands

Returned the fiery column's glow. There rose the choral liymn of praise, And trump and tiinbrel answered

keen, And Zion's daughters poured their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice be

tween. 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.

PROUD Maisie is in the wood,

Walking so early ; Sweet Robin sits on the bush,

Singing so rarely. “Tell me, thou bonny bird,

When shall I marry me?” “When six braw gentlemen

Kirkward shall carry ye." " Who makes the bridal bed,

Birdie, say truly ? " “The gray-headed sexton

That delves the grave duly,

But present still, thongh now unseen, When brightly shines the prosperous

day, Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen

To temper the deceitful ray! And 0, 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 oť goat.

The flesh of rams I will not prize;

A contrite heart, a humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice.

From Ivanhoe, 1818.

The lark his lay who thrilled all day

Sits hushed his partner nigh: Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,

But where is County Guy?

BORDER BALLAD

MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward

in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for

the border,

Many a banner spread,

Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story,

Mount and make ready then,

Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the Queen and our old Scot

tish glory.

The village maid steals through the

shade,
Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To beauty shy by lattice high,

Sings high-born Cavalier.
The star of Love, all stars above

Now reigns o'er earth and sky;
And high and low the influence know-
But where is County Guy ?

From Quentin Durward, 1823.

BONNY DUNDEE

Come from the hills where your hirsels

are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and

the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is

blazing. Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow,

Trumpets are sounding,

War-steeds are bounding,
Stand to your arms and march in good

order ;

England shall many a day

Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the the Border.

From The Monastery, 1820.

LIFE

To the Lords of Convention 't was Clay

er’se who spoke, “Ere the King's crown shall fall there

are crowns to be broke ; So let each Cavalier who loves honor

and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dun

dee. Come fill up my cup, come fill up

my can, Come saddle your horses and call up

your men ; Come open the West Port and let

me gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of

Bonny Dundee !” Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the

street, The bells are rung backward, the drums

they are beat; But the Provost, douce man, said, “ Just

e'en let him be, The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil

of Dundee."

Come fill up my cup, etc. As he rode down the sanctified bends of

the Bow, Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her

pow; But the young plants of grace they

looked couthie and slee, Thinking luck to thy bonnet, thou

Bonny Dundee !

Come fill up my cup, etc. With sour-featured Whigs the Grass

market was crammed, As if half the West had set tryst to be

hanged ;

YOUTH! thou wear'st to manhood now ;
Darker lip and darker brow,
Statelier step, more pensive mien,
In thy face and gait are seen:
Thou must now brook midnight

watches,
Take thy food and sport by snatches !
For the gamhol and the jest
Thou wert wont to love the best,
Graver follies must thou follow,
But as senseless, false, and hollow,

From The Abbot, 1820.

COUNTY GUY

AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh,

The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bower,

The breeze is on the sea.

There was spite in each look, there was

fear in each e'e, As they watched for the bonnets of

Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.

These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits

and had spears, And lang-hafted gullies to kill cava

liers ; But they shrunk to close-heads and the

causeway was free, At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dun

dee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.

"Away to the hills, to the caves, to the

rocks Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the

fox; And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst

of your glee, You have not seen the last of my bonnet

and me !"

Come fill up my cup, etc. He waved his proud hand and the

trumpets were blown, The kettle-drums clashed and the horse

men rode on, Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Cler

miston's lee Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny

Dundee
Come fill up my cup, come fill up

my can,
Come saddle the lorses and call up

the men,

de spurred to the foot of the proud

Castle rock, And with the gay Gordon he gallantly

spoke ; “Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak

twa words or three, For the love of the bonnet of Bonny

Dundee."
Come fill up my cup, etc.

Come open your gates and let me

gae free, For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee !

December, 1825, 1830.

The Gordon demands of him which way

he goes “ Where'er shall direct me the shade of

Montrose! Your Grace in short space shall hear

tidings of me. Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny

Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.

HERE'S A HEALTH TO KING

CHARLES
BRING the bowl which you boast,

Fill it up to the brim;
'T is 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.

“There are hills bevond Pentland and

lands beyond Forth, If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's

chiefs in the North; There are wild Duniewassals three tliou

sand times three, Will cry hoigh ! for the bonnet of Bonny

Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.

“There's brass on the target of barkened

bull-hide ; There's steel in the scabbard that dangles

beside; The brass shall be burnished, the steel

shall flash free, At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dun

dee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.

Though he wanders through dangers,

Unaided, unknown, Dependent on strangers,

Estranged from his own; Though 't is under our breath,

Amidst forfeits and perils, Here's to honor and faith,

And a health to King Charles ! Let such honors 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 trumpet shall sound, Here's a health to King Charles !

From Woodstock, 1826.