THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW

HILL

"It was while struggling with such languor, on one lovely evening of this autumn [1817], that he composed 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 Melrose Abbey to the eastward, and the hills of Ettrick 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.

"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

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

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 hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel 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.

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 O, 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.
From Ivanhoe, 1818.

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.

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

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 gambol 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.

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.