There watching high the least alarms,

Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar; Like some bold veteran, gray in arms, And mark'd with many a seamy scar : The pond'rous wall and massy bar, Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock,

Have oft withstood assailing war, And oft repell'd th' invader's shock.

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears,
I view that noble stately dome,
Where Scotia's kings of other years,
Fam'd heroes, had their royal home;
Alas, how chang'd the times to come!
Their royal name low in the dust,

Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam;
Tho' rigid law cries out 'twas just!

Wild beats my heart to trace your steps,
Whose ancestors, in days of yore,
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps
Old Scotia's bloody lion bore.
Ev'n I who sing in rustic lore,
Haply my sires have left their shed,
And faced grim danger's loudest roar,
Bold-following where your fathers led!

Edina! Scotia's darling seat,

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs,
Where once beneath a monarch's feet
Sat Legislation's sov'reign pow'rs!
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs,
As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd,
And singing lone the ling'ring hours,
I shelter in thy honour'd shade.

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бо

LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.

THE wind blew hollow frae the hills;

By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods

That waved o'er Lugar's winding stream. Beneath a craigy steep, a bard,

Laden with years and meikle pain, In loud lament bewail'd his lord,

Whom death had all untimely taen.

He lean'd him to an ancient aik,

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years; 10 His locks were bleached white wi' time, His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears; And as he touch'd his trembling harp, And as he tun'd his doleful sang, The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, To echo bore the notes alang.

'Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing,
The reliques of the vernal quire!
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds
The honours of the aged year!

A few short months, and glad and gay,
Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e;

But nocht in all revolving time
Can gladness bring again to me.

'I am a bending agèd tree,

That long has stood the wind and rain; But now has come a cruel blast,

And my last hold of earth is gane:

Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring,
Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom;
But I maun lie before the storm,

And others plant them in my room.

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'I've seen so many changefu' years,

On earth I am a stranger grown;
I wander in the ways of men,
Alike unknowing and unknown:
Unheard, unpitied, unreliev'd,

I bear alane my lade o' care,
For silent, low, on beds of dust,
Lie a' that would my sorrows share.

And last (the sum of a' my griefs!)
My noble master lies in clay;
The flow'r amang our barons bold,

His country's pride, his country's stay:
In weary being now I pine

For a' the life of life is dead, And hope has left my agèd ken, On forward wing for ever fled.

'Awake thy last sad voice, my harp! The voice of woe and wild despair; Awake, resound thy latest lay,

Then sleep in silence evermair! And thou, my last, best, only, friend, That fillest an untimely tomb,

Accept this tribute from the bard

Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom.

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Thick mists obscure involv'd me round Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye,

No ray of fame was to be found: Thou found'st me, like the morning sun That melts the fogs in limpid air; The friendless bard and rustic song Became alike thy fostering care.

'O why has worth so short a date While villains ripen grey with time? Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great.

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime?

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Why did I live to see that day,

A day to me so full of woe?
O had I met the mortal shaft
Which laid my benefactor low!

"The bridegroom may forget the bride
Was made his wedded wife yestreen;
The monarch may forget the crown
That on his head an hour has been ;
The mother may forget the child

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That smiles sae sweetly on her knee;

But I'll remember thee, Glencairn,

And a' that thou hast done for me!'

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LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.

Now Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,

And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out-owre the grassy lea;

Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;

But nought can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.

Now laverocks wake the merry morn,
Aloft on dewy wing;

The merle, in his noontide bow'r,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis mild wi' many a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest:

In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.

ΙΟ

Now blooms the lily by the bank,

The primrose down the brae ;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae:
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang.

I was the Queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been;
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en:
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;

Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,
My sister and my fae,

Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword
That thro' thy soul shall gae!

The weeping blood in woman's breast

Was never known to thee;

Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.

My son my son! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;

And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine.

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,

Or turn their hearts to thee;

And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!

Oh! soon to me may summer-suns
Nae mair light up the morn!

Nae mair to me the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!

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