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To Auchendinny's hazel glade,

And haunted Woodhouselee.?
Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,'

And Roslin's rocky glen,"
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,

And classic Hawthornden ? 6
Yet never a path, from day to day,

The pilgrim's footsteps range,
Save but the solitary way

To Burndale's ruin'd grange.

· Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below Pennycuick, the present residence of the ingenious H. Mackenzie, Esq., author of the Man of Feel ing, &c.—Edition 1803.

? For the traditions connected with this ruinous mansion, see ballad of Cad yow Castle, p. 390.

• Melville Castle, the seat of the Right Honourable Lord Melville, to whom it gives the title of Viscount, is delightfully situated upon the Eske, near Lasswade.

4 The ruins of Roslin Castle, the baronial residence of the ancient family of St. Clair. The Gothic chapel, which is still in beautiful preservation, with the romantic and woody dell in which they are situated, belong to the Right Honourable the Earl of Rosslyn, the representative of the former Lords of Roslin.

5 The village and Castle of Dalkeith belonged, of old, to the famous Earl of Morton, but is now the residence of the noble family of Buccleuch. The park extends along the Eske, which is there joined by its sister stream, of the same name.

6 Hawthornden, the residence of the poet Drummond. A house, of more modern date, is enclosed, as it were, by the ruins of the ancient castle, and overhangs a tremendous precipice, upon the banks of the Eske, perforated by winding caves, which, in former times, were a refuge to the oppressed patriots of Scotland. Here Drummond received Ben Jonson, who journeyed from London, on foot, in order to visit him. The beauty of this striking scene has been much injured, of late years, by the indiscriminate use of the axe. The traveller now looks in vain for the leafy bower,

" Where Jonson sat in Drummond's social shade." Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its source, till it joins the sea at Musselburgh, no stream in Scotland can boast such a varied succession of the most interesting objects, as well as th most romantic and beautiful

...—The beautiful scenery of Hawthornden has, since the above note was written, recovered all its proper ornament of wood. 1831.

scenery. 1803.

A woful place was that, I ween,

As sorrow could desire; For nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall,

And the roof was scathed with fire.

It fell upon a summer's eve,

While, on Carnethy's head,
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams

Had streak'd the grey with red;

And the convent bell did vespers tell,

Newbattle's oaks among,
And mingled with the solemn knell

Our Ladye's evening song:

The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell,

Came slowly down the wind, And on the pilgrim's ear they fell,

As his wonted path he did find.

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was,

Nor ever raised his eye,
Until he came to that dreary place,

Which did all in ruins lie.

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire,

With many a bitter groan-
And there was aware of a Grey Friar,

Resting him on a stone.

“ Now, Christ thee save!” said the Grey Brother;

“ Some pilgrim thou seemest to be.” But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze,

Nor answer again made he.

“O come ye from east, or come ye from west,

Or bring reliques from over the sea; Or come ye from the shrine of St. James the divine,

Or St. John of Beverly?”

"] come not from the shrine of St. James the divine,

Nor bring reliques from over the sea;
I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope,

Which for ever will cling to me."

“ Now, woful pilgrim, say not so!

But kneel thee down by me,
And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin,

That absolved thou mayst be.”—

“ And who art thou, thou Grey Brother,

That I should shrive to thee, When He, to whom are given the keys of earth and

heaven, Has no power to pardon me?”.

" 0 I am sent from a distant clime,

Five thousand miles away,
And all to absolve a foul, foul crime,

Done here 'twixt night and day.”

The pilgrim kneeld him on the sand,

And thus began his saye -
When on his neck an ice-cold hand

Did that Grey Brother laye.




Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms?

Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general conquest.
Had we a difference with some petty isle,
Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks,
The taking in of some rebellious lord,
Or making head against a slight commotion,
After a day of blood, peace might be argued :
But where we grapple for the land we live on,
The liberty we hold more dear than life,
The gods we worship, and, next these, our honours,
And, with those, swords that know no end of batile-
Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour,
Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance,
And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest,
And, where they march, but measure out more ground
To add to Rome
It must not be-No! as they are our foes.
Let's use the peace of honour-that's fair dealing;
But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman,
That thinks to graft himself into my stock,
Must first begin his kindred under ground,
And be allied in ashes.".


The following War-Song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volunteers to which it was addressed, was raised in 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own expense. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honourable Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas." The noble and constitutional measure of arming freemen in defence of their rights, was nowhere more successful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps of artillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a force, above all others, might, in similar circumstances, be ap. plied the exhortation of our ancient Galgacus: “ Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores vestros et posteros cogitate.” 1812.

'[The song originally appeared in the Scots Magazine for 1802.-Ed.] ? Now Viscount Melville.-1831.


To horse ! to horse! the standard flies,

The bugles sound the call;
The Gallic navy stems the seas,
The voice of battle's on the breeze,

Arouse ye, one and all !
From high Dunedin's towers we come,

A band of brothers true;
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd;

We boast the red and blue.'
Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown

Dull Holland's tardy train ;
Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn;
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,

And foaming, gnaw the chain;
Oh! had they mark'd the avenging call'

Their brethren's murder gave,

: The royal colours.

? The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss Guards, on the fatal 10th August, 1792. It is painful, but not useless, to remark, that the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded the death of their bravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty, encouraged and authorized the progressive injustice, by which the Alps, once the seat of the most virtuous and free people upon the continent, have, at length, been converted into the citadel of a foreign and military despot. A state de graded is half enslaved. -- 1812.

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