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And strong, fierce, and furious, and thirsting and fain
Of our blood-as the dust of the summer for rain-
Came our foes-but the firm ground beneath their feet turned
Into moss and quagmire-above their heads burned
Heaven's hot and swift fires-the sweet wind to-day
Had the power for to blast, and to smite, and to slay.

4.

;

Then laud not yourselves, nor put faith and firm trust
In sharp steel and strong sinews, but stoop in the dust
And humble your hearts-all your witnessing hands
Hold in bloody sign up, you fulfilled His commands
Now arise! see the valley is cumbered with spoil,
Lo! gather-divide the reward of your toil;
But leave these dumb Dagons to rot on the sward
They defiled-then come, sing a new song of the Word-

BALLAD IV.

The Doom of Nithsdale.

Pronounced by ALEXANDER PEDEN, Preacher of the Word.

1.

I STOOD and gazed-from Dalswinton wood
To Criffel's green mountain and Solway flood
Was quiet and joyous. The merry loud horn
Called the mirthsome reapers in bands to the corn;
The plaided swain, with his dogs, was seen
Looking down on the vale from the mountain green;
The lark with her note, now lowne, now loud,
The blue heaven breasted through the white cloud,
Round a smiling maid, white as winter snowing,

The Nith clasped its arms, and went singing and flowing-
Yet all the green valley, so lovely and broad,
Lay in black-nature, nor breathed of a God.

2.

And yet it was sweet, as the rising sun shone,
To stand and look this fair land upon,

The stream kissed my feet, and away to the sea
Flew, where the wild sea-fowl went swimming free.

In the town the lordly trumpet was blowing,

From the hill the meek pipe sent its sweet notes flowing, And a fair damsel sat her brown tresses a-wreathing,

And looking of heaven, and perfume breathing,

And, stretched at her feet, despairing and sighing,

Lay a youth on the grass, like a creature dying.

But mocked was the Preacher, and scorned was the Word, Green Nithsdale, I yield thee to gunshot and sword.

3.

And yet, green valley, though thou art sunk dark,
And deep as the waters that flowed round the ark;
Though none of thy flocks, from the Nith to the Scaur,
Wear Calvin's choice keel or the Covenant's tar-
Come, shear thy bright love-locks, and bow thy head low,
And fold thy white arms o'er thy bosom of snow,
And kneel, till the summer pass with its sweet flowers,-
And kneel, till the autumn go with her gold bowers,-

And kneel, till rough winter grows weary with flinging
Her snows upon thee, and the lily is springing,
And fill the green land with thy woe and complaining;
And let thine eyes drop like two summer clouds raining—
And ye may have hope, in the dread dooms-day morning,
To be snatched as a brand from the sacrifice burning.

4.

But if ye kneel not, nor in blood-tears make moan,
And harden your heart like the steel and the stone,
Oh! then, lovely Nithsdale-even as I now cast
My shrunk hand to heaven, thy doom shall be passed;
Through thy best blood the war horse shall snort and career-
Thy breast shall be gored with the brand and the
Thy bonnie love-locks shall be ragged and reft-
The babe at thy bosom be cloven and cleft;
From Queensberrie's mountain to Criffel below,

spear

Nought shall live but the blood-footed hawk and the crow!
Farewell thou doomed Nithsdale-in sin and asleep-
Lie still-and awaken to wail and to weep.

5.

I tried much to bless thee, fair Nithsdale, there came
Nought but curses to lay on thy fate and thy fame!
Yet still do I mind-for the follies of youth

Mix their meteor gleams with the sunshine of truth-
A fair one, and some blessed moments; aboon,

Gleaming down the green mountain gazed on us the moon,
The kisses and vows were unnumbered and sweet,
And the flower at our side, and the stream at our feet
Seemed to swell and to flow so divinely.-Oh! never,
Thou lovely green land, and thou fair flowing river,
Can man gaze upon you and curse you. In vain
Doth he make his heart hard.-So I bless you again.

BALLAD V.

Alexander Peden's Harmonious Call to the Cameronians.

1.

YE green glens of Nithsdale, ye brown dales of Dryfe,
Ye green banks of Annandale, busk for the strife,
Come fix firm the helmet, and sharpen the brand,
The Kirk cannot take sloven work from your hand.

2.

Ye Kyle men, ye Carrick men, men of Glenluce,

Who conquered with Wallace, and triumphed with Bruce,
A brighter cause now calls your hands to the hilt,

A Covenant broken, and pious blood spilt.

3.

Tis not for your flocks-for the wealth of your home,
Or your chaste lovely daughters, the spoiler is come,
Then empty the quiver, and strive till the sword
Works the good work full surely, the work of the Word.

4.

May him, whose cold blood sleeps like water, to hear

The loud cry of righteousness sound in his ear;

May no maid call him love, no good man call him brother,
And the son of his heart prove the son of another.

5.

Come pluck up your banner, the green pleasant land
Of the west calls the chosen with Bible and brand,
The spoiler a feast 'mongst the mountains has made,
I have blessed it, come carve it with bayonet and blade.

BALLAD VI.

The Cameronian Banner;

1.

O BANNER! fair Banner! a century of woe
Has flowed on thy people since thou wert laid low;
Hewn down by the godless, and sullied and shorn,
Defiled with base blood, and all trodden and torn!
Thou wert lost, and John Balfour's bright steel-blade in vain
Shed their best blood as fast as moist April sheds rain-
Young, fierce, gallant Hackstoun, the river in flood
Sent rejoicing to sea with a tribute of blood;
And Gideon Macrabin, with bible and brand,
Quoted Scripture, as Amelk fell 'neath his right hand-
All in vain, thou fair Banner, for thou wert laid low,
And a sport and a prey to the Covenant's foe.

2.

Fair Banner! 'gainst thee bloody Claver'se came hewing
His road through our helms, and our glory subduing;
And Nithsdale Dalzell-his fierce deeds to requite,
On his house darkest ruin descended like night-
Came spurring and full on the lap of our war,
Disastrous shot down like an ominous star.
And Allan Dalzell-may his name to all time

Stand accurs'd, and be named with nought nobler than rhyme-
Smote thee down, thou fair Banner, all rudely, and left

Thee defiled, and the skull of the bannerman cleft.

Fair Banner, fair Banner, a century of woe

Has flowed on thy people since thou wert laid low.

3.

And now, lovely Banner! led captive and placed,

'Mid the spoils of the scoffer, and scorned and disgraced,
And hung with the helm and the glaive on the wall,
'Mongst idolatrous figures to wave in the hall,

Where the lips, wet with wine, jested with thee profane,
And the minstrel, more graceless, mixed thee with his strain,
Till the might and the pride of thy conqueror fell,

And the owl sat and whoop'd in the halls of Dalzell.
O thou holy Banner! in weeping and wail

Let me mourn thy soiled glory, and finish my tale.

4.

And yet, lovely Banner! thus torn from the brave,
And disgraced by the graceless, and sold by the slave,
And hung o'er a hostel, where rich ruddy wine,
And the soul-cheering beverage of barley divine,
Floated glorious, and sent such a smoke-in his flight
The lark stayed in air, and sung, drunk with delight.
Does this lessen thy lustre? or tarnish thy glory?
Diminish thy fame, and traduce thee in story?
Oh, no, beauteous Banner! loosed free on the beam,
By the hand of the chosen, long, long shalt thou stream!
And the damsel dark-eyed, and the Covenant swain,
Shall bless thee, and talk of dread Bothwell again.

MOODS OF THE MIND.

DEAR SIR,

I HAVE three more " Moods of the Mind" to send you, and then intend to contribute to the pages of your gracious Miscellany some Miscellaneous Poems, a few Verses now and then of a humorous character, and an occasional Prose Essay. Your's sincerely, Δ.

To Christopher North, Esq.

No VII.

Midnight Wanderings.

BLUE is the vault of heaven-the gems,
The thousand flaming diadems,

That deck the midnight throne of June,
Are glittering silently-the moon,
To silver o'er the eastern wave,
Leaves not her interlunar cave→→→
All, all is still-no wandering breeze
Disturbs the air, or stirs the trees;
The wings of silence overspread
Alike the living and the dead,
And darkness o'er the land and sea
Hangs down her shadows gloomily.

Yes, there are times when thoughts of rest
Are banished, and the vacant breast,
To meditation prone, instils

A heavier sense of mortal ills;
When couches cannot yield repose;
When slumber cannot mantle woes;
When o'er the agonized brain
Comes Memory, with her busy train
Of hopes and visions, cherish'd long-
A look-a thought—a word-a song-
That conjures up the past, can make
A fire, that water cannot slake;
A tempest fierce to roar and roll;
A wild volcano of the soul:
Yea, in a dream, this very night,
Hath Recollection held her light,
Her flaming torch, above the past,
Years fled-joys vanished-hopes o'ercast-
Affections blighted-seasons lost-
And earth itself a desart coast!

Nor easier do I breathe, though now
The chill of night salutes my brow.
'Tis sweet, beneath the cataract
To sit, and watch the drizzly rack
That reascends, and then renews
Its mazy fall in trickling dews;
To see the waters flash and foam
In darkness, to their central dome,
Amid the sable rocks, which frown
Like genii o'er the waters brown;
To hear them roar, with mighty crash,
And onwards rush, and downwards dash,
Beneath the hazel trees, that throw
Their shadows o'er the chasms below-

"Tis sweet to gaze upon the sky,
And turn a fond and wistful eye
Upon the stars of twinkling ray,
Upon the lucid milky way,

Upon the long, long vistas, through
The trackless paths of placid blue-
And why? 'Tis Fancy rules the brain,

And draws the thoughts from present pain,
And leads us to a lonely spot

Where Passion's voice awakens not.

Dim hang the shadowy forests round,
Their canopies without a sound,
Gigantic-towering-shadowy-drear-
Along whose paths quick stalking Fear,
With indrawn breath all trembling steals,
And dreams Destruction at his heels.
The lofty elm its giant boughs
Of leafy darkness o'er me throws,
And at its base I lay me down,
Upon the furze of golden brown,
Until returning light shall bring
My quiet, and the morning spring.

No VIII.

The Clouds frown dark.

THE clouds frown dark upon the sky,
And the night wind moans as it rustles by;
The stream runs down with a heavy sound,
And all is dreary and dull around.

Fitful, between the parted shroud
Of the rifted, melancholy cloud,
A bright star twinkles, and then is hid
Beneath the moving pyramid.

'Tis a gloomy landscape, and all is still,
Save bleat of lamb from the distant hill,
Save the watch-dog's hollow bay on the breeze,
And the night-wind tossing the sullen trees,
The long weeds hang o'er the massy gate
Of the watch-tower, ruined and desolate,
Its idle door no menial bars,

And with every blast it creaks and jars.

Desponding, and dreary, and full of strife,
Are the thoughts that brood o'er our human life;
The blood runs cold as the hemlocks wave
With ominous sound o'er the lowly grave!

No IX.

The Elm Trees.

OH! may these trees be ever green,
Perpetual spring enwreathe them,
May bloom on every bough be seen,
And lovely flowers beneath them!
Be fresh each leaf, be strong each form;
No biting winds impair them;
And may the red wing of the storm
Pass ever by, and spare them!

Δ.

Δ.

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