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 honor'd shade.

As I stood on yon roofless tower,

Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care:

The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot along the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant-echoing glens reply.

The stream, adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's,
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase distant roaring swells and fa's.

The cauld blue north was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din ;
Athart the lift they start and shift,
Like Fortune's favors, tint as win.

By heedless chance I turn'd my eyes,
And by the moonbeam, shook, to see

A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be.

Had I statue been o' stane,

His darin' look had daunted me:
And on his bonnet grav'd was plain,
The sacred posy - Libertie!

And frae his harp sic strains did flow

Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear;

But, oh! it was a tale of wo,

As ever met a Briton's ear.

He sang wi' joy his former day,

He, weeping, wail'd his latter times;
But what he said it was nae play,

I winna ventur't in my rhymes.*

*The scenery, so finely described in this poem, is taken from nature. The poet is supposed to be musing, by night, on the banks of the Cluden, near the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, of which some account is given in Pennant's Tour and Grose's Antiquities. It is to be regretted that he suppressed the song of Libertie. From the resources of his genius, and the grandeur and solemnity of the preparation, something might have been anticipated, equal, if not superior, to the Address of Bruce to his Army, to the Song of Death, or to the fervid and noble description o the Dying Soldier in the Field of Battle.

BANNOCK BURN.

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY

Scors, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to glorious victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front of battle lower;
See approach proud Edward's power
Edward! chains! and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can till a coward's grave?

Wha sae base as be a slave?

Traitor coward! turn and flee

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Caledonian on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be-shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Forward! let us do, or die!

SONG OF DEATH.

SCENE -- A Field of Battle. Time of the day - Evening. The wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the following Song.

FAREWELL, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,

Now gay with the bright setting sun;

Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties Our race of existence is run!

Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,
Go, frighten the coward and slave;

Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know,
No terrors hast thou to the brave!

Thou strik'st the dull peasant he sinks in the dark, Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name;

Thou strik'st the young hero a glorious mark!

He falls in the blaze of his fame!

In the proud field of honor-our swords in our hands
Our king and our country to save —

While Victory shines on life's last ebbing sands
O! who wou'd not rest with the brave!

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