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Yet mourn not, Land of Fame ! Though ne'er the leopards on thy shield Retreated from so sad a field,
Since Norman William came.
Oft may thine annals justly boast
Of battles stern by Scotland lost;
Grudge not her victory,
When for her freeborn rights she strove;
Rights dear to all who freedom love,
To none so dear as thee!
Turn we to Bruce, whose curious ear
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear ;
With him, a hundred voices tell
Of prodigy and miracle,
“For the mute page had spoke."“ Page !” said Fitz-Louis,“ rather say, An angel sent from realms of day,
To burst the English yoke.
I saw his plume and bonnet drop,
When hurrying from the mountain top;
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave,
To his bright eyes new lustre gave,
A step as light upon the green,
As if his pinions waved unseen!"-
Spoke he with none?".
6. With none
one word Burst when he saw the Island Lord, Returning from the battle-field.”— 66 What answer made the Chief?”.
“ He kneeld, Durst not look up, but mutter'd low Some mingled sounds that none might know, And greeted him, 'twixt joy and fear, As being of superior sphere."
Even upon Bannock’s bloody plain,
Heap'd then with thousands of the slain,
'Mid victor monarch's musings high,
Mirth laugh'd in good King Robert's eye.
“ And bore he such angelic air,
Such noble front, such waving hair?
Hath Ronald kneel'd to him?" he said,
“ Then must we call the church to aid -
Our will be to the Abbot known,
Ere these strange news are wider blown,
To Cambuskenneth straight ye pass,
And deck the church for solemn mass,
To pay for high deliverance given,
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven.
Let him array, besides, such state,
As should on princes' nuptials wait.
Ourself the cause, through fortune's spite,
That once broke short that spousal rite,
Ourself will grace, with early morn,
The bridal of the Maid of Lorn."
*[" To Mr. James Ballantyne.--Dear Sir,-You have now the whole affair, excepting two or three concluding stanzas. As your taste for bride's cake may induce you to desire to know more of the wedding, I will save you some criticism by saying, I have settled to stop short as above.-Witness my hand, 19*
Go forth, my Song, upon thy venturous way;
Go boldly forth; nor yet thy master blame,
Who chose no patron for his humble lay,
And graced thy numbers with no friendly name,
Whose partial zeal might smooth thy path to fame.
There was -- and O! how many sorrows crowd
Into these two brief words !- there was a claim
By generous friendship given — had fate allow'd,
It well had bid thee rank the proudest of the proud!
All angel now-yet little less than all,
While still a pilgrim in our world below!
What 'vails it us that patience to recall,
Which hid its own to soothe all other woe;
What 'vails to tell, how Virtue's purest glow
Shone yet more lovely in a form so fair:'
And, least of all, what 'vails the world should know,
That one poor garland, twined to deck thy hair,
Is hung upon thy hearse, to droop and wither there!
*[The reader is referred to Mr. Hogg's “ Pilgrims of the Sun" for some beautiful lines, and a highly interesting note, on the death of the Duchess of Buccleuch. See ante, p. 10.)