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"Girt with many a baron bold, Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old

In bearded majesty, appear.
In the midst a form divine!
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-

Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,

Attempered sweet to virgin-grace. What strings symphonious tremble in the air,

What strains of vocal transport round her play

Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.

Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings,

Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colored wings.

III. 3.

"The verse adorn again

Fierce war, and faithful love, And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.

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That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,

Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day?

To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,

And warms the nations with redoubled ray.

Enough for me; with joy I see

The different doom our fates assign.

Be thine despair, and sceptred care; To triumph, and to die, are mine." He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height

Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.




Wizard. Lochiel! Lochiel, beware of the day

When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array!

For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,

And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight:

They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down!

Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,

And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.

But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,

What steed to the desert flies frantic

and far?

'Tis thine, Oh Glenullin! whose

bride shall await,

Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate.

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Wizard. - Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn!

Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth,

From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the north?

Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode

Companionless, bearing destruction. abroad;

But down let him stoop from his havoc on high!

Ah! home let him speed-for the spoiler is nigh.

Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast

Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?

'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven

From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven.

Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,

Whose banners arise on the battlement's height,

Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;

Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return!

For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood,

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'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore.

And coming events cast their shadow before.

I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring

With the bloodhounds, that bark for thy fugitive king.

Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath,

Behold; where he flies on his desolate path!

Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight: Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight!

'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors; Culloden is lost, and my country deplores;

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where?

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn,

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?

Ah, no! for a darker departure is near;

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

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

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Let him turn and flee!

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

Let him follow me!

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

But they shall be free!

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

Let us do, or die!


'Tis madness to resist or blame
The force of angry heaven's flame;
And if we would speak true,
Much to the man is due,
Who from his private gardens, where
He lived reservèd and austere,

As if his highest plot
To plant the bergamot,
Could by industrious valor climb
To ruin the great work of Time,
And cast the kingdoms old,
Into another mould.
What field of all the civil war,
Where his were not the deepest scar?

And Hampton shows what part He had of wiser art; Where, twining subtile fears with hope,

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I MIND it weel, in early date,
When I was beardless, young, and


And first could thresh the barn; Or haud a yokin' at the pleugh; An' though forfoughten sair eneugh, Yet unco proud to learn!

Even then, a wish (I mind its power), A wish that to my latest hour

Shall strongly heave my breast That I for poor auld Scotland's sake Some usefu' plan or book could make,

Or sing a sang at least.

The rough burr-thistle spreading wide

Amang the bearded bear,

I turned the weedin'-heuk aside,
An' spared the symbol dear.



OF Nelson and the North,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly

By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on, —

Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line;

It was ten of April morn by the chime:

As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.

But the might of England flushed To anticipate the scene; And her van the fleeter rushed O'er the deadly space between. "Hearts of oak," our captains cried; when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships,

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Outspoke the victor then,

As he hailed them o'er the wave,
"Ye are brothers! ye are men!
And we conquer but to save:-
So peace instead of death let us

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our king.".

Then Denmark blest our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief,
From her people wildly rose,

As death withdrew his shades from the day;

While the sun looked smiling bright
O'er a wide and woful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Died away.

Now joy, old England, raise!
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
While the wine cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and up-


Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep

Brave hearts! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died, —
With the gallant good Riou:
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er
their grave!

While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave!


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