And all the wrongs of age remain subdued past It cannot be renew'd, and will not last; Even duty, zeal, and gratitude can wage But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age. [was, Yes! it were poor, remembering what I To live a pensioner on your applause, To drain the dregs of your endurance dry, And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy; crave Till every sneering youth around inquires, 'Is this the man who once could please our sires?" [mien, And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful To warn me off from the encumber'd scene. This must not be;-and higher duties [grave, Some space between the theatre and the That like the Roman in the Capitol, I may adjust my mantle ere I fall: My life's brief act in public service flown, The last, the closing scene, must be my own. Here, then, adieu! while yet some wellgraced parts May fix an ancient favourite in your hearts, Not quite to be forgotten, even when You look on better actors, younger men: And if your bosoms own this kindly debt Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget O, how forget!—how oft I hither came In anxious hope, how oft return'd with fame! How oft around your circle this weak hand Has waved immortal Shakspere's magic wand, LINES, WRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH. [1817.] WHEN the lone pilgrim views afar The shrine that is his guiding star, With awe his footsteps print the road Which the loved saint of yore has trod. As near he draws, and yet more near, His dim eye sparkles with a tear; The Gothic fane's unwonted show, The choral hymn, the tapers' glow, Oppress his soul; while they delight And chasten rapture with affright. No longer dare he think his toil Can merit aught his patron's smile; Too light appears the distant way, The chilly eve, the sultry day— All these endured no favour claim, But murmuring forth the sainted name, He lays his little offering down, And only deprecates a frown. We, too, who ply the Thespian art, She, as the flutterings here avow, AIR-" Cha till mi tuille." Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said to have composed this Lament when the Clan was about to depart upon a distant and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; and hence the Gaelic words, "Cha till mi tuille; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon," "I shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return!" The piece is but too well known, from its being the strain with which the emigrants from the West Highlands and Isles usually take leave of their native shore. MACLEOD'S wizard flag from the grey castle sallies, [galleys; The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target and quiver, As Mackrimmon sings, "Farewell to Dunvegan for ever! Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming; [deer are roaming; Farewell each dark glen, in which redFarewell, lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river; [shall never! Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon "Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are sleeping; [are weeping; Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that To each minstrel delusion, farewell!—and for ever[never! Mackrimmon departs, to return to you The Banshee's wild voice sings the deathdirge before me, [o'er me; shall not shiver, The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs Be heard when the Gael on their exile are DONALD CAIRD'S COME AGAIN. AIR-"Malcolm Caird's come again." [1818.] CHORUS. DONALD CAIRD's come again! Donald Caird can lilt and sing, Donald Caird's come again! Donald Caird's come again! Donald Caird can drink a gill Donald Caird's come again! On Donald Caird the doom was stern, Donald Caird's come again! ON ETTRICK FOREST'S MOUNTAINS DUN. [1822.] ON Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, Then dashing from the current high, THE MAID OF ISLA. AIR-The Maid of Isla. [care, WRITTEN FOR MR. GEORGE THOMSON'S SCOTTISH MELODIES. [1822.] OH, Maid of Isla, from the cliff, That looks on troubled wave and sky, Dost thou not see yon little skiff Contend with ocean gallantly? Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge, And steep'd her leeward deck in foam, Why does she war unequal urge?— Oh, Isla's maid, she seeks her home. Oh, Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark, Her white wing gleams through mist and spray, Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark, As to the rock she wheels away ; Awlyn, the seat of Lord Somerville. Where clouds are dark and billows rave, Why to the shelter should she come Of cliff, exposed to wind and wave?— Oh, maid of Isla, 'tis her home! As breeze and tide to yonder skiff, Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring, And cold as is yon wintry cliff, Where sea-birds close their wearied wing. Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave, Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come; For in thy love, or in his grave, Must Allan Vourich find his home. "Come, Haddington, the kind and gay, You've graced my causeway mony a day; I'll weep the cause if you should stayCarle, now the King's come! "Come, premier Duke,† and carry doun Frae yonder craig his ancient croun; It's had a lang sleep and a soun' But, Carle, now the King's come! "Come, Athole, from the hill and wood, Bring down your clansmen like a clud; Come, Morton, show the Douglas' blood,Carle, now the King's come! "Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath, CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME. Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of BEING NEW WORDS TO AN AULD SPRING. [1822.] The news has flown frae mouth to mouth, The North for ance has bang'd the South; The deil a Scotsman's die of drouth, Carle, now the King's come! CHORUS. Carle, now the King's come! Auld England held him lang and fast; Auld Reekie, in her rokelay grey, But, Carle, now the King's come! She's skirling frae the Castle-hill; Carle, now the King's come! Carle, now the King's come! "Come from Newbattle's ancient spires, Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires, And match the mettle of your sires- "You're welcome hame, my Montagu! Bring in your hand the young Buccleuch ; I'm missing some that I may rue— Carle, now the King's come! ✦ An imitation of an old Jacobite ditty, written on the arrival of George IV. in Scotland, August, 1822, and printed as a broadside. death; Come, Clerk, and give your bugle breath; Carle, now the King's come! "Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids; Come, Roseberry, from Dalmeny shades; Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids; Carle, now the King's come! "Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true, Girt with the sword that Minden knew; We have o'er few such lairds as you Carle, now the King's come! "King Arthur's grown a common crier, He's heard in Fife and far Cantire,'Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire!' Carle, now the King's come! "Saint Abb roars out, 'I see him pass, Between Tantallon and the Bass!' Calton, get out your keeking glass- Carle, now the King's come!" Cogie, now the King's come! PART SECOND. A Hawick gill of mountain dew, Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I trow, It minded her of Waterloo Carle, now the King's come! †The Duke of Hamilton, the premier duke of Scotland. The Baron of Pennycuik, bound by his tenure to meet the sovereign whenever he or she visits Edinburgh at the Harestone, and there blow three blasts on a horn. § The landlord of the Waterloo Hotel. Again I heard her summons swell, "My trusty Provost, tried and tight, Stand forward for the Good Town's right, There's waur than you been made a knight + " Carle, now the King's come! My reverend Clergy, look ye say The best of thanksgivings ye ha'e, And warstle for a sunny day Carle, now the King's come! "My Doctors, look that you agree, Carle, now the King's come! "Come forth each sturdy Burgher's bairn, "Come forward with the Blanket Blue, "Scots downa loup, and rin and rave, "Sir Thomas, § thunder from your rock, Till Pentland dinnles wi' the shock, And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke Carle, now the King's come! "Melville, bring out your bands of blue, A' Louden lads, baith stout and true, With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn, tooCarle, now the King's come! 'And you, who on yon bluidy braes Compell'd the vanquish'd Despot's praise, Rank out-rank out-my gallant Greys || Carle, now the King's come! "Cock o' the North, my Huntly bra', Where are you with the Forty-twa? The Lord Provost had the agreeable surprise of hearing his health proposed, at the civic banquet given to George IV. in the Parliament House, as "Sir William Arbuthnot, Bart." A Blue Blanket is the standard of the incorporated trades of Edinburgh. § Sir Thomas Bradford, then commander of the forces in Scotland. The Scots Greys. Carle, now the King's come! 'My daughters, come with een sae blue, He ne'er saw fairer flowers than youYour garlands weave, your blossoms strew; Carle, now the King's come! "What shall we do for the propine- "Deil care-for that I'se never start, We'll welcome him with Highland heart; Whate'er we have he's get a part Carle, now the King's come! I'll show him wit, I'll show him lair, Come win the thanks of an auld wife, Sir John Sinclair, Bart., father of the celebrated writer, Catherine Sinclair. |