Thy fierce beginnings, softened and subdued And quieted in character--the strife, The pride, the fury ur.controllable, Lost on the aerial heights of the Crusades ! *
The history of Rob Roy is sufficiently known; his grave is near the head of Loch Ketterine, in one of those small pinfold-like Burialgrounds, of neglected and desolate appearance, which the traveller meets with in the Highlands of Scotland.
A FAMOUS man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy! And Scotland has a thief as good, An outlaw of as daring mood; She has her brave ROB ROY! Then clear the weeds from off his Grave, And let us chant a passing stave, In honor of that Hero brave!
Heaven gave Rob Roy a dauntless heart And wondrous length and strength of arm; Nor craved he more to quell his foes,
Or keep his friends from harm.
Yet was Rob Roy as wise as brave; Forgive me if the praise be strong:- A Poet worthy of Rob Roy
Must scorn a timid song.
Say, then, that he was wise as brave; As wise in thought as bold in deed: For in the principles of things He sought his moral creed.
Said generous Rob," What need of books? Burn all the statutes and their shelves: They stir us up against our kind; And worse, against ourselves.
We have a passion-make a law, Too false to guide us or control And for the law itself we fight In bitterness of soul.
And puzzled, blinded thus, we lose Distinctions that are plain and few: These find I graven on my heart: That tells me what to do.
*The tradition is, that the Castle was built by a Lady during the absence of her Lord in Palestine.
The creatures see of flood and field, And those that travel on the wind! With them no strife can last; they live In peace, and peace of mind.
For why? because the good old rule Sufficeth them, the simple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can.
A lesson that is quickly learned, A signal this which all can see! Thus nothing here provokes the strong To wanton cruelty.
All freakishness of mind is checked, He tamed, who foolishly aspires; While to the measure of his might
Each fashions his desires.
All kinds, and creatures, stand and fall By strength of prowess or of wit: 'Tis God's appointment who must sway, And who is to submit.
Since, then, the rule of right is plain, And longest life is but a day; To have my ends, maintain my rights, I'll take the shortest way."
And thus among these rocks he lived, Through summer heat and winter snow The Eagle, he was lord above,
And Rob was lord below.
So was it would, at least, have been But through untowardness of fate; For Polity was then too strong-
He came an age too late;
Or shall we say an age too soon? For, were the bold Man living now, How might he flourish in his pride,
With buds on every bough!
Then rents and factors, rights of chase, Sheriffs, and lairds and their domains, Would all have seemed but paltry things, Not worth a moment's pains.
Rob Roy had never lingered here, To these few meagre Vales confined; But thought how wide the world, the times How fairly to his mind!
And to his Sword he would have said, From land to land through half the earth! "Do Thou my sovereign will enact
Judge thou of law and fact!
'Tis fit that we should do our part, Becoming, that mankind should learn That we are not to be surpassed
In fatherly concern.
Of old things all are over old,
Of good things none are good enough :- We'll show that we can help to frame A world of other stuff.
I, too, will have my kings that take From me the sign of life and death: Kingdoms shall shift about, like clouds, Obedient to my breath."
And, if the word had been fulfilled, As might have been, then, thought of joy! France would have had her present Boast, And we our own Rob Roy!
Oh! say not so; compare them not; I would not wrong thee, Champion brave! Would wrong thee nowhere; least of all Here standing by thy grave.
For Thou, although with some thoughts,
Wild Chieftain of a savage Clan! Hadst this to boast of; thou didst love The liberty of man.
And love of havoc, (for with such disease Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word
To level with the dust a noble horde, A brotherhood of venerable Trees, Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these,
Beggared and outraged!—Many hearts deplored
The fate of those old Trees; and oft with pain
The traveller, at this day, will stop and gaze
On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed:
For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays,
And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed,
And the green silent pastures, yet remain.
YARROW UNVISITED.
(See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the banks of the Yarrow in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton, beginning,
"Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome Marrow!"-) FROM Stirling castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravelled; Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, And with the Tweed had travelled; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my "winsome Marrow," "Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow." "Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, Who have been buying, selling, Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own; Each maiden to her dwelling! On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, Hares couch, and rabbits burrow! But we will downward with the Tweed, Nor turn aside to Yarrow.
There's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us;
And Dryborough, where with chiming Tweed
The lintwhites sing in chorus; There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow: Why throw away a needful day To go in search of Yarrow?
What's Yarrow but a river bare, That glides the dark hills under? There are a thousand such elsewhere
As worthy of your wonder."
-Strange words they seemed of slight and
My True-love sighed for sorrow; And looked me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow!
"Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's holms, And sweet is Yarrow flowing! Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,* But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path, and open Strath, We'll wander Scotland thorough; But, though so near, we will not turn Into the dale of Yarrow.
Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; The swan on still St. Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow! We will not see them; will not go, To-day, not yet to-morrow; Enough if in our hearts we know There's such a place as Yarrow.
Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! It must, or we shall rue it : We have a vision of our own: Ah! why should we undo it?
The treasured dreams of times long past, We'll keep them, winsome Marrow! For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 'Twill be another Yarrow!
If Care with freezing years should come, And wandering seem but folly,- Should we be loth to stir from home, And yet be melancholy;
Should life be dull, and spirits low, 'Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show, The bonny holms of Yarrow!"
IN THE PASS OF KILLICRANKY, An invasion being expected, October, 1803. SIX thousand veterans practised in war's game,
Tried men, at Killicranky were arrayed
See Hamilton's Ballad as above.
Against an equal host that wore the plaid, Shepherds and herdsmen.-Like a whirl wind came
The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame;
And Garry, thundering down his mountain. road,
Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load
Of the dead bodies.-'Twas a day of shame For them whom precept and the pedantry Of cold mechanic battle do enslave. O for a single hour of that Dundee Who on that day the word of onset gave! Like conquest would the Men of England And her Foes find a like inglorious grave.
THE MATRON OF JEDBOROUGH AND HER HUSBAND.
At Jedborough, my companion and I went into private lodgings for a few days; and the fol lowing Verses were called forth by the char acter and domestic situation of our Hostess. AGE! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers,
And call a train of laughing Hours; And bid them dance, and bid them sing; And thou, too, mingle in the ring! Take to thy heart a new delight; If not, make merry in despite
That there is One who scorns thy power:- But dance! for under Jedborough Tower A Matron dwells who, though she bears The weight of more than seventy years, Lives in the light of youthful glee, And she will dance and sing with thee.
Nay! start not at that Figure-there! Him who is rooted to his chair! Look at him-look again! for he Hath long been of thy family. With legs that move not, if they can," And useless arms, a trunk of man, He sits, and with a vacant eye; A sight to make a stranger sigh! Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom; His world is in this single room: Is this a place for mirthful cheer? Can merry-making enter here?
The joyous Woman is the Mate Of him in that forlorn estate! He breathes a subterraneous damp; But bright as Vesper shines her lamp:
He is as mute as Jedborough Tower; She jocund as it was of yore, With all its bravery on; in times When all alive with merry chimes, Upon a sun-bright morn of May, It roused the Vale to holiday.
I praise thee, Matron! and thy due Is praise, heroic praise, and true! With admiration I behold
Thy gladness unsubdued and bold: Thy looks, thy gestures, all present The picture of a life well spent: This do I see; and something more; A strength unthought of heretofore Delighted am I for thy sake; And yet a higher joy partake: Our Human-nature throws away Its second twilight, and looks gay; A land of promise and of pride Unfolding, wide as life is wide.
Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed Within himself as seems, composed; To fear of loss, and hope of gain, The strite of happiness and pain, Utterly dead! yet in the guise Of little infants, when their eyes Begin to follow to and fro
The persons that before them go, He tracks her motions, quick or slow. Her buoyant spirit can prevail Where common cheerfulness would fail; She strikes upon him with the heat Of July suns; he feels it sweet; An animal delight though dim! 'Tis all that now remains for him.
The more I looked, I wondered more- And, while I scanned them o'er and o'er, Some inward trouble suddenly
Broke from the Matron's strong black eye- A remnant of uneasy light,
A flash of something over-bright! Nor long this mystery did detain My thoughts;-she told in pensive strain That she had borne a heavy yoke, Been stricken by a twofold stroke; Ill health of body; and had pined Beneath worse ailments of the mind. So be it!-but let praise ascend To Him who is our Lord and friend! Who from disease and suffering Hath called for thee a second spring; Repaid thee for that sore distress By no untimely joyousness; Which makes of thine a blissful state; And cheers thy melancholy Mate!
FLY, some kind Harbinger, to Grasmeredale!
Say that we come, and come by this day's light;
Fly upon swiftest wing round field and height,
But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale; There let a mystery of joy prevail, The kitten frolic, like a gamesome sprite, And Rover whine, as at a second sight Of near-approaching good that shall not fail;
And from that Infant's face let joy appear; Yea, let our Mary's one companion child- That hath her six weeks' solitude beguiled With intimations manifold and dear, While we have wandered over wood and wild--
Smile on his Mother now with bolder cheer.
THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY.
A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRE-SIDE, AFTER RETURNING TO THE VALE OF GRAS- MERE.
Now we are tired of boisterous joy, Have romped enough, my little Boy! Jane hangs her head upon my breast, And you shall bring your stool and rest; This corner is your own.
There! take your seat, and let me see That you can listen quietly: And, as I promised, I will tell That strange adventure, which befell
A poor blind Highland Boy.
A Highland boy!-why call him so? Because, my Darlings, ye must know That, under hills which rise like tower Far higher hills than these of ours!
He from his birth had lived.
He ne'er had seen one earthly sight; The sun, the day; the stars, the night; Or tree, or butterfly, or flower, Or fish in stream, or bird in bower, Or woman, man, or child. And yet he neither drooped nor pined, Nor had a melancholy mind; For God took pity on the Boy, And was his friend; and gave him joy
Of which we nothing know.
His Mother, too, no doubt above Her other children him did love; For, was she here, or was she there, She thought of him with constant care, And more than mother's love.
And proud she was of heart, when clad In crimson stockings, tartan plaid, And bonnet with a feather gay, To Kirk he on the Sabbath day Went hand in hand with her.
A dog, too, had he; not for need, But one to play with and to feed; Which would have led him, if bereft Of company or friends, and left
Without a better guide.
And then the bagpipes he could blow- And thus from house to house would go; And all were pleased to hear and see, For none made sweeter melody
Than did the poor blind Boy.
Yet he had many a restless dream; Both when he heard the eagles scream, And when he heard the torrents roar, And heard the water beat the shore,
Near which their cottage stood Beside a lake their cottage stood, Not small like ours, a peaceful flood; But one of mighty size, and strange; That, rough or smooth, is full of change, And stirring in its bed.
For to this lake, by night and day The great Sea-water finds its way Through long, long windings of the hills, And drinks up all the pretty rills
And rivers large and strong:
Then hurries back the road it came- Returns, on errand still the same; This did it when the earth was new; And this for evermore will do,
As long as earth shall last. And, with the coming of the tide, Come boats and ships that safely ride Between the woods and lofty rocks; And to the shepherds with their flocks
Bring tales of distant lands. And of those tales, whate'er they were, The blind Boy always had his share; Whether of mighty towns, or vales With warmer suns and softer gales, Or wonders of the Deep.
Yet more it pleased him, more it stirred, When from the water-side he heard The shouting, and the jolly cheers; The bustle of the mariners
In stillness or in storm.
But what do his desires avail? For He must never handle sail ; Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float In sailor's ship, or fisher's boat, Upon the rocking waves.
His Mother often thought, and said, What sin would be upon her head If she should suffer this: "My Son, Whate'er you do, leave this undonę;
The danger is so great,"
Thus lived he by Loch-Leven's side Still sounding with the sounding tide, And heard the billows leap and dance, Without a shadow of mischance,
Till he was ten years old.
When one day (and now mark me well, Ye soon shall know how this befell) He in a vessel of his own, On the swift flood is hurrying down, Down to the mighty Sea.
In such a vessel never more May human creature leave the shore! If this or that way he should stir, Woe to the poor blind Mariner!
For death will be his doom.
But say what bears him?-Ye have seen The Indian's bow, his arrows keen, Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright; Gifts which, for wonder or delight,
Are brought in ships from far.
Such gifts had those seafaring men Spread round that haven in the glen; Each hut, perchance, might have its own; And to the Boy they all were known- He knew and prized them all.
The rarest was a Turtle-shell Which he, poor Child, had studied well; A shell of ample size, and light As the pearly car of Amphitrite,
That sportive dolphins drew. And, as a Coracle that braves On Vaga's breast the fretful waves, This shell upon the deep would swim, And gayly lift its fearless brim
Above the tossing surge,
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