So was it would, at least, have been, He came an age too late. Or shall we say an age too soon? Then rents and factors, rights of chase, Rob Roy had never lingered here, And to his sword he would have said, ""Tis fit that we should do our part; "Of old things all are over old, "I, too, will have my kings that take And, if the word had been fulfilled, As might have been, then, thought of joy! Oh, say not so! compare them not; For thou, although with some wild thoughts, Wild chieftain of a savage clan! Hadst this to boast of; thou didst love The liberty of man. And, had it been thy lot to live For thou wert still the poor man's stay, Bear witness many a pensive sigh And by Loch Lomond's braes! And, far and near, through vale and hill, The proud heart flashing through the eyes, MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, LANDING AT THE MOUTH OF THE Derwent, WORKINGTON. DEAR to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, Of woes and degradations hand in hand, Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay. Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy lord! A brotherhood of venerable trees, Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these, IN THE PASS OF KILLIECRANKIE, AN INVASION BEING EXPECTED, 1803. Six thousand veterans practised in war's game, Tried men, at Killiecrankie were arrayed Against an equal host that wore the plaid, Shepherds and herdsmen. Like a whirlwind 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. Oh, for a single hour of that Dundee, Who on that day the word of onset gave! Like conquest would the men of England see; And her foes find a like inglorious grave. THE MATRON OF JEDBURGH AND HER HUSBAND. AGE! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers, And bid them dance and bid them sing; That there is one who scorns thy power: 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 merrymaking 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 Jedburgh 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: |