THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW

HILL

"It was while struggling with such languor, on one lovely evening of this autumn [1817], that he composed the following beautiful verses. They mark the very spot of their birth,-namely, the then naked height overhanging the northern side of the Cauldshields Loch, from which Melrose Abbey to the eastward, and the hills of Ettrick and Yarrow to the west, are now visible over a wide range of rich woodland,-all the work of the poet's hand." Lockhart's Life of Scott, Chapter 39.

THE sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill

In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet; The westland wind is hush and still, The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore,

Though evening with her richest dye Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore.

But present still, though now unseen, When brightly shines the prosperous day,

Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen
To temper the deceitful ray!
And O, when stoops on Judah's path
In shade and storm the frequent
night,

Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath,
A burning and a shining light!

Our harps we left by Babel's streams, The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn; No ceuser round our altar beams,

And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn, But Thou hast said, The blood of goat, The flesh of rams I will not prize;

A contrite heart, a humble thought,
Are mine accepted sacrifice.
From Ivanhoe, 1818.

BORDER BALLAD

MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order?

March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the border,

Many a banner spread, Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story, Mount and make ready then, Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.

Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;

Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing.

Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.

Trumpets are sounding, War-steeds are bounding, Stand to your arms and march in good order;

England shall many a day Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the the Border.

From The Monastery, 1820.

Though he wanders through dangers,
Unaided, unknown,
Dependent on strangers,
Estranged from his own;
Though 't is under our breath,
Amidst forfeits and perils,
Here's to honor and faith,

And a health to King Charles!

Let such honors abound

As the time can afford,

The knee on the ground,

And the hand on the sword; But the time shall come round When, 'mid Lords, Dukes, and Earls, The loud trumpet shall sound, Here's a health to King Charles!

From Woodstock, 1826.