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When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing,
I sate on the beach wi' the tear in my e'e,
And wished that the tempest could a' blaw on me.
Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame, Music to me were the wildest winds roaring,
That ere o'er Inch Keith drove the dark ocean faem.
When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle,
And blithe was each heart for the great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle,
And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen,
Of each bold adventure, of every brave scar: And, trust me, I'll smile, though my e'en they may glisten;
For sweet after danger's the tale of the war. And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers,
When there's naething to speak to the heart through the e'e; How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers,
And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea.
Till, at times, could I help it? I pined and I pondered,
If love would change notes like the bird on the treeNow I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wandered,
Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel,
Hardships and danger despising for fame, Furnishing story for glory's bright annal,
Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame. Enough now thy story in annals of glory
Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain; No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave me,
I never will part with my Willie again.
THE MAID OF NEIDPATH.
There is a tradition in Tweeddale that, when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted between a daughter of that noble family and a son of the laird of Tushielaw, in Ettricke Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence the lady fell in a consumption; and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her Aather consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, that she might see hiin as he rode past. ller anxiety anu cagerness gave such force to her organs, that she is sald to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on, without recognising her, or even slackening bis pace. The lady was unable to support the shock, and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants There is an incident similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's " Fleur d'Epine."
O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see,
And lovers' ears in hearing;
Can lend an hour of cheering.
And slow decay from mourning,
To watch her love's returning.
Her form decayed by pining,
You saw the taper shining;
Across her cheek was flying;
Her maidens thought her dying.
Seemed in her frame residing;
She heard her lover's riding;
She knew, and waved, to greet him;
As on the wing to meet him.
As o'er some stranger glancing,
Lost in his courser's prancing-
Returns each whisper spoken,
Which told her heart was broken.
THE BARD'S INCANTATION.
WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OP INVASION, IN THE AUTUMN
Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register, 1808.
It is all of black pine, and the dark oak-tree;
Is whistling the forest lullaby:
The moon looks through the drifting storm,
That mingles with the groaning oak-
And the lake-waves dashing against the rock ;There is a voice within the wood, The voice of the Bard in fitful mood, His song was louder than the blast, As the Bard of Glenmore through the forest passecl.
“ Wake ye from your sleep of death,
Minstrels and Bards of other days!
And the midnight meteors dimly blaze:
Souls of the mighty! wake and say,
To what high strain your harps were strung,
And on your shores her Norsemen flung ?
Mute are ye all? No murmurs strange
U pon the midnight breeze sail by;
Mimic the harp's wild harmony !
O yet awake the strain to tell,
By every deed in song enrolled,
For Albion's weal in battle bold ;-
By all their swords, by all their scars,
By all their names, a mighty spell I By all their wounds, by all their wars,
A rise, the mighty strain to tell ;
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain,
Strange murmurs fill my tinkling ears,
At the dread voice of other years “When targets clashed, and bugles rung, And blades round warriors' heads were flung, The foremost of the band were we, And hymned the joys of Liberty !”
TO A LADY.
WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL.
Published in the Edinburgh Anuual Register for 1808
TAKE these flowers, which, purple waving,
On the ruined rampart grew,
Rome's imperial standards flew.
Pluck no longer laurels there:
Wild-fower wreaths for Beauty's hair.
Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1808,
The violet in her green-wood bower,
Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle, May boast itself the fairest flower
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle.
Though fair her gems of azure hue,
Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining ; I've seen an eye of lovelier blue,
More sweet through watery lustre shining. The summer sun that dew shall dry,
Ere yet the day be passed its morrow; Nor longer in my false love's eye
Remained the tear of parting sorrow.
Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1808.
WAKEN lords and ladies gay,
Waken lords and ladies gay,
Waken lords and ladies gay,
Louder, louder chant the lay,
IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM.
Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register for 1806
My wayward fate I needs must plain,
Though bootless be the theme;
Yet all was but a dream: