3 Related Poems., pp.188-190.

ODE ON SCOTLAND’S LOVE OF INDEPENDENCE.

 

SCOTLAND’S hills and dales can tell,

How bravely foemen she could quell,

What hosts before her vanquish’d fell

On many a well fought day.

 

For liberty her red cross flew;

For liberty her sword she drew;

For liberty her foes o’erthrew;

She could not be a slave.

 

When Rome’s proud eagle was unfurl’d,

And floated o’er a prostrate world,

Defiance, Caledonia hurl’d,

And scorn’d the haughty foe.

 

When Scandinavia pour’d her swarms;

Fill’d all her coasts with dire alarms,

Then Scotland dauntless rose in arms,

Her heart was proud and brave.

 

Like ocean wave rush’d on her foes,

Like ocean’s barrier Scotland rose,

And dashed them back and ’round them strews

Their boasted chivalry.

 

In freedom’s cause she drew her brand,

And freedom still has bless’d her land,

And laurel crown’d she aye could stand,

‘Mid bravest of the brave.

 

Even when her nobles did conspire,

Chose England as their high umpire,

Her gallant son she did inspire –

Wallace of Ellerslie.

 

Who, follow’d by a noble band,

Defended well their native land;

And Cambuskenneth saw the stand

They made for Scotland there.

 

But envy ever doth pursue

The brave, the faithful, and the true,

And traitors base this hero slew,

Whose arm they dare not brave.

 

Tho’ Scotland mourn’d her hero slain,

And prostrate seem’d, she rose amain,

And under Bruce did freedom gain,

As Bannockburn can tell.

 

But though our wars with England cease,

And union brings the joys of peace;

Joys which may more and more increase,

While time its course shall run;

 

Forget we not that patriot band,

Midst blood and death who raised the brand,

And fought for freedom and the land

Of Scotia brave and free.

J. M. AIM.

Sandwick, 6th January, 1857.

 

LORDS OF THE GLEN.

(From ‘Braemar Ballads,’ by Professor Blackie.)

 

I.

O fair is the land, my own mountain land, 

Fit nurse for the brave and the free, 

Where the fresh breezes blow o’er the heath’s purple glow, 

And the clear torrent gushes with glee! 

But woe’s me, woe! What dole and sorrow 

From this lovely land I borrow, 

When I roam, where the stump of stricken ash-tree 

Shows the spot where the home of the cotter should be, 

And the cold rain drips, and the cold wind moans 

O’er the tumbled heaps of old grey stones, 

Where once a fire blazed free. 

For a blight has come down on the land of the mountain, 

The storm-nurtured pine, and the clear-gushing fountain, 

And the chieftains are gone, the kind lords of the glen, 

In the land that once swarmed with the brave Highlandmen! 

II.

O fair is the land, my own mountain land, 

Fit nurse for the brave and the free, 

Where the strong waterfall scoops the grey granite wall, 

‘Neath the roots of the old pine tree! 

But woe’s for me, woe! What dole and sorrow 

From this lovely land I borrow, 

When the long houseless glen I see, 

Where only the deer to range is free, 

And I think on the pride of the dwindled clan, 

And the home-sick heart of the brave Highlandmen! 

Far tost on the billowy sea. 

For a blight has come down on the land of the mountain, 

The storm-nurtured pine, and the clear-gushing fountain, 

And the stalkers of deer keep their scouts in the glen 

That once swarmed with the high-hearted brave Highlandmen! 

III.

O fair is the land, my own mountain land, 

Fit nurse for the brave and the free, 

Where the young river leaps down the sheer ledge, and sweeps 

With a full-flooded force to the sea! 

But woe is me! What dole and sorrow 

From this lovely land borrow, 

When I think on the men that should father the clan, 

But who bartered the rights of the brave Highlandman 

To the lordlings that live for the pleasure to kill 

The stag that roams free o’er the tenantless hill; 

What care they for the brave Highlandman? 

For a blight has come down on the land of the mountain, 

The storm-nurtured pine, and the clear gushing fountain, 

And vendors of game are the lords of the glen 

Who rule o’er the fair mountain land without men!

 

THE HIGHLAND EMIGRANTS.

 

I.

COME away! far away! from the hills of bonnie Scotland

Here no more may we linger on the mountains – in the glen –

Come away! Why delay? far away from bonnie Scotland.

Land of grouse, and not of heroes! Land of sheep, and not of men!

Mighty hunters, for their pastime,

Needing deserts in our shires,

Turn to waste our pleasant places,

Quench the smoke of cottage fires.

Come away! why delay? Let us seek a home denied us,

O’er the ocean’s that divide us from the country of our sires.

II.

Come away! far away! from the river; from the wild wood;

From the soil where our fathers lifted Freedom’s broad claymore

From the paths in the straths, that were dear to us in childhood;

From the kirk where love was plighted in the happy days of yore.

Men and women have no value

Where the Bruce and Wallace grew,

And where stood the clansman’s shieling

There the red deer laps the dew.

Come away! far away! But to thee, oh bonnie Scotland,

Wheresoever we may wander shall our hearts be ever true.

III.

Far away! far away! in the light of other regions

We shall prove how we love thee to our children yet unborn.

Far away! far away! we shall teach them our allegiance

To thy name and to thy glory, thou beloved, though forlorn.

At recital of thy greatness

Shall our warmest fervour swell;

On the story of thy sorrow

Shall our fondest memories dwell.

Far away! why delay? We are banished from our Scotland,

From our own, our bonnie Scotland! fare thee well! oh! fare thee well!

CHARLES M^cKAY.