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.