Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

TO MR. CUNNINGHAM.

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that:
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is King o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie,' ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof" for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man, of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith, he mauna fa” that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,

The pith o sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,

As come it will for a' that;

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that;

That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

Now spring has clad the groves in green,
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers;
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen
Rejoice in fostering showers;
While ilka thing in nature join
Their sorrows to forego,

O why thus all alone are mine
The weary steps of woe!

1 Conceited fellow.

2 Blockhead, 4 May be conquerors,

• Try.

347

The trout within yon wimpling burn
Glides swift, a silver dart,

And safe beneath the shady thorn
Defies the angler's art:

My life was once that careless stream;
That wanton trout was I;

But love, wi' unrelenting beam,

Has scorch'd my fountain dry.

The little flow'ret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,

Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows,

Was mine: till love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom,

And now beneath the withering blast,
My youth and joy consume.

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs,
And climbs the early sky,
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings
In morning's rosy eye;

As little reckt I sorrow's power,
Until the flowery snare

O' witching love, in luckless hour,
Made me the thrall o' care.

O had my fate been Greenland snows,
Or Afric's burning zone,

Wi' man and nature leagu'd my foes,

So Peggy ne'er I'd known!

The wretch whase doom is, "Hope nae mair!"

What tongue his woes can tell?

Within whose bosom, save despair,

Nae kinder spirits dwell.

CLARINDA.

CLARINDA, mistress of my soul,
The measur'd time is run!
The wretch beneath the dreary pole
So marks his latest sun.

To what dark cave of frozen night
Shall poor Sylvander hie;

Depriv'd of thee, his life and light,
The sun of all his joy?

1

WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER, ETC.

We part-but by these precious drops
That fill thy lovely eyes!

No other light shall guide my steps,
Till thy bright beams arise.

She, the fair sun of all her sex,
Has blest my glorious day;
And shall a glimmering planet fix
My worship to its ray?

349

WHY, WHY TELL THY LOVER.

TUNE "THE CALEDONIAN HUNT'S DELIGHT."

WHY, why tell thy lover,

Bliss he never must enjoy?

Why, why undeceive him,

And give all his hopes the lie?

O why, while fancy, raptur'd, slumbers,
Chloris, Chloris, all the theme!
Why, why would'st thou, cruel,
Wake thy lover from his dream?

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

THERE was once a day, but old Time then was young,
That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,
From some of your northern deities sprung:

(Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine?) From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain,

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign,

And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good.

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war,

The pride of her kindred the heroine grew; Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore,

"Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!" With tillage, or pasture, at times she would sport, To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn;

But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort,
Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn.

Long quiet she reign'd; till thitherward steers
A flight of bold eagles from Adria's' strand;
Repeated, successive, for many long years,

They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land:
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry,
They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside;
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly-
The daring invaders they fled or they died.

The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north,
The scourge of the seas and the dread of the shore;
The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth

To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore:2
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd,
No arts could appease them, no arms could repel;
But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd,

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.'

The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose,
With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife;
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose,

And robb'd him at once of his hopes and his life:
The Anglian lion, the terror of France,

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance,

He learned to fear in his own native wood.

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free,
Her bright course of glory for ever shall run:
For brave Caledonia immortal must be;

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun:
Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll choose,

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse;

Then, ergo, she'll match them, and match them always.*

1 The Romans.

2 The Saxons and Danes.

3 Two famous battles in which the Danes or Norwegians were defeated.-Currie.

This singular figure of poetry refers to the 47th proposition of Euclid. In a right-angled triangle, the square of the hypothenuse is always equal to the square of the two other sides.-Currie.

ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR. 351

ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR, BETWEEN THE DUKE OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL OF MAR.'

TUNE "THE CAMERONIAN RANT."

"O CAM ye here the fight to shun?
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were you at the Sherra-muir,

And did the battle see, man?"
I saw the battle sair and tough,
And reeking-red ran monie a sheugh,'
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds,*
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,"

3

Wha glaum'd' at Kingdoms three, man.

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades,
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd,
And monie a bouk' did fa', man;

The great Argyle led on his files,
I wat they glanced twenty miles:

They hack'd and hash'd, while broad-swords
clash'd,

And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd,
Till fey men died awa, man.

But had you seen the philibegs,
And skyrin tartan trews," man,

When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs,
And covenant true blues, man;
In lines extended lang and large,
When bayonets opposed the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath;
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath,
They fled like frighted doos,1o man.

"O how deil, Tam, can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man:

I saw mysel, they did pursue

The horsemen back to Forth, man;

1 This poem, I am pretty well convinced, is not my brother's, but more ancient than his birth.-G. B.

[blocks in formation]

5 Clothes. 8 Marked for death. 10 Doves.

« AnteriorContinuar »