Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms, VI. With awe-struck thought, and pitying tears, Fam'd heroes! had their royal home: VII. Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, Ev'n I, who sing in rustic lore, Haply my sires have left their shed, And fac'd grim Danger's loudest roar, Bold following where your fathers led! VIII. Edina! Scotia's darling seat! All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, Where, once beneath a monarch's feet, Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs! From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, I shelter in thy honor'd share. BOOK V. SONGS AND BALLADS A VISION. As I stood on yon roofless tower, Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air, Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care: The winds were laid, the air was still, The stream, adown its hazelly path, The cauld blue north was streaming forth By heedless chance I turn'd my eyes, A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, Had I statue been o' stane, His darin' look had daunted me: And frae his harp sic strains did flow Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear; But, oh! it was a tale of wo, As ever met a Briton's ear. He sang wi' joy his former day, He, weeping, wail'd his latter times; I winna ventur't in my rhymes.* The scenery, so finely described in this poem, is taken from nature. The poet is supposed to be musing, by night, on the banks of the Cluden, near the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, of which some account is given in Pennant's Tour and Grose's Antiquities. It is to be regretted that he suppressed the song of Libertie. From the resources of his genius, and the grandeur and solemnity of the preparation, something might have been anticipated, equal, if not superior, to the Address of Bruce to his Army, to the Song of Death, or to the fervid and noble description of the Dying Soldier in the Field of Battle. BANNOCK BURN. ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY Scors, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Now's the day, and now's the hour; See approach proud Edward's power- Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can till a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Traitor! coward! turn and flee! Wha for Scotland's king and law By oppression's woes and pains! But they shall be- shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low: Forward! let us do, or die! |