If thou liv'st, my little darling, Hush, my baby, lie thou still, Nor dream of what thou art, Nor know thou'rt press'd, O tender one, To a mother's breaking heart! WILLIAM STEWART ROSS. CALEDONIA. (From the Harp of the Valley). STERN land of the mind-mighty, My footfall's on the grave, Where grows the lordly thistle From the hearts'-blood of the brave Land of Stewarts, and my fathers, Who have battled by their side, Land of glory-land of Wallace, How I love thee as a bride! Land of faith and land of song, Oh, the world, from sea to sea, Holds none fairer than the daughters That have been born of thee! And thy sons are hero-hearted, How, mid red death's iron hail Glares the gory sword of Albyn, Land of saints, and land of martyrs, Where the heather and blue-bell, Oft epitaphs the moorland Where the Covenanter fell,— Their word, Jehovah-jireh, The crusaders of the Lord, Bore down to the red land of death, Land of might, and land of progress, WILLIAM STEWART ROSS. THE SCOT LEGION. WE were not many-we who stood Yet many a gallant spirit would Now here, now there, the shot is hail'd Yet not a single soldier quail'd When wounded comrades round them wail'd Their dying shout at Monterey. And on, still on, our column kept Through walls of flame its withering way, Where fed the dead, the living slept; Still charging on the guns which swept The slippery streets of Monterey. The foe, himself, recoil'd aghast, When, striking where he strongest lay, We swoop'd his flanking batteries past, And braving full their murderous blast, Storm'd home the towers of Monterey. Our banners on these turrets wave, And there the evening bugles play; Where orange boughs above their grave Keep green the memory of the brave Who fought and fell at Monterey. We are not many-we who press'd THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD. BURN, O evening hearth, and waken Though the house by winds be shaken, Ah, no longer wizard Fancy Luring me by necromancy Up the never-ending stair. But, instead, she builds me bridges And I cross them, little heeding Footsteps that have gone before. Naught avails the imploring gesture, Baffled I return, and leaning And the sounds of life ascending Well I know what there lies hidden, Every tower, and town, and farm, And again the land forbidden Re-assumes its vanish'd charm. Well I know the secret places, |