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Yes! they can meet his eye, mt only beams with patient courage now; ■h! they can gaze upon those manly limbs,

Defenceless now and bound.

And that eye did not shrink he beheld the pomp of infamy; >r did one rebel feeling shake those limbs When the last moment came.

What though suspended sense »» by their damned cruelty revived, hat though ingenious vengeancelcngthen'd life

To feel protracted death;

What though the hangman's hand is|it in his living breast the heaving heart, the last agony, the last sick pang,

Wallace had comfort still.

He call'd to mind his deeds ne for his country in the embattled field; thought of that good cause for which

he died, And that was joy in death!

Go, Edward, triumph now! nhria is fallen, and Scotland's strength is crush'd; - Wallace, on Llewellyn's mangled limbs The fowls of Heaven have fed.

Unrivalled, unopposed,

Edward, full of glory to thy grave! .y, weight of patriot blood upon thy soul, - Go, Edward, to thy God!



Ikadkb! hast thou ever stood to sec'

The Holly-Tree? i eye that contemplates it well perceives

Its glossy leaves j er'd by an intelligence so wise 1 night confound the Atheist's sophistries.

'"jw, a circling fence, its leaves arc seen Wrinkled and keen; grazing cattle through their prickly round

Can reach to wound; as they grow where nothing is to fear, loth and unorm'd the pointless leaves pi appear.

pihre to view these things with curious eyes, A[ And moralize:

in this wisdom of the Holly-Tree Can emblems sec therewith perchance to make a pleasant ■dr rhyme,

r which may profit in the aftertime.

Thus, though abroad perchance I might appear

Harsh and austere, To those who on my leisure would intrude

Reserved and rude, Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be Like the high leaves upon the Holly-Tree.

And should my youth, as youth is apt I know,

Some harshness show, All vain asperities I day by day

Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the IIoily-Tree.

And as when all the summer-trees arc seen

So bright and green, The Holly-leaves their fadeless hues display

Less bright than they; Hut when the bare and wintry woods we sec, What then so chearful as the Holly-Tree ¥

So serious should my youth appear among The thoughtless throng,

So would I seem amid the young and gay More grave than they,

That in my age as chearful I might be

As the green winter of the Holly-Tree.


There, in the eye

Of light and in the face of day, the rites
Began. Upon the Stone of Covenant
The sheathed sword was laid; the Master

then Upraised his voice, and cried: Let them

who seek The high degree and sacred privilege Of Bardic science, and of Cimbric lore, Here to the Bards of Britain make their

claim! Thus having said, the Master bade the youths Approach the place of peace, and merit there The Bard's most honourable name. With

that, Heirs and transmittors of the ancient light, The youths advanced; they heard the Cimbric lore, From earliest days preserved; they struck

their harps, And each in due succession raised the song.

Last of the aspirants, as of greener years, Young Caradoc advanced; his lip as yet Scarce darkened with its down, his flaxen

locks Wreathed in contracting ringlets waving low;

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Brightened his large bine eyes, and kindled

now With that same passion that inflamed liis

check; Yet in his cheek there was the sickliness Which thought and feeling leave, wearing

away The hue of youth. Inclining on his harp. He, while his comrades in probation song Approved their claim, stood hearkening, as

it seemed, And yet like unintelligible sounds He heard the symphony and voice attuned; Even in such feelings as, all undefined, Come with the flow of waters to the soul, Or with the motions of the moonlight-sky. But when his bidding came, he at the call Arising from that dreamy mood, advanced, Threw back his mantle, and began the lay.

Where are the sons of Gavran? where his

tribe, The faithful? Following their beloved Chief, They the Green Islands of the Ocean sought; Nor human tongue hath told, nor human car, Since from the silver shores they went their

way, Hath heard their fortunes. In his crystal Ark, Whither sailed Merlin with his band of

Bards, Old Merlin, master of the mystic lore? Belike his crystal Ark, instinct with life, Obedient to the mighty Master, reached The Land of the Departed; there, belike, They in the clime of immortality, Themselves immortal, drink the gales' of

bliss, Which o'er Flathinnis breathe eternal spring, Blending whatever odours make the gale Of evening sweet, whatever melody Charms the wood-traveller. In their highroofed halls There, with the Chiefs of other days, feel

they The mingled joy pervade them ?—Or beneath The mid-sea waters, did that crystal Ark Down to the secret depths of Ocean plunge Its fated crew ¥ Dwell they in coral bowers With Mermaid loves, teaching their paramours The songs that stir the sea, or make the

winds Hush, and the waves bo still? In fields of joy

Have they their home, where rrnlnl J

maintain Perpetual summer, where one emeriU r Through the green element for ever Dm

Twice have the sons of Britain leftbwtkrAs the fledged eaglcUquit their natitf *• Twice over ocean have her fearleu m> For ever sailed away. Again thtY hi»: Their vessels to the deep.—Who wc

the bark? The son of Owen, the beloved Prim. Who never for injustice reared hit »re Respect his enterprise, ye ocean-van)' Ye Winds of Heaven, waft Madoc oakiti. The Waves of Ocean, and the Wn*

Heaven Became his ministers, and Madoc font The world he sought. Who seeki tie &*

land? Who mounts the vessel for tke vinl'

peace? He who hath felt the throb of pride, U b Our old illustrious annals; who Vm arc To lisp the fame of Arthur, to revert Great Caratach's on conquered soal, wi^ That gallant chief his countryman, vk-'' The wrath of Britain from her eh*llj*r To drive the Roman robber. Be wh» I"' His country, and who feels hi* aW

shame, Whose bones amid a land of oerritiJ' Could never rest in peace; who if kt s< His children slaves, would feel a pae

heaven.— He mounts the bark, to seek for libtr ■

Who seeks the better land? The vm

one, Whose joys are blasted all, whoie ktif

sick, Who hath no hope, to whom all eta?"

gain. To whom remembered pleasures strike > P Which only guilt should know;—hen*0

the bark! The Bard will mount the bark of basbif" The harp of Cambria shall, in otif' U* Remind the Cnmbrian of his fathrr'i ft* The Bard will seek the land of librrt? The world of peace O Prince, recti"'





r>w bunt, ye winter-clouds that lower. ing from your folds the piercing shower; ng to the tower and leafless tree, ; cold winds of adversity; >ur blights, your chilling influence shed, 1 wareless heart, and houseless head, 11 r ruth or fury I disdain, ,-c found my Mountain-Lyre again.

Come to my heart, my only stay!

impnnion of a happier day!

■oil gift of Heaven, thou pledge of good,

irp of the mountain and the wood!

little thought, when first I tried

ly notes by lone Saint Mary's side,

hen in a deep untrodden den,

found thee in the braken glen,

ittle thonght that idle toy

ould e'er become my only joy!

A maiden's youthful smiles had wove
mind my heart the toils of love,
hen first thy magic wires I rung,
d on the breeze thy numbers flung,
e fervid tear played in mine eye;
rcmbled, wept, and wondered why.
ect was the thrilling ecstasy:
now not if 'twas love or thee.

Weened not my heart, when youth had

flown, iendship would fade, or fortune frown; lien pleasure, love, and mirth were past, at thou shouldst prove my all at last! •red by conceit and lordly pride, lung my soothing harp aside; th wayward fortune strove a while; ■relied in a world of self and guile. ain I sought the braken hill; tin sat musing by the rill;

wild sensations all were gone, 1 only thou wert left alone. ig hast thou in the moorland lain, «r welcome to my heart again!

"he russet weed of mountain gray more shall round thy border play;

No more the brake-flowers, o'er thee piled,

Shall mar thy tones and measures wild:

Harp of the Forest, thou shalt be

Fair as the bud on forest-tree!

Sweet be thy strains, as those that swell

In Ettrick's green and fairy dell;

Soft as the breeze of fulling even,

And purer than the dews of heaven.

Of minstrel-honours, now no more;
Of bards who sung in days of yore;
Of gallant'chiefs, in courtly guise;
Of ladies' smiles, of ladies' eyes;
Of royal feast and obsequies;
When Calednn, with look severe,
Saw Beauty's hand her sceptre bear,—
By rlill" ami haunted wild I'll sing,
Responsive to thy dulcet string.

When wanes the circling year away,
When scarcely smiles the doubtful day,
Fair daughter of Dunedin, say.
Hast thou not heard, at midnight deep,
Soft music on thy slumbers creepT
At such a time, if careless thrown
Thy slender form on couch of down,
Hast thou not felt, to nature true.
The tear steal from thine eye so blue T
If then thy guiltless bosom strove
In blissful dreams of conscious love,
And even shrunk from proffer bland
Of lover's visionary hand,
On such ecstatic dream when brake
The music of the midnight Wake,
Hast thou not weened thyself on high,
List'ning to angels' melody,
'Scaped from a world of cares away,
To dream of love and bliss for aye T

The dream dispelled, the music gone,
Hast thou not, sighing, all alone,
Proffered thy vows to Heaven, and then
Blest the sweet Wake, and slept again?

Then list, ye maidens, to my lay, Though old the talc, and past the day; Those Wakes, now played by minstrels poor, At midnight's darkest, chillest hour,

Those humble Wakes, now scorned by all,
Were first begun in courtly hall,
When royal M»ry, blithe of mood.
Kept holiday at Holyrood.

Scotland, involved in factious broils.
Groaned deep beneath her woes and toils,
And looked o'er meadow, dale and lea,
For many a day her Queen to see;
Hoping that then her woes would cease,
And all her valleys smile in peace.
The Spring was past, the Summer gone;
Still vacant stood the Scottish throne:
But scarce had Autumn's mellow hand
Waved her rich banner o'er the land,
When rang the shouts, from tower and tree.
That Scotland's Queen was on the sea.
Swift spread the news o'er down and dale,
Swift as the lively autumn-gale;
Away, away, it echoed still.
O'er many a moor and Highland hill,
Till rang each glen and verdant plain,
From Cheviot to the northern main.

Each bard attuned the loyal lay, And for Dunedin hied nway; Each harp was strung in woodland-bower, In praise of beauty's bonniest flower. The chiefs forsook their ladies fair; The priest his beads and books of prayer; The farmer left his harvest-day. The shepherd all his flocks to stray; The forester forsook the wood And hasted on to Holyrood.

After a youth, by woes o'ercast, After a thousand sorrows past, The lovely Mary once again Set foot upon her native plain; Kneeled on the pier with modest grncc, And turned to heaven her beauteous face. 'Twas then the caps in air were blended, A thousand thousand shouts ascended; Shivered the breeze around the throng; Gray barrier-cliffs the peals prolong; And every tongue gave thanks to Heaven, That Mary to their hopes was given.

Her comely form and graceful mien, Bespoke the Lady nnd the Queen; The woes of one so fair and young, Moved every heart and every tongue. Driven from her home, a helpless child, To brave the winds and billows wild; An exile bred in realms afar. Amid commotion, broil, nnd war: In one short year her hopes all crossed,— A parent, husband, kingdom lost! And all ere eighteen years had shed Their honours o'er her royal head. For such a Queen, the Stuarts' heir, A Queen so courteous, young, and fair. Who would not every foe defy! Who would not stand! who would not die!

Light on her airy steed she sonar Around with golden tassels hung. No chieftain there rode half so free. Or half so light and gracefully. How sweet to see her ringlets pile Wide waving in the southland-gale. Which through the broom-wood k!<v

flew. To fan her cheeks of rosy hue! Whene'er it heaved her bosonri Km-. What beauties in her form were ten And when her courser's mane it Ivk A thousand silver bells were rung. A sight so fair, on Scottish plain, A. Scot shall never see again.

When Mary turned her wonderincp On rocks that seemed to prop the sta On palace, park, and battled pile; On lake, on river, sea, and isle; O'er woods and meadows bathed in *> To distant mountains wild and Mae; She thought the isle, that gave her I The sweetest, wildest land on cant.

Slowly she ambled on her way Amid her lords and ladies gay. Priest, abbot, layman, all were thn* And presbyter with look severe: There rode the lords of France a*d Sf Of England, Flanders, and Lorrai*. While serried thousands roond theaf From shore of Leith to Holyrood.

Though Mary's heart was light »-: To find a home so wild and fair; To see a gathered nation by, And rays of joy from every eye; Though frequent shouts the welkin l»" Though courtiers bowed and ladie* "■"• An absent look they oft could trace Deep settled on her comely face. Was it the thought that all alone She must support a rocking throat! That Caledonia's rugged land Might scorn a Lady's weak eommw' And the Red Lion's haughty eye Scowl at a maiden's feet to lie?

No; 'twas the notes of Scottish «*■* Soft pealing from the countless thrtis So mellowed came the distant swell. That on her ravished ear it fell Like dew of heaven, at evening-ek* On forest-flower or woodland-nw For Mary's heart, to nature true. The powers of song and rausir lne» Rut all the choral measures bland. Of anthems sung in sontliern land. Appeared an useless pile of art. Unfit to sway or melt the heart. Compared with that which floated 1; Her simple native melody.

As she drew nigh the Ahhey-stih; She halted, reined, and bent the wkik

She heard the Caledonian lyre
Jour forth its notes of Runic fire;
Jut scarcely caught the ravished Queen
Tlic minstrel's song that flowed between;
•:ntranced upon the strain she hung,
Tv» as thus the gray-haired minstrel sung:

)! Lady dear, fair is thy noon,
Jut man is like the inconstant moon:
..ast night she smiled o'er lawn and lea;
That moon will change, and so will he.

Thy time, dear Lady, 's a passing shower;
Thy heauty is hut a fading flower;
■Vatch thy young hosom, and maiden eye,
■"or the shower must fall, and the floweret die.

What ails my Queen? said good Argyle, Vhy fades upon her cheek the smile? lay, rears your steed too fierce and high? )r sits your golden seat awry?

Ah! no, my Lord! this noble steed, )f Rouen's calm and generous breed, fas borne me over hill and plain, Iwift as the dun-deer of the Seine. tut such a* wild and simple lay, 'oured from the harp of minstrel gray, ly every sense away it stole, Lnd swayed a while my raptured soul. >! say, jny Lord, (for you must know Vhat strains along your valleys flow aid all the hoards of Highland lore) Vas ever song so sweet before?—

Replied the Earl, as round he flung,— "eeble the strain that minstrel sung! ly royal Dame, if once you heard 'he Scottish lay from Highland bard, 'hen might you say, in raptures meet, (o song was ever half so sweet! t nerves the arm of warrior wight 'o deeds of more than mortal might; "will make the maid, in all her charms, all weeping in her lover's arms; Twill charm the mermaid from the deep; lake mountain-oaks to bend and weep;

brill every heart with horrors dire, nil shape the breeze to forms of fire. >rhcn poured from green-wood-bower at

even, "will draw the spirits down from heaven; nil nil the fays that haunt the wood, o dance around in frontic mood, md tune their mimic harps so boon toneath the cliff and midnight-moon, •h! yes, my Queen! if once yon heard he Scottish Iny from Highland bard, hen might you say, in raptures meet,

o song was ever half so sweet


Queen Mary lighted in the court; ueen Mary joined the evening's sport;

Yet, though at table all were seen
To wonder at her air and mien;
Though courtiers fawned and ladies sung,

Still in her car the accents rung,

Watch thy young- bosom, and maiden eye,
For the shower must fall, and the floweret die.
These words prophetic seemed to be
Foreboding woe and misery;
And much she wished to prove, ere long,
The wond'rous powers of Scottish song.

When next to ride the Queen was bound,
To view the city's ample round,
On high amid the gathered crowd,
A herald thus proclaimed aloud:—

"Peace, peace to Scotland's wasted vales, To her dark heaths and Highland dales; To her brave sons of warlike mood, To all her daughters fair and good; Peace o'er her ruined vales shall pour, Like beam of heaven behind the shower. Let every harp and echo ring; Let maidens smile and poets sing; For love and peace entwined shall sleep, Calm as the moon-beam on the deep, By waving wood and wandering rill, On purple heath and Highland hill. The soul of warrior stern to charm, And bigotry and rage disarm, Our Queen commands, that every hard Due honours have, and high regard. If, to his song of rolling fire, He join the Caledonian lyre, And skill in legendary lore, Still higher shall his honour soar. For all the arts beneath the heaven, That man has found, or God has given, None draws the soul so sweet away, As music's melting mystic lay; Slight emblem of the bliss above, It sooths the spirit all to love. To cherish this attractive art, To lull the passions, mend the heart, And break the moping zealot's chains, Hear what our lovely Queen ordains.

"Each Caledonian bard must seek Her courtly halls on Christmas-week, That then the'Royal Wake may be Cheered by their thrilling minstrelsy. No ribaldry the Queen must hear," No song unmeet for maiden's ear, No jest, nor adulation bland, But legends of our native land; And he whom most the court regards, High be his honours and rewards. Let every Scottish bard give ear, Let every Scottish bard appear; He then before the court must stand. In native garb, with harp in hand. At home no minstrel dare to tarry: High the. behest.—God save Queen Mary!"

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