Upon my palfrey's neck, and let him loose.
Within an hour he stands before my gate;

And Magdalen will need no other token

To bid the Melrose monks say masses for me.

SWINTON. Thou art resolved to cheat thc halter, then’! non flA'l"l‘BLY. It is my purpose, Having lived a thief, to die a brave man's death; And never had I a more glorious chance for ‘t. swturon.

Here lies the way to it, knave.—Ma.ke in, make in,
And a.id young Gordon!

[Exetmt- Loud and long alarums. Afier which the back scene rises, and discovers

Swmruu on the ground, Goaoou supporting him; both much wounded.


All are cut down—the reapers have pass'd o’er us,
And hie to distant harvest.—My toil's over;

There lies my sickle. (Dropping his sword.) Hand of

mine again Shall never,never wield it! coupon.

O valiant leader, is thy light extinguish'd!

That only beacon-flame which promised safety

In this day’s deadly wrack!

swmrou. My lamp hath long been dim. . But thine, young Gordon, Just kindled, to be quenchd so suddenly, Ere Scotland saw its splendour!--— cannon. Five thousand horse hung idly on you hill, Saw us o'erpower’d, and no one stirr’d to aid us! swm-ron.

It was the Regenfs envy—-Out !—alas!

Why blame I him '!—It was our civil discord,

Our selfish vanity, our jealous hatred,

Which framed this day of dole for our poor country.-
Had thy brave father held yon leading staff,

As well his rank and valour might have clairn'd it,
We had not fall'n unaided.—How, 0 how

Is he to answer it, whose deed prevented!


Alas! alas! the author of the death-feud,

He has his reckoning too‘. for bad your sons

And numerous vassals lived, we had lack'd no aid.

SWlN'I‘0NMay God assoil the dead, and him who follows !— We've drank the poison'd beverage which we brew'd; Have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold whirlwind !—But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart Pour'd oil upon the wounds our hate inflicted; Thou,who hast done no wi-ong,need'st no forgiveness,Why shouldst thou share our punishment! cannon. All need forgiveness—( Distant alarum.)—I:lark! in yonder shout ' Did the main battles counter ! !— swmron.

Look on the field, brave Gordon, if thou canst,

And tell me how the day goes.—But I guess,

Too surely do I guess-——



All's lost! all’s lost !—Of the main Scottish host,
Some wildly fly, and some rush wildly forward;

And some there are who seem to turn their spears
Against their countrymen. '


Rashness, and cowardice, and secret treason,

Combine to ruin us; and our hot valour,

Devoid of discipline, is madmen's strength,

More fatal unto friends than enemies!

I ‘am glad that these dim eyes shall see no more on 't.—
Let thy hand close them, Gordon—I will think
My fair-hair'd William renders me that officc!

And, Swinton, I will think I do that duty
To my dead father.

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Enter De VIPONT.


Fly, fly, brave youth !—A handful of thy followers,
The scatter’d gleaning of this desperate day,

Still hover yonder to essay thy rescue.—

O linger not !—I ‘ll be your guide to them.

Look there, and bid me fly'.—'l‘he oak has fallen;
And the young ivy-hush, which learn'd to climb
By its support, must needs partake its fall.

Swinton? Alas! the best, the bravest, strongest,
And sagest of our Scottish chivalry!

Forgive one moment, if to save the living,

My tongue should wrong the dead.—Gordon, bethink

thee, Thou dost but stayto perish with time corpse Of him who slew thy father. coanon.

Ay, but he was my sire in chivalry,

He taught my youth to soar above the promptings
Of mean and selfish vengeance; gave my youth

A name that shall not die even on this death-spot.
Records shall tell this field had not been lost,

Had all men fought like Swinton and like Gordon.
Save thee, De Vipont—Hark‘. the southron trumpets.

vnwom-. Nay, without thee I stir not.

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The sable hoar chain'd to the leafy oak,
And that huge mace still seen where war was wildest.


‘T is Alan Swinton!

Grim Chamberlain, who, in my tent at Weardale,
Stood by my startled couch with torch and mace,
When the Black Douglas‘ war—cry waked my camp.

oosnou (sinking down).
if thus thou know'st him,
Thou wilt respect his corpse.
xmc nnwuin.
As belted knight and crowned king, I will.

And let mine

Sleep at his side, in token that our death

Ended the feud of Swinton and of Gordon.

KING suwno.

It is the Gordon !—Is there aught beside

Edward can do to honour bravery,

Even in an enemy‘!

cosnon. Nothing but this‘Let not base Baliol, with his touch or look, Profane my corpse or Swinton's. I 've some breath still, Enough to say—Scotland-—~Elizaheth ‘. [Dies. cameos. Baliol,l would not brook such dying looks To buy the crwn you aim at. KING EDWARD (to VIPONT). Vipont, thy crossed shield shows ill in warfare Against a Christian king. vnwou-r.

Thatfihristian king is warring upon Scotland.

I was a Scotsman are l was a Templar, (2)

Sworn to my country ere I knew my order.

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For them the viewleu forms ofair obey,
Their bidding heed, nnd at their back repair;
They know what spirit hrews the nwrmful day,
And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare,
To see the phantom train their sorrel work prepare.'

Tm: tradition upon which the following stanzas are founded runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary both] (a hut built for the purpose of hunting), and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish, that they had pretty losses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and

1 Comnnch is the lamentntion for a deceased warrior, sung by the aged of the clan.


singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the syren, who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut: the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the ficnd,into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called, The Glen of the Green Women. Glenfiulas is a tract of forest ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited hy the Hacgregurs. To the west of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue called the Trosachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the some district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the castle of Donna, and


joins the Forth near Stirling. The pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands from that town‘. Glcnartney is a forest near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery.

0 noun a tie‘! O hone a rie’ ! I The pride of Albyn's line is o'er, aha fallen G1enartney's statelicst tree; " We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more! Q, sprung from great Macgillianore, ' The chief that never fear'd a foe, How matchless was thy broad claymore, How deadly thine unerring bow !

Well can the Saxon widows tell, (|)
How, on the Teith's resounding shore,
The boldest Lowland Warriors fell,
As down from Lenny‘s pass you bore.

But o'er his hills, on festal day, How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree; (2) _While youths and maids the light strathspey " So nimhly danced, with Highland glee.

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald’s shell,1
E’en age forgot his tresses hoar;

But now the loud lament we swell,
O, ne'er to see Lord Ronald more !

From distant isles a chieftain came,
The joys of I\onald‘s hall to find,

And chase with him the dark brown game,
That hounds o'er Albyn's hills of wind.

‘T was Moy; whom, in Columba"s isle,
The seer's prophetic spirit found, (3)
As, with a minslrel's fire the while,
He waked his harp's harmonious sound.

Full many a spell to him was known,
Which wandering spirits shrink to hear;

And many a lay of potent tone,
Was never meant for mortal ear.

For there, 't is said, in mystic mood,
High converse with the dead they hold,
And oft espy the fated shroud
That shall the future corpse enfold.

0 so it fell, that on a day,
To rouse the red deer from their den,
The chiefs have ta'en their distant way,
And scour‘d the deep Glenfinlas glen.

No vassals wait, their sports to aid,
To watch their safety, deck theirhoard :
Their simple dress, the Highland plaid;
Their trusty guard, the Highland sword.

Three summer days, through brake and dell, Their whistling shafts successful flew;

' 0 hone a r1'z' nignifiet—K Alas for the prince, or chief.»


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