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And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance,
When Edward named the tune and led the dauce.
Kind was his heart, his passions quick and strong,
Ilearty his laugh, and jovial was his song;
And if he loved a gun, his father swore,
<<'T was but a trick of youth would soon be o'er;
Himself had done the same some thirty years before.>>

But he, whose humours spurn law's awful yoke,
Must herd with those by whom law's bouds are broke.
The common dread of justice soon allies
The clown, who robs the warren or excise,
With sterner felons train'd to act more dread,
E'en with the wretch by whom his fellow bled.
Then, as in plagues the foul contagions pass,
Leavening and festering the corrupted mass,-
Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives draw,
Their hope impunity, their fear the law;

Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same,
Till the revenue baulk'd, or pilfer'd game,
Flesh the young culprit, and example leads
To darker villany and direr deeds.

Wild howl'd the wind the forest glades along, And oft the owl renew'd her dismal song; Around the spot where erst he felt the wound, Red William's spectre walk'd his midnight round. When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look, From the green marshes of the stagnant brook The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook; The waning moon, with storm-presaging gleam, Now gave and now withheld her doubtful beam; The old oak stoop'd his arms, then flung them high, Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky'T was then, that, couch'd amid the brushwood sere In Malwood-walk, young Mansell watch'd the deer: The fattest buck received his deadly shotThe watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot. Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their strife, O'erpower'd at length the outlaw drew his knife! Next morn a corpse was found upon the fell— The rest his waking agony may tell !

THE DANCE OF DEATH.

NIGHT and morning were at meeting
Over Waterloo;

Cocks had sung their earliest greeting,
Faint and low they crew,
For no paly beam yet shone

On the heights of Mount Saint John;
Tempest-clouds prolong'd the sway
Of timeless darkness over day;
Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower,
Mark'd it a predestined hour.

Broad and frequent through the night
Flash'd the sheets of levin-light;
Muskets, glancing lightnings back,
Show'd the dreary bivouack

Where the soldier lay,

Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain, Wishing dawn of morn again,

Though death should come with day.

'T is at such a tide and hour,
Wizard, witch, and fiend have power,
And ghastly forms through mist and shower,
Gleam on the gifted ken;

And then the affrighted prophet's ear
Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear,
Presaging death and ruin near

Among the sons of men:-
Apart from Albyn's war-array,
'T was then gray Allan sleepless lay;
Gray Allan, who, for many a day,
Had follow'd stout and stern,
Where through battle's rout and reel,
Storm of shot and hedge of steel,
Led the grandson of Lochiel,
Valiant Fassiefern.

Through steel and shot he leads no more,
Low-laid mid friends and foemen's gore-
But long his native lake's wild shore,
And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower,
And Morven long shall tell,

And proud Ben Nevis hear with awe,
How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,
Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra
Of conquest as he fell.

'Lone on the outskirts of the host, The weary sentinel held post,

And heard, through darkness far aloof,
The frequent clang of courser's hoof,
Where held the cloak'd patrole their course,
And spurr'd 'gainst storm the swerving horse;
But there are sounds in Allan's ear,
Patrole nor sentinel may hear,
And sights before his eye aghast
Invisible to them have pass'd,

When down the destined plain
'Twixt Britain and the bands of France,
Wild as marsh-borne meteors glance,
Strange phantoms wheel'd a revel dance,

And doom'd the future slain.

Such forms were seen, such sounds were beard, When Scotland's James his march prepared

For Flodden's fatal plain;

Such, when he drew his ruthless sword,

As Chusers of the Slain, adored

The yet unchristen'd Dane.

An indistinct and phantom band,

They wheel'd their ring-dance hand in hand, With gesture wild and dread;

The seer,

who watch'd them ride the storm, Saw through their faint and shadowy form The lightning's flash more red; And still their ghastly roundelay Was of the coming battle-fray, And of the destined dead.

SONG.

Wheel the wild dance,
While lightnings glance,

And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave

To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

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Shall the welkin's thunders shame; Elemental rage is tame

To the wrath of man.

At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe
Heard of the vision'd sights he saw,

The legend heard him say;
But the seer's gifted eye was dim,
Deafen'd his ear, and stark his limb,

Ere closed that bloody day

He sleeps far from his Highland heath,— But often of the Dance of Death

His comrades tell the tale

On piquet-post, when ebbs the night, And waning watch-fires glow less bright, And dawn is glimmering pale.

FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. ENCHANTRESS, farewell, who so oft hast decoy'd me, At the close of the evening through woodlands to roam, Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me

Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild speaking, The language alternate of rapture and woe;

Oh! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are

breaking,

The pang that I feel at our parting can know.

Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came

sorrow,

Or pale disappointment, to darken my way, What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morrow, Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day? But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning, The grief, queen of numbers, thou canst not assuage: Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining, The languor of pain, and the chillness of age.

'T was thou that once taught me, in accents bewailing,
To sing how a warrior lay stretch'd on the plain,
And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing,
And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ;

As vain those enchantments, O queen of wild numbers,
To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er,
And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers—
Farewell then-Enchantress!-I meet thee no more.

EPITAPH ON MRS ERSKINE.

PLAIN, as her native dignity of mind,
Arise the tomb of her we have resign'd:
Unflaw'd and stainless be the marble scroll,
Emblem of lovely form, and candid soul.-
But, oh! what symbol may avail, to tell
The kindness, wit, and sense, we loved so well!
What sculpture show the broken ties of life,
Here buried with the parent, friend, and wife!
Or, on the tablet, stamp each title dear,
By which thine urn, EUPHEMIA, claims the tear!
Yet, taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume
Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb,
Resign'd, though sad, this votive verse shall flow,
And brief, alas! as thy brief span below.

MR KEMBLE'S FAREWELL ADDRESS,

ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE.

remain subdued

As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound,
Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the ground-
Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns,
And longs to rush on the embattled lines,
So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear,
Can scarce sustain to think our parting near;
To think my scenic hour for ever past,
And that those valued plaudits are my last.
Why should we part, while still some powers remain,
That in your service strive not yet in vain?
Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply,
And sense of duty fire the fading eye?
And all the wrongs of
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude?
Ah no! the taper, wearing to its close,
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows;
But all too soon the transient gleam is past,
It cannot be renew'd, and will not last:
Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage
But short-lived conflict with the frosts of
Yes! It were poor, remembering what I was,
To live a pensioner on your applause,
To drain the dregs of your endurance dry,
And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy,
Till every sneering youth around inquires,

age

age.

<< Is this the man who once could please our sires!>>
And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful mien,
To warn me off from the encumber'd scene.
This must not be;-and higher duties crave
Some space between the theatre and the grave;
That, like the Roman in the Capitol,
I may adjust my mantle ere I fall:
My life's brief act in public service flown,

The last, the closing scene, must be my own.

EPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL,

SPOKEN BY MRS H. SIDDONS.

A CAT of yore (or else old Æsop lied)
Was changed into a fair and blooming bride,
But spied a mouse upon her marriage day,

Forgot her spouse and seized upon her prey;
Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw,
Threw off poor me and pounced upon papa.
His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose,
He twisted round my sire's the literal noose.
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labour,
Since the New Jail became our next-door neighbour.'

your fathers'

age

Yes, times are changed, for in
The lawyers were the patrons of the stage;

However high advanced by future fate,

There stands the bench (points to the Pit) that first received their weight.

The future legal sage, 't was ours to see,

Doom though unwigg'd, and plead without a fee.

But now astounding each poor mimic elf,
Instead of lawyers comes the Law herself;
Tremendous neighbour, on our right she dwells,
Builds high her towers and excavates her cells;
While on the left, she agitates the town
With the tempestuous question, Up or down ?2
'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we,
Law's final end and law's uncertainty.

But soft! who lives at Rome the pope must flatter,
And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter.
Then just farewell! we wait with serious awe,
Till your applause or censure gives the law,
Trusting our humble efforts may assure ye,
We hold you court and counsel, judge and jury.

SON G.

Here, then, adieu! while yet some well-graced parts OH, say not, my love, with that mortified air,

May fix an ancient favourite in your hearts,

Not quite to be forgotten, even when

You look on better actors, younger men:

And if your bosoms own this kindly debt
Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget-
O, how forget!-how oft I hither came,
In anxious hope, how oft return'd with fame!
How oft around your circle this weak hand
Has waved immortal Shakspeare's magic wand,
Till the full burst of inspiration came,
And I have felt, and you have fann'd the flame!
By memory treasured, while her reign endures,
Those hours must live-and all their charms are yours.

O favour'd land! renown'd for arts and arms, For manly talent and for female charms, Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line, What fervent benedictions now were thine! But last part is play'd, my knell is rung, my When e'en your praise falls faltering from my tongue; And all that you can hear, or I can tell,

Is-Friends and Patrons, hail, and FARE YOU WELL!

That your spring-time of pleasure is flown, Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair, For those raptures that still are thine own.

Though April his temples may wreathe with the vine, Its tendrils in infancy curl'd,

"T is the ardour of August matures us the wine Whose life-blood enlivens the world.

Though thy form, that was fashion'd as light as a fay's, Has assumed a proportion more round,

And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon's at gaze,
Looks soberly now on the ground,-

Enough, after absence to meet me again,
Thy steps still with ecstacy move;
Enough, that those dear sober glances retain
For me the kind language of love!

1 It is necessary to mention, that the allusions in this piece are all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience. The new prisons of the city, on the Calton Hill, are not far from the Theatre. 2 At this time the public of Edinburgh was much agitated by a lawsuit betwixt the magistrates and many of the inhabitants of the city, concerning the range of new buildings on the western side of the North Bridge; which the latter insisted should be removed as a deformity.

THE PALMER.

<< O OPEN the door, some pity to show, Keen blows the northern wind;

The glen is white with the drifted snow, And the path is hard to find.

<< No outlaw seeks your castle gate,

From chasing the king's deer, Though even an outlaw's wretched state Might claim compassion here.

<< A weary Palmer, worn and weak, I wander for my sin;

O open, for Our Lady's sake,

A pilgrim's blessing win!

«I'll give you pardons from the pope,
And reliques from o'er the sea,-
Or if for these you will not ope,
Yet open for charity.

<< The hare is crouching in her form,
The hart beside the hind;

An aged man, amid the storm,
No shelter can I find.

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much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her organs, that she is said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on without recognizing her, or even slackening his pace. The lady was unable to support the shock, and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants. There is an instance similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's Fleur d'Épine.

O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see,
And lovers' ears in hearing;
And love, in life's extremity,

Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary's bower,

And slow decay from mourning, Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower, To watch her love's returning.

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,
Her form decay'd by pining,

Till through her wasted hand, at night,
You saw the taper shining.

By fits, a sultry hectic hue

Across her cheek was flying;
By fits, so ashy pale she
grew,
Her maidens thought her dying.

Yet keenest powers to see and hear
Seem'd in her frame residing;
Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear,
She heard her lover's riding;
Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd,
She knew, and waved to greet him;
And o'er the battlement did bend,
As on the wing to meet him.

He came-he pass'd-an heedless gaze,
As o'er some stranger, glancing;
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,
Lost in his courser's prancing-
The castle arch, whose hollow tone
Returns each whisper spoken,
Could hardly catch the feeble moan
Which told her heart was broken.

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH.

THERE is a tradition in Tweeddale, that when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted between a daughter of that noble family, and a son of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence, the lady fell into a consumption, and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though

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And thought o' the bark where my Willie was sailing, And wish'd that the tempest could a' blaw on me.

Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring,
Now that my wanderer 's in safety at hame,
Music to me were the wildest winds roaring,

That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean faem.

When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle,

And blythe was each heart for the great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle,

And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me.

But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen,

Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar, And, trust me, I'll smile though my een they may glisten;

For sweet after danger 's the tale of the war.

And oh, how we doubt when there 's distance 'tween lovers,

When there's naething to speak to the heart thro'

the ee;

How often the kindest, and warmest prove rovers, And the love of the faithfulest ebbs like the sea.

Till, at times-could I help it?-I pined and I ponder'd, If love could change notes like the bird on the treeNow I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wander'd, Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me.

Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel,
Hardships and danger despising for fame,

Furnishing story for glory's bright annal,
Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame.

Enough now thy story in annals of glory

Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain;

No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave

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