CHORUS.

May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and LandThen up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her,

ward, She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more ;

From the hall of the peer to the herd's ingle-nook ; In sport we 'll attend her, in battle defend her, And huzza! my brave hearts, for BUCCLBUGH and his With heart and with hand, like our fathers before.

standard,

For the King and the Country, the Clan and the Duke!
When the southeru invader spread waste and disorder,

At the glance of her crescents he paused and withdrew, Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her,
For around them were marshall'd the pride of the Border, She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more ;
The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of BUCCLEUGH. In sport we 'll attend her, in batlle defend her,
Then
up with the Banner, etc.

With heart and with hand, like our fathers before.

UB OS

0, Fan,

men,

pirit,

A stripling's weak hand to our revel has borne her,

No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen surround;
But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should scorn her,
A thousand true hearts would be cold on the ground.
Then

up

with the Banner, etc.

IMPROMPTU.

TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE.

We forget each contention of civil dissension, Of yore, in old England, it was not thought good

And hail like our brethren, Home, Douglas, and Car; To carry two visages under one bood;
And Elliot and Pringle in pastime shall mingle, What should folks say to you, who have faces such plenty,
As welcome in peace as their fathers in war.

That from under one hood you last night show'd us twenty?
Then up with the Banner, etc.

Stand forth, arch deceiver! and tell us, in truth,

Are you handsome or ugly? in age, or in youth ? Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the weather, Man, woman, or child ? or a dog, or a mouse?

And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall, Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house? There are worse things in life than a tumble on heather, Each live thing did I ask ? each dead implement too! And life is itself but a game at foot-ball.

A work-shop in your person-saw, chisel, and screw? Then up with the Banner, etc.

Above all, are you one individual ? I know

You must be, at the least, Alexandre and Co.
And when it is over, we 'll drink a blithe measure But I think you ’re a troop-an assemblage-a mob-

To each laird and cach lady that witness'd our fun, And that I, as the sheriff, must take up the job,
And to every blithe heart that took part in our pleasure, And, instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse,
To the lads that have lost and the lads that have won. Must read you the riot-act, and bid you disperse !
Then up with the Banner, etc.

Abbotsford, 23d April, 1824.

THE END.