As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's Round,

Erects bis mane, and neighs, and paws the ground—

Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns,

And longs to rush on the embattled lines,

S« I, your plaudits ringiug on mine ear,

Can scarce susrai n to think our parting near;

To think my scenic hour for ever past,

And that those valued plaudits are my last.

Why should we pari, while still some powers remain,

That in your service strive not yet in vain?

Cannot high zeal the strength of vouth supply,

And sense of duly fire the fading eye?

And all the wrongs of age remain subdued

IWicath the burning glow of gratitude?

Ah no' the taper, wearing to its close,

<>fi for a space in fitful lustre glows;

Eut all too soon the transient gleam is past,

It ranum he renew d, ami will not List;

torn duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage

But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age.

irt! It were poor, remembering what I was,

To like a pensioner on your applause,

Todr.iio 1 he dregs of your endurance dry.

And take, as alms the praise I once could buy,

Till every sneering youth around inquires,

« I* this the man who once could please our sires!»

And scorn assumes compassions doubtful mien,

Tn *nrn me off from the encumber'd scene.

This must not be;—and higher duties crave

Somr space between the theatre and the grave;

That, like the Roman in the Capitol,

I may adjust my mantle ere 1 fall:

Mr life's brief act in public service flown,

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

Ih-re, then, adieu! while yet some well-graced parts Miy lix an ancient favourite in your hearts, Not quite to be forgotten, even wheii Tou look on better actors, younger men: And if your bosoms own (his kindly debt Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget— »>. liow forget!—how oft I hither came In anxious hope, how oft relurn'd with fame! Hijw oft around your circle this weak baud Has waved immortal Shak*pea re's magic wand, I'll the full hurst of inspiration came, And I have felt, and yon have fann'd the flame! Uv memory treasured, while her reign endures, Those hours must live—aud all their charms-are yours.

0 favourd land ! renown d for arts and arms, for manly talent and for female charms, ■oulj this full bosom prompt the sinking line, "Ijat fervent benedictions now were thine! Hut my last part is play d, my knell is rung, wlieo e'en your praise falls faltering from my tongue; And all tltat you can hear, or I cau tell, h—Friends and Patrons, hail, aud Fa Be You Well!



A Cat of yore (or else old jfcsop bed)

"as changed into a fair and blooming bride,

Hut 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.1

Yes, times are changed, for in your fathers' age
The lawyers were the patrons of the stage;
However high advanced by future fate.
There stands the bench {points to the Pit) that first re-
ceived their weight-
The future legal sage, 't was ours to see,
Doom though uuwigg'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,
Ituilds high her towers and excavates her cells;
While on the left, she agitates the towu
W ith the tempestuous question, Up or down? 3
Twixt Scylla and Charyhdis thus stand we,
Law's Imal cud aud law's uncertainty.
Tut Boft! who lives at Rome the pope must flatter,
And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter.
Then—just farewell! we wail with serious awe,
Till your applause or censure gives the law,
Trusting our humble efforts may assure ye,
We hold you court aud counsel, judge aud jury.


Ob, say not, my love, with that mortified air.
That your spring-time of pleasure is tlown.

Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair,
For those raptures that still are thine own.

Though April his temples may wreathe with (he 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, tli.it was bright as a falcon's at gaze. Looks soberly now on the ground,—

Enough, after absence to meet me again,

Thv steps stdl with ecstasy move;
Enough, that those dear sober glances retain

For me the kind language of love!

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

«No outlaw seeks your ensile gate,
Froin chasing the kind's deer,

Though even an outlaw's wretched slate
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 '11 give you pardons from the pope,
And reliques from o"cr the sea,—

Or if for these you will not ope,
Yet open for charily.

« The hare is crouching in her form,

The hart beside the hind;
An aged man, amid the storm,

No shelter can I find.

« You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar,
Dark, deep, and strong is he,

And I must ford the Ettrick o'er,
Unless you pity mc.

wTlic iron gate is bolted hard.

At which I knock in vain;
The owner's heart is closer barr'd,

Who hears mc thus complain.

« Farewell, farewell ! and Mary grant,

When old and frail you be, You never may the shelter want,

That's now denied to me.»

The ranger on his couch lay warm.
And heard him plead in vain;

But oft, amid December's storm,
He 11 hear that voice agaiu:

For lo, when through the vapours dank,

Morn shone on Ettrick fair, A corpse amid the alders rank,

The Palmer welter d there.


Tiikrk is a tradition in Twecddalc, that when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Karls of March, a mutual passion subsisted between n daughter of that noble family, and a son of the Laird of Tushiclaw, 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, ou the road to Tushiclaw, the young lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house iu Peebles, belonging to the family,

that she might see him a* he rode past. Hersmtrrr and eagerness gave such force to her organs, that dw i» said to have distinguished his horse's footstep* aiaaiacredible distance. But TushieUw, unprepared for t!«e change iu her appearance, and not expecting to see 1*; in that place, rode on without recognizing her, of ewn slackening his pace. The lady was unable to tapper? the shock, and, after a short struggle, died in the armof her attendants. There is an iustance similar to ii; traditional talc in Couut Hamilton's Fteur dEpine.

0 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 ou Neidpath's tower,

. To watch her love's returning.

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,

llcr 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 ber dying.

Yet keenest powers to see and hear

Scem'd in her frame residing;
Before the watch-dor;; prick'd his ear.

She heard her lovers riding;
Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd.

Si"* knew, and waved to grot t him; And o'er llie 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 phnse.

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 *as broken.

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Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring,
Now that my wanderer "s in safety at hame,

Mu>ic 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 blythc 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 shall thou tell, while I eagerly listen,
Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar,

And, trust me, I 'II smile though my een they may
For sweet after danger's the tale of the war.

And oh, how we doubt when there 's distance 'tween lovers, When there's nac thing to speak to the heart thro' thece; How often the kindest, and warmest prove rovers, Aud 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 tree—

Now I 'U ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wander'd,
Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me.

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

Furnishing story for glory's bright Miih.ii,
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 shall thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave ma,

1 never will part with my Willie again.


Waikn, lords and ladies gay,

On the mountain dawns the day,

All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear;

Hounds arc in their couples yelling,

Hawks arc whistling, horns arc knelling,

Merrily, merrily, mingle they,

« Waken, lords and ladies gay.»

Waken, lords and ladies gay,

The mist has left the mountain gray,

Springlets in tlie dawn arc steaming,

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming:

And foresters have busy been,

To track the buck in thicket green;

Kow we come lo chaunt our lay,

• Waken, lords aud ladies gay.»

Waken, lords aud ladies gay,
To the green-wood h.iste away;
We can show you where lie lies,
Fleet of foot, aud tall of size;

Wc can show the marks he made,
When gainst the oak hU antlers fray"d;
You shall see him brought to bay,
« Wakcu, lords and ladies gay.»

Louder, louder chaunt the lay,

Waken, lords and ladies gay!

Tell them youth, and mirth, aud glee,

Rub a course as well as wc;

Time, stern huntsman 1 who can baulk.

Staunch as hound, and fleet as hawk;

Think of this, and rise with day,

Gentle lords and ladies gay.


The violet in her green-wood bower,

Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle,

May boast itself the fairest flower
In glen, or copse, or forest diugle.

Though fair her gems of azure hue,

Beneath the dew-drops weight reclining,

I 've seen an eye of lovelier blue,

More sweet through watery lustre shining.

The summer sun that dew shall dry.
Ere yet the day be past its morrow;

>'or longer in my false love's eye,
Remain the tear of parting sorrow.



Take these flowers, which, purple waving,

On the mind rampart grew, Where, the sons of freedom braving,

Rome's imperial standards flew.

Warriors from the breach of danger
Pluck no longer laurels there:

They hut yield the passing stranger
Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's hair.



The Forest of Glenmore is drear,

It is all of black pine and the dark oak-tree;
And the midnight wind, lo the mountain deer.

Is whistling the forest lullaby:
The moon looks through the drifting storm,
Rut the troubled lake reflects not her form.
For the waves roll w hitening to the land, ■
And dash against the shclvy strand.

There is a voice amoug the trees

That mingles with the groaning oakThai mingles with the stormy breeze, . And the lake-waves dashing against llut rock;There is a Toice within tiie wood,

The Toice of the Bard in fitful mood;

His song was louder than the blast,

As the Bard of Glenmone through the forest past.

« Wake ye from your sleep of death.

Minstrels and Bnrds of other days!
For the midnight wind is on the heath,

Aud the midn:ght meteors dimly bla!e!
The Spectre with his Bloody Hand,1
Is wandering through the wild woodland;
The owl and the raven arc mule for dread,
Aud the time is meet to awake the dead!

« Souls of the mighty, wake and say,

To what high strain your harps were strung,

When Lochlin plough'd her billowy way,
And on your shores her Norsemen flung?

Her Norsemen train'd lo spoil and blood,

Skill'd to prepare the raven's food,

All, by your harpings doomd to die

On bloody Largs and Loncarty.* «

« Mute are ye all: no murmurs strange
Upon the midnight breeze sail by;

Nor through the pines with whistling change,
Mimic the harps wild harmony! •

Mute are ye now?—Ye ne'er were mute.

When Murder with his bloody foot,

And Rapine with his iron liand.

Were hovering near yon mountain strand.

«Oyet awake the strain to tell,

By every deed in song enroll'd,
By every chief who fought or fell,

For Albion's weal in battle bold;—
From Coilgach,3 first who roll'd his car,
Through the deep ranks of Roman war,
To him, of veteran memory dear.
Who victor died on Abouktr.

»< By all their swords, by all (heir scars,

By all their names, a mighty spell!
By all their wounds, by all their wars.

Arise, the mighty strain lo tell!
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain,
More impious than the heathen Dane,
More grasping than all-grasping Rome,
Gaul's ra\eniug legious hither corae!»

The wind is hush'd, and still the lake—
Strange murmurs till my tingling cars,

Bristles my hair, my sinews quake,
At the dread voice of other years—

• When targets clnsh'd, and bugles rung,

And blades round warriors* heads were Hung,

The foremost of the band were we.

And hymu'd the joys of Liberty !»

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Mt wayward fate I needs must plain,

Though bootless be the theme;
I loved, and was beloved again,

Yet all was but a dream:
For, as her love was quickly got,

So it was quickly gone;
No more I '11 bask in dune so bot,

But coldly dwell alone.

Not maid more bright than maid was rer

My fancy shall beguile.
By Haltering word, or feigned fear.

By gesture, look, or smile:
No more I II rail the shaft fair shot.

Till it has fairly flown,
Nor scorch me at a Name so hot;

I 'II rather freeze alone.

Each ambush'd'Cupid 1 II defy,

In cheek, or chin, or brow.
And deem the glance of woman's me

As weak as woman's vow:
I II lightly hold the lady s heart,

That is but lightly vou .
I II steel my breast to beauty's art,

And learn to live alone.

The flaunting torch soon bhxes out.

The diamond's ray abides,
The flame its glory hurls about.

The gem its lustre hide-;
Such gem 1 fondly deem'd w^> mine,

Aud glow'd a diamond stone.
But, since each eye may see it shine.

I II darkliug dwell alone.

No waking dream shall tinge my ihoojki

With dyes so bright and vain.
No silken net, so slightly wrought.

Shall tangle me again:
No more I II pay so dear for wit,

I 'II live upon miue own;
Nor shall wild passion trouble it,—

I '11 rather dwell alone.

And thus I 'II hush my heart to rest,—

• Thy loving labour's lost;
Thou shah no more be wil Hy blest.

To be so strangely erost:
The widow'd turtles matelcss die,

The phoenix is hut one;
They seek no loves—no more will I—

I 'II rather dwell alone.»

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This simple tablet marks a father's bier,
And those he loved in life, in death are near;
For him, for them, a daughter bade it rise.
Memorial of domestic charities.

Still wouldst thou know why, o'er the marble spread,
In female grace the willow droops her head;
Why on her branches, silent ami unstrung,
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung;
Wb.it poet's voice is smother'd here in dust,

Till waked to join the chorus of the just,

to! one brief line an answer s.id supplies, llouour'il. beloved, and inourn'd, here Seward lies! Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship say,— Go seek her genius in her liviug lay.


0*ce again, but how changed since my wanderings

I have heard the deep voice of the l«igau and Rann,
And the pines of Cambrassil resound to the roar,
That wearies the echoes of f.iir Tullamore.
Alas! my poor bosom, and why shouldsl thou burn;
With the sceues of my youth can its raptures return?
(an I live the dear life of delusion again,
That tlow'd when these echoes first mild with my strain!

It was then that around me, though poor and unknown,
High spells of mysterious enchantment were thrown:
The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew,
The land was an Eden, for fancy was new.
I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire
At the rush of their verse and the sweep of their lyre:
To me 't was not legend, nor tale to the ear, •
But a vision of noontide, distinguish d and char.

rilonia's old heroes awoke at the call,

And renew'd the wild pomp of the chase and the hall;

And the standard of Fion flash'd fierce from on high,

lake a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh.1

It seem d that the harp of green Erin once more

O-uld rrnew all the glories she boasted of yore.—

Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, slrouldst thou

They were days of delusion, and cannot return.

But was she too a phantom, the maid who stood by,
And listed my lay, while she turu'd from mine eye!
Was she, loo. a vision, just glancing to view.
Then dispersed in the sunbeam or melted to dew?
Oh! would it bad beco so! Oil! would thai her eye
Had been but a star-glance that shot through the sky,
And her voice that was moulded to melody's thrill,
Ibid been but a zephyr that sigh'd and was still!

Oh' would it had been so! Not then this poor heart
Had learn d the sad lesson, to love and to part;
To bear, unassisted, it-, burthen of care,
While I loird for the wealth I had no one to share.
Sol then had I said, when life's summer was done.
And the hours of her autumn were fast speeding on,
• Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your train,
And restore me the dream of my spring-tide ag.iiu!»

• ■• nrint Iri.li foetrj. Iho lUadard of lion, or Fiocsl. U rall^t «!'<■ Sum-hmrut ID rpitfaet feebly reodcrwl l<j Ibu Sun-bfitm 01 asacwlwnoa.


«0 Tell roe, harper, wherefore flow
Thy wayward notes of wail.and woe
Far down the desert of filencoe,

Where none may list their melody?
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly.
Or to the dun deer glancing by,
Or to the eagle that from high

Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?"

«No, not to these, for they have rest,—
The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest.
The stag his loir, the erne her nest,

Abode of lone security.
But those for whom I pour the lay.
Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain gray,
Not this deep dell that shrouds from day,

Gould screen from treach'rous cruelly.

« Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum,
The very household dogs were dumb,
Unworn to bay at guests that come

hi guise of hospitality.
His blithest notes the piper plied.
Her gayest snood the m;iiden tied,
The dame her distaff tiling aside,

To lend her kindly housewifery.

«The hand that mingled iu the meal,
At midnight drew the felon steel,
Aud gave the host's kind breast to feel

Meed for his hospitality!
The friendly hearth which warm'd that baud,
At midnight arm'd it with the brand.
That bjde destruction's flames expand

Their red and fearful blazonry.

« Then woman's shriek was heard iu vain,

Nor infancy's unpitied plain,

More than the warrior's groan, could gain

llespite from ruthless butchery! The winter wind that whistled shrill. The snows that night tint choked the bill. Though wild and pitiless, had still

Far more than soulhrou clemency.

« Long have my harp s best notes been gone. Few are its strings, and faint their lone, They can hut sound in desert loue

Their gray-hair'd master's misery. Were e.ieh gray hair a minstrel string. Each chord should imprecations fling. Till startled Scotland loud should riug,

'Revenge for blood and treachery!"



T is sweet to hear expiring summer's sigh,
Through forests tinged widi russet, wail and die;
T is sweet and sad the latest notes to bear
Of distant music, dying ou the ear ,

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