Though anxious and timeless his life was expended,

In toils for our country preserved by his care, Though he died ere one ray o'er the nations ascended,

To light the long darkness of doubt and despair;
The storms he endured in our Britain's December,

The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame,
In her glory's rich harvest shall Britain remember,

And hallow the goblet that flows to his name.

Nor forget His grey head, who, all dark in affliction,

Is deaf to the tale of our victories won,
And to sounds the most dear to paternal affection,

The shout of his people applauding his Son ;
By his firmness unmoved in success and disaster,

By his long reign of virtue, remember his claim! With our tribute to Pitt join the praise of his Master, Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his

name. Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad mea

sure, The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid, To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright trea

sure, The wisdom that plann'd, and the zeal that'obey'd ! Fill Wellington's cup till it beam like his glory,

Forget not our own brave Dalhousie and GRÆME; A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their

story, And hallow the goblet which flows to their fame.

Dom in ihr Wudse pallet

SONG,

ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE HOUSE OF BUCCLEUCH,

AT A GREAT FOOT-BALL MATCH ON CARTERHAUGH.

From the brown crest of Newark its summons extending,

Our signal is waving in smoke and in flame; And each forester blithe, from his mountain descending, Bounds light o'er the heather to join in the game.

CHORUS. Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more ; In sport we'll attend her, in batlle defend her, With heart and with hand, like our fathers before.

When the Southern invader spread waste and disorder,

At the glance of her crescents he paused and with... drew, For around them were marshall’d the pride of the

Border, **The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of BUCCLEUCH. . Then up with the Banner, &c.

A Stripling's weak handto our revel has borne her, No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen sur

round;

ro

*[This song appears with music in Mr. G. Thomson's Collection -1826. The foot-ball match on which it was written took place on December 5, 1815, and was also celebrated by the Ettrick Shepherd.]

' [The bearer of the standard was the Author's eldest son.)

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, &c.
We forget each contention of civil dissension,

And hail, like our brethren, Home, Douglas, and Car:
And Elliot and Pringle in pastime shall mingle,
As welcome in peace as their fathers in war.

Then up with the Banner, &c. Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the wea

ther,
And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall,
There are worse things in life than a tumble on heather,
And life is itself but a game at foot-ball.

Then up with the Banner, &c.
And when it is over, we'll drink a blithe measure

To each Laird and each Lady that witness’d our fun, And to every blithe heart that took part in our plea

sure, To the lads that have lost and the lads that have won,

Then up with the Banner, &c. May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and Land

ward, From the hall of the Peer to the Herd's ingle-nook ; And huzza! my brave hearts, for BUCCLEUCH and his

Standard, For the King and the Country, the Clan and the

Duke! Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her,

She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more ; In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her,

With heart and with hand, like our fathers before.

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN.

Air — " A Border Melody.”

The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The others were written for Mr. Campbell's Albyn's Anthology.

(1816.]

I “ Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ?

Why weep ye by the tide ? į. I'll wed ye to my youngest son,

And ye sall be his bride: .. ,
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen"-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

II. « Now let this wilful grief be done,

And dry that cheek so pale;
Young Frank is chief of Errington,

And lord of Langley-dale ;
His step is first in peaceful ha',

His sword in battle keen”-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

III.

“A chain of gold ye sall not lack,

Nor braid to bind your hair ;
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,

Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you, the foremost o' them a',

Shall ride our forest queen"-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean:

IV.
The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmer'd fair ;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha';

The ladie was not seen!
She's o'er the Border, and awa'

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

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