THE ETTRICKE GARLAND; ING TWO EXCELLENT NEW SONGS ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE OUSE OF BUCCLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOÓT-BALL MATCH ON CÁRTERHAUGH. THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER. FROM the brown crest of Newark its summons extending, And each forester blithe from his mountain descending, CHORUS. Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, With heart and with hand, like our fathers before. When the Southern invader spread waste and disorder, A stripling's weak hand to our revel has borne her, We forget each contention of civil dissension, And hail, like our brethren, HOME, DOUGLAS, and CAR; 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 weather, 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, May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and Landward, Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, Abbotsford, Dec. 1, 1815. TO THE ANCIENT BANNER OF THE HOUSE OF BUCCLEUCH. grey, AND hast thou here, like hermit O'er peaceful revellers to play, Thou Emblem of the days of old; Yet loves to view the bloodless toil Not such thy peaceable intent, Symbol to ancient valour dear, Much has been dared and done for thee ; I almost weep to see thee here, And deem thee raised in mockery. But no-familiar to the brave, 'Twas thine, thy gleaming moon and star, Above their manly sports to wave, As free as in the field of war. To thee the faithful clans-man's shout, In revel as in rage was dear; The more beloved in festal rout, The better fenced when foes were near. I love thee for the olden day, The iron age of hardihood; The rather that thou led'st the way To peace and joy, through paths of blood; For were it not the deeds of weir, When thou wert foremost in the fray, And e'en the days ourselves have known, Valour and constancy alone Can purchase peace and happiness. Then hail, Memorial of the Brave, The Liegeman's pride, the Border's awe; May the grey pennon never wave On sterner field than Carterhaugh, Altrive Lake, Dec. 1, 1815. Duoth the Ettricke Shepherd. HELEN OF KIKKCONNELL. BY JOHN MAYNE. I WISH I were where Helen lies, Still seems to beckon me! For me she lived, for me she sigh'd, Where Kirtle waters gently wind, Took deadly aim at me ; IMITATION OF HORACE-22D ODE. Ramsay, junior, son of the pastoral poet, is better known as a painter than a After t; but in the latter capacity he possessed much of his father's humour. battle of Prestonpans he wrote an imitation of the Song of Deborah in Scripe, which he put into the mouth of a Jacobite young lady of family, which displayconsiderable powers of satire. The following jeu d'esprit is a curious union of Latin rythm with the modern rhyme. MAN of no base (John) life and conversation, Pistol or great gun; For if he ranges eastward to the Ganges, Stories are told of. For but last Monday, walking at noon-day, Conning a ditty to divert my Betty, By me that sour Turk-(I not frighted) our kirk Treasurer's man past. And sure more horrid monster in the torrid Zone cannot be found, sir, though for snakes renown'd, sir, Of bears the wet nurse, sir. Should I by hap land on the coast of Lapland, Faces would fright one. Place me where tea grows or where sooty negroes I will adore her. |