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‘Then woman's shriek was heard in The Austrian vine, the Prussian pine vain,

(For Blucher's sake, hurra that), Nor infancy's unpitied plain,

The Spanish olive, too, shall join, More than the warrior's groan, could And bloom in peace for a' that. gain

Stout Russia's hemp, so surely twined, Respite from ruthless butchery! Around our wreath we'll draw that, The winter wind that whistled shrill, And he that would the cord unbind The snows that night that cloked the Shall have it for his gra-vat!

hill,
Though wild and pitiless, had still

Or, if to choke sae puir a sot,
Farmorethan Southern clemency.

Your pity scorn to thraw that,

The devil's elbow be his lot ‘Long have my harp's best notes been Where he may sit and claw that. gone,

In spite of slight, in spite of might, Feware its strings, and faint their tone, In spite of brags, an'a' that, They can but sound in desert lone The lads that battled for the right

Their grey-hair'd master's misery. Have won the day, an'a' that! Were each grey hair a minstrel string There's ae bit spot I had forgot, Each chord should imprecations fling, Till startled Scotland loud should ring, A coward plot her rats had got

America they ca’ that! - Revenge for blood and trea

Their father's flag to gnaw that: chery!"

Now see it fly top-gallant high,

Atlantic winds shall blaw that,
And Yankee loon, beware your croun,

There's kames in hand to claw that! FOR A' THAT AN' A' THAT.

For on the land, or on the sea, (1814.)

Where'er the breezes blaw that, (A New Song to an Old Tune.) The British flag shall bear the grie,

And win the day for a' that!
Though right be aft put down by

strength,
As mony a day we saw that,
The true and leilfu' cause at length
Shall bear the grie for a' that.

SONG
For a' that an'a' that,

Guns, guillotines, and a' that, The fleur-de-lis, that lost her right, Is queen again for a' that!

(1814.) We'll twine her in a friendly knot O, DREAD was the time, and more With England's rose, and a' that;

dreadful the omen, The shamrock shall not be forgot, When the brave on Marengo lay For Wellington made braw that.

slaughter'd in vain, The thistle, though her leaf be rude, And beholding broad Europe bow'd Yet faith we'll no misca' that,

down by her foemen, She shelter'd in her solitude

Pitt closed in his anguish the map The fleur-de-lis, for a' that.

of her reign!

FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF

THE PITT CLUB OF SCOTLAND.

our

Not the fate of broad Europe could And to sounds the most dear to bend his brave spirit

paternal affection, To take for his country the safety of The shout of his people applauding shame;

his Son; 0, then in her triumph remember his By his firmness unmoved in success merit,

and disaster, And hallow the goblet that flows to By hislong reign of virtue, remember his name.

his claim !

With our tribute to Pitt join the praise Round the husbandman's head, while of his Master, he traces the furrow,

Though a tear stain the goblet that The mists of the winter may mingle

flows to his name. with rain, He may plough it with labour, and

Yet again fill the wine-cup, and sow it in sorrow,

change the sad measure, And sigh while he fears he has

The rites of our grief and sow'd it in vain;

gratitude paid, He may die ere his children shall reap

To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote in their gladness,

the bright treasure, But the blithe harvest-home shall

The wisdom that plann'd, and the remember his claim;

zeal that obey’d. And their jubilee-shoutshall be soften’d Fill Wellington's cup till it beam like with sadness,

his glory, While they hallow the goblet that

Forget not our own brave Dalhousie flows to his name.

and Græme;

A thousand years hence hearts shall Though anxious and timeless his life

bound at their story, was expended,

And hallow the goblet that flows In toils for our country preserved

to their fame. by his care, Though he died ere one ray o'er the

nations ascended,
To light the long darkness of doubt
and despair;

PHAROS' LOQUITUR.
The storms he endured in our Britain's
December,

(1814.) The perils his wisdom foresaw and

Far in the bosom of the deep, o'ercame,

O'er these wild shelves my watch In her glory's rich harvest shall Britain remember,

I keep; And hallow the goblet that flows to

A ruddy gem of changeful light, his name.

Bound on the dusky brow of night,

The seaman bids my lustre hail, Nor forget His grey head, who, all And scorns to strike his timorous sail,

dark in affliction, Is deaf to the tale of our victories

won,

to try,

blow,

Health from the land where eddying ADDRESS

whirlwinds toss

The storm-rock'd cradle of the Cape TO RANALD MACDONALD OF STAFFA.

of Noss; (1814 )

On outstretch'd cords the giddy engine

slides, STAFFA, sprung from high Macdonald,

His own strong arm the bold advenWorthy branch of old Clan-Ranald,

turer guides, Staffa, king of all kind fellows,

And he that lists such desperate feat Well befall thy hills and valleys, Lakes and inlets, deeps and shallows, May, like the sea-mew, skim ’twixt Cliffs of darkness, caves of wonder,

surf and sky, Echoing the Atlantic thunder;

And feel the mid-air gales around him Mountains which the grey mist covers, Where the Chieftain spirit hovers,

And see the billows rage five hundred Pausing while his pinions quiver,

feet below. Stretch'd to quit our land for ever! Each kind influence reign above thee!

Here, by each stormy peak and Warmer heart, 'twixt this and Jaffa

desert shore, Beats not, than in heart of Staffa !

The hardy islesman tugs the daring

oar, Practised alike his venturous course

to keep

Through the white breakers or the EPISTLE

pathless deep, By ceaseless peril and by toil to

gain BUCCLEUCH.

A wretched pittance from the niggard

main.
Lighthouse Yacht in the Sound of Lerwick,
August 8, 1814.

And when the worn-out drudge old

ocean leaves HEALTH to the chieftain from his What comfort greets him, and what clansman true !

hut receives? From her true minstrel, health to fair Lady! the worst your presence ere Buccleuch!

has cheer'd Health from the isles, where dewy (When want and sorrow fled as you Morning weaves

appear’d) Her chaplet with the tints that Twi Were to a Zetlander as the high dome light leaves;

Of proud Drumlanrig to my humble Where late the sun scarce vanish'd

home. from the sight,

Here rise no groves, and here no And his bright pathway graced the gardens blow, short-lived night,

Here even the hardy heath scarce Though darker now as autumn's shades

dares to grow; extend,

But rocks on rocks, in mist and storm The north winds whistle and the mists

array'd, ascend!

Stretch farto sea their giant colonnade,

TO

HIS

GRACE

THE DUKE

OF

none

envy gain

comes once more

With many a

cavern seam'd, the A bark with planks so warp'd and dreary haunt

seams so riven, Of the dun seal and swarthy cormo She scarce might face the gentlest airs rant.

of heaven: Wild round their rifted brows, with Pensive he sits, and questions oft if

frequent cry As of lament, the gulls and gannets Can list his speech, and understand fly,

his moan; And from their sable base, with sullen In vain : no Islesman now can use the sound,

tongue In sheets of whitening foam the waves Of the bold Norse, from whom their rebound.

lineage sprung.

Not thus of old the Norsemen hither Yet even these coasts a touch of

came,

Won by the love of danger or of fame; From those whose land has known

On every stormbeat cape a shapeless oppression's chain;

tower For here the industrious Dutchman Tells of their wars, their conquests,

and their power; To moor his fishing craft by Bressay's For ne'er for Grecia's vales, nor Latian shore;

land, Greets every former mate and brother Was fiercer strife than for this barren tar,

strand; Marvels how Lerwick’scaped the rage Arace severe-the isle and ocean lords

Loved for its own delight the strife of Tells many a tale of Gallic outrage

swords; done,

With scornful laugh the mortal pang And ends by blessing God and Wel

defied, lington.

And blest their gods that they in battle Here too the Greenland tar, a fiercer

died. guest, Claims a brief hour of riot, not of Such were the sires of Zetland's rest;

simple race, Proves each wild frolic that in wine And still the eye may faint resemblance has birth,

trace Ind wakes the land with brawls and In the blue eye, tall form, proportion boisterous mirth.

fair, od sadder sight on yon poor vessel's The limbs athletic, and the long light prow

hair The captive Norseman sits in silent (Such was the mien, as Scald and Minwoe,

strel sings, And eyes the flags of Britain as they Of fair-hair'd Harold, first of Norway's flow.

Kings); Ilard fate of war, which bade her ter But, their high deeds to scale these rors sway

crags confined, His destined course, and seize so mean Their only warfare is with waves and a prey;

wind.

of war,

with eyes,

nimble way,

Swore

Why should I talk of Mousa's castled Though bold in the seas of the North coast ?

to assail Why of the horrors of the Sumburgh The morse and the sea-horse, the Rost?

grampus and whale. May not these bald disjointed lines If your grace thinks I'm writing the suffice,

thing that is not, Penn'd while my comrades whirl the You may ask at a namesake of ours, rattling dice

Mr. Scott While down the cabin skylight lessen (He's not from our clan, though his ing shine

merits deserve it, The rays, and eve is chased with mirth But springs, I'm informed, from the and wine?

Scotts of Scotstarvet); Imagined, while down Mousa's desert He question'd the folks who beheld it

bay Our well-trimm'd vessel urged her But they differ'd confoundedly as to

its size. While to the freshening breeze she For instance, the modest and diffident

lean'd her side, And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy | That it seem'd like the keel of a ship, tide ?

and no more ;

Those of eyesight more clear, or of Such are the lays that Zetland Isles fancy more high,

Said it rose like an island 'twixt ocean supply; Drench'd with the drizzly spray and

and sky; dropping sky,

But all of the hulk had a steady opinion Weary and wet, a sea-sick minstrel I.

That 'twas sure a live subject of Nep

tune's dominion.

And I think, my Lord Duke, your
W. Scott.

Grace hardly would wish,
To cumber your house, such a kettle

of fish.
Had your order related to nightcaps

or hose, P. S. Kirkwall, Orkney, August 13, 1814.

Or mittens of worsted, there's plenty

of those. In respect that your Grace hạs com Or would you be pleased but to fancy mission'd a Kraken,

a whale ? You will please be inform'd that they | And direct me to send it-by sea or seldom are taken;

by mail ? It is January two years, the Zetland The season, I'm told, is nigh over, but

still Since they saw the last Kraken in I could get you one fit for the lake at Scalloway bay;

Bowhill. He lay in the offing a fortnight or Indeed, as to whales, there's no need more,

to be thrifty, But the devil a Zetlander put from the Since one day last fortnight two shore,

hundred and fifty,

folks say,

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