Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen; For there, lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, What are they? The haunt of the tyrant and slave! The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, LXXXIII. CALEDONIA. TUNE-Caledonian Hunt's Delight. THERE was once a day, but old Time then was young, To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign, And pledged her their godheads to warrant it good. A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, The pride of her kindred the heroine grew; Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore,"Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!" With tillage or pasture at times she would sport, To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; But chiefly the woods were her favourite resort, Her darling amusement the hounds and the horn. Long quiet she reign'd; till thitherward steers They darken'd the air, and they plunder'd the land: Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside; She took to her hills, and her arrows let flyThe daring invaders they fled or they died. The fell harpy-raven took wing from the North, The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore; The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore: O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd; No arts could appease them, no arms could repel; But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd, As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell. The cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose, The Anglian lion, the terror of France, Oft prowling, ensanguined the Tweed's silver flood; But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free, I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse; Then ergo, she 'll match them, and match them always. LXXXIV. AULD ROB MORRIS. THERE'S auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld men; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; She's sweet as the evening amang the new hay; As blithe and as artless as the lamb on the lea, And dear to my heart as the light to my ee. But O! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane; O, had she but been of a lower degree, I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon me; O, how past describing had then been my bliss, As now my distraction no words can express! LXXXV. JESSIE. TUNE-Bonnie Dundee. TRUE hearted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, O, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring; Enthroned in her een he delivers his law: And still to her charms she alone is a stranger: Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'. LXXXVI. THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE. "TWAS even the dewy fields were green, All nature listening seem'd the while, With careless step I onward stray'd, A maiden fair I chanced to spy: Fair is the morn in flowery May, When roving thro' the garden gay, |