My Doctors, look that you agree, Carle, now the King's come! "Come forth each sturdy Burgher's bairn, "Come forward with the Blanket Blue, "Scots downa loup, and rin, and rave, We're steady folks and something grave, "Kind cummer, Leith, ye've been mis-set, But dinna be upon the fretYe'se hae the handsel of him yet, Carle, now the King's come! "My daughters, come with een sae blue, Your garlands weave, your blossoms strew; He ne'er saw fairer flowers than you— Carle, now the King's come! "What shall we do for the propine- "O tell me, Harper, wherefore flow Where none may list their melody? Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?" "No, not to these, for they have rest,- But those for whom I pour the lay, Could screen from treach'rous cruelty. "Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum, In guise of hospitality. To tend her kindly housewifery. The friendly hearth which warm'd that hand, LOCHINVAR. The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whisper'd, ""Twere better by far, To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID.1 When Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came, Her father's God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonish'd lands The cloudy pillar glided slow; 1 This song of Rebecca's, from "Ivanhoe," was a great favourite with the American poet Fitz-Greene Halleck, and with Professor Wilson, who considered it a perfect gem, in which dignity, pathos, and a religious spirit, at once pure and fervid, are admirably combined.-ED. With listless look along the plain, I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree,Are they still such as once they were? Or is the dreary change in me? Alas, the warp'd and broken board, Were barren as this moorland hill. JOCK O' HAZELDEAN.1 "Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? Sae comely to be seen But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock o' Hazeldean. "Now let this wilfu' grief be done, His sword in battle keen" But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock o' Hazeldean. "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' The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, MACGREGOR'S GATHERING. The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae, And the clan has a name that is nameless by day; Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach, Gather, gather, gather, &c. Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew, Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo! Then haloo, Grigalach! haloo, Grigalach! Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach! &c. Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her towers, Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours; 1 The first stanza of this ballad is ancient. The others were written for Albyn's Anthology. We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach! Landless, landless, landless, &c. But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord, Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword; Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach! Courage, courage, courage, &c. If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles! Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach! Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c. While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the river, Macgregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever! Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach! Come then, come then, come then, &c. Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career, O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer, And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melt, Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt! Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach! Gather, gather, gather, &c. HAIL TO THE CHIEF. (FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE.) Hail to the chief who in triumph advances! Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, Sends our shout back agen, Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; Menteith and Breadalbane, then, Echo his praise agen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin, And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied; 1 Black Roderick, the descendant of Alpine. Sleep! the deer is in his den; Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen, How thy gallant steed lay dying. SONG. (FROM THE PIRATE.) O for music's softest numbers, For Beauty's dream, Soft as the pillow of her slumbers! Through groves of palm Fire-flies on the air are wheeling; Comes soft perfume, The distant beds of flowers revealing. O wake and live! A shadow'd bliss the real excelling; THE HEATH THIS NIGHT. (FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE.) Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; I may not, dare not, fancy now And all it promised me, Mary. |