Young Farquhar ceased, and, rising slow, Doffed his plumed bonnet, wiped his brow, And flushed with conscious dignity, Cast o'er the crowd his falcon eye, So fraught with rays of Celtic fire, They almost weened each hum that past The spirit of the northern blast. The next was named,-the Excited merriment around. very sound But when the bard himself appeared, The ladies smiled, the courtiers sneered; For such a simple air and mien Before a court had never been. A clown he was, bred in the wild, And late from native moors exiled, In hopes his mellow mountain strain High favour from the great would gain. Poor wight! he never weened how hard For poverty to earn regard! Dejection o'er his visage ran, His coat was bare, his colour wan, His forest doublet darned and torn, The bard on Ettrick's mountain green In Nature's bosom nursed had been, Where shadowy flocks of purest snow Instead of Ocean's billowy pride, With many a mountain, moor, and tree, His eye had seen the thunder-storm Descend within the mountain's brim, And shroud him in its chambers grim ; Then from its bowels burst amain The sheeted flame and sounding rain, And by the bolts in thunder borne, The heaven's own breast and mountain torn; The wild roe from the forest driven; The oaks of ages peeled and riven; Impending oceans whirl and boil, Instead of arms or golden crest, His harp with mimic flowers was drest : The briar-rose and the heather bell; When o'er her mellow notes he ran, And his wild mountain chant began, Then first was noted in his eye, Old David. THE TENTH BARD'S SONG. Old David rose ere it was day, And climbed old Wonfell's wizard brae; His native land had used him ill, As fixed he stood, in sullen scorn, Regardless of the streaks of morn, Old David spied, on Wonfell cone, A fairy band come riding on. A lovelier troop was never seen; Their steeds were white, their doublets green, |