Then speedilie to work we gaed, They thought King James and a' his men Wi' coulters, and wi' fore-hammers, Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie. And when we cam to the lower prison, 'O I sleep saft, and I wake aft; It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me; Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a' gude fellows that spier for me.' Then Red Rowan has hente him up, Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell. 'Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope! My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!' he cried'I'll pay you for my lodging maill, When first we meet on the Border side.' Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont's airns played clang! 'O mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie, I have ridden horse baith wild and wood; But a rougher beast than Red Rowan, 'And mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie, 'I've pricked a horse out oure the furs; But since the day I backed a steed, I never wore sic cumbrous spurs !' We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, Buccleuch has turned to Eden water, Even where it flow'd frae bank to brim, And he has plunged in wi' a' his band, And safely swam them thro' the stream. He turned him on the other side, And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he'If ye like na my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me!' All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope, 'He is either himsell a devil frae hell, MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER. THE LAST MAN ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, I saw a vision in my sleep, That gave my spirit strength to sweep I saw the last of human mould, The Sun's eye had a sickly glare, Some had expired in fight,—the brands Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood That shook the sere leaves from the wood Saying, 'We are twins in death, proud Sun! 'Tis Mercy bids thee go; For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears, That shall no longer flow. 'What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill; And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Entail'd on human hearts. Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Upon the stage of men, Nor with thy rising beams recall Its piteous pageants bring not back, Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd, 'E'en I am weary in yon skies My lips that speak thy dirge of death- The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,- 'This spirit shall return to Him And took the sting from Death! S Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up To drink this last and bitter cup Of grief that man shall taste Go, tell the night that hides thy face, On Earth's sepulchral clod, CAMPBELL. IVRY A SONG OF THE HUGUENOTS Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy Hurrah! Hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war, Hurrah! Hurrah! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. Oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, flood, And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood; |