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We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size;
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed;
You shall see him brought to bay,
• Waken, lords and ladies gay.'

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha';

The ladie was not seen!
She's o'er the Border and awa'

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.




Louder, louder chant the lay, Waken, lords and ladies gay! Tell them youth and mirth and glee Ron a course as well as we; Time, stern huntsman, who can balk, Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk ? Think of this and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay.

AIR — 'Rimhin aluin 'stu mo run'



AIR – A Border Melody' [The first stanza is old. The others were added 1816.]

“It was while struggling with such languor, on one lovely evening of this autumn (1817). that he composed the following beautiful verses. They mark the very spot of their birth, - namely, the then naked height overhanging the northern side of the Cauldshields Loch, from which Melrose Abbey to the eastward, and the hills of Ettrick and Yarrow to the west, are now visible over a wide range of rich woodland, - all the work of the poet's hand." Lockhart's Life, chap. XXXIX.

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(Canto III published 1816. Canto IV published 1818.]

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Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair

child, ADA, solé daughter of my house and

heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes

they smiled, And then we parted, — not as now we

part, But with a hope.

Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me, and on

high The winds lift up their voices : I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's

gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve

or glad mine eye.

In my youth's summer I did sing of

One, The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind;

20 Again I seize the theme, then but beAnd bear it with me, as the rushing

wind Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I

find The furrows of long thought, and dried

up tears, Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track be

hind, O'er which all heavily the journeying

years Plod the last sands of life, — where not a flower appears.

IV Since my young days of passion — joy,

or pain, Perchance my heart and harp have lost a

string, And both may jar; it may be that in

vain I would essay as I have sung to sing. Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I

cling, So that it wean me from the weary dream Of selfish grief or gladness — so it fling

Forgetfulness around me - it shall seem To me, though to none else, a not ungrate

ful theme.


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Once more upon the waters, yet once

more ! And the waves bound beneath me as a

steed That knows his rider. Welcome to their

roar! Swift be their guidance wheresoe'er it

lead! Though the strain'd mast should quiver

as a reed, And the rent canvass fluttering strew the

gale, Still must I on; for I am as a weed,





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Wrung with the wounds which kill not He, who grown aged in this world of woe,

but ne'er heal; In deeds, not years, piercing the depths Yet Time, who changes all, had alter'd

of life, So that no wonder waits him; nor below In soul and aspect as in age: years steal Can love, or sorrow, fame, ambition, Fire from the mind as vigour from the strife,


71 Cut to his heart again with the keen knife And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near Of silent, sharp endurance: he can tell

the brim. Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves,

yet rife With airy images, and shapes which dwell His had been quaff’d too quickly, and he Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's

found haunted cell.

The dregs were wormwood; but he fillid


And from a purer fount, on holier ground, T is to create, and in creating live

And deem'd its spring perpetual - but A being more intense, that we endow

in vain ! With form our fancy, gaining as we give

Still round him clung invisibly a chain The life we image, even as I do now. Which gall’d for ever, fettering though What am I? Nothing: but not so art

unseen, thou,

And heavy though it clank'd not; worn Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse

with pain, earth,

Which pined although it spoke not, and Invisible but gazing, as I glow

grew keen, Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy Entering with every step he took through birth,

many a scene. And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings' dearth.

Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd

Again in fancied safety with his kind, Yet must I think less wildly:- I have And deem'd his spirit now so firmly

thought Too long and darkly, till my brain be And sheathed with an invulnerable mind, came,

That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind; In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, And he, as one, might ’midst the many A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame:

stand And thus, untaught in youth my heart to Unheeded, searching through the crowd tame,

to find My springs of life were poison'd. Tis Fit speculation, such as in strange land too late!

He found in wonder-works of God and NaYet am I changed; though still enough ture's hand.

the same In strength to bear what time can not abate,

But who can view the ripen'd rose nor And feed on bitter fruits without accusing


To wear it? who can curiously behold
The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's

cheek, . Something too much of this: but now 't is Nor feel the heart can never all grow past,

old? And the spell closes with its silent seal. Who can contemplate Fame through Long absent HAROLD re-appears at last,

clouds unfold He of the breast which fain no more would The star which rises o'er her steep, nor feel,

climb ?





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Where rose the mountains, there to him

were friends; Where rolld the ocean, thereon was his home;

110 Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, ex

tends, He had the passion and the power to

roam; The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam, Were unto him companionship; they spake A mutual language, clearer than the tome Of his land's tongue, which he would oft

forsake For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on

the lake.

XVII Stop!- for thy tread is on an Empire's

dust! An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred be

low ! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust, Nor column trophied for triumphal show? None; but the moral's truth tells simpler

so, As the ground was before, thus let it

be; — How that red rain hath made the bar.

vest grow! And is this all the world has gained by Thou first and last of fields, king-making


XIV Like the Chaldean he could watch the

stars, Till he had peopled them with beings

bright As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born jars,

120 And human frailties, were forgotten quite. Could he have kept his spirit to that fight He had been happy; but this clay will

sink Its spark immortal, envying it the light To which it mounts, as if to break the

link That keeps us from yon heaven which woos

us to its brink.


And Marth-born beams;


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How in an hour the power which gave A thousand hearts beat happily; and annuls

when Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too! Music arose with its voluptuous swell, In 'pride of place here last the eagle Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake Hew,

again, Then tore with bloody talon the rent And all went merry as a marriage-bell; plain,

But hush ! hark ! à deep sound strikes Pierced by the shaft of banded nations like a rising knell ! through;

160 Ambition's life and labours all were vain; He wears the shatter'd links of the world's Did ye not hear it ? – No; 't was but the broken chain.


190 Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; XIX

On with the dance ! let joy be unconFit retribution ! Gaul may champ the

fined; bit

No sleep till morn, when Youth and And foam in fetters; – but is Earth

Pleasure meet more free?

To chase the glowing Hours with flying Did nations combat to make One submit;

feet Or league to teach all kings true sover But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in eignty ?

once more What I shall reviving Thraldom again be As if the clouds its echo would repeat; The patch’d-up idol of enlighten’d days ? And nearer, clearer, deadlier than beShall we, who struck the Lion down,

fore! shall we

Arm! Arm! it is - it is — the cannon's Pay the Wolf homage ? proffering lowly opening roar! gaze

170 And servile knees to thrones ? No; prove

XXIII before ye praise !

Within a window'd niche of that high

hall xx

Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no hear

200 more !

That sound the first amidst the festival, In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with And caught its tone with Death's prohot tears

phetic ear; For Europe's flowers long rooted up be And when they smiled because he deem'd fore

it near, The trampler of her vineyards; in vain | His heart more truly knew that peal too years

well Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, Which stretch'd his father on a bloody Have all been borne, and broken by the

bier, accord

And roused the vengeance blood alone Of roused-up millions: all that most could quell: endears

He rush'd into the field, and, foremost Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a fighting, fell.

sword Such as Harmodius drew on Athens' tyrant

XXIV lord.


Ah! then and there was hurrying to and

And gathering tears, and tremblings of There was a sound of revelry by night,

distress, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then And cheeks all pale, which but an hour Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright

ago The lamps shone o'er fair women and Blush'd at the praise of their own love




brave men;


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