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Where now the coofs wha boded wae,
An' cauldness o’er thy efforts threw; An' where the proudest, fellest fae
Frae hell’s black porch that ever flew ?
O he might conquer feckless kings
Those bars in Nature's onward planBut fool is he the yoke that flings
O'er the unshackled soul of man. 'Tis like a cobweb o'er the breast,
That binds the giant while asleep; Or curtain hung upon the east
The daylight from the world to keep.
Here's to the hands sae lang upbore
The Rose and Shamrock, blooming still; An' here's the burly plant of yore,
The Thistle o' the norlan' hill ! Lang may auld Britain's banners pale
Stream o'er the seas her might has won; Lang may her Lions paw the gale,
An' turn their dewlaps to the sun!
THE FALL OF THE LEAF.
The following are the singing verses of a pastoral effusion, published long ago.
The flush of the landscape is o'er,
The brown leaves are shed on the way,
Grows wan, and betokens decay;
Like the bud that it fosters, to die,
Or the vapour that melts in the sky.
So youth, with its visions so gay,
Departs like a dream of the mind,
That lead to the sorrows behind ;
Its virtues too buoyant to grow,
Its follies too latent to die
We shall reap of the seeds we then sow,
When the stars have dissolved in the sky.
All silent the song of the thrush,
Bewilder'd she cowers in the dale;
The blackbird sits lone on the bush
The fall of the leaf they bewail. All nature thus tends to decay,
And to drop as the leaves from the tree And man, just the flower of a day,
How long, long his winter will be !
THE ANCIENT BANNER.
This song was written for, and sung at, the great football match at Carterhaugh, on the 5th of December, 1815, when the old tattered banner of Buccleuch was displayed at the head of the combatants. It was the first rallying standard of the clan, and is very ancient.
And hast thou here, like hermit grey,
Thy mystic characters unroll’d,
Thou emblem of the days of old !
Who deems his day of conquest fled,
Of sons whose sires he often led ?
Not such thy peaceable intent,
When over Border waste and wood,
On foray and achievement bent,
Like eagle on his path of blood. Symbol to ancient valour dear,
Much has been dared and done for thee; I almost weep to see thee here,
And deem thee raised in mockery.
But no-familiar to the brave,
'Twas thine thy gleaming moon and star Above their manly sports to wave,
As free as in the field of war ;
In revel as in rage, was dear-
The better fenced when foes were near.
I love thee for the olden day,
The iron age of hardihood,
To peace and joy through paths of blood; For were it not the deeds of weir,
When thou wert foremost in the fray,