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Stories, Traditionary and Romantic, of the Two Rebellions in Scotland, in ...
A D Fillan
No hay ninguna vista previa disponible - 2010
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Página 134 - Devouring flames, and murdering steel ! The pious mother, doom'd to death, Forsaken wanders o'er the heath, The bleak wind whistles round her head, Her helpless orphans cry for bread ; Bereft of shelter, food, and friend, She views the shades of night descend; And stretch'd beneath the inclement skies, Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. While the warm blood bedews my veins. And unimpair'd remembrance reigns, Resentment of my country's fate, Within my filial breast shall beat...
Página 133 - THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn ! Thy sons, for valour long renown'd, Lie slaughter'd on their native ground. Thy hospitable roofs no more Invite the stranger to the door; In smoky ruins sunk they lie, The monuments of cruelty.
Página 133 - No more shall cheer the happy day : No social scenes of gay delight Beguile the dreary winter night: No strains but those of sorrow flow, And nought be heard but sounds of woe, While the pale phantoms of the slain Glide nightly o'er the silent plain.
Página 134 - Accursed to ages yet unborn ! The sons against their fathers stood, The parent shed his children's blood. Yet, when the rage of battle ceased, The victor's soul was not appeased ; The naked and forlorn must feel Devouring flames, and murdering...
Página 134 - And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement skies, Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. While the warm blood bedews my veins, And unimpair'd remembrance reigns, Resentment of my country's fate Within my filial breast shall beat ; And, spite of her insulting foe, My sympathising verse shall flow : ' Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn !
Página 139 - Whose honours with increase of ages grow, As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow; Nations unborn your mighty names shall sound, And worlds applaud that must not yet be found!
Página 133 - ... on their native ground; Thy hospitable roofs no more Invite the stranger to the door; In smoky ruins sunk they lie, The monuments of cruelty. The wretched owner sees afar His all become the prey of war ; Bethinks him of his babes and wife, Then smites his breast, and curses life. Thy swains are famished on the rocks, Where once they fed their wanton flocks; Thy ravished virgins shriek in vain; Thy infants perish on the plain.
Página 212 - Must I leave thee, Paradise ? thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades, Fit haunts of gods ! where I had hoped to spend, Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day That must be mortal to us both.
Página 269 - Jennings, that several of his friends advised him to plead guilty, and throw himself on the mercy of the court.
Página 153 - To follow to the field some warlike lord ; And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied. This moon, which rose last night, round as my shield, Had not yet filled her horns, when, by her light, A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills, Rushed like a torrent down upon the vale, Sweeping our flocks and herds.