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See the bullets through his side,
Answer'd by the spouting tide ;
Helmet, horse, and rider too,
Roll on bloody Waterloo.

Shall scenes like these the dance inspire,

Or wake the enliv'ning notes of mirth?
O! shiver'd be the recreant lyre,
That gave the base idea birth!

Other sounds, I ween were there,
Other music rent the air,
Other waltz the warriors knew,
When they clos'd at Waterloo.

Forbear-till time with lenient hand,

Has sooth'd the pang of recent sorrow;
And let the picture distant stand,
The softening hue of years to borrow.

When our race has past away,
Hands unborn may wake the lay,
And give to joy alone the view,
Of Britain's fame at Waterloo.

O heard you the Mermaid of the sea,

When the ship by the rock was sinking; Saw you the Maid with her coral cup,

A health to the sea-nymphs drinking.
The morning was fair, and the ocean calm,

Not a breath awoke the billow,
The foam that play'd in the clefted rock

Was the Mermaid's resting pillow.

As round the cave, where the Mermaid slept,

The vessel light was sailing,
A voice was heard in the gathering storm,

Of Mariners deeply wailing;
And loud came the deep’ning thunder-peal,

The white waves around were dashing, And the light that illumin’d the pathless way,

Was the gleam of lightning flashing.

The sails are torn, the ship a wreck;

The Mermaid sweet is singing,
And the crystal halls where the sea-nymphs bathe,

Are merrily, merrily ringing.
And many a tear for these Mariners lost, .

From maidens' eyes are streaming,
While reckless they sleep in their wat'ry shroud,

Nor of ought that's earthly dreaming

Now winter is gane and the clouds flee away,

Yon bonny blue sky how delightfu' to see,
Now linties and blackbirds sing on ilka spray
That flourishes round Woodhouselee.

The hawthorn is blooming,
The saft breeze perfuming,

O come, my dear Lassie, the season is gay,
And naething mair lovely can be:

The primrose and lily,

We'll pu' in the valley,
And lean when we like on some gowany brae,

That rises beside Woodhouselee.

Ye mind when the snaw lay sae deep on the hill,

When cauld icy cranreugh hung white on the tree, When bushes were leafless, and mournfully still Were the wee birds of sweet Woodhouselee.

When snaw show'rs were fa'ing,

And wintry winds blawing,
Loud whistling o'er mountain and' meadow so chill,
We mark'd it wi' sorrowing ee :

But now, since the flowers,

Again busk the bowers,
O come, my dear Lassie, wi' smiling guidwill,

And wander around Woodhouselee.

“ Mr. H. wrote the first stanzą for an ancient Irish melody, “. The fair haired child,” but after several unavailing attempts to proceed farther, he applied to Tannahill, through the medium of a friend, for a second verse; In a short time the request was complied with, and the Bard sent it to his friend with the following note, “ Mr. Hamilton's stanza is admirably suited to the air; in my opinion his lines possess, in an eminent degree, that beautiful, natural simplicity, which characterizes our best Scotish songs; I have al. tempted to add a verse to it, but I fear you will think it but a frigid production; the original one is so complete in itself, that he who tries another to it labours under the disadvantage of not knowing what to sax farther on the subject. However, I give you all that I could make of it.”