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(The blast of a trumpet is heard, followed by a March.)
What uproar frights the silent watchful stars ?
Come away, is thy song, come away to thy grave,
Bear my standard to the war,
Great God of battles, bless my single arm,
+ We are informed by the gentleman who favoured us with this beautiful piece of poetry, that it was written by W. Dimond, Esq; and sung by the celebrated Mr. Braham at the Edinburgh Musical Festival 1813, to music composed expressly for him by Rauzzine.
Adown the green dell, near the Abbey's remains;
All under the willow he lies ;
And sad to the night-breeże she sighs.com
“Oh! it is not the dew-drop adorns the wild rose,
On the briar-bound grave of my dear * : “I could not but weep, while I pray'd his repose,
a And the bright trembling drop is a tear.”
* “We were much pleased" says a Pedestrian Tourist, “ with the neat appearance of the church-yards belonging to some of the more remote villages in the south of England :-the graves were firmly laced with a kind of basket-work of briars, brambles, &s. many of these had taken root, and being kept in order, cast even a cheerful look over the silent mansions of the dead, and evinced, on the part of the survivors, an affectionate regard for the memory of departed relatives ; which in too many instances we find cease the moment they are consigned to the “dark and narrow house."
The ingenious, but unfortunate, Chatterton, who suffered nothing to escape his penetrating eye, has noticed this custom in the Minstrel's Song in his tragical interlude « Ella".
u Wythe mie honds I'le dente the brieres,
See page 233 of this work.
WE'LL MEET BESIDE THE DUSKY GLEN, ON
YON BURN SIDE.
We'll meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burn side,
Tho' the broomy knowes be green,
Yet there we may be seen, Bat we'll meet-we'll meet, at e'en, down by yon burn side.
Awa’, ye rude unfeeling crew, frae yon burn side,
There fancy smooths her theme,
By the sweetly murm’ring stream, And the rock-lodg'd echoes skim, down by yon burn side.
Now the planting taps are ting'd wi' goud, on yon burn side And gloamin draws her foggy shroud, o'er yon burn side,
Far frae the noisy scene,
I'll through the fields alane, There we'll meet-my ain dear Jean! down by yon burn side.
Row weel, my boatie, row weel,
Row weel, my merry men a',
And there's grief in my father's ha'.
And the skiff it dancit licht on the merry wee waves,
And it flew owre the water sae blue, And the wind it blew licht, and the moon it shone bricht
But the boatie ne'er reach'd Allandhu.
* For an account of the traditional tale on which this beautiful little imi. tation of the old ballad is founded, we refer to the 30 No. of the Wanderer, Glasgow, 1818, 8vo. It is the production of Mr. A. M'C. whom we are proud to recognize as a native of Renfrewshire, and from the specimen before us to hail as a poet of no mean promtse.
Obon ! for fair Ellen, ohon!
Ohon ! for the pride of Strathco.com
Lord Reoch, thy Ellen lies low.
As coreckit and revysit be ane Scotisman.
O for my awin Roy quod gude Wallas,
The richteous Roy of fair Scotland, Atween me and my Soveranis blude,
I trow thair be som ill seid sawn.
* Tuis goodly ballad that records one of the many adventures of Wallace, is probably founded on a similar incident rehearsed by Henry in the fifth book of his metrical life of the hero: .
-Wallace said myself will pass in feyr