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Each morn when I open the latch of my door,

My heart tbrobs with rapture to hear the birds sing, And at night when the dance in the village is o'er,

On my pillow I strew the fresh roses of spring.

When I hide in the forest from noon's scorching ray

While the torrent's deep murmurs re-echoing sound, When the herds quit their pasture to quaff the clear stream,

And the flocks in the vale, lie extended around, I muse --but my thoughts are contented and free,

I regret not the splendour of riches and pride, The delights of retirement are dearer to me

Than the proudest appendage to greatness allied.

I sing, and my song is the carol of Joy., .

My cheek glows with health, like the wild rose in bloom, I dance, yet forget not, tho' blythsome and gay,

That I measure the footsteps that lead to the tomb. Contented to live, yet not fearful to die,

With a conscience unspotted, I pass thro' life's scene, On the wings of delight every moment shall fly,

And the end of my days be resign'd and serene.




AIR-Maids of Arrochar.

Thou dark winding Carron, once pleasing to see,

To me thou can'st never give pleasure again, My brave Caledonians lie low on the lea,

And thy streams are deep-ting'd with the blood of the slain.

+ The following notice of this song, occurs in a letter from Mr. Tannahill, to one of his particular friends, for whom it seems he had written other verses to accompany the same beautiful and plaintive air, but which not altogether pleasing himself, he had substituted the above.“ According to promise, " says he, “ I send you two verses for the “ Maids of Arrochar;" perhaps they are little better than the last. I believe the language is too weak for the sub ject; however, they possess the advantage over the others, of being founded on a real occurrence. The battle of Falkirk was Wallace's last, in which he was defeated with the loss of almost his whole army. I am sensible, that to give words suitable to the poignancy of his grief, on such a trying reverse of fortune, would require all the fire and soul.melting energy of a Campbell or a Burns,"

The modest terms in which our amiable author speaks of his verses, quite blunt the edge of criticism, and fully compensate for any lack of that deep and powerful feeling, that vigour and grandeur of conception which the loftiness of

Ah! base-hearted treach'ry has doom'd our undoing,

My poor bleeding country, what more can I do? Ev'n Valour looks pale o'er the red field of ruin,

And Freedom beholds her best warriors laid low.

his theme required. Be it remembered, that it was no less than the anguish of a fearless and unshaken patriot bewailing the ruins of his native land, and breathing revenge against the insulting and cruel invader, which the poet wished to express that it was no less than all the nobl workings of passion in the bosom of the unsubdued, incorruptible, heroic and godlike Wallace, which the poet attempted to embody in words. It was no common strain he chose, and it required no common power of execution to perform it well. We do not mean to say, these are the very best verses which could have been writ. ten on such a subject; we only rejoice that they are so excellent as they are, and will have the oñect, though it should be in never so partial a degree of preserving, and extending the glory of our national Champion.

The battle of Fallsuk, in its consequences so fatal to the Scots, was fought on the 22d of July '8. It was obstinately contested for a long time, but the superiority of the English in the number of their cavalry, decided the day. Some historians alledge, that this defeat happened in consequence of the little piques and jealousies which at that time subsisted amongst the leaders of the Scottish army; but this is merely conjectural. The English authors are unanimous in their praises of the firmness and courage displayed by their enemies on that occasion. Langtoft gives a curious description of the mode in which the Scottish phalanx sustained the onset :

Ther formast courey, ther bakkis togidere sette,

speres poynt over poynt, so fare and so thikke,
And fast togidere joynt, to se it was ferlike.
Als a castelle thei stode, that were walled with stone,

Thei wende ne man of blode thorgh theim suld haf gone. The life of Wallace is minutely detailed in the metrical work of Henry the Minstrel, better known by the name of Blind Harry, which, with all its chro. nological inaccuracies and romantic fictions, must still be cčnsidered as form. ing a part of authentic history. A splendid monument, we understand, will within a short time, be raised to the memory of the Knight of Ellerslie, at Glasgow. On the 10th of March last, a meeting for this purpose was held in the town hall of that city, and there is every probability that the monument, when it is erected, will not only redound to the honour of the country, but be worthy of the great patriot, whom it is intended to commemorate.

Farewell, ye dear partners of peril !-- farewell !

Tho' buried ye lie in one wide bloody grave, Your deeds shall ennoble the place where you fell,

And your names be enrolld with the sons of the brave. But I, a poor outcast, in exile must wander,

Perhaps, like a traitor, ignobly must die !
On thy wrongs, O my country ! indignant I ponder

Ah! woe to the hour when thy Wallace must fly!




Ovir Castell and Towre, ovir Citie and Toune,

Flew the pennonis of Ingland tryumphandli waivand; Our Lyoun was gyvit and our Thrissill duschit down,

Nae mair in the field the fers fae wer thai braivand.

+ This song is extracted from an Album Rerum Scoticarum, belonging to Mr. James Duncan, Jun. Bookseller Saltmarket, Glasgow-a gentleman well known amongst his friends for his warm attachment to the antiquities and I

Allace ! all the fire of our forbearis had fled,
And Freedom's fair form was all manglt and deid.

But a beme frae the West lyke ane flaucht o’ the sun,

Ere he dernis in the braid sea's blew busome for evir, Brast owre the mirk kynrik fell tiranny won,

Revivand ittis spreit and devoirand ittis Reifar. That beme was the flasch frae the suerd o' the free, Quhilk hung birnest and shene in thi hallis Ellerslie!

In grit joyaunce the rerd of the bugill yrung;
Throch the holtis, wuddis, and wildis the deip war cry

was rollid,
And hie to the blast, the braid banner was flung,

Quhilk bure the red Lyoun all rampand in gold To the stryff, quhar the three Libbartis stalwartli stude, There, to bathe his bricht mane and his fangis in thair blude,

Quha raisit owre bauld standart ? quha drew the steill glaive?

Quha redd this braid yle frae oppressour and fae ?

terature of his native land, and distinguished more especially for the zeal and activity, with which he first set on foot the subscriptions for the monument. now proposed to be erected in Glasgow, to the great and illustrious chief, whose name and atchievements are embalmed in the memory of every Scots. man. As it is written in our vernacular tongue, though rather of an antique date, we consider it unnecessary to subjoin any glossary to such words as are become obsolete, because, with them, we think it behoves all our countrymen to be conversant. An allusion is made to the arms of Scotland, which is well known was the Lion rampant Gules in a field Or, within a tressure azure; those of England in the time of Edward 1. Three leopards passant, which, according to the use of all the old Scottish poets are termed libbartis.

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