When he's fou he's stout and saucy, Donald Caird's come again! Steek the amrie, lock the kist, Donald Caird's come again! On Donald Caird the doom was stern, Donald Caird's come again! EPITAPH ON MRS. ERSKINE. (1819.) PLAIN, as her native dignity of mind, Arise the tomb of her we have resign'd; Unflaw'd and stainless be the marble scroll, Emblem of lovely form and candid soul. [At the fireside.] [2 Hangman's rope.] But, oh! what symbol may avail to tell The kindness, wit, and sense, we loved so well! What sculpture show the broken ties of life, Here buried with the parent, friend, and wife! Or on the tablet stamp each title dear, By which thine urn, EUPHEMIA, claims the tear! Yet taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb, Resign'd, though sad, this votive verse shall flow, And brief, alas! as thy brief span below. LIFE IN THE FOREST. (1822) ON Ettrick Forest's mountains dun 'Tis blithe to hear the sportsman's gun, And seek the heath-frequenting brood Far through the noonday solitude; By many a cairn and trenched mound, Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound, And springs, where grey-hair'd shepherds tell, That still the fairies love to dwell. Along the silver streams of Tweed 'Tis blithe along the midnight tide Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning, The grief, Queen of Numbers, thou canst not assuage; Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining, The languor of pain, and the chillness of age. 'Twas thou that once taught me, in accents bewailing, To sing how a warrior1 lay stretch'd on the plain, And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing, And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; As vain thy enchantments, O Queen of wild Numbers, To a bard when the reign of his What voice was like thine, that could Against the storm-cloud, lowering sing of to-morrow, Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day! dark, As to the rock she wheels away; [1 Marmion.] 'Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to Again I heard her summons swell, For, sic a dirdum and a yell, sheath; Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of It drown'd Saint Giles's jowing bell death; Come, Clerk1, and give your bugle breath; Carle, now the King's come! 'Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids; Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny shades; Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids; Carle, now the King's come! 'Come, stately Niddrie, auld and trué, Girt with the sword that Minden knew; We have o'er few such lairds as you— Carle, now the King's come! 'King Arthur's grown a common crier, He's heard in Fife and far Çantire,— "Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire!" Carle, now the King's come! 'Saint Abb roars out, "I see him pass, Between Tantallon and the Bass!" Calton, get out your keeking-glass Carle, now the King's come!" Cogie, now the King's come! PART SECOND. A HAWICK gill of mountain dew, Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I trow, It minded her of Waterloo Carle, now the King's come! 1 Clerk of Pennycuik, bound by his tenure, when the King came to Edinburgh, to receive him at the Harestone with three blasts on a horn. 2 Landlord of the Waterloo Hotel. Carle, now the King's come! 'My trusty Provost, tried and tight, Stand forward for the Good Town's right, There's waur than you been made a knight Carle, now the King's come! 'My reverend Clergy, look ye say The best of thanksgivings ye ha’e, And warstle for a sunny day— Carle, now the King's come! 'My Doctors, look that you agree, Cure a' the town without a fee; My Lawyers, dinna pike a plea— Carle, now the King's come! 'Come forth each sturdy Burgher's bairn, That dints on wood or clanks on airn, That fires the o’en, or winds the pirn Carle, now the King's come! 'Come forward with the Blanket Blue', Your sires were loyal men and true, As Scotland's foemen oft might rueCarle, now the King's come! 'Scots downa loup, and rin, and rave, We're steady folks and something grave, We'll keep the causeway firm and brave Carle, now the King's come! 'Sir Thomas, thunder from your rock, Till Pentland dinnles wi' the shock, And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke Carle, now the King's come! a The Blue Blanket is the standard of the incor porated trades of Edinburgh. 4 Sir Thomas Bradford, then commander of the forces in Scotland. 'Melville, bring out your bands of blue, A' Louden lads, baith stout and true, With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn too1 Carle, now the King's come! 'And you, who on yon bluidy braes Compell'd the vanquish'd Despot's praise, Rank out-rank out-my gallant Greys 2 Carle, now the King's come! 'Cock o' the North, my Huntly braw, Where are you with the Forty-twa3? Ah! wae's my heart that ye're awa' Carle, now the King's come! 'But yonder come my canty Celts, With durk and pistols at their belts, Thank God, we've still some plaids and kilts Carle, now the King's come! 'Lord, how the pibrochs groan and yell! Macdonnell's ta'en the field himsell, Macleod comes branking o'er the fell Carle, now the King's come! 'Bend up your bow each Archer spark, For you're to guard him light and dark; Faith, lads, for ance ye've hit the mark Carle, now the King's come! Young Errol, take the sword of state, The sceptre, Panie-Morarchate; 1 Lord Melville was Colonel of the Mid-Lothian Yeomanry Cavalry; Sir John Hope of Pinkie, Major; and Robert Cockburn, Esq., and Lord Elcho, were captains in the same corps. 2 The Scots Greys, under General Sir James Stewart of Coltness, were on duty at Edinburgh during the King's visit. Bonaparte's exclamation at Waterloo was, Ces beaux chevaux gris, comme ils travaillent! Marquis of Huntly, Colonel of the 42nd Regiment. 4 Colonel Ronaldson Macdonnell of Glengarry. 5 The Earl of Errol is hereditary Lord HighConstable of Scotland. 6 A corruption of the Gaelic Banamhorar-Chat, or the Great Lady (literally Female Lord of the Chatte); the Celtic title of the Countess of Sutherland. Knight Mareschal, see ye clear the gate→→ Carle, now the King's come! 'Kind cummer, Leith, ye've been mis-set, But dinna be upon the fret- Carle, now the King's come! 'My daughters, come with een sae blue, Your garlands weave, your blossoms strew; He ne'er saw fairer flowers than you Carle, now the King's come! 'What shall we do for the propine- 'Deil care-for that I'se never start, We'll welcome him with Highland heart; Whate'er we have he's get a part Carle, now the King's come! 'I'll show him mason-work this day— Nane of your bricks of Babel clay, But towers shall stand till Time's away- Carle, now the King's come! 'I'll show him wit, I'll show him lair, And gallant lads and lasses fair, And what wad kind heart wish for mair? Carle, now the King's come! 'Step out, Sir John', of projects rife, Come win the thanks of an auld wife, And bring him health and length of life Carle, now the King's come!' [1 Sir John Sinclair,' patron and projector of national and patriotic plans,' says Lockhart." |