Deep from the grave there comes a voice,
A voice with hollow tones,
Such as a spirit's tongue would have
That spoke through hollow bones;-
Arise, ye martyr'd men, and shout,
From earth to howling hell;
He comes, the persecutor comes!
All hail to thee, Dalzell!
O'er an old battle-field there rush'd
A wind, and with a moan
The sever'd limbs all rustling rose,
Even fellow-bone to bone.
Lo! there he goes, I heard them cry,
Like babe in swathing band,
Who shook the temples of the Lord,
And pass'd them 'neath his brand!
Cursed be the spot where he was born,
There let the adders dwell,
And from his father's hearth-stone hiss:
All hail to thee, Dalzell!
I saw thee growing like a tree-
Thy green head touch'd the sky-
But birds far from thy branches built,
The wild deer pass'd thee by;
No golden dew dropp'd on thy bough,
Glad summer scorn'd to grace
Thee with her flowers, nor shepherds woo'd
Beside thy dwelling-place;
The axe has come and hewn thee down,
Nor left one shoot to tell
Where all thy stately glory grew:
Adieu, adieu, Dalzell!
An ancient man stands by thy gate,
His head, like thine, is grey;
Grey with the woes of many years,
Years fourscore and a day.
Five brave and stately sons were his;
Two daughters, sweet and rare;
An old dame, dearer than them all,
And lands both broad and fair:-
Two broke their hearts when two were slain,
And three in battle fell
An old man's curse shall cling to thee:
Adieu, adieu, Dalzell!
And yet I sigh to think of thee,
A warrior tried and true
As ever spurr'd a steed, when thick
The splintering lances flew.
I saw thee in thy stirrups stand,
And hew thy foes down fast,
When Grierson fled, and Maxwell fail'd,
And Gordon stood aghast;
And Graeme, saved by thy sword, raged fierce,
As one redeem'd from hell.
I came to curse thee-and I weep:
So go in peace, Dalzell.
THE SHEPHERD SEEKS HIS GLOWING HEARTH.
The shepherd seeks his glowing hearth,
The fox calls from the mountain,
The folded flocks are white with rime,
Swans seek the silent fountain;
And midnight starless is and drear,
And Ae's wild waters swelling,
Far up the lonesome greenwood glen,
Where my fair maiden's dwelling.
Wild is the night-green July's eve,
Ne'er balmier seem'd or warmer;
For I sing thy name, and muse on thee,
My mild and winsome charmer;
Thy bower sheds far its trysting light
Through the dark air of December-
Thy father's dreaming o'er his wealth,
Thy mother's in her chamber.
Now is the time for talk, my love,
Soft sighing, mutual wishing,
Heart-throbbings, interchange of vows,
Words breathed 'mid holy kissing;
All worldly maxims, wise men's rules,
My raptured soul disdaineth;
For with my love the world is lost
And all the world containeth.
THOU HAST VOW'D BY THY FAITH, MY JEANIE.
Thou hast vow'd by thy faith, my Jeanie,
By that pretty white hand of thine,
And by all the lowing stars in heaven,
That thou wad aye be mine:
And I have sworn by my faith, my Jeanie,
And by that kind heart of thine,
By all the stars sown thick o'er heaven,
That thou shalt aye be mine.
Foul fa' the hands wad loose sic bands,
And the heart wad part sic love;
But there's nae hand can loose the band,
But the finger of Him above.
Though the wee wee cot maun be my
And my clothing e'er sae mean,
I should lap up rich in the faulds of love,
Heaven's armfu' of my Jean.
Thy white arm wad be a pillow to me,
Far softer than the down;
And love wad winnow o'er us his kind kind wings,
And sweetly we'd sleep and soun.
Come here to me, thou lass whom I love,
Come here and kneel wi' me,
The morning is full of the presence of God,
And I cannot pray but thee.
The wind is sweet amang the new flowers,
The wee birds sing saft on the tree,
Our goodman sits in the bonnie sunshine,
And a blythe auld bodie is he;
The Beuk maun be ta'en when he comes hame,
Wi' the holie psalmodie,
And I will speak of thee when I pray,
And thou maun speak of me.
THE YOUNG MAXWELL
Where gang ye, ye silly auld carle,
Wi' yere staff and shepherd fare?
I'm gaun to the hill, thou sodger man,
To shift my hirsels' lair.
Ae stride or twa took the silly auld carle,
An' a good long stride took he;
I trow thou be a freck auld carle,
Will
ye show the way to me?
For I have ridden down bonnie Nith,
Sae have I the silver Orr,
And a' for the blood of the young Maxwell,
Which I love as a gled loves gore.
And he is gone with the silly auld carle
Adown by the rocks sae steep,
Until that they came to the auld castle,
That hangs o'er Dee sae deep.
The rocks were high, the woods were dark,
The Dee roll'd in his pride;
Light down and gang, thou sodger man,
For here ye mayna ride.
He drew the reins of his bonnie grey steed,
And gayly down he sprang,
His warcoat was of the scarlet fine,
Where the golden tassels hang.
He threw down his plaid, the silly auld carle,
The bonnet frae 'boon his bree,
And who was it but the young Maxwell,
And his good brown sword drew he.
Thou kill'd my father, thou vile southron,
Sae did ye my brethren three,
Which broke the heart of my ae sister
I loved as the light of my e'e.
Now draw thy sword, thou vile southron,
Red wet wi' blood o'my kin;
That sword it cropt the fairest flower
E'er grew wi' a head to the sun;
Take ae stroke for my dear auld father,
Take twa for my brethren three,
And there's ane to thy heart for my ae sister
I loved as the light o' my e'e.
The sun rises bright in France,
And fair sets he;
But he has tint the blythe blink he had
O! gladness comes to many,
But sorrow comes to me,
As I look o'er the wide ocean
To my ain countree.
O! it's not my ain ruin
That saddens aye my e'e,
But the love I left in Galloway,
Wi' bonnie bairns three;
My hamely hearth burn'd bonnie,
And smiled my fair Marie,-
I've left a' my heart behind me,
In my ain countree.
The bud comes back to summer,
An' the blossom to the bee,
But I win back-oh never!
To my ain countree.
I'm leal to the high heaven,
Which will be leal to me;
An' there I'll meet ye a' soon,
Frae my ain countree.
I met a lass on Lammermoor,
Between the corn and blooming heather; Around her waist red gowd she wore,
And in her cap she wore a feather. Her steps were light, her looks were bright, Her face shone out like summer weather;
Birds sing, sweet lass, said I, nor fear
Thy looks so lovely 'mang the heather.
O sic a geck she gave her head,
And sic a toss she gave her feather;
Man, saw ye ne'er a bonnie lass
Before, among the blooming heather?
Pass on, pass on, so fair a one
Should be less scornful; I would rather
Have one I name not in her snood,
Than thou with thy proud cap and feather.
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