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'Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, Wi' a' your ladders, lang and hie ?' 'We gang to herry a corbie's nest,
That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.'
'Where be ye gaun, ye broken men ?'
Quo' fause Sakelde; 'come tell to me!' Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, And the never a word o' lear had he.
'Why trespass ye on the English side? Row-footed outlaws, stand!' quo' he; The never a word had Dickie to say,
Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
Then on we held for Carlisle toun,
And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we cross'd; The water was great and meikle of spait, But the never a horse nor man we lost.
And when we reach'd the Staneshaw-bank,
And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,
We crept on knees, and held our breath,
He has ta'en the watchman by the throat,
'Now sound out, trumpets!' quo' Buccleuch ;
Then speedilie to work we gaed,
And so we wan to the castle ha'.
They thought King James and a' his men
That put a thousand in sic a stear!
Wi' coulters, and wi' fore-hammers,
Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie.
And when we cam to the lower prison,
'O I sleep saft, and I wake aft;
It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me; Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a' gude fellows that spier for me.'
Then Red Rowan has hente him up,
The starkest man in Teviotdale
'Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.
'Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope! My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!' he cried'I'll pay you for my lodging maill,
When first we meet on the Border side.'
Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,
I wot the Kinmont's airns played clang!
'O mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie, 'I have ridden horse baith wild and wood; But a rougher beast than Red Rowan, I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode,
And mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie, 'I've pricked a horse out oure the furs ; But since the day I backed a steed,
I never wore sic cumbrous spurs !'
We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,
Even where it flow'd frae bank to brim,
He turned him on the other side,
And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he'If ye like na my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me !'
All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,
'He is either himsell a devil frae hell,
MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORder.
The Last Man
ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
I saw a vision in my sleep,
That gave my spirit strength to sweep
I saw the last of human mould,
The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
Some had expired in fight,-the brands
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood
That shook the sere leaves from the wood
Saying, 'We are twins in death, proud Sun! Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
'Tis Mercy bids thee go;
For thou ten thousand thousand years
'What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill;
And arts that made fire, flood, and earth,
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,
For all those trophied arts
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
'Go, let oblivion's curtain fall
Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall
Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd,
Or mown in battle by the sword,
E'en I am weary in yon skies
My lips that speak thy dirge of death—
The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,-
'This spirit shall return to Him
'Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up
To drink this last and bitter cup
The darkening universe defy
A SONG OF THE HUGUENOTS
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories
And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of
Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh pleasant land of France!