Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,

Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield,

High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield,

But thou, beneath the random bield

O' clod or stane,

Adorns the histie stibble-field,
Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;

But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade!

By love's simplicity betray'd,

And guileless trust,

Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid
Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple Bard,

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On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd!
Unskilful he to note the card

Of prudent lore,

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Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n,

Who long with wants and woes has striv'n,

By human pride or cunning driv'n

To mis'ry's brink,

Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n,

He, ruin'd, sink!

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Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate,
That fate is thine - no distant date;
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,

Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight,
Shall be thy doom!

BANNOCKBURN.

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.

TUNE-"Hey tuttie tattie."

SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower;

See approach proud Edward's power-
Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'?

Let him on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!

Liberty 's in every blow!

Let us do, or die!

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,

Wear hodden-grey, and a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,

A man's a man for a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that ;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,

Their pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,

As come it will for a' that;

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that,

That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.

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COLERIDGE.

THE ANCIENT MARINER.

PART I.

IT is an ancient Mariner,

And he stoppeth one of three.

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By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

"The bridegroom's doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin;

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Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!" Eftsoons his hand dropt he.