Before my breath, like blazing flax, Redeem mine hours-the space is brief- LX THE RED HARLAW THE herring loves the merry moonlight, But the oyster loves the dredging sang, Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl That fought on the red Harlaw. The cronach's cried on Bennachie, And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, A mile, but barely ten, When Donald came branking down the brae Their tartans they were waving wide, The great Earl in his stirrups stood, 'Now here a knight that's stout and good What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay, To turn the rein were sin and shame, 'Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, The spur should be in my horse's side, And the bridle upon his mane. If they hae twenty thousand blades, My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern, Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude LXI FAREWELL FAREWELL! Farewell! the voice you hear The accents which I scarce could form To cut the mast and clear the wreck. The timid eye I dared not raise, The hand that shook when pressed to thine, Must point the guns upon the chase, Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. To all I love, or hope, or fear, Farewell! save memory of you! LXII BONNY DUNDEE To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke, 'Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee.' As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee, Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee ! With sour-featured Whigs the crammed, Grassmarket was As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged; There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e, As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee. These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers; But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free, At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock, And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke; 'Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.' The Gordon demands of him which way he goes: "There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth, If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North; There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three, Will cry hoigh! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide; Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks, |