Fierce on the hunter's quivered band
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow,
Spurns with black hoof and horn the sand,
And tosses high his mane of snow.

Aimed well, the chieftain's lance has flown;
Struggling in blood the savage lies;
His roar is sunk in hollow groan-

Sound, merry huntsman! sound the pryse!*

'Tis noon-against the knotted oak
The hunters rest the idle spear;
Curls through the trees the slender smoke,
Where yeoman dight the woodland cheer.

Proudly the chieftain marked his clan,
On greenwood lap all careless thrown,
Yet missed his eye the boldest man
That bore the name of Hamilton.

Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place,
Still wont our weal and woe to share?
Why comes he not our sport to grace?

Why shares he not our hunter's fare?"

Stern Claud replied with darkening face (Gray Paisley's haughty lord was he), "At merry feast or buxom chase

No more the warrior wilt thou see.

"Few suns have set since Woodhouslee Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, When to his hearts, in social glee,

The war-worn soldier turned him home.

"There, wan from her maternal throes, His Margaret, beautiful and mild, Sate in her bower, a pallid rose,

And peaceful nursed her new-born child. *The note blown at the death of the game.

"O change accursed! past are those days.
False Murray's ruthless spoilers came,
And, for the hearth's domestic blaze,
Ascends destruction's volumed flame.

"What sheeted phantom wanders wild,

Where mountain Eske through woodland flows?
Her arms enfold a shadowy child—
Or, is it she, the pallid rose?

"The wildered traveler sees her glide,
And hears her feeble voice with awe-
'Revenge,' she cries on Murray's pride!
And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh !'"
He ceased, and cries of rage and grief
Burst mingling from the kindred band;
And half arose the kindling chief,

And half unsheathed his Arran brand.

But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock,
Rides headlong with resistless speed?
Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke
Drives to the leap his jaded steed?

Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare,
As one some visioned sight that saw?
Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair?
""Tis he! 'tis he! 'tis Bothwellhaugh!"

From gory selle* and reeling steed
Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound,
And reeking from the recent deed,

He dashed his carbine to the ground.

Sternly he spoke,-" "Tis sweet to hear,
In good greenwood, the bugle blown;
But sweeter to Revenge's ear

To drink a tyrant's dying groan.

* Saddle.

"Your slaughtered quarry proudly trod, At dawning morn, o'er dale and down; But prouder base-born Murray rode

Through old Linlithgow's crowded town.

"From the wild Border's humbled side
In haughty triumph marchèd he,
While Knox relaxed his bigot pride,
And smiled the traitorous pomp to see.

"But can stern Power, with all his vaunt,
Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare,
The settled heart of Vengeance daunt,
Or change the purpose of Despair?

"With hackbut tent, my secret stand,
Dark as the purposed deed, I chose,
And marked where, mingling in his band,
Trooped Scottish pikes and English bows.

"Dark Marton, girt with many a spear, Murder's foul minion, led the van;

The wild Macfarlane's plaided clan,

66

And clashed their broadswords in the rear.

Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh, Obsequious at their regent's rein,

And hagard Lindsay's iron eye,

That saw fair Mary weep in vain.

"Mid pennoned spears, a steely grove,
Proud Murray's plumage floated high;
Scarce could his trampling charger move,
So close the minions crowded nigh.

"From the raised visor's shade, his eye,
Dark rolling, glanced the ranks along,
And his steel truncheon, waved on high,
Seemed marshaling the iron throng.

"But yet his saddened brow confessed
A passing shade of doubt and awe.
Some fiend was whispering in his breast,
'Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh!'

"The death-shot parts-the charger springs-
Wild rises tumult's startling roar!
And Murray's plumy helmet rings—
Rings on the ground to rise no more.

"What joy the raptured youth can feel
To hear her love the loved one tell!
Or he, who broaches on his steel
The wolf by whom his infant fell!

"But dearer to my injured eye

To see in dust proud Murray roll;
And mine was ten times trebled joy
To hear him groan his felon soul.

"My Margaret's specter glided near; With pride her blushing victim saw; And shrieked in his death-deafened ear, 'Remember injured Bothwellhaugh!'

"Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault;

Spread to the wind thy bannered tree! Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow! Murray is fallen and Scotland free!"

Vaults every warrior to his steed;

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim,'Murray is fallen and Scotland freed!

Couch, Arran! couch thy spear of flame.*

But see! the minstrel vision fails

The glimmering spears are seen no more The shouts of war die on the gales,

Or sink in Evan's lonely roar.

For the loud bugle, pealing high,
The blackbird whistles down the vale,
And sunk in ivied ruins lie

The bannered towers of Evandale.

For chiefs, intent on bloody deed,
And Vengeance, shouting o'er the slain,
Lo! high-born beauty rules the steed,
Or graceful guides the silken rein.

And long may Peace and Pleasure own
The maids who list the minstrel's tale;
Nor e'er a ruder guest be known

On the fairy banks of Evandale!

WAR-SONG OF THE ROYAL EDIN

BURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS

O horse! to horse! the standard flies,

то The bugles sound the call.

The Gallic navy stems the seas,
The voice of battle's on the breeze.
Arouse ye, one and all!

From high Dunedin's towers we come,
A band of brothers true;

Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
With Scotland's hardy thistle crowned;
We boast the red and blue.

Though tamely couch to Gallia's frown
Dull Holland's tardy train;

Their ravished toys though Romans mourn;
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,
And, foaming, gnaw the chain,—