Legend of St Andrew,

PATRON OF SCOTLAND.

THE western Saxons landed
Upon the Scottish coast,
The Lothian people trembled
Before that fierce wild host.
They sent to blessed Adrian
In the far Isle of May,
To come and bless their army
Before the battle day.

He came, the holy hermit,

With chasuble and stole :

He blessed each Christian champion

In body and in soul.

The Holy Mass he offered,

With fervent prayer, to Heaven,

And all the Scottish warriors

From sin were duly shriven.

In labours and in fasting

St Adrian's day was spent; At eve, for prayer and solitude, He sought his little tent.

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But then there came a messenger,
To say, a sinner craved
Speech with the blessed father :
So might a soul be saved.

St Adrian laid aside his book,
And took his purple stole ;
For ever ready is a priest
To help a suffering soul.
He knew not the foul demon
Had come in woman's form,
To tempt his holy heart to sin,
And work him endless harm.

But then, a low and gentle tap

Outside the door was heard; St Adrian asked who there might beHis soul within him stirred. "From a far distant country I've come to succour thee; 'Tis Andrew, Peter's brother, From the shores of Galilee."

At that blest voice, the demon,
Loud shrieking, took to flight,
St Adrian fell upon his face,
Thanking the God of might.

And men saw a strange pilgrim
From Adrian's threshold go,
A large cross on his shoulder,
A glory on his brow.

Next day the Scottish army
Met with the Saxon force ;
At Athelstane they conquered,
Routing them man and horse.
For, in the high blue heavens,
St Andrew's cross they saw,
The sign of victory to all
Who kept God's holy law.

St Andrew since that day has been
Our guard, and patron true :
His holy cross upon our shield,
And on our banner blue.
Then wear it, Scot, upon thy breast,

God's law within thy heart :
With Andrew and with Adrian,
So be thy blessed part.

SOLEMN and stern of old they took their stand,
Watchful they crouch by coast, and plain, and town,
The Lion wardens of my native land,
Guarding the home of the unvanquished crown.

First, at the entrance to the Firth of Forth,
'Mid billows roaring out wild ocean's law,
Craigleith * takes up its place 'tween south and north,
Like Lion resting on its mighty paw.

Where Edinburgh flings her lintwhite locks
Young in unfading freshness to the main,
Her Lion-guardian + sits on throne of rocks,
Like Beauty and the Beast revived again.

In Stirling's fertile carse another waits,+
First of the Ochils we its form discern,
Dark sentinel before the Highland gates,
It gazes grimly over Bannockburn.

And yet another, by Loch Leven's bed
Looks sadly down upon the scene below ;
For, while the Scottish Lion rears its head,
Her country sorrows o'er Queen Mary's woe.

Solemn and stern of old they took their stand,
Watchful they crouch by coast, and plain, and town,
The Lion wardens of my native land,
Guarding the home of the unvanquished crown.