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The pitying Duchess praised its chime,
And gave him heart, and gave him time,
Till every string's according glee
Was blended into harmony.
And then, he said, he would full fain
He could recall an ancient strain,
He never thought to sing again.
It was not framed for village churls,
But for high dames and mighty earls;
He had played it to King Charles th« Good,
When he kept court in Holyrood;
And much he wished, yet feared, to toy
The long forgotten melody.
Amid the strings his fingers strayed,
Cold diffidence, and age's frost,
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires—what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band,
That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Still, as I ~view each well-known scene,
Think what is now, and what hath been,
Seems as, to me, of all bereft,
Sole friends thy woods and streams were left;
And thus I love them better still,
Even in extremity of ill.
By Yarrow's stream still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way;
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break,
Although it chill my withered cheek;
Still lay my head by Teviot stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The Bard may draw his parting groan.
Sir W. Scott.
Upon my father's new closed grave.
Green, now, the grws waves o'er his head, And tall the tomb-weeds grow.
Along life's road no parent's band
My homeless footsteps led;
And raised my throbbing head. ..
But other hearts, Lord! thou hast warmed
With tenderness benign;
The tear of pity shine.
The stranger's hand by thee is moved
To be the orphan's stay;
Hath taught us how to pray.
Thou putt'st a new song in our mouth,
A song of praise and joy,
But hearts, in praise employ!
To Him who little children took,
And in his bosom held;
Their rising fears dispelled;
To Him, while flowers bloom on the bank,
Or lambs sport on the lea;
Or birds chant on the tree;
To Him let every creature join
In prayer, and thanks, and praise: Infants, their little anthems lisp;
Age, hallelujahs raise!
OAHGHISR OF GEOiGE IIS
Unthinking, idle, wild, and young,
I laughed, and talked, and danced, and sung,
And, proud of health, of freedom vain,
Dreamt not of sorrow, care, or pain;
Concluding, in those hours of glee,
That all the world was made for me.,[.
But when the day* of trial came,
When sickness shook this trembling frame,