one might suppose to be the royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on that eventful morning." It was written in September, 1793.] I. Scors, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victorie! II. Now's the day, and now's the hour; III. 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! IV. Wha for Scotland's king and law resistance; but when Thomson, having succeeded in this, proposed a change in the expression, no warrior of Bruce's day ever resisted more sternly the march of a Southron over the border. The only line," savs the musician, "which I dislike in the whole song is, 'Welcome to your gory bed :' gory presents a disagreeable image to the mind, and a prudent general would avoid saying anything to his soldiers which might tend to make death more frightful than it is." "My ode," replied Burns, "pleases me so much. that I cannot alter it: your proposed alterations would, in my opinion, make it tame." Thomson cries out, like the timid wife of Coriolanus, "Oh, God, no blood!" while Burns exclaims, like that Roman's heroic mother, "Yes, blood! it becomes a soldier more than gilt his trophy." The ode as originally written was restored afterwards in Thomson's collection.] I. Scors, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victorie! II. Now's the day, and now's the hourSee the front o' battle lour; See approach proud Edward's powerEdward! chains and slaverie! II. Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie ! Thou hast me forsaken. While my heart is breaking: Soon my weary een I'll close, Never mair to waken, Jamie, Ne'er mair to waken! CCX. AULD LANG SYNE. ["Is not the Scotch phrase," Burns writes to Mrs. Dunlop, "Auld lang syne, exceedingly expressive? There is an old song and tune which has often thrilled through my soul: I shall give you the verses on the other sheet. Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven-inspired poet who composed this glorious fragment." "The following song," says the poet, when he communicated it to George Thomson, "an old song of the olden times, and which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing, is enough to recommend any air." These are strong words, but there can be no doubt that, save for a line or two, we owe the song to no other minstrel than "minstrel Burns."] I. SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, II. We twa hae run about the braes, III. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin' sun till dine: But seas between us braid hae roar'd, Sin' auld lang syne. IV. And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, And we'll take a right guid willie-waught, V. And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne. For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, For auld lang syne! CCXII. DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE. [To the air of the "Collier's dochter," Burns bids Thomson add the following old Bacchanal: it is slightly altered from a rather stiff original.] I. DELUDED Swain, the pleasure Is but a fairy treasure Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. |