On the Massacre of Glencoe. H! tell me, harper, wherefore flow Where none may list their melody! Or to the eagle that from high Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy ?" "No, not to these, for they have rest; But those for whom I pour the lay, Could screen from treacherous cruelty. "Their flags were furled, and mute their drum, In guise of hospitality. His blithest notes the piper plied, To tend her kindly housewifery. "The hand that mingled in the meal A RED, RED ROSE. The friendly heart which warmed that hand, "Then woman's shriek was heard in vain, More than the warrior's groan, could gain The winter wind that whistles shrill, The snows that night that choked the hill, Far more than Southron clemency. "Long have my harp's best notes been gone, Their grey-haired master's misery. WALTER SCOTT. A Red, Red Rose. MY luve's like a red, red rose, 179 180 THE VOICE OF DEPARTED FRIENDSHIP. And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. Tho' it were ten thousand mile. BURNS. The Voice of Departed Friendship. HAD a friend who died in early youth! Methinks I hear his voice! sweet as the breath Of sunshine sacred, in a gloomy wood, To everlasting spring. In the church-yard Where now he sleeps-the day before he died, [ROBERT BURNS, the national poet of Scotland, was the son of a poor peasant farmer in Ayrshire but humble as was his birth, his education was of a far better order than usually falls to the lot of men in his position in England. His career was unfortunate, and unhappily his misfortunes were partly self-inflicted; but the charge of intemperance laid at his door by many writers seems to have been greatly exaggerated. Of his poems it is needless to speak. Their pathos, vigour, and humour have been universally acknowledged, and thousands of delighted readers have borne testimony to the genius of the Ayrshire ploughman, peasant farmer, and exciseman. Even when subjected to the diluting process of translation, the spirit of his poems is not lost; and in the German, in particular, Burns's poems have been largely circulated and eagerly studied.] THE VOICE OF DEPARTED FRIENDSHIP. 181 Silent we sat together on a grave; Till gently laying his pale hand on mine, Pale in the moonlight that was coldly sleeping This was the music of his last farewell! "Weep not, my brother! though thou seest me led. By short and easy stages, day by day, With motion almost imperceptible Into the quiet grave. God's will be done! My soul oft sate within the shadow of death! I wept! and thought how sad for one so young But Christ hath called me from this lower world, -And oh! without them who could bear the storms Of agitated life! Then hopes arise |