Volume Iv Part 8 (2/2)
When the morning's first ray saw the mighty in arms, And the tyrant's proud banners insultingly wave, And the slogan of battle from beauty's fond arms Roused the war-crested chieftain, his country to save; The sunbeam that rose on our mountain-clad warriors, And reflected their s.h.i.+elds in the green rippling wave, In its course saw the slain on the fields of their fathers, And shed its last ray on their cold b.l.o.o.d.y graves.
O'er those green beds of honour our war-song prepare, And the red sword of vengeance triumphantly wave, While the ghosts of the slain cry aloud--Do not spare, Lead to victory and freedom, or die with the brave; For the high soul of freedom no tyrant can fetter, Like the unshackled billows our proud sh.o.r.es that lave; Though oppressed, he will watch o'er the home of his fathers, And rest his wan cheek on the tomb of the brave.
To arms, then! to arms! Let the battle-cry rise, Like the raven's hoa.r.s.e croak, through their ranks let it sound; Set their knell on the wing of each arrow that flies, Till the shouts of the free shake the mountains around; Let the cold-blooded, faint-hearted changeling now tremble, For the war-shock shall reach to his dark-centered cave, While the laurels that twine round the brows of the victors Shall with rev'rence be strew'd o'er the tombs of the brave.
REMOVED FROM VAIN FAs.h.i.+ON.
Removed from vain fas.h.i.+on, From t.i.tle's proud ken, In a straw-cover'd cottage, Deep hid in yon glen, There dwells a sweet flow'ret, Pure, lovely, and fair, Though rear'd, like the snowdrop, 'Midst hards.h.i.+ps' chill air.
No soft voice of kindred, Or parent she knows-- In the desert she blooms, Like the sweet mountain rose, Like the little stray'd lammie That bleats on the lea; She's soft, kind, and gentle, And dear, dear to me.
Though the rich dews of fortune Ne'er water'd this stem, Nor one fostering sunbeam Matured the rich gem-- Oh! give me that pure bosom, Her lot let me share, I'll laugh at distinction, And smile away care.
WHEN SHALL WE MEET AGAIN?
When shall we meet again, Meet ne'er to sever?
When shall Peace wreath her chain Round us for ever?
When shall our hearts repose, Safe from each breath that blows, In this dark world of woes?
Never! oh, never!
Fate's unrelenting hand Long may divide us, Yet in one holy land One G.o.d shall guide us.
Then, on that happy sh.o.r.e, Care ne'er shall reach us more, Earth's vain delusions o'er, Angels beside us.
There, where no storms can chill, False friends deceive us, Where, with protracted thrill, Hope cannot grieve us; There with the pure in heart, Far from fate's venom'd dart, There shall we meet to part Never! oh, never!
JAMES KING.
James King was born in Paisley in 1776. His paternal ancestors, for a course of centuries, were farmers in the vicinity of Gleniffer Braes.
Having been only one year at school, he was, at the age of eight, required to a.s.sist his father in his trade of muslin-weaving. Joining a circulating library, he soon acquired an acquaintance with books; he early wrote verses, and became the intimate a.s.sociate of Tannahill, who has honourably mentioned him in one of his poetical epistles. In his fifteenth year he enlisted in a fencible regiment, which was afterwards stationed at Inverness. On its being disembodied in 1798, he returned to the loom at Paisley, where he continued till 1803, when he became a recruit in the Renfrews.h.i.+re county militia. He accompanied this regiment to Margate, Deal, Dover, Portsmouth, and London, and subsequently to Leith, the French prisoners' depot at Penicuick, and the Castle of Edinburgh. At Edinburgh his poetical talents recommended him to some attention from Sir Walter Scott, the Ettrick Shepherd, and several others of the poets of the capital.
Accused of exciting disaffection, and promoting an attempt made by a portion of his comrades to resist lawful authority while the regiment was stationed at Perth, King, though wholly innocent of the charge, fearing the vengeance of the adjutant, who was hostile to him, contrived to effect his escape. By a circuitous route, so as to elude the vigilance of parties sent to apprehend him, he reached the district of Galloway, where he obtained employment as a shepherd and agricultural labourer. He subsequently wrought as a weaver at Crieff till 1815, when, on his regiment being disembodied, he was honourably acquitted from the charge preferred against him, and granted his discharge. He now settled as a muslin-weaver, first at Glasgow, and afterwards at Paisley and Charleston. He died at Charleston, near Paisley, on the 27th September 1849, in his seventy-third year.
Of vigorous intellect, lively fancy, and a keen appreciation of the humorous, King was much esteemed among persons of a rank superior to his own. His mind was of a fine devotional cast, and his poetical compositions are distinguished by earnestness of expression and sentiment.
THE LAKE IS AT REST.
<script>