When Grierson fled, and Maxwell fail'd,
And Gordon stood aghast,
And Graeme, saved by thy sword, raged fierce
As one redeem'd from hell.
I came to curse thee-and I weep:
Our native land, our native vale,
A long and last adieu !
Farewell to bonnie Teviotdale,
And Cheviot mountains blue!
Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
And streams renown'd in song!
Farewell, ye braes and blossom'd meads,
Our hearts have lov'd so long!
Farewell, the blithesome broomy knowes,
Where thyme and harebells grow!
Farewell, the hoary, haunted, howes,
O'erhung with birk and sloe!
The mossy cave and mouldering tower
That skirt our native dell-
The martyr's grave, and lover's bower, We bid a sad farewell!
Home of our love! our father's home!
Land of the brave and free!
The sail is flapping on the foam
That bears us far from thee!
We seek a wild and distant shore,
Beyond the western main—
We leave thee to return no more,
Nor view thy cliffs again!
Our native land, our native vale,
A long and last adieu!
Farewell to bonnie Teviotdale,
And Scotland's mountains blue!
Last night a proud page came to me:
Sir Knight, he said, I greet you free ;
The moon is up at midnight hour,
All mute and lonely is the bower;
To rouse the deer my lord is gone,
And his fair daughter's all alone,
As lily fair, and as sweet to see-
Arise, Sir Knight, and follow me.
The stars stream'd out, the new-woke moon
O'er Chatsworth hill gleam'd brightly down,
And my love's cheeks, half-seen, half-hid,
With love and joy blush'd deeply red:
Short was our time, and chaste our bliss,
A whisper'd vow and a gentle kiss;
And one of those long looks, which earth
With all its glory is not worth.
The stars beam'd lovelier from the sky,
The smiling brook flow'd gentlier by;
Life, fly thou on! I'll mind that hour
Of sacred love in greenwood bower :
Let seas between us swell and sound,
Still at her name my heart shall bound;
Her name which like a spell I'll keep,
To soothe me and to charm my sleep.
It's sweet to go with hound and hawk,
O'er moor and mountain roamin';
It's sweeter to walk on the Solway side,
With a fair maid at the gloamin';
But its sweeter to bound o'er the deep green sea,
When the flood is chafed and foamin';
For the seaboy has then the prayer of good men, And the sighing of lovesome woman.
The wind is up, and the sail is spread,
And look at the foaming furrow
Behind the bark, as she shoots away
As fleet as the outlaw's arrow !
And the tears drop fast from lovely eyes,
And hands are wrung in sorrow;
But when we come back, there is shout and clap, And mirth both night and morrow.
The last of our steers on the board has been spread,
And the last flask of wine in our goblets is red—
Up, up, my brave kinsmen! belt swords and begone,
There are dangers to dare and there's spoil to be won!
The eyes, that so lately mixed glances with ours,
For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the towers,
And strive to distinguish through tempest and gloom
The prance of the steed and the toss of the plume.
The rain is descending, the wind rises loud,
The moon her red beacon has veiled with a cloud-
'Tis the better, my mates, for the warder's dull eye
Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigh.
Our steeds are impatient-I hear my blithe gray,
There is life in his hoof-clang and hope in his neigh:
Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane
Shall marshal your march through the darkness and rain.
The drawbridge has dropp'd, and the bugle has blown; One pledge is to quaff yet-then mount and be gone : To their honour and peace that shall rest with the slain ! To their health and their glee that see Teviot again!
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