Can I live the dear life of delusion again, That flowed when these echoes first mixed with my strain?

It was then that around me, though poor and unknown,

High spells of mysterious enchantment were thrown;

The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew,

The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire

At the rush of their verse and the sweep of their lyre:

To me 't was not legend nor tale to the

Had learned the sad lesson, to love and to part;

To bear unassisted its burden of care, While I toiled for the wealth I had no one to share.

Not then had I said, when life's summer was done

And the hours of her autumn were fast speeding on,

Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your train,

And restore me the dream of my springtide again.'

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN

AIR-A Border Melody'

The first stanza is old. The others were added to it for Campbell Albyn's Anthology, 1816.

'WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie ?
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,

And ye sall be his bride:
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen'.
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

'Now let this wilfu' grief be done,

And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Errington And lord of Langley-dale; His step is first in peaceful ha',

His sword in battle keen'. But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean,

'A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you, the foremost o' them a',

Shall ride our forest queen.'-
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.

The kirk was decked at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmered fair;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha';
The ladie was not seen!

She's o'er the Border and awa'
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU

AIR-Piobair of Donuil Dhuidh'

This song was written for Albyn's Anthology, 1816, and contained the following preface by Scott:

This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonald, and supposed to refer to the expedition of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, launched from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to flight the Earls of Mar and Caithness, though at the head of an army superior to his own. The words of the set, theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic:

"Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi."

"The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, The pipe-summons of Donald the Black,

;

The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gatheringplace at Inverlochy."

This readily suggests the gathering song in the third canto of The Lady of the Lake.

PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu,

Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan Conuil.
Come away, come away,

Hark to the summons !
Come in your war array,

Gentles and commons.
Come from deep glen and
From mountain so rocky,
The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlochy.
Come every hill-plaid and

True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade and
Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter;

AIR-Cha teid mis a chaoidh' Written for Albyn's Anthology, 1816, with this note by Scott:

In the original Gaelic, the Lady makes protestations that she will not go with the Red Earl's son, until the swan should build in the cliff, and the eagle in the lake - until one mountain should change places with another, and so forth. It is but fair to add, that there is no authority for supposing that she altered her mind except the vehemence of her protestation.'

HEAR what Highland Nora said,
'The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die
And none be left but he and I.
For all the gold, for all the gear,
And all the lands both far and near,
That ever valor lost or won,

I would not wed the Earlie's son.'

'A maiden's vows,' old Callum spoke,
Are lightly made and lightly broke;
The heather on the mountain's height
Begins to bloom in purple light;
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
That lustre deep from glen and brae;

Yet Nora ere its bloom be gone
May blithely wed the Earlie's son.'

'The swan,' she said, 'the lake's clear breast

May barter for the eagle's nest;

The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,

Ben-Cruaichan fall and crush Kilchurn;
Our kilted clans when blood is high
Before their foes may turn and fly;
But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the Earlie's son.'

Still in the water-lily's shade

Her wonted nest the wild-swan made;
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce
river;

To shun the clash of foeman's steel
No Highland brogue has turned the heel;
But Nora's heart is lost and won-
She 's wedded to the Earlie's son !

MACGREGOR'S GATHERING

Written for Albyn's Anthology, 1816.

AIR-Thain' a Grigalach'

THE Moon 's on the lake and the mist 's on the brae,

And the Clan has a name that is nameless

by day;

Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
Gather, gather, gather, etc.

Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew,

Must be heard but by night in our vengeful

haloo!

Then haloo, Grigalach! haloo, Grigalach!

Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, etc.

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchurn and her towers,

Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours; We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach!

Landless, landless, landless, etc.

But doomed and devoted by vassal and lord, MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword!

COMPOSED FOR THE OCCASION, ADAPTED
TO HAYDN'S AIR GOD SAVE THE EM-
PEROR FRANCIS,' AND SUNG BY A
SELECT BAND AFTER THE DINNER
GIVEN BY THE LORD PROVOST OF
EDINBURGH ΤΟ THE GRAND-DUKE
NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA, AND HIS SUITE,
19TH DECEMBER, 1816.

GOD protect brave ALEXANDER,
Heaven defend the noble Czar,
Mighty Russia's high Commander,
First in Europe's banded war;
For the realms he did deliver
From the tyrant overthrown,
Thou, of every good the Giver,
Grant him long to bless his own!
Bless bim, mid his land's disaster
For her rights who battled brave;
Of the land of foemen master,
Bless him who their wrongs forgave.

For time will rust the brightest blade, And years will break the strongest bow; Was never wight so starkly made,

But time and years would overthrow.

II

VERSES FOUND, WITH A LOCK OF HAIR, IN BOTHWELL'S POCKET-BOOK

From Chapter xxiii.

THY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
As in that well-remembered night,
When first thy mystic braid was wove,
And first my Agues whispered love.

Since then how often hast thou pressed
The torrid zone of this wild breast,
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell
With the first sin that peopled hell;
A breast whose blood 's a troubled ocean,
Each throb the earthquake's wild commo-
tion ! -

Oh, if such clime thou canst endure,
Yet keep thy hue unstained and pure,
What conquest o'er each erring thought
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought!
I had not wandered wild and wide,
With such an angel for my guide;
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove