O Nymph reserved,-while now the bright-hair'd sun O'erhang his wavy bed, Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises midst the twilight path, To breathe some soften'd strain Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit; As, musing slow I hail For when thy folding-star arising shows And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or, if chill blustering winds or driving rain That, from the mountain's side, 298 And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires; The gradual dusky veil. While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; And rudely rends thy robes; So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, And love thy favourite name! GEORGE SEWELL THE DYING MAN IN HIS GARDEN WHY, Damon, with the forward day What do thy noontide walks avail, '299 Vain wretch! canst thou expect to see Thy narrow pride, thy fancied green ALISON RUTHERFORD COCKBURN [1712-1794] THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST' I'VE seen the smiling Of Fortune beguiling; I've felt all its favours, and found its decay; Sweet was its blessing, Kind its caressing; But now it is fled-fled far away. I've seen the forest Adorned the foremost, With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay; Sae bonnie was their bloon.ing! Their scent the air perfuming! But now they are withered and a' wede away. I've seen the morning With gold the hills adorning, And loud tempest storming before the mid-day. Shining in the sunny beams Grow drumly and dark as he rowed on his way. "The flowers of the Forest" in this and the following song are the men of Ettrick Forest in Selkirkshire who fell at the battle of Flodden. 300 Oh, fickle Fortune! Why this cruel sporting? Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day? Nae mair your frowns can fear me; For the flowers of the forest are a' wede away. JANE ELLIOT [1727-1805] LAMENT FOR FLODDEN I'VE heard them lilting' at our ewe-milking, But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning '- At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning, Nae daffin', nae gabbin',' but sighing and sabbing, 10 In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border! Singing. • Toying. The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. Pens, folds. 2 Lane. Jeering. • Withered. strawbands for the sheaves. 11 Withered. : Flattering. • Doleful. 10 Makers of 12 Wrinkled. We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; 301 CHRISTOPHER SMART [1722-1770] A SONG TO DAVID O THOU, that sitt'st upon a throne, To bless each valley, grove, and coast, To keep the days on Zion's Mount, O servant of God's holiest charge, Which thou mayst now receive; Great, valiant, pious, good, and clean, |