The hawthorn's budding in the glen, The meanest hind in fair Scotland May rove their sweets amang: But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison strang. I was the Queen o' bonnie France, But as for thee, thou false woman, My sister and my fae, Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword That thro' thy soul shall gae: The weeping blood in woman's breast Was never known to thee; Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe Frae woman's pitying e'e. My son! my son may kinder stars And may those pleasures gild thy reigu, And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Oh! soon, to me, may summer suns Wave o'er the yellow corn! Let winter round me rave; And the next flow'rs, that deck the spring, Bloom on my peaceful grave! LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. HE wind blew hollow frae the hills,. That way'd o'er Lugar's winding stream: Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard, He lean'd him to an ancient aik, Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years; His locks were bleached white with time, "Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, kr Can gladness bring again to me. “I am a bending aged tree, That long has stood the wind and-rain ; |