A contrite heart, a humble thought,
Are mine accepted sacrifice.
From Ivanhoe, 1818.

BORDER BALLAD

MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order?

March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the border,

Many a banner spread, Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story, Mount and make ready then, Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.

Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;

Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing.

Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.

Trumpets are sounding. War-steeds are bounding, Stand to your arms and march in good order;

England shall many a day
Tell of the bloody fray,
When the Blue Bonnets came over the
the Border.

From The Monastery, 1820.
LIFE

YOUTH! thou wear'st to manhood now;
Darker lip and darker brow,
Statelier step, more pensive mien,
In thy face and gait are seen:

Thou must now brook midnight watches,

Take thy food and sport by snatches!
For the gambol and the jest

Thou wert wont to love the best,
Graver follies must thou follow,
But as senseless, false, and hollow.
From The Abbot, 1820.

COUNTY GUY

AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh,

The sun has left the lea,

The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea.

THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW

HILL

"It was while struggling with such languor, on one lovely evening of this autumn [1817], that he composed the following beautiful verses. They mark the very spot of their birth,—namely, the then naked height overhanging the northern side of the Cauldshields Loch, from which Melrose Abbey to the eastward, and the hills of Ettrick and Yarrow to the west, are now visible over a wide range of rich woodland, -all the work of the poet's hand." Lockhart's Life of Scott, Chapter 39.

THE Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill

In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet; The westland wind is hush and still, The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore,

Though evening with her richest dye Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shor

HERE'S A HEALTH TO
CHARLES

BRING the bowl which you boast
Fill it up to the brim;

"T is to him we love most, And to all who love him. Brave gallants, stand up,

And avaunt ye, base carles! Were there death in the cup, Here's a health to King Charle

Though he wanders through dar
Unaided, unknown,
Dependent on strangers,
Estranged from his own;
Though 't is under our breath,
Amidst forfeits and perils,

Here's to honor and faith.

And a health to King Charles!

Let such honors abound

As the time can afford, The knee on the ground,

And the hand on the sword; But the time shall come round When, 'mid Lords, Dukes, and The loud trumpet shall sound, Here's a health to King Charle From Woodstock,

contrite heart, a humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice. From Ivanhoe, 1818.

BORDER BALLAD

ARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order?

[arch, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the border,

Many a banner spread,
Flutters above your head,
Many a crest that is famous in story,
Mount and make ready then,
Sons of the mountain glen,
Fight for the Queen and our old Scot-
tish glory.

Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;

Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing.

Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.

Trumpets are sounding, War-steeds are bounding, Stand to your arms and march in good order;

England shall many a day

Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the the Border.

From The Monastery, 1820.
LIFE

YOUTH! thou wear'st to manhood now;
Darker lip and darker brow,
Statelier step, more pensive mien,
In thy face and gait are seen:

Thou must now brook midnight

watches,

Take thy food and sport by snatches!
For the gambol and the jest

Thou wert wont to love the best,
Graver follies must thou follow,
But as senseless, false, and hollow.
From The Abbot, 1820.

COUNTY GUY

AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,

The orange flower perfumes the bower,

The breeze is on the sea.

The lark his lay who thrilled all day
Sits hushed his partner nigh:
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,
But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade,

Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To beauty shy by lattice high,
Sings high-born Cavalier.

The star of Love, all stars above
Now reigns o'er earth and sky;
And high and low the influence know-
But where is County Guy?

- From Quentin Durward, 1823.

BONNY DUNDEE

To the Lords of Convention 't was Claver'se who spoke,

"Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;

So let each Cavalier who loves honor and me,

Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, come fill up

my can,

Come saddle your horses and call up your men;

Come open the West Port and let me gang free,

And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee !"

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the

street,

The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;

But the Provost, douce man, said, “Just e'en let him be,

The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee."

Come fill up my cup, etc.

As he rode down the sanctified bends of

the Bow,

Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow;

But the young plants of grace they
looked couthie and slee,
Thinking luck to thy bonnet, thou
Bonny Dundee !

Come fill up my cup, etc.

With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was crammed,

As if half the West had set tryst to be

hanged;