Wha can fill a coward's grave?

Wha sae base as be a slave!

Let him turn and flee!

IV.

Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa', Let him follow me!

V.

By oppression's woes and pains!

By our sons in servile chains!

We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free!

VI.

Lay the proud usurpers low!

Tyrants fall in every foe!

Liberty's in every blow!-- Let us do or die!

CCVII.

BANNOCKBURN.

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.

[SECOND VERSION.]

[Thomson acknowledged the charm which this martial and national ode had for him, but he disliked the air, and proposed to subst.i.tute that of Lewis Gordon in its place. But Lewis Gordon required a couple of syllables more in every fourth line, which loaded the verse with expletives, and weakened the simple energy of the original: Burns consented to the proper alterations, after a slight resistance; but when Thomson, having succeeded in this, proposed a change in the expression, no warrior of Bruce's day ever resisted more sternly the march of a Southron over the border. "The only line," says the musician, "which I dislike in the whole song is,

'Welcome to your gory bed:'

gory presents a disagreeable image to the mind, and a prudent general would avoid saying anything to his soldiers which might tend to make death more frightful than it is." "My ode," replied Burns, "pleases me so much that I cannot alter it: your proposed alterations would, in my opinion, make it tame." Thomson cries out, like the timid wife of Coriola.n.u.s, "Oh, G.o.d, no blood!" while Burns exclaims, like that Roman's heroic mother, "Yes, blood! it becomes a soldier more than gilt his trophy." The ode as originally written was restored afterwards in Thomson's collection.]

I.

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victorie!

II.

Now's the day, and now's the hour-- See the front o' battle lour; See approach proud Edward's power-- Edward! chains and slaverie!

III.

Wha will be a traitor-knave?

Wha can fill a coward's grave?

Wha sae base as be a slave?

Traitor! coward! turn and flee!

IV.

Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa', Caledonian! on wi' me!

V.

By oppression's woes and pains!

By our sons in servile chains!

We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be--shall be free!

VI.

Lay the proud usurpers low!

Tyrants fall in every foe!

Liberty's in every blow!

Forward! let us do, or die!

CCVIII.

BEHOLD THE HOUR.

Tune--"_Oran-gaoil._"

["The following song I have composed for the Highland air that you tell me in your last you have resolved to give a place to in your book. I have this moment finished the song, so you have it glowing from the mint." These are the words of Burns to Thomson: he might have added that the song was written on the meditated voyage of Clarinda to the West Indies, to join her husband.]

I.

Behold the hour, the boat arrive; Thou goest, thou darling of my heart!

Sever'd from thee can I survive?

But fate has will'd, and we must part.

I'll often greet this surging swell, Yon distant isle will often hail: "E'en here I took the last farewell; There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail."

II.

Along the solitary sh.o.r.e While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, Across the rolling, dashing roar, I'll westward turn my wistful eye: Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say, Where now my Nancy's path may be!

While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray, O tell me, does she muse on me?