University of Virginia Library

CHAP. I.

Now had cold February spent its Store,
And Boreas rushing Blasts offend no more;
No more the Hurricane embroils the Deep,
And driving Winds on its smooth Surface sleep:
No more the Plains in standing Lakes appear,
And March had spent the Winter of the Year.
Now April joyous Mouth; its Course begun,
And hoary Snows now melted to the Sun,
A springing Verdure crowns the happy Land,
And smiling Nature own'd rhe Summer's Hand.
While thus the Earth smiles in its Gayity,
And Summer Weeds adorn each springing Tree:
The busy Nymphs renew their annual Toil,
And build their Grott's perfum'd with Balm and Oil,
Each blythsome Hour, in Ranks they dance along,
And the pleas'd Hunter listens to their Song.
In this blest June when all conspir'd to move,
His manly Soul with the soft Flame of Love,
Our Knight to Lanerk went of new again,
Seiz'd with the Pangs of his returning Pain,
He runs with Joy to meet his lovely Fair,
Nor reck'd he of his English Foes since she was there:
The subtile Flame feirce roll'd within his Breast,
Hot in his Pain he thought ne'er one so blest.
Sometimes the Thought of Conquest wou'd return,
And fierce Ambition in his Bosom burn;
His Country's Glory rise before his sight,
And Love's soft Joys yeild to the Toils of Fight;
At other Times, Love wou'd usurp again,
Fair Glory's Charms decay, and War subside again.
Shall I no more hear the fierce Battles rage,
No more in bloody Fields my Foes engage,
Shall Love's imperious Powers thus controul
My easy Heart, and move my pliant Soul:
What Plague is this? This Bane of Mortals Love?
That me from Arms of Glory wou'd remove.
My Honour calls, and nothing e're shall make,
Me lose my Honour for my Pleasure's sake;
To War I will, and shine in Arms again,
And Love shall spread its Silken Chains in Vain.
While thus the Heroe spent his anxious Life,
And Love and Honour held the doubtful Strife,
Alternate Passions rul'd his wav'ring Mind,
And now to this, and now that inclin'd.
At last resolv'd to finish all his Grief,
And give his mourning Soul a sure Relief:
To wed with holy Love the beauteous Dame,
Give loose to his Desire, and quench the sacred Flame.
And dow the Morning its fair Beams display'd,
And Musick wakened into bless the Maid.
Conubial Hymen wav'd his Torch on high,
And bad their future Life, compleatest Joy;
Now live in strictest Unity of Love,
And for all jarring Dissonance remove;
Let wing'd with Pleasure the soft Minutes flow,
And lasting Bless no Interruption know.
A rising Joy now dawns within his Breast,
Of all that Heaven cou'd bestow possest:
With Pleasure, now he runs his Dangers o'er,
And Fortune's various Face offends no more;
In her alone he places his Delight,
And Joy arises from her only Sight:
While with like Heat, her faithful Bosom warms,
For in his Time he was the Flow'r of Arms;
Thus blooming Love extends his soft Command,
And joyful Hymen reigns with equal Hand.
While now the Heroe far from Wars alarms,
Enjoys all Pleasure in his Consort's Arms;
His former Love of Glory fires again
His Martial Soul, and prompts him to the Plain;
To bear aloft again the Patriot Shield,
And vindicate his Country in the Field:
His burning Breast glows yet with Fields unfought,
And future Triumphs rise upon his Thought.
Now leave thy Mirth, and seek thy Country's Foes,
Tho' round thy Head the gath'ring Battle glows
Go leave thy Love or glorious Freedom lose.
Which ne'er on Earth shall be Redeem'd again,
Go live in War, go live in cruel Pain:
And then just GOD, who does this World sustain,
Let not this Thrist of Vengeance be in vain.
Let Heav'n with due Success still crown the Just,
And lay the proud Oppressor in the Dust.
But now his faithful Wife, employs his Care,
Expos'd to all the common Ills of War;
Shou'd he by adverse Fate be forc'd to yeild,
And to the Foe give up the vanquish'd Field:
A Thousand sad corroding Cares infest,
And Fate hangs gloomy on his anxious Breast.
Far from the hoarse Noise of the thund'ring War,
He wou'd remove the Object of his Care;
But sad with Grief relents his bleeding Heart,
And his Thoughts shrink, at the dread Word to part.
'Twas now the Time when all to Rest repair,
And weary Wretches laid aside each Care;
When with fond Arms the fair Fidelia prest,
Her panting Heroe to her snowy Breast;
With Grief she found the rising Tears bedew
His manly Face, and heard the Sighs he drew:
With frequent Sobs her heaving Bosom rose,
And catch'd the dear Infection of his Woes;
On her pale Cheeks does livid Paleness rise,
And Sorrow speaks in Silence from her Eyes:
Then with a Groan thus he, long I've supprest,
The struggling Passion in my labouring Breast;
But now all sad Restraints at once give way,
Fierce Sorrow bids me speak, and I obey;
Behold our Native Country drown'd in Tears,
Around one general Face of Woe appears.
In vain we're blest with kind indulgent Skies,
And Suns in vain, with genial Ardor rise,
In vain a yellow Harvest crowns the Plain,
And nodding Boughs their golden Load sustain:
The Peasant comfortless repining stands,
And sees his Harvest reap'd by others Hands;
See the fierce Soldier rages o'er the Land,
The Flames wide spreading from the Hostile Hand:
Those shining Spires who lately pierc'd the Sky,
Now equal with the Ground in Ruins lye,
O dire and curst Effects of Slavery.
Yet once I nobly durst assert her Right,
Bold in her Cause, and dauntless in each Fight;
But now the useless Sword is laid aside,
And my once faithful Helm long been untry'd,
But now the Tyrants Pow'r we dare restrain,
And Liberty shall rear her Head again:
With fell Revenge another War prepare,
Bend the long unstrung Bow, and launch the rusty Spear.
Now all around the Chief they listning stand,
Each his keen Sabre threatning in his Hand,
And eagerly devour his last Command.
Enough my Friends, enough has Scotia born,
The Foes insulting and her Sons forlorn.
The trembling Peasant wild with dread Affright,
Shrink from the Wars rude Shock and ruthless Fight.
Resigns his Riches to the Oppressors Hand,
And sees another's Sickle reap his Land.
And long we not to urge our Fate again,
Glows not each Breast, and swells not ev'ry Vein?
Does not our Heart with love of Freedom burn,
And once again our exil'd Souls return.
Where are those Trophies by our Fathers won,
Triumphs related down from Son to Son.
Where is that Crown the first fam'd FERGUS bore,
And that fierce Scepter stain'd in Pictish Gore.
Should these old rev'rend Forms again rise,
In mystic Vision dreadful to our Eyes.
What sad Reproaches justly wou'd they give,
To those who chuse in Bondage thus to live:
How wou'd their Cheeks blush with a kindred Shame,
And throw' us back the hated Fathers Name.
And are we so degenerate from our Race,
Such Sons begotten to our Sires Disgrace.
That Thoughts like these shan't force us yet to arm,
And Liberty thus want the Power to warm.
Let the Pale Coward own a pannick Fear,
Or unknown Wars and distant Triumphs hear.
Let this heart startle at the Trumpets Voice,
And shrink unequal to the Battels Noise.
Can Souls like these alas! assist us now,
Or rise to Dangers which they never knew;
But we whose Courage bids us pant for Fame,
And be distinguish'd by the Patriots Name.
How should our Breast with sacred Fury glow,
And rush undaunted on the guilty Foe:
The lawless Rage of Tyrants to restrain,
Nor let fair Liberty thus court in Vain.
He said. A Generous Ardor stood confes'd,
And a fierce Patriot twin'd in ev'ry Breast.
Revenge alone employs each Wariours Care,
Bends ev'ry Bow, and sharpens ev'ry Spear.
Some scour the flying Horse along the Plain,
And bids his haughty Neck obey the Rein.
With goring Rowels urge him in his Speed,
And stop in full Career the bounding Steed.
Wallace beheld th'auspicious Fury rise,
And Rage redoubled flushing in their Eyes.
With Joy he hears this Omen of success
And saw just Heaven, decree his Happiness.
Nor do the English with less studious Care,
Observe the growing Progress of the War,
And for the feirce Encounter all prepare.
Keen Hesilrig, Arms all their glittring Bands,
A Thousand Swords shine in a thousand Hands.
A Savage Fury brandishes each Dart,
And reeking Slaughter steels each impious Heart
But oh! ye Gods shall yon weak Bands prevail,
When hot with Rage more numerous Troops assail.
May righteous Heaven still blast the lawless Might,
And the just Patriots vanquish in the Fight:
But now advancing near, they other meet
And with no friendly Salutation greet.
Stern Vengeance lowring Frowns on every Brow,
And hate Arms ev'ry Visage like a Foe.
Behold what diff'rent Passions now excite,
And join two Nations in the Toils of Fight.
Here Pride Ambition Arms each guilty Foe,
And Tyranny attends on ev'ry Blow.
Here Partiots stand, and boldly dare restrain,
The Tyrants growth and check th'Oppressors Reign
And the fair Cause of Freeedom to maintain.
Now all the Plains with Arms are cover'd o're,
And the bent Bow unloads its feathered Store.
From well stor'd Quivers but declining Light
And ruddy Vesper led the Starry Night:
Wallace withdrew where Cartlane Rocks on high
Erect their shaggy Tops and threat the Sky,
Safe shelter'd there the Scotish Heroes stay
And wait impatient for the rising Day,
Mean while Fidelia with sad Cares opprest,
Had sunk into the silken Arms of Rest;
A Thousand Spectres dance before her Sight
And add to the pale Terrors of the Night;
Sword, Shield and Helms, in mix'd Confusion rise
And blended Horrors stare before her Eyes,
Even in that Time when all shou'd be at rest
When not one Thought shou'd discompose her Breast,
Even then she shakes at Hesilrig's fierce Hate,
And her Soul shrinks as Prescious of her Fate.
Now fierce with Rage the cruel Foe draws near,
Oh does not Heaven make Innocence its Care!
Where fled thy guardian Angel in that Hour
And left his Charge to the fell Tyrant's Power,
Shall his fierce Steel be redned with thy Gore
And streaming Blood distain thy Beauties o'er?
But now awakned with the dreadfull Sound
The trembling Matron threw her Eyes around,
In vain alace were all the Tears she shed
When fierce he waves the Fauchion o'er her Head
All Tyes of Honour by the Rogue abjur'd
Relentless deep he plung'd the ruthless Sword;
Swift o'er her Limbs does creeping Coldness rise
And Death's pale Hand seal'd up her fainting Eyes.
Now born upon the mournfull Wings of Fame,
To Wallace the unhappy Tydings came,
The rising Woe sore thrill'd in ev'ry Part,
And sought its painfull Passage to the Heart;
Graham and his mourning Friends with Tears o'erflow
And join Society of great Grief and Woe.
When Wallace them beheld he hush'd in Peace
And kindly bade their growing Sorrows cease,
This waste of Tears alas he cry'd is vain,
Nor can recal the fleeting Shade again,
Cou'd that vain Thought afford the least Relief,
How wou'd I mourn; but impotent is Grief;
Then let those Tears, to Wars rough Toil give Way,
And the fierce Sword perform what Words wou'd say,
Hear me brave Graham, Companion of my Arms,
Whose Soul alike is fir'd with Glory's Charms.
To thee I Swear this Sword I'll never Sheath
Till I Revenge my dearest dearest's Death,
Heaven's! what new Toils of Death and War remain?
Rivers of floating Blood and Hills of slain
But, steel'd with Rage to Slaughter let us fly,
And for her Sake there shall Ten Thousand Dye
When Men thus Weep their Courage grows the Less,
It slaikes the Ire of Wrong they should Redress,
But let us hast while yet the dusky Night
Extends her friendly Shade, and drowns the infant Light.
He said, The Melancholy Troops around,
With pleasing Anguish catch the mournfull Sound.
A fierce of Revenge bends ev'ry Warrior's Bow,
And steely Vengeance sends him to the Foe:
For now the armed Warrior's carefull Tread,
And march undaunted thro' the murky Shade:
No Light in the high Firmament was seen,
And like their Vengeance lowring was the Scene;
To Lanerk swift, they shape the destin'd Way;
The Town defenceless all before them lay.
Opprest with Sleep the weary English lay,
Nor knew sad Wretches! that their Death drew nigh.
Now in Two Bands they part their hostile Force,
And to these sleeping Tyrants bend their Force;
Where Hesilrig the cruel Murd'rer lay,
Eager on Slaughter Wallace wings his Way,
A Thousand Ills the Traitor's Mind infest,
And warring Furies Combat in his Breast;
There Slaughter Rage, rapine together roll,
And Guilt sits heavy on his dreadfull Soul.
Full on the Gate a Stone the Heroe threw.
Swift to the Stroke the rocky Fragment flew.
Bars, Bolts, and brazen Hinges soon were broke,
And tumbl'd down before the sweepy Stroke.
Surpriz'd he stood and listning to the Noise,
With beating Heart he heard the Warrior's Voice,
Anon beheld the distant beaming Lance,
And trembling saw th'injured Man advance;
And thought'st thou Traitor fierce the Heroe cry'd,
When by thy murd'ring Steel she cruel dy'd;
When thy fell Hand her precious Blood did spill,
Wallace tho' absent woud be absent still.
Furious he spoke and raising on the Foe,
Full on his Head discharg'd the pondrous Blow:
Down sinks the Head long Fellon to the Ground,
The guilty Soul flew trembling thro' the Wound.
Mean while enrag'd Graham from his flamy Hand,
Full on the Roof directs the hostile Brand.
Inclos'd within Thorn saw with dire Amaze
The spreading Ruin and the rolling Blaze.
Consum'd in Flames he yeilds his latest Breath,
And sinks into the fiery Arms of Death.
But now the Morning rais'd her beamy Head,
Around them lay vast Heaps of slaughter'd Dead,
Freed Albion's Ensigns glitter in the Wind,
And a new Hope exults in ev'ry Mind.
The Soldier views with Joy the sanguine Plain,
And Scotia well redeemed with Heaps of slain.
The willing Nation own him for their Lord,
And joyful croud to his auspicious Sword.
With Grief fierce Edward heard his mighty Name,
And burns invidious at his growing Fame.
He bids his haughty Soldiers come from far,
Blacken the Field, and calls forth all his War.
None can the Dictates of his Soul controul
While his high Conquests urge his rapid Soul.
Swift to fair Scotia's Plains he bends his Way,
By Fate reserv'd for Biggar's glorious Day.