THE FAREWELL. FAREWELL, old Scotia's bleak domains, A faithful brother I have left, My Smith, my bosom frien'; When bursting anguish tears my heart, All-hail then, the gale then, It rustles, and whistles, I'll never see thee more! EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ. OF FINTRAY ON THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED FINTRAY, my stay in worldly strife, Are ye as idle's I am? Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg, And ye shall see me try him. I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig bears Of princes and their darlings; And, bent on winning borough towns, And kissing barefit carlins. Combustion thro' our boroughs rode Of mad unmuzzled lions; As Queensberry buff and blue unfurl'd, To every Whig defiance. But cautious Queensberry left the war, Besides, he hated bleeding; But left behind him heroes bright, Heroes in Cæsarean fight, Or Ciceronian pleading. O! for a throat like huge Mons-meg, Beneath Drumlanrig's banner Heroes and heroines commix, All in the field of politics, To win immortal honour. M'Murdo and his lovely spouse, Led on the loves and graces : She won each gaping burgess' heart, Among their wives and lasses. Craigdarroch led a light-arm'd corps, Like Hecla streaming thunder: Glenriddel, skill'd in rusty coins, And bared the treason under. In either wing two champions fought, The wildest savage Tory : And Welsh, who ne'er yet flinch'd his ground, With Cyclopean fury. Miller brought up th' artillery ranks, Resistless desolation! While Maxwelton, that baron bold, And threaten'd worse damnation. To these what Tory hosts oppos'd, Surpasses my descriving: Squadrons extended long and large, Like raging devils driving. What verse can sing, what prose narrate, Amid this mighty tulzie ! Grim Horror girn'd-pale Terror roar'd, And Hell mix'd in the brulzie. As highland craigs by thunder cleft, Hurl down with crashing rattle As flames among a hundred woods; Such is the rage of battle! The stubborn Tories dare to die; Before th' approaching fellers : The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, Against the Buchan Bullers. Lo, from the shades of Death's deep night, And think on former daring: The muffled murtherer of Charles All deadly gules it's bearing. Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame, (Forgive, forgive, much wrong'd Montrose ! Thou liv'st on high for ever!) Still o'er the field the combat burns, But Fate the word has spoken For woman's wit and strength o' man, The Tory ranks are broken. O that my een were flowing burns! Her darling cubs' undoing! That I might greet, that I might cry, And furious Whigs pursuing What Whig but melts for good Sir James? Friend, patron, benefactor! Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save! And Hopeton falls, the generous brave! And Stewart, bold as Hector ! Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow; And Melville melt in wailing! How Fox and Sheridan rejoice! And Burke shall sing, 'O Prince, arise, Thy power is all-prevailing !' |