With such a pow'r to back Emmanuel brave,
Thy rescued rights, fair Italy, are safe ;
With such a pow'r against him to contend,
Thy tyrant, France, becometh Freedom's friend;
With such a friend against thy foes to cope,
For thee, poor Anderson, there yet is hope;
The Law's decree may to the South seem good,
And yet a Matthews miss the price of blood;
Missouri's blood-hounds, scent they ne'er so well,
It waveth off with execrating yell;-
The monsters! human only but in name,
Their sight polluted hell itself would shame!
Joy to the Broadsheet! In its might we prove
The real lever fit the world to move.
Where'er with earnest aim its power it wields,
Oppression trembles, spite of all her shields,
And Truth a victor stands in Error's chosen fields.
Grey Superstition hides her ghastly face,
Skulking indignant from her pride of place,
While Cant and Bigotry, oppressed with light,
To glooms congenial take with her their flight!
Commerce and Industry go hand in hand
To bless and beautify a smiling land;
Science steps forward, queenly in her mien-
The Arts that life embellish in her train—
The very lightning yoked unto her car-
She sweeps majestic on to realms afar!
Lo, with fresh triumphs ever in her view,
Dauntless she cleaves the Empyrean blue,
Or, diving down through ocean's depths profound,
Weaveth a thread by which two worlds are bound,
That wondrous cord along whose slender bars
Speech travels faster than the flight of stars!
'Tis thus, wherever thought has fitting scope,
Man reaches all we here of him can hope;
Yea, wheresoever a Free Press we find,
No truth need fear, no sophistry can blind;
Genius is free to spread her wings of flame,
And on all human hearts engrave her name;
Dagons adored are from their temples driven
No more to fool mankind or outrage Heaven;
Progress is stamped on everything we see,
While over all, shines bright the sun of Liberty!
DOMHNULL PIOBAIRE AND THE BAGPIPES.
gathering" of the Kingston Caledonian Society.)
Air:-" Woed an' married an' a'."
OUR gathering night—more's the pity—
But once in a year cometh round;
Good-bye the dull cares of the city,—
This evening we're heather-ward bound!
The bag-pipes to charm and to cheer us—
The darlings we love in full sight—
The tartan around us and near us-
Who would not be proud of our Night!
List'ning Mac's gathering call,
Surely his sense must be small
Who would not declare such rare piping
Enough any heart to entrall!
Away with your brass-bands a-braying!
John Bull thinks them grand-but you'll own
When Tubal invented such playing
'T was surely worse discords to drown.
Some think that such music he planned, sirs,
The wolves of his time to affright,
Then fashioned the bagpipe so grand, sirs,
For times like our gathering night.
Heard or in hut or in hall,
Who, save one as deaf as a wall,
But owns, of all music 'neath heaven
There's nothing to match it at all!
Let Donald but screw up his chanter,
And give us the Tullaichean rare,
What mortal but feeleth instanter
As if he could dance in the air!
He strikes up a charge, and Proud Preston,
Or famed Killicrankie's fierce fight
We fight o'er again, as we listen,
Loud-lauding both Mac and our Night.
Piobrochds, marches, and all
Enough to charm even a Saul—
These are of the witcheries endless
That minstrel has aye at his call.
There's life in the voice of the Clarsach,
But would you join rapture to praise,
Just hear some sweet spring from the Oinnseach.
Just dance to its Reels and Strathepeys!
Its Coronach sets us a-weeping,
Its Flings makes us wild with delight :
It has tones for all moods in its keeping-
Rare treat for a gathering night!
Out on the thick-headed thrall
Who his dislike o't would drawl!
The right way to deal with such creatures
Were nailing their ears to the wall.
A bicker of good Athol brose is
Not bad when a battle is near;
But the right thing, when coming to blows, is
The pipe's stirring notes in your ear:
From Bannockburn down to this hour, sirs,
Its place is the front of the fight ;
Then hey for the gallant Piob-mhor, sirs,
The glory and pride of our night!
Drums and bugles and all
Such things may well suit a roll-call,
But the Clans, when their foes they would scatter,
The pipes take to open the ball.
Long, long may fair Scotia flourish,
Rejoicing in Rant and in Lilt:
That day will her liberties perish
She lacketh the Clans and the Kilt,
To keep her proud triumphs still swelling,
Her plan is to stick to them tight,
And honour the patriot feeling
Begot of a gathering night.
Joy then, joy be to all
Ready to hasten their fall
Who would in the Gael's loved homesteads
The deer and the stranger instal.
STANDS SCOTLAND WHERE IT DID."
LAND of the Bruce! I marvel how,
With scarce a murmur, comest thou
To let it seem
Were off the list of nations now.
Shall a race who ne'er, as foes,
Could their rule on thee impose,
Not in vain
Ceaseless strain
Now thy history's page to close ?
Up or evermore disown
Thy once well-won fair renown!
Let the Saxon name go down,
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