Eighteen Hundred and Thirteen; A Poem (Paperback)

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1814 Excerpt: ...O'er sad Linlithgow's towers though ravens brood, And royal shadows people Holy rood; Though Falkland's graceful piles in ruins lie, And Stirling, fairest seat of majesty, Where stately peers once filled the royal dome, Degraded sees her favourite James's home; His lofty halls by vulgar use profaned, His palace walls by vulgar riot stained. What now remains him but the stately form That frowns aloft in stone, and braves the storm? Yes--yet remains to threaten and command The unconquered genius of his native land: Genius and valour with effulgence bright, Have clothed our mountains dark in living light; A land of turbulence and sorrow long, Yet still, 'midst all her woes, a land of song; Where untaught Muses, crowned with native flowers, Spontaneous warbled in her birchen bowers; Told on the pastoral reed the shepherd's pains, Or struck the iron lyre to martial strains. When Edward led his puissant force along, And Rapine followed in the path of wrong, In vain the firm embattled patriot band, With breasts the bulwark of their native land, Despised the threats of power, the lures of gain, Their living toils, their dying pangs were vain; The Scot who mingled with the Saxon foe, Felt double vengeance urge the deadly blow; While Freedom's victims, by their Wallace led, Sunk doubly honoured on their gory bed. Yet these for ever live--o'er Valour's grave See Poesy her deathless garlands wave. To glorious Wallace, honoured, injured name, The sightless bard awakes the trump of Fame, And every virtue joins the loud acclaim. Undaunted Bruce what matchless toils were thine How spotless bright thy hard-won honours shine Teh times and once before o'erwhelming foes Thy banner sunk, the twelfth triumphant rose. Ah who would o'er these favoured warriors mourn, That sleep...