Land of my Fathers, hail!

I roam thy lineal child,—
Where'er the hill-mists sail,
Or leap the cataracts wild :
My fathers fought beside
Thy noblest chivalry,—
Their blood thy rivers dyed,—
Expiring to be free!

But dearest to my heart,
That firm, heroic, band

Of truth who took the part,-
For conscience made the stand.
Your mouldering dust I seek,
Where the bleak thistle waves :
Ye, being dead, yet speak,-
Enthronized in your graves.

And oh my Father-land,
Dear as thy soil to me,—
As freedom's hallowed strand,-
In blood, in spirit, free,—
Compel the hand that weaves
The garland of thy fame,
Among its proudest leaves,

To twine the Martyr's name.

FAREWELL ODE ON LEAVING SCOTLAND.

LAND of the North, farewell !
Thy mountains disappear,-

Thy streams no longer swell

Their voices on mine ear,—

Sadly I turn me from thy strand,

Thou fair, thou wild, thou holy, land!

Science has often told

The treasures thou canst boast;

And song has often rolled

To sound thy patriot-host!

Tears can I only give the shore,
Where I, perchance, may rove no more.

I love thy purple mount,

Beneath a setting sun,

While many a bubbling fount

Its silvery course shall run;

And hill-side shadows stretch away,
As if to meet the rising day!

I love thy placid lake,

A mirror, mountain-bound,
When echo sports to wake

A jocund chorus round,

And rippling beauties o'er it play,
And music's sweetest murmurs stray!

I love thy deepmost glen,

Where timid wild-flowers blow, And vanished streams again

Well up and gently flow,And in the concave of that dell,

To find some ancient hermit's cell!

I love thy loud cascade,

Thundering with endless foam, Gemming with dews the glade, Then, truant, reckless roam Along a thousand devious ways, Yet threading skilfully the maze !

I love thy landscape wood,
By river and by knoll,
Where many a castle stood

O'er which dark ruin stole ;-
Perennial nature thus proclaims
Her triumph o'er the proudest names.

I love thy little isle,

Embosomed on the lake, And where o'er magic pile

The storms of ocean break; Then guide my skiff to fairy realm, Or 'mid dark billows hold my helm!

I love thy broad mist-wreath

That round the mountain creeps, Feathering the blooming heath, Pillared on riven steeps, In every varying contour twine, In every varying sun-light shine!

Yet ties far nobler bind

Thine image to mine heart,

And round it still shall wind,
When its own life-strings part;—
Religion, pure and undefiled,
Thy noblest monument has piled!

Thine, mercies ever new!

Thine, statutes which are right! Midian of blessed dew,

Goshen of heavenly light!

O people saved by the Lord,

Thy shield, thy banner, and thy sword!

Let pious sacrifice

Thy farthest valleys mark!

Let, too, again arise

Thy cotter-patriarch!

Let thy land keep her Sabbaths still,
Thy tribes still throng the holy hill !

Invoke thy Witness-cloud,

That awful, spectral, band,

Who ne'er to tyrants bowed,

The glory of thy land,

Say, is their noble courage fled,

Or vainly was their life-blood shed?

Should evil days decline

O'er scenes their blood has nursed,— Angels forsake thy shrine !

The patriot's tie is burst!

And though thy soil shall still remain,
Thy country dies beneath the stain !

Thy hills might tower as high,
Thy crags as dreadly frown,

Thy streams as sweetly sigh,

Thy flowers still fringe thy crown,

I WANDERED a fugitive Dove,
Impatient the waters to roam!
I fluttered their surface above,

Far, far from a refuge and home.
The billows heav'd sullen and dark,

And loud swept the tempest's wild din : Ah where was the Covenant-Ark?

Where He who might draw me within?

Still onward the terrible surge

O'er barrier mountains was hurled ;
Not a peak yet began to emerge,—
So fathomless sunk was the world!
How trembled and ruffled my breast!
I fled on deserted and lone:
The sole of my foot had no rest,
And echo derided my moan.

Then heavily faltered my wing,

I drooped from my once buoyant flight;

I struggled a poor lifeless thing,

While mine eye floated darkling in night.