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BANNOCKBURN,
BY
CHARLES SANGSTER,
SCHOLAR OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE.
1839.
"From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs."—Burns.
Bright gleam'd the skies o'er Scotia's beauteous land,
Soft curl'd the wave upon her winding strand;
The breeze stole gently o'er the mountains' side,
And kiss'd the fragrance of their heather'd pride;
Her vales all verdant, as in days of yore,
Teem'd with the bounties of their varied store;
In rival grandeur from their lowly beds,
Her cloud-wrapt summits rear'd their time-worn heads;
The sunbeam trembled o'er her lake's blue wave,
And sank resistless in the limpid grave;
Sweet Nature hover'd o'er the sea-girt land,
And strew'd her blessings with creative hand.
Yet well the meditative eye might ween
Some fearful spell had bound the lovely scene.
The blithesome laugh, the mountain-echoed strain,
The featly dance, the joyous rustic train,
These are the flow'rs whose cluster'd sweets reveal
A fertile source, and test a nation's weal;
These are the tokens that can best portray
The smiles of happiness,—and where were they?
Ah! where were they? their jocund days were o'er,
And heavily on Scotland's fated shore
Soft curl'd the wave upon her winding strand;
The breeze stole gently o'er the mountains' side,
And kiss'd the fragrance of their heather'd pride;
Her vales all verdant, as in days of yore,
Teem'd with the bounties of their varied store;
In rival grandeur from their lowly beds,
Her cloud-wrapt summits rear'd their time-worn heads;
The sunbeam trembled o'er her lake's blue wave,
And sank resistless in the limpid grave;
Sweet Nature hover'd o'er the sea-girt land,
And strew'd her blessings with creative hand.
Yet well the meditative eye might ween
Some fearful spell had bound the lovely scene.
The blithesome laugh, the mountain-echoed strain,
The featly dance, the joyous rustic train,
These are the flow'rs whose cluster'd sweets reveal
A fertile source, and test a nation's weal;
These are the tokens that can best portray
The smiles of happiness,—and where were they?
Ah! where were they? their jocund days were o'er,
And heavily on Scotland's fated shore
