OR, BLOWING THE BUGLE.
(Fragments from the latest (Midlothian) version of "The Lord of the Isles.")
McGLADSTONE rose—his pallid cheek
Was little wont his joy to speak,
But then his colour rose.
"Now, Scotland! shortly shalt thou see
That age checks not McGLADSTONE's glee,
Nor stints his swashing blows!"
Again that light has fired his eye,
Again his form swells bold and high;
The broken voice of age is gone,
'Tis vigorous manhood's lofty tone.
The foe he menaces again,
Thrice vanquished on Midlothian's plain;
Then, scorning any longer stay,
Embarks, lifts sail, and bears away.
Merrily, merrily bounds the bark,
She bounds before the gale;
The "flowing tide" is with her. Hark!
How joyous in her sail
Flutters the breeze like laughter hoarse!
The cords and canvas strain,
The waves divided by her force
In rippling eddies, chase her course.
As if they laughed again.
'Tis then that warlike signals wake
Dalmeney's towers, and fair Beeslack.
And eke brave BALFOUR's walls (Q.C.
And Scottish Dean of Faculty)
Whose home shall house the great McG.
A summons these to each stout clan
That lives in far Midlothian,
And, ready at the sight,
Each warrior to his weapon sprung,
And targe upon his shoulder flung,
Impatient for the fight.
Merrily, merrily, bounds the bark
On a breeze to the northward free.
So shoots through the morning sky the lark,
Or the swan through the summer sea.
Merrily, merrily, goes the bark—
Before the gale she bounds;
So darts the dolphin from the shark,
Or the deer before the hounds.
McGLADSTONE stands upon the prow,
The mountain breeze salutes his brow,
He snuffs the breath of coming fight,
His dark eyes blaze with battle-light,
And memories of old,
When thus he rallied to the fray
Against the bold BUCCLEUCH's array,
His clansmen. In the same old way
He trusts to rally them to-day.
Shall he succeed? Who, who shall say?
But neither fear no doubt may stay
His spirit keen and bold!
He cries, the Chieftain Old and Grand,
"I fight once more for mine own hand;
Meanwhile our vessel nears the land,
Launch we the boat, and seek the land!"
To land McGLADSTONE lightly sprung,
And thrice aloud his bugle rung
With note prolonged, and varied strain,
Till Edin dun replied again.
When waked that horn the party bounds,
Scotia responded to its sounds;
Oft had she heard it fire the fight,
Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight.
Dead were her heart, and deaf her ear,
If it should call, and she not hear.
The shout went up in loud Clan-Rad's tone,
"That blast was winded by McGLADSTONE!"
RUM FROM JAMAICA—VERY.—When "the bauble" was removed from the table of the House, by order of OLIVER CROMWELL, it was sent with somebody's compliments at a later date to Jamaica, and placed on the Parliament table. What became of it nobody knows. It is supposed that this ensign of ancient British Royalty was swallowed up by an earthquake of republican tendencies. Jamaica, of course, is a great place for spices; but, in spite of all the highly spiced stories, the origin of which is more or less aus-spice-ious, it is to be regretted that, up to the present moment, what gave them their peculiar flavour, i.e., the original Mace, cannot be found.
