U.
VERSES ON THE DEATH OF WALLACE. [Page 170.]
The verses on the death of Wallace, which have been attributed to John Blair, stand thus in the original:—
Invida mors tristi Gulielmum funere Vallam,
Quæ cuncta tollit, sustulit:
Et tanto pro cive cinis, pro finibus urna est,
Frigusque pro lorica obit.
Ille quidem terras, loca se inferiora reliquit:
At fata factis supprimens,
Parte sui meliore solum cœlumque pererrat;
Hoc spiritu, illud gloria.
At tibi si inscriptum generoso pectus honesto
Fuisset, hostis proditi
Artibus, Angle, tuis, in pœnas, parcior isses,
Nec oppidatim spargeres
Membra viri sacranda adytis. Sed scin quid in ista,
Immanitate viceris?
Ut Vallæ in cunctas oras sparguntur et horas
Laudes, tuumque dedecus.
Abercrombie, who confounds John Blair with Arnold Blair, doubts of the above lines being composed by him. Arnold, in his Relationes, has certainly given nothing of his own, his brief details, as we have already observed, being merely extracts from the Scotichronicon; and it is more than probable, that as he borrowed from Fordun in the one instance, he might also be inclined to take the same liberty with Blair in the other. The verses are evidently the effusion of a superior mind, brooding over a recent calamity. They are attached to the end of Arnold Blair’s Relationes, to which the date of 1327 is affixed,—thus bringing them to within 22 years of the execution of Wallace;—that they were composed soon after that event becomes therefore a matter of certainty.
The writer entertained the hope of being able to gratify his readers with some specimens of the chansonnettes, said to have been composed in honour of Wallace by the Troubadours of France. He is sorry, however, that his applications have not been followed by the success anticipated. He will, therefore, conclude his labours with the following lines from an unpublished manuscript:—
ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF WALLACE.
May this day be blest, ‘mid the days of the year,
May the sweet smile of heav’n ever brighten its dawn,
And the music that wakes when its first rays appear,
Swell joyously on till those rays are withdrawn.
May the bee’s tiny bugle be heard ’round the brier—
Or when in the midst of his favourite rose;
May the breeze full of fragrance around him expire
In sighings too soft to disturb his repose.
While autumn in splendour o’er mountain and vale,
Displays her refreshing enchantment to view;
And each motionless ship, with her white hanging sail,
Is seen to repose on a mirror of blue.