(FOR THE TUNE CALLED SANTA LUCIA)
Rise, rise, ye Devon folk!
Toss off the traitor's yoke,
Peer through the rain and smoke,
Look, look again!
Run down to Brixham pier—
Quick, quick, the Prince is near!
All the rights ye reckon dear
He will maintain.
Chorus—
Welcome, sweet English rose!
Welcome, Dutch Roman nose!
Scatter, scatter all the Gospel's foes,
William and Mary!
High over gulls and boats
Bright, free the banner floats;
Hearken, hear the clarion notes!
Lift hats and stare.
Courtiers who break the laws,
Tame cats with velvet paws,
Hypocrites with poisoned claws,
Croppies, beware!
Trust, Sir, the western shires,
Trust those who baffled Spain;
We'll be hardy like our sires.
Down, Pope, again!
Off, off with sneak and thief!
We'll have an honest chief.
England is no Popish fief;
Free kings shall reign.
SAPPHICS FOR A TUNE
MADE BY REQUEST OF A SONGSTRESS, AND REJECTED
Relics of battle dropt in sandy valley,
Bugle that screamed a warning of surprise,
Shreds of the colour torn before the rally,
Jewel of troth-plight seen by dying eyes—
Welcome, dear tokens of the lad we mourn.
Tell how that day his faithful heart was leaping;
Help me, who linger in the home forlorn,
Throw me a rainbow on my endless weeping.
1885.
JOHNNIE OF BRAIDISLEE
A SECOND ATTEMPT, ACCEPTED
Down the burnside hurry thee, gentle mavis,
Find the bothie, and flutter about the doorway.
Touch the lattice tenderly, bid my mother
Fetch away Johnnie.
Mother, uprouse thee! many bitter arrows
Out of one bosom gather, and for ever
Pray for one resting in a chilly forest
Under an oak tree.
Gentle mavis! hover about the window
Where the sun shines on happy things of home life,
Bid the clansmen troop to the gory dingle.
Clansmen, avenge me!
Mother! oh, my mother! upon a cradle
Woven of willows, with a bow beside me,
Near the kirk of Durrisdeer, under yew boughs,
Rock thy beloved.
1885.