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While the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpaired remembrance reigns,
Resentment of my country's fate

Within my filial breast shall beat;
And spite of her insulting foe,
My sympathising verse shall flow.
Mourn, hapless Caledonia! mourn
Thy banished peace, thy laurels torn!

ODE TO LEVEN WATER.

ON Leven's banks, while free to rove
And tune the rural pipe to love,
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod the Arcadian plain.

Pure stream, in whose transparent wave

My youthful limbs I wont to lave,
No torrents stain thy limpid source,
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That warbles sweetly o'er its bed,
With white, round, polished pebbles spread,
While, lightly poised, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood-
The springing trout in speckled pride,
The salmon, monarch of the tide,
The ruthless pike intent on war,
The silver eel, and mottled par.
Devolving from thy parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch and groves of pine,
And edges flowered with eglantine.

Still on thy banks, so gaily green, May numerous herds and flocks be seen, And lasses, chanting o'er the pail, And shepherds, piping in the dale, And ancient faith, that knows no guile, And Industry, embrowned with toil, And hearts resolved and hands prepared The blessings they enjoy to guard.

ADAM SKIRVING.

1719-1803.

For a characteristic undertone of pawkie sarcasm the Jacobite ballad of "Johnnie Cope" holds a place of its own in Scottish literature. The composition, with its spirit-stirring air, has been popular ever since the event which it records. The subject is the overthrow of Sir John Cope and the forces of George II. by Prince Charles Edward at Prestonpans, in Haddingtonshire, on September 22, 1745. Sir John Cope, the general of the King's troops, allowed himself to be taken by surprise, suffered disgraceful defeat, and galloping in panic from the field, carried everywhere with him, till he reached the walls of Berwick, the tidings of his own overthrow. For his conduct he was afterwards tried by court-martial, but was acquitted.

The author of the song, who also wrote another piece on the same subject under the title of "Tranent Muir," was a wealthy farmer of the neighbourhood, renowned for his skill in all manly sports and exercises. A story is told of him, how one, Lieutenant Smith, who had displayed great pusillanimity in the action, considering himself aggrieved by Skirving's muse, sent the author a challenge to fight him at Haddington. "Gang awa' back," said the farmer to the Lieutenant's envoy, "and tell Mr. Smith that I ha'e nae leisure to come to Haddington; but tell him to come here, and I'll tak' a look o' him, and if I think I'm fit to fecht him, I'll fecht him; and if no, I'll do as he did—I'll rin awa'." The poet lies buried in the kirkyard of Athelstaneford, where his tombstone thus records his qualities—

"In feature, in figure, agility, mind,
And happy wit rarely surpassed,

With lofty or low could be plain or refined,
Content beaming bright to the last."

JOHNNIE COPE.

COPE sent a letter frae Dunbar :

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Charlie, meet me an ye daur,

And I'll learn you the art o' war,

If you'll meet me in the morning."

Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wauking yet?
Or are your drums a-beating yet?
If ye were wauking I wad wait

To gang to the coals i' the morning.*

When Charlie looked the letter upon,
He drew his sword the scabbard from :
"Come, follow me, my merry merry men,

And we'll meet Johnnie Cope in the morning!

"Now, Johnnie, be as good's your word; Come, let us try both fire and sword; And dinna flee away like a frighted bird,

That's chased frae its nest in the morning."

* The reference in this refrain has probably some connection with the chief industry of the neighbourhood at the time, the coal mines of Tranent being among the oldest in Scotland.

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