Wallace

Let every nation, every age,
Boast of its warrior, patriot, sage ;
Take all in list below the sun,
From Samson down to Wellington ;
And in one little northern land,
Amid the ocean's raving strand,
A shapeless mass of isle and firth,
The outmost limits of the earth,
I pledge my word a Knight to name,
For patriot worth, for warrior fame,
For might, for honour, courage true,
For love of king, and country too,
That shall them all in one outdo.

Bold is the challenge. I have laid
My word in pawn ; and if 'tis said
Or thought (as God forbid the sin)
" A poet's word's not worth a pin ;"
Why then I pledge my pen beside,
In which, forsooth, I more confide.
" Who is this patriot ? Where the isle ?"
I hear you say, and see you smile :
Well — mockery is the poet's due
When his position proves untrue.
That land is CALEDONIA hight ;
That hero's name is WALLACE wight.

WALLACE ! unstained, illustrious name !
My country's honour and her shame !
Can there a Scottish heart be found
That glows not at the very sound
Of such a name ? Is breast so base
That burns not at our hero's praise ?
There was — but with thy life it past,
And thou hast found thy due at last.

WALLACE ! unstained, illustrious name !
My country's honour, and her shame !

Caesar might roam in days agone
O'er lands where science never shone ;
And Grecia's maniac king o'errun
The nations of the morning sun ;
Whom the great Tartar, next in fame,
Far journeying, saw and overcame.
These themes of many an annalist,
These things insatiate and unblest,
What have they done ? Did good design
With one of all their deeds combine ?
With such resources, such array,
Such warriors to dispute their way,
Their fame's fantastic and untrue,
Nor praise nor honour is their due.
Cursed be the trophies, cursed the joy
Of him who conquers to destroy ?

Descend to days ourselves have seen,
And deeds such as have never been
Of devastation, tyrant wrath,
Of ruin, and dismay, and death ;
Even there, what hero e'er hath stood
Amid oppression's foaming flood,
Without one stay to rest upon,
Unawed, undaunted, and alone ;
And by his single arm of migrht
Preserved his country's primal right ?
If such there be, a nation's pride,
With WALLACE be he named and tried.

No ; vain the contest, vain the proof;
Stand, Swede and Corsican, aloof :
What boots the hero's enterprise
Without a nation's energies ?
Endeavours else would madness seem —
So all men say, and all men deem.

But there was one, — when power had bowed,
When king and nobles were subdued,
And joined the oppressor to efface
The last faint lines of Scotia's race :
When bent before the mighty blast
Prince, chief, and warrior ; and the last,
The peasant, on his native field,
Was forced indignantly to yield,
In whom alone the glorious light
Was smothered, not extinguished quite ;
'Twas then that one gigantic soul
Dared the whole tide of power control ;
Lifted his mighty sword — and then,
Amid the multitudes of men,
Stood like a rock whose rugged side
Repels the wind, the storm, the tide,
Proclaimed the freedom of the land,
Though lodged within his own right hand ;
And vowed to Heaven that land to free,
Or die with her lost liberty !

That noble heart, that free born mind,
Was lodged within no common hind.
His stature was the pine tree's height ;
His strength beyond the bison's might "
Serene of soul, of courage high ;
The light of heaven was in his eye ;
While every look, and word, and nod,
Bespoke the chief upraised by God ;
And deeds of a resistless brand
Gave token of supreme command :
The hardy peasant roused to ire,
Soon caught a portion of the fire.

Then burst the glorious flame to light ;
The spark of heaven spread far and bright.
The shepherd left the mountain steep,
He left his folds and flocks of sheep ;
The hind forsook his furrowed field,
And grasped the spear and knotted shield
And even the haggard artizan
Looked fiercer than the eye of man
E'er looked before, and one might trace
A grimness settled on each face,
A resolution that bespoke
Hatred of tyrant's galling yoke.
Scotland, thou nurse of courage true
Beneath the plaid and bonnet blue !
Land of the loyal patriot flame,
Where WALLACE fought, and BRUCE o'ercame ;
Land of the mountain oak and pine'
I have one honour—I am thine !

Armies decayed, as by a charm,
Before one dread resistless arm ;
The mightiest towers were level laid ;
The foe was humbled and dismayed ;
For no defence could aught avail ;
Nor fort, nor city, hill nor vale,
Could shield them from the fierce alarm,
And vengeance of that deadly arm.

Aloof the envious nobles stood,
Awed at the waste of warrior blood ;
They saw the land from foes set free,
And scarcely weened how it might be ;
But few there were who deigned to yield
Assistance in the glorious field.

No lands, no wealth, no rich resource,
Had WALLACE to sustain his force ;
A heavy sword and dauntless heart
Were all he had — the hero's part !
Without reward his warriors fought,—
None was to give, and none they sought ;
Freedom the only hire they know,
And booty from a vanquished foe.

The greatest king on earth was foiled,
His realms invaded and despoiled.
Proud England with amazement saw
The chief descend whose sword was law,
With all his motley, bold array, —
The Borderer in his homely grey,
The tartaned clans of every glen,
The wildest hordes of living men,
In every shade the rainbow knew,
The green, the red, the pale, the blue,—
Men of all colours, come to kill,
To burn and ravage, at their will,
Through her rich valleys for and near,
And none to check their bold career.
No force, no fraud, no strife they dread,
With doughty WALLACE at their head ;
Before him, jarring kings combined,
And pride and envy raged behind ;
Yet still unchanged, unawed, he fought,
Due vengeance on the English wrought,
And woe to him that dared withstand
His progress through that guilty land !
One year in midst of it he lay,
Returned triumphant with the prey
And never met with town, or tower,
Or foe, he did not overpower.

His men enriched, his country freed,
(Mark well the hero's every deed !)
All vacant stood the Scottish throne,
'Twas claimed by six, possessed by none
His conquering army wished to set
Upon his head the coronet ;
And this, as Regent, had he chose,
There was no force that could oppose :
But with a heart that would not lure,
And soul as firm as it was pure,
All power or title he disclaimed ;
And that it might no more be named,
His high command and guardian sword
Back to the states he straight restored,
Who had that power to him decreed
When in their last and utmost need.
If this is not true patriot worth,
Where hath it ripened on the earth ?

Again the land's in danger great,
For wild division rends the state ;
Again the staff to him they yield
To lead them to the sanguine field "
'Gainst his own Prince he's doomed to fight,
All to uphold that Prince's right,
While envy, hate, and Highland pride,
Success to the great cause denied.

By foes beleaguered, faint, outworn,
His mighty soul with grief was torn ;
Down to the Carron's shore alone
Darkling he strayed, to vent his moan
For those had fallen in that day's strife,
And yielded but with yielding life ;
Stewart and Graham — the good, the great !
Man's perfidy, and Scotland's fate.
'Twas there and then, concealed from sight
Within the curtain of the night,
That to his Prince these words he said,
And his free bosom open laid. —
" And dost thou ween, unhappy knight,
That I for power or honours fight ?
That I would sear this head with crown,
Or hand with sceptre not mine own ?
That WALLACE e'er would stoop to claim
Usurper's lothed and hateful name,
And thus disgrace the sacred cause
Of country's freedom, rights, and laws ?
Cursed be the arm for this that fought,
The heart that cherished such a thought !

" No, Prince ; — I've fought for liberty ;
I've done but what belonged to thee.
When basely thou renounced'st the crown,
And joined st with fQes against thine own ;
When all the nobles, all the great,
That should have borne the battle's weight,
Had left poor Scotland to the tide
Of tyrant might, and none to guide ;
'Twas then that I, by forest deep,
In pathless wild, and mountain steep,
Where friend or comforter was none,
Withstood King Edward's power alone !
Striving, nor vainly did I strive,
To keep the trembling spark alive ;
I reared our standard on the tree,
And fought for liberty and thee.

" Though twice I've driven him from our coast,
By treachery is the advantage lost ;
Whilst thou, injurious to thy land,
Hast torn her bowels with the hand
That should have proved her guardian shield,
And pressed the foremost on the field.

" O yet be free ! — and here I swear
The Scottish crown thou hence shalt wear ;
My guardian power I'll yield with pride,
And fight thy battles by thy side :
Be Scotland free from England's chain,
I am content though I remain
The meanest follower in thy train."

This glorious model match who can ?
There spoke the patriot and the man !
True son of Scotia ! — Chief of fame,
Dear is thy memory and thy name !
A memory that claims a part
In the best feelings of the heart ;
A rousing charm that points to truth ;
A torch that lights the soul of youth
To valour, honour, warrior feat,
To all that's good and all that's great.
Star of my country — of the land
That never crouched to foeman's brand !

Oft have I seen the veteran old,
When telling tales of warrior bold,
If word of ONE were said or sung,
Nay if, by chance, from maiden's tongue
WALLACE'S name in whispers fell,
His form would seem to grow and swell,
His eye would shed a brighter ray,
And prouder wave his locks of grey.

To drowsy boy in winter night,
Speak but the name of WALLACE wight ;
Although his weather-beaten head
Should on his ragged sleeve be laid
In dozing mood, with closed eye,
With white bluff cheek, and mouth awry ;
If WALLACE' name but meet his ear
How his brown visage up will clear !
His eye-lids heavy and opprest
He'll raise, and gape to hear the rest.

Oft had the sire, at midnight deep,
Been wakened from his grateful sleep
By prattling imp, that he might say
Tales o'er and o'er till break of day ;
Tales that had broke the lubber's rest
Of HIM whose name he loved the best ;
Of hard unequal combats won ;
What heroes fought and were outdone ;
And haply, ere next evening fell,
These tales were all again to tell.
Ah ! many a lip of maiden coy,
And cheek of blowzy cottage boy,
Have at his deeds with ardour flamed,
And blenched when a Monteith was named !

Blessed be the dame whose kindred faith
Drove her from church in triple wrath ;
She deemed the bedesman Southron's tool,
A sneaking knave, a prating fool,
For saying that " since time began
One Samson was the strongest man !
And that the Bible's sacred page
Was the best book of any age !"
But on the threshold in her wrath,
To vindicate her patriot faith,
She turned, and cried, squeaking amain,
" Read WALLACE, and say so again !"

That name, in Scotia permanent,
Is with our hearts and annals blent ;
Memorial dear, without a blot,
What once she was, and now is not !

And still of all the names I see,
Even in this land of loyalty,
On roll of fame recorded wide,
Or margined on Rebellion's side,
(Rebellion's side ! Ah, woe's my heart,
That loyalty finds such desert !)
But yet of all these chiefs of worth,
These heroes of the plaided north,
There is not name beloved so well ;
On which the soul delights to dwell
Without alloy — or still that can
Stand as the polar star of man :
And doubly blest that man shall be,
That cherisheth his memory J