THE DIRGE OF WALLACE.

THEY lighted a taper at dead of night,

And chaunted their holiest hymn;

But her brow and her bosom were damp with affright-
Her eye was all sleepless and dim!

And the Lady of Elderslie wept for her lord,

When a death-watch beat in her lonely room,
When her curtain had shock of its own accord,
And the raven had flapp'd at her window-board,
To tell of her warrior's doom!

Now sing ye the death-song, and loudly pray
For the soul of my knight so dear;
And call me a widow this wretched day,
Since the warning of God is here;

For nightmare rides on my strangled sleep,
The lord of my bosom is doomed to die:
His valorous heart they have wounded deep;
And the blood-red tears shall his country weep
For Wallace of Elderslie!

Yet knew not his country that ominous hour,
Ere the loud matin-bell was rung,
That a trumpet of death on an English tower
Had the dirge of her champion sung!
When his dungeon-light look'd dim and red
On the high-born blood of a martyr slain,
No anthem was sung at his holy death-bed;
No weeping there was when his bosom bled-
Aud his heart was rent in twain!

Oh, it was not thus when his oaken spear
Was true to that knight forlorn,

And hosts of a thousand were scatter'd like deer,

At the blast of the hunter's horn;

When he strode on the wreck of each well-fought field,
With the yellow-hair'd chiefs of his native land;
For his lance was not shiver'd on helmet or shield-
And the sword that seem'd fit for archangel to wield
Was light in his terrible hand!

Yet bleeding and bound, though the Wallace wight
For his long-loved country die,

The bugle ne'er sung to a braver knight

Than William of Elderslie!

But the day of his glory shall never depart;

His head, unentomb'd, shall with glory be palm'd; From its blood-streaming altar his spirit shall start; Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart,

A nobler was never embalm'd!

CAMPBELL.

A STORY OF THE HOUSE OF INNES.

(A TRUE TALE.)

THE laird John of Innes was one whom Nature seemed to have intended for a life of perfect placidity and inaction. He was the second and the youngest son of a very powerful chief, in one of the northern counties of Scotland. His father had preserved the character that had been early acquired by his ancestors for prowess in the field, expertness and enthusiasm in the chase, and that mixture of severity and liberality which made him an object of terror to his enemies, and secured a considerable influence over his devoted followers. Nor did his eldest son, the master of Innes, show any want of disposition to follow in his footsteps. He had naturally the same pride, the same desire of aggrandizement; and thought, with his father, that all that tract of land, whether wood or wild, that could be viewed from the hill of Benvai, and all the inhabitants of it, were situated as they were for his peculiar service. He indeed showed occasionally a propensity to mingle with the lower associates that could be found in the neighbourhood, and even to add to the grossness of their indulgences; but this course, had he been allowed to pursue it, would have undoubtedly ended in that matured selfishness, of which he had frequently given large promise. John, on the other hand, had been from the first of a weakly and indolent constitution, and, while his elder brother was often a partaker of the fatigues of his father, he seemed to require the greater share of his mother's attention. She was indeed disappointed at his dull and unenterprising nature; for being a younger brother, she knew that to his activity and ambition he must be indebted for advancement in life. He seemed however never to comprehend that any exertion of any kind would become requisite. He lived in apparent ignorance of the intention of all the talk, and stir, and undertakings that were going on around him. Not that he by any means did not enjoy himself: he would walk forth with much complacency, when supplied with a new dress characteristic of his clan; and his face would occasionally assume an air of brilliancy, when a haunch of venison, of a superior rotundity or promising colour and fragrance, was set on the table; or when the fruits which an old but well preserved orchard supplied, were presented, he might indulge in a question as to their particular kind. Still his enjoyments were unsocial;-he neither sought nor avoided company of any kind;-he seemed equally happy by the side of the river that flowed past, watching the motion of the waters or the gambols of the fishes, when the day was good; or, if winter or

rain prevented this amusement, when seated in some unnoticed corner in almost total inaction. One idea he had however somehow or other secured, which, though never expressed, retained firm possession of his mind; this was, that he was in circumstances which placed him beyond any need of labour or thought, and accordingly every thing suggested to him in the way of remonstrance, counsel, or incentive, he received with perfect composure and silence.

The master of Innes, we have already noticed, had been accustomed to mingle in those meetings where a great scope could be had for unlicensed frolic; and the only prerogative which he claimed on account of his birth, was that of an excess that would have been denied to his dependents-One of these occasions had terminated in a dance, to which a considerable number of the surrounding peasantry had come, and, among the rest, an aged but athletic man, who had been persuaded by his son and daughter to visit the festival. He was almost blind, having been deprived of one eye in some of those contests which were then so common, and having by age almost lost the sight of the other. As he stood musing on the state in which he found himself, the young laird, in a wanton frolic, attempted to leap upon his shoulders. The suddenness as well as the violence of the motion, brought them both to the ground; and the head of the veteran having struck the hard floor, he was so enraged that in his fury he seized the laird, whose person indeed he did not recognise, and, uttering a savage yell, stabbed him with a dagger that he carried about his person.

The whole company immediately crowded round the wounded youth, who was the chief object of attention at the time; and when, a few moments after, they began to think of the perpetrator, it appeared that he had been hurried away by his son. The youth did not survive his wound many minutes; yet, in the midst of the consternation that er sued, there were no prompt means taken, either to secure the murderer or to inform the parents. The one was difficult, from the clumps of trees and ravines in the neighbourhood, as well as from the darkness of the night; the other, from a general unwillingness to bear tidings so unwelcome. When at length the old laird was informed that his son was dead, he received the tidings with astonishment, that was changed into boundless fury, when he was told that the murderer had escaped. "Could none of you," he cried out, "traitors that you are, seize a wretch that had spilled the best blood of your clan? What serve your eyes or hands, when a blind old villain can grope his way better than you can follow ?" But, though the pursuit was now keenly commenced, the fugitives eluded their search. All night the chief continued his vain quest through every secluded dell or bushy spot, where he conceived con

cealment could have been effected. The night was dark and rainy, the morning which succeeded chill and misty, yet he still continued to wander about the country, accompanied by some of his dependents, whose grief for his loss began to be mingled with concern for his own excessive excitement and fatigue. But he persisted all the day in going from hill to hill, in passing through the swollen streams, and traversing woods, till the evening, when he was carried home almost faint with his toil, and yet his grief and rage greatly increased. He refused all nourishment,—a fever of the severest kind seized him, and in three days John was laird of Innes.

The laird John was from the first an object of no consequence to his kinsmen, except as the possessor of the estate of Innes, and as such he was continually harassed by proposals for disposition, questions about the entail, and similar schemes, which gave him considerable annoyance, yet which he had not the firmness of mind to forbid. As he had declared his resolution never to marry, and was quite unwilling, and indeed unable also to perform the various duties, and engage in the exploits expected from the head of a clan, he had been prevailed upon to resign his title, and make a deed of the disposition of his estate to his next heir, Alexander Innes of Cromy. He thought that by so doing he was parting with the troublesome circumstances of his situation, at the same time that he was securing to himself all the solid advantage. One great relief which he had expected from the measure, was, that he should be no more troubled with schemes and arrangements about the succession. But his anticipations on this subject were sadly disappointed. The other relatives envied the preference that had been given to Cromy, and took every opportunity of expressing to John their dissatisfaction with his conduct. It was in vain that he represented that he had only done a little sooner what would take place at his death, thereby securing a peaceful entrance for his successor, and a quiet and peaceful life for himself. They asserted that the whole action was illegal, and that he had been miserably outwitted by a designing man, who could now hold his head higher than the poor fool who had raised him. The most deeply dissatisfied of these relatives was Robert Innes of Innermarky, a man of a designing and resolute, but at the same time cruel disposition. He seemed to have attained the same kind of mastery over the mind of John, as that which is possessed in the case of some animals, that may be at first a matter of contest, but is afterwards implicitly allowed in all cases. He plied the laird with representations suited to his temper. The laird began to be hurt at his degradation; for he was proud, though not ambitious. He now disliked Cromy from the bottom of his heart; for, though he could not bear the trouble of his constant

solicitations, he never anticipated, that as soon as his bond of disposition had been obtained, the whole of that family should have ceased to pay the slightest attention to him, more than if it had never laid them under the smallest obligation, and should commence a style of living so entirely different from what they had been accustomed to. "His house of Cromy held him well enough before," said John, "but now he must have his house in Aberdeen, and in the new town too-and his house in Edinburgh, he does not seem to know which of them is best, for he's always running from one to another." "I dare say," said Robert of Innermarky," he thinks Innes better than any of them; and as he'll soon have his other means consumed, he will be quite ready to devour Innes by the time he gets it. He will then be ready to live on a pension from the king -and who so great at court as my lord Cromy, as he thinks himself! He must be always riding through Edinburgh side by side with the right-honourable my lord treasurer. He has had his son Robert (what made him call the weakly brat for me?) introduced there, to be quite ready to bear his honours when he shall get them. It's for that too he keeps his son in such high style at Aberdeen college. It was not thus, Innes, that your father lived-you cannot live in such style yourself. And I'm told he means soon to get you cognosced-you, whose only fault has been, that you have allowed him first to triumph over you, and now to mock you. I don't think you will have your choice of a dungeon somewhere about your own house, which we would never let you long remain in-or a dungeon near the court, where your kind friend is revelling on your means."

By these, and such representations, and by continually plying him with large hopes and petty fears, Innermarky had so wrought on the mind of the laird as to make him heartily ashamed and afraid of what he had done; and to bring him to enter into almost any scheme for retrieving what he now saw to be his lost consequence. Probably indeed he did not fully disclose all the nefarious designs with which he proposed that the laird should join him in an embassy to Cromy, who had gone on business to Aberdeen, and whose stay had been protracted by the weakly health of his son, then attending the college of that place. He only advised the laird to get some of his most trusty followers ready, as secretly as possible, and to meet him on the road towards Aberdeen.

It was but the second night after this proposal had been made, that young Robert of Cromy, after having spent a dull day, partly in the routine of college attendance, and partly wandering about the streets in listless musing, at length found himself seated by a brisk fire, with all his books and exercises around him. He had been