THERE'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES HAME. 6 "You must know a beautiful Jacobite air, There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.' When political combustion ceases to be the object of princes and patriots, it then, you know, becomes the lawful prey of historians and poets." - Burns to Mr. Cunningham, 12th March, 1791. By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, gray; And as he was singing, the tears fast down There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. The church is in ruins, the state is in jars, Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars; We darena weel say't, though we ken wha's to blame, There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, And now I greet round their green beds in weep the yerd: It brak the sweet heart of my faithfu' auld There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. lost There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame! LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. At the close of January, Burns met a serious loss, both as respecting his fortunes and his feelings, in the death of his amiable patron James, Earl of Glencairn, who, after returning from a futile voyage to Lisbon in search of health, died at Falmouth, in the forty-second year of his age. The deep, earnest feeling of gratitude which Burns bore towards this nobleman is highly creditable to him. He put on mourning for the earl, and designed, if possible, to attend his funeral in Ayrshire. At a later time, he entered a permanent record of his gratitude in the annals of his family, by calling a son James Glencairn. THE wind blew hollow frae the hills, Looked on the fading yellow woods That waved o'er Lugar's winding stream: Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, Laden with years and meikle pain, In loud lament bewailed his lord, Whom death had all untimely ta'en. His locks were bleachèd white with time, "Ye scattered birds that faintly sing, But nocht in all revolving time Can gladness bring again to me. "I am a bending, agèd tree, That long has stood the wind and rain But now has come a cruel blast, And my last hold of earth is gane: Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, "I've seen sae monie changefu' years, I bear alane my lade o' care, Lie a' that would my sorrows share. "And last (the sum of a' my griefs!) My noble master lies in clay; The flower amang our barons bold, His country's pride, his country's stay! In weary being now I pine, For a' the life of life is dead, And hope has left my aged ken, "Awake thy last sad voice, my harp! The voice of wo and wild despair; Awake! resound thy latest lay – Then sleep in silence evermair! And thou, my last, best, only friend, That fillest an untimely tomb, Accept this tribute from the bard Thou brought from Fortune's mirkest gloom. "In Poverty's low barren vale Thick mists, obscure, involved me round; Though oft I turned the wistful eye, Nae ray of fame was to be found: Thou found'st me, like the morning sun, That melts the fogs in limpid air; The friendless bard and rustic song Became alike thy fostering care. "O why has worth so short a date, A day to me so full of wo! O had I met the mortal shaft "The bridegroom may forget the bride, Was made his wedded wife yestreen; last night The monarch may forget the crown That on his head an hour has been; The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me!" |