The complete works of Robert Burns: containing his poems, songs, and correspondence . y opinion, make it tame. Thomson cries out, likethe timid wife of Coriolanus, Oh, God, no blood!while Burns exclaims, like that Romans heroic mother, Yes, blood ! it becomes a soldier more than gilt histropliy. The ode as originally written was restoredafterwards in Thomsons collection.] Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled,Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;Welcome to your gory to glorious victorie ! Nows the day, and nows the hour—See the front o battle lour ;See approach proud Edwards power-Edward ! chains a
The complete works of Robert Burns: containing his poems, songs, and correspondence . y opinion, make it tame. Thomson cries out, likethe timid wife of Coriolanus, Oh, God, no blood!while Burns exclaims, like that Romans heroic mother, Yes, blood ! it becomes a soldier more than gilt histropliy. The ode as originally written was restoredafterwards in Thomsons collection.] Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled,Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;Welcome to your gory to glorious victorie ! Nows the day, and nows the hour—See the front o battle lour ;See approach proud Edwards power-Edward ! chains and slaverie ! Wha will be a traitor-knave ?Wha can fill a cowards grave ?Wha sae base as be a slave ?Traitor! coward! turn and flee ! Wha for Scotlands king and lawFreedoms sword will strongly draw,Freeman stand, or freeman fa,Caledonian! on wi me! By oppressions woes and pains!By our sons in servile chains !We will drain our dearest they shall be—shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low!Tyrants fall in every foe !Libertys in every blow !Forward! let us do, or die !. A1IJ31,B JLAH© SlTMlEo And heres a hand, my trusty iier , And gies a hand o thine ;And weell Lak a right guid-willie waught , For Auld Lang syne . New York-. Geo. , 1862. OF ROBEUT BURNS. 287 EEHOLD THE HOUR. Tune— Orari-gaoil. [ The following song I have composed for the Highlandair that you tell me in your last you have resolved togi ve a place to in your book. I have this moment finishedthe song, so you have it glowing from the mint. Thesearc the words of Burns to Tliomson : he might haveadded that the song was written on the meditated voyageof Clarinda to the West Indies, to join her husband.] Behold the hour, the boat arrive ; Thou goest, thou darling of my heart!Severd from thee can I survive ? But fate has willd, and we must often greet this surging swell, Ton distant isle will often hail: Een here I took the last farewell; There, latest markd her vanishd sail. Along the
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