Monday, August 16, 2010

Another Poem

Here's another poem from The Wallace Muse. These is some excerpts by Andrew Munro from his spic poem on Wallace.

"'Twas he, whose aspiration high
His country's banner had unfurle'd-
A banner brave that kiss'd the sky
In pure unsullied liberty,
When Roman conqu'rors of the world
Invaded Caledonia's strand
But fiercely from her bonds were hurl'd
A foil'd and disappointed band!

'Twas Wallace Wight! Immortal name!
The brightest on the page of fame!
'Twas Wallace! the brave patriot
Who to his country did devote
Hid godlike energies, and who
Nor toils nor dangers could subdue;
Nor Southern promises, nor gold
Could shake the firm and stedfast hold
His love on Scotland had, and, as
His through his life had been, so was
He when 'neath death he fell,
Brave, noble, incorruptible!
And while a noble gratitude
Shall swell the breast and throb the heart
Of man for those who, unsubdued,
By threats of death or tyrant's art,
Have nobly acted patriot's part:
The name of Wallace shall rank high
Among the names that ne'er shall die!
And through the ages it shall be
A talisman for victory!


Then Wallace sheathes his sword in peace
'My hope is that as freeman I
Shall live, and as a freeman die,
Feeling, when death shall sound my knell,
That I have done my duty well.
Go, publish wide what I have spoken,
And never shall my word be broken.'
And thus he lived, until at last,
When eight more glorious years had pass'd-
Years which he to his country gave
In wisdom great and actions brave-
A Scottish traitor basely sold
The Wallace wight for English gold.

Oh, Edward! England's ruthless lord,
By me and each true Scot abhorr'd;
Debaser of thy country's coin;-
Thou tyrant o'er thy land and mine,-
Thou robber of that ancient stone
On which our kings were crown'd at Scone,-
Thou murd'rer of the Minstrel band
That cheered and nerv'd the Cambrian land,-
Thou who hast made poor Ireland feel
Upon her neck thine iron heel,-
Thief of the Templars' treasure thou,-
The brand of Cain is on thine brow,-
Was e'er thy face grac'd by a smile,
Thou Nero of the British Isle?
Thou liv'd'st a heartless homicide,
And a defeated dotard died.
The man, who had thy vengeance dar'd,
Thou could'st not bribe, yet his thou fear'd;
Yes him, who's patriotic zeal
So nobly for his country wrought,
Thou, ignominious stoop'd to steal
Because he never could be bought.
And as he liv'd , the patriot died,
His country's boast, his country's pride,
A martyr to earth's noblest cause-
His country's liberty and laws;
And while a Scotsman lives on earth,
And while the land that gives him birth
Exists, his memory shall go down
To endless ages and renown.

But thou, Menteith, accursed name,
Damn'd to eternal scorn and shame,
Thy trusting friend for English gold
Thou, fiendish, heartless traitor, sold;
Thy name's on hist'ry's page a blot,
Thou soulless Scotch Iscariot!

I'll be back later this week with another post as long as I can get time to do it.

Slainte, Hazel

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