----"the tales Of persecution and the Covenant, Whose echo rings through Scotland to this hour." So says Wordsworth. These traditions have been emblazoned by the pens of Scott, M'Crie, Galt, Hogg, Wilson, Grahame, and Pollok, and by the pencils of Wilkie, Harvey, and Duncan,--each regarding them with the eye of his peculiar genius. In reference to the following stanzas, it should be remembered that, during the holding of their conventicles,--which frequently, in the more troublous times, took place amid mountain solitudes, and during the night,--a sentinel was stationed on some commanding height in the neighbourhood, to give warning of the approach of danger.] I. Ho! plaided watcher of the hill, What of the night?--what of the night? The winds are lown, the woods are still, The countless stars are sparkling bright; From out this heathery moorland glen, By the shy wild-fowl only trod, We raise our hymn, unheard of men, To Thee--an omnipresent God! II. Jehovah! though no sign appear, Through earth our aimless path to lead, We know, we feel Thee ever near, A present help in time of need-- Near, as when, pointing out the way, For ever in thy people's sight, A pillared wreath of smoke by day, Which turned to fiery flame at night! III. Whence came the summons forth to go?-- From Thee awoke the warning sound! "Out to your tents, O Israel! Lo! The heathen's warfare girds thee round. Sons of the faithful! up--away! The lamb must of the wolf beware; The falcon seeks the dove for prey; The fowler spreads his cunning snare!" IV. Day set in gold; 'twas peace around-- 'Twas seeming peace by field and flood: We woke, and on our lintels found The cross of wrath--the mark of blood. Lord! in thy cause we mocked at fears, We scorned the ungodly's threatening words-- Beat out our pruning-hooks to spears, And turned our ploughshares into swords! V. Degenerate Scotland! days have been Thy soil when only freemen trod-- When mountain-crag and valley green Poured forth the loud acclaim to God!-- The fire which liberty imparts, Refulgent in each patriot eye, And, graven on a nation's hearts, _The Word_--for which we stand or die! VI. Unholy change! The scorner's chair Is now the seat of those who rule; Tortures, and bonds, and death, the share Of all except the tyrant's tool. That faith in which our fathers breathed, And had their life, for which they died-- That priceless heirloom they bequeathed Their sons--our impious foes deride! VII.