"The world grows cold, my arm is old, And thin my lyart hair, And all that I loved best on earth Is stretch'd before me there. "O Bothwell banks! that bloom so bright, Beneath the sun of May, The heaviest cloud that ever blew Is bound for you this day. "And, Scotland, thou may'st veil thy head In sorrow and in pain; The sorest stroke upon thy brow Hath fallen this day in Spain! "We'll bear them back into our ship, We'll bear them o'er the sea, And lay them in the hallow'd earth, Within our own countrie. "And be thou strong of heart, Lord King, For this I tell thee sure, The sod that drank the Douglas' blood Shall never bear the Moor!" The King he lighted from his horse, He flung his brand away, And took the Douglas by the hand, So stately as he lay. "God give thee rest, thou valiant soul, That fought so well for Spain; I'd rather half my land were gone, So thou wert here again!" We bore the good Lord James away, And the priceless heart he bore, And heavily we steer'd our ship Towards the Scottish shore. No welcome greeted our return, Nor clang of martial tread, But all were dumb and hush'd as death Before the mighty dead. We laid the Earl in Douglas Kirk, The heart in fair Melrose; And woful men were we that day-- God grant their souls repose! W.E.A. MEMORANDUMS OF A MONTH'S TOUR IN SICILY. THE MUSEUM OF PALERMO.