Abercrombie, who confounds John Blair with Arnold Blair, doubts of the above lines being composed by him. Arnold, in his _Relationes_, has certainly given nothing of his own, his brief details, as we have already observed, being merely extracts from the Scotichronicon; and it is more than probable, that as he borrowed from Fordun in the one instance, he might also be inclined to take the same liberty with Blair in the other. The verses are evidently the effusion of a superior mind, brooding over a recent calamity. They are attached to the end of Arnold Blair’s Relationes, to which the date of 1327 is affixed,--thus bringing them to within 22 years of the execution of Wallace;--that they were composed soon after that event becomes therefore a matter of certainty. The writer entertained the hope of being able to gratify his readers with some specimens of the chansonnettes, said to have been composed in honour of Wallace by the Troubadours of France. He is sorry, however, that his applications have not been followed by the success anticipated. He will, therefore, conclude his labours with the following lines from an unpublished manuscript:-- ON THE BIRTH-DAY OF WALLACE. May this day be blest, ‘mid the days of the year, May the sweet smile of heav’n ever brighten its dawn, And the music that wakes when its first rays appear, Swell joyously on till those rays are withdrawn. May the bee’s tiny bugle be heard ’round the brier-- Or when in the midst of his favourite rose; May the breeze full of fragrance around him expire In sighings too soft to disturb his repose. While autumn in splendour o’er mountain and vale, Displays her refreshing enchantment to view; And each motionless ship, with her white hanging sail, Is seen to repose on a mirror of blue. To this sweet scene of peace, all so tranquil and bland, May the heart-stirring spirit of music be given; And the joy-song from each flow’ry nook of the land, Meet and rise in one grand halleluja to heav’n. For this was the day gave to Scotland a name,-- A hero,--a patriot,--the boon was divine. The gleam of his sword led her back to her fame, And brighten’d her pathway to liberty’s shrine. Hail pattern of heroes! thy deeds they shall stand, Deep-engrav’d on the hearts of the brave and the free, Till the adamant mountains that girdle the land, Dissolve as their snows, and run down to the sea. Like a comet, he came irresistibly forth, Spreading woe ’mong the foes of his dear native land; He _set_--yet his _light_ lingers still in the _north_, To rouse and direct ev’ry patriot brand. THE END. PRINTED BY J. HUTCHISON, FOR THE HEIRS OF D. WILLISON. FOOTNOTES