The following lines are in imitation of the opening of Canto III., entitled _The Gathering_. They are _apropos_ of Mr. Gladstone’s visit to Scotland in August, 1884, during the agitation about the Franchise Bill. RAISING THE “FIERY CROSS.” (_Some way after Sir Walter Scott_). Time rolls his ceaseless course. That fight of yore, When the Great Earl was beaten to his knee, When Gladstone’s rhetoric rolled from shore to shore, Herald and harbinger of victory, Is not yet blotted from man’s memory. How few, how weak and withered of their force The Tory remnant, which all men might see Like stranded wrecks. The tide returning hoarse Sets them afloat again! Time rolls its ceaseless course. There yet live those who can remember well When last the Liberal Chief his bugle blew; When county broad and borough big, as well As far Midlothian’s heart, the signal knew, And fast the faithful clan around him drew. And now again his warning note is wound, Again the banner floats as then it flew; Whilst now the clamorous war-pipes shrilly sound, And now the Fiery Cross gleams like a meteor round. The Summer Sun’s effulgent hue Gilds Scotia’s skies of bluest blue; Autumn’s at hand, but a brisk breeze, Born of conflicting policies, Blows o’er the land, and leisure coy, And sport’s supreme soul-stirring joy, Are not for Members sorely prest, The prospect of unbroken rest In dull uncertainty still lies Far off, ’neath drear December’s skies. The Peers have crossed the People’s right, And there is bound to be a fight! Against the ermine and the lawn The proletariat blade is drawn, Members must leave the mountain’s side, The trout stream’s swift and silvery glide; To raise the sword and shout the cry Amidst the roused democracy. Good-bye to grouse, to health’s fair flush, The pheasant’s whirr, the salmon’s rush, War’s raven croaks, the cushat dove Hushes her notes of peace and love.