Land of the forest and the rock, Of dark blue lake and mighty river, Of mountains reared aloft to mock, The storm's career, the lightning's shock, My own green land forever! Land of the beautiful and brave! The freeman's home, the martyr's grave! The nursery of giant men, Whose deeds have linked with every glen, The magic of a warrior's name! Does not Scotland, however inferior, in some respects it may be deemed to other lands, possess a peculiar charm to all cultivated minds?[1] What visions of ancient glory cluster around the time-honored name! What associations of 'wild native grandeur,'--of wizard beauty, and rough magnificence. What gleams of 'poetic sunlight,'--what recollections of martial daring by flood and field,--what hallowed faith and burning zeal,--what martyr toils and martyr graves, monuments of freedom's struggles and freedom's triumphs in moor or glen,--what 'lights and shadows' of love and passion,--what ancient songs, echoing among the hills,--what blessed sabbath calm,--what lofty inspiration of the Bible and covenant,--in a word, what dear and hallowed memories of that 'Auld lang syne,' indigenous only to Scotland, though known throughout the world! Should this be deemed enthusiastic, let it, and all else of a similar character which may be found in this volume, be ascribed to a natural and not unpardonable feeling on the part of the writer. The remembrance of 'Auld lang syne' can never be extinguished. Except the hope of heaven, it is our best and holiest heritage. [Footnote 1: The following eloquent passage from an address by the Honorable Edward Everett, before the "Scots' Charitable Society," Boston, well illustrates the fact referred to. "Not to speak of the worthies of ages long passed; of the Knoxes, the Buchanans, and the early minstrelsy of the border; the land of your fathers, sir, since it ceased to be a separate kingdom, has, through the intellect of her gifted sons, acquired a supremacy over the minds of men more extensive and more enduring, than that of Alexander or Augustus. It would be impossible to enumerate them all,--the Blairs of the last generation, the Chalmerses of this; the Robertsons, and Humes; the Smiths, the Reids, the Stuarts, the Browns; the Homes, the Mackenzies; the Mackintoshes, the Broughams, the Jeffreys, with their distinguished compeers, both on physical and moral science. The Marys and the Elizabeths, the Jameses and the Charleses will be forgotten, before these names will perish from the memory of men. And when I add to them those other illustrious names--Burns, Campbell, Byron, and Scott, may I not truly say, sir, that the throne and the sceptre of England will crumble into dust like those of Scotland: and Windsor Castle and Westminster Abbey will lie in ruins as poor and desolate as those of Scone and Iona, before the lords of Scottish song shall cease to reign in the hearts of men.