Departure From Scotland.
Departure From Scotland.
Now truly may auld Scotland mourn
For James, our King, is gane awa';
He's gane to sit on England's throne,
And rule the sister kingdoms twa.
It was a bonnie day in spring
When James departit frae the North,
And lengthy was the cavalcade
That from our Capital rode forth.
It was a fine graw day in spring,
The air was saft the sky was blue,
The lav'rocks sang high in the lift,
The grass was spangled o'er wi' dew.
And mony a man amang us rode
Far ower the lea upon that day
Wi' melancholie hearts, to see
Our King a bittock on the way.
And when we cam' near Seaton House,
Alas! a gloomy sicht we saw,
A sicht that aiblins boded ill,
And filled our hearts wi' dread and awe.
Lord Seton's funeral train advanced
And met the royal cavalcade;
We halted at the King's command
To pay due reverence to the dead.
Ilk head was bared as slowly passed
The sad procession black and drear,
And mournfu' was the look that James
Bestowed upon the sable bier.
He sate him doun by the roadside,
The tear-drop in his wistful eye,
And aye he gazed, and better gazed,
Until the solemn train passed by.
Then slowly rase he frae the road,
And slowly to his horse again
He pensive drew, with clouded brow,
And sair he sighed as if in pain.
He mountit; ne'er a word he spake,
His thoughts were wi the loyal dead --
He gently motioned with his hand,
On onward rode the cavalcade.
And there I stude and gazed my last
Upon the gay and glittering train --
And there I turned my ready steed
To wend my journey hame again.
But as I pensive journeyed hame,
With uncontrollable dismay
I thought upon that sable bier
That met our King upon the way.
Lord Seton he was ever leal
And true, as ane and a' can tell,
Mair loyal was he to his Queen (Rest be her soul!)
Than James himsel'.
He was the type of Scotland's best
For birth and downricht honestie,
He truckled nane to Southern power,
But firmly by the Throne stude he.
He loathed Queen Bess and a' her wiles,
And strove his country to uphold,
As in the independent past,
Against the micht of English gold.
But he is dead: to me it seemed
As I beheld that solemn train,
That Scotland's glory is decayed,
Her independence on the wane.
Our auld nobility, the prop
And leal support of Scotland's throne,
Who lo'ed their country mair than life,
Are, with the Lord of Seton, gone.
Our nobles now are Britain's lords,
They hurry south for place and pelf --
What are puir Scotland's rights to them
If Scotland's rights endanger "self?"
Our King he left us for the south.
That self-same day, O strange to tell!
Lord Seton's clay passed to the grave,
And passing bade the King farewell.
Now fate thee well frae me, King James,
O mightly Monarch, fare thee well!
May ither men believe in thee
As thou believest in thyself.
I'd love to have you drop by!--Barbara
