5
What dreads the Crown from those your troopers crush,
What fears the Court from Female Age and Youth?
Will Popish hate in Bladnoch’s billows hush
The elaim of Freedom, or the voice of truth?”
She reads—“No terrors that our path beset
Shall e’er divide us from our Saviour’s love; ”
Then sings—“My faults of youth, O Lord, forget,
And guide the lowly to thy home above.”
The rush of Solway chokes the voice of praise,
That asks in triumph, “Death, where is thy sting?”
Her drooping head above the wave they raise,
And all entreat to pray— God save the King!
“God save him, if He will,” she meekly sighs;
“ I never wished my fellow-creature woe:—”
“She’s said it, Sir, she’s said it! ” Friendship cries;
“Oh, eut the eords, and let the maiden go!”
The eaptious oath resounds in Windram’s roar,
That binds the conscience to Oppression’s sway;
“No! let his child to Jesus’ bosom soar;—”
A plunge—and Bladnoch clasps her beauteous clay!
Matron and Maid, who scorned the Tyrant’s cord,
Your names in blood on hist’ry’s page shall beam;
While Scotland’s shield resists Aggression’s sword,
As Solway’s flood repels the Bladnoch’s stream,
Scotland, the foe no more a lion roars,
And slakes his savage thirst in martyrs’ blood;
But see, he scale not like the tide thy shores,
And drown the sleepers in corruption’s flood!
