As white as a ghaist, wi' a tear in her e'e, Her grey hair doon-hingin' oot-ower her e'ebree, Gangs auld Mither Scotlan', sair mournin' the shame That's lyin' e'en noo on her bairns an' her name. That half-bigget touir they hae raised on the height O' the auld Craig at Stirlin' to Wallace the wight— The day it was foundit her auld lyart pow Fu' heich she was haudin'; it's laigh eneuch now. She daurna leuk up she's sae doon i' the mouth: Weel kens she the bodies that dwall in the South, An' specially the Cockneys, are lauchin' ilk ane At her an' her sticket big humplock o' stane. The win's o' November blaw sleety an' chill, But she's aff through the heather awa' to the hill; Like a ghaist she gangs wannerin' an' mournin' alane, An' the auld Abbey echoes her sorrowfu' mane: "O shade o' my Wallace! the sainted, the blest, Frae the mansions abune, frae thy bricht place o' rest, Dost see thy ain Scotlan' in sorrow and shame, That her sons hae neglected to nourish thy fame? The Scots are lang gane that 'wi' Wallace hae bled,' The Scots that the Bruce aft to victory led; They fell, they are sleepin' on Fame's gory bed, And their name still is ours, but their spirit is fled!" She cried, and the tear-draps were dried on her cheeks, "Oh, listen, my bairns (it's your mither that speaks); Bring gowd in your gowpens to big up the touir: Wi' the will there's a way, wi' the means there's a power." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I LOOK IN MY HEART by SARA TEASDALE ON THE EXPECTED GENERAL RISING OF THE FRENCH NATION IN 1792 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE LOST JEWEL by EMILY DICKINSON HOW VIOLETS CAME BLUE by ROBERT HERRICK THE COMING OF GOOD LUCK by ROBERT HERRICK HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 6 by EZRA POUND |