The Pentland Hills - Poem by Carolina Oliphant
Air - 'Martyrdom'-'Dundee.'
The pilgrim's feet here oft will tread
O'er this sequestered scene,
To mark whare Scotland's Maryrs lie
In lonely Rullion Green,-
To muse o'er those who fought and fell-
All Presbyterians true-
Who held the League and Covenant-
Who waved the banner blue!
Like partridge to the mountain driven-
Oh! lang and sairly tried!
Their cause they liv'd and died!
Together here they met and prayed -
Ah! ne'er to meet again!
Their windin' sheet the bluidy plaid -
Their grave lone Rullion Green.
Ah! here they sang the holy strain -
Sweet Martyrs' melodie;
When every heart and every voice
Arose in harmonie.
The list'ning echoes all around
Gave back their soft reply,
While angels heard the hallow'd sound,
And bore it to the sky.
Oh! faithless King! has thou forgot
Who gave to thee thy croun?
Hast thou forgot thy solemn oath,
At Holyrood and Scone?
Oh! fierce Dalziel! thy ruthless rage
Wrought langsome misery;
What Scottish heart could ever gi'e
A benison to thee!
O Claverhouse! fell Claverhouse!
Thou brave, but cruel Graham!
Dark deeds like thine will last for aye,
Linked wi' thy blighted name.
Oh, Pentland hills, sae fair and green,
When in the sunrise gleaming-
Or in the pensive gloamin' hour,
Aneath the moonbeams streaming!
I love to wander
Wi' sad and sacred feeling;
While hallowed mem'ries wake the tear,
In waefu' eye soft stealing.
I love thy wild sequester'd glen,
Thy bonny wimplin' burn;
For Scotland's brave and martyr'd men,
Still does it seem to mourn.
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