FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THE PITT CLUB OF SCOTLAND.

DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the

omen,

When the brave on Marengo lay slaughtered in

vain,

And, beholding broad Europe bowed down by her foemen,

PITT closed in his anguish the map of her reign! Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his brave

spirit

To take for his country the safety of shame;

O then in her triumph remember his merit,
And hallow the goblet that flows to his name.

Round the husbandman's head, while he traces the furrow,

The mists of the winter may mingle with rain, He may plough it with labour, and sow it in sorrow, And sigh while he fears he has sowed it in vain;

He may die ere his children shall reap in their glad

ness,

But the blithe harvest-home shall remember his

claim;

And their jubilee-shout shall be softened with sad

ness,

While they hallow the goblet that flows to his

name.

Though anxious and timeless his life was expended, In toils for our country preserved by his care, Though he died ere one ray o'er the nations ascended,

To light the long darkness of doubt and despair; The storms he endured in our Britain's December, The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame, In her glory's rich harvest shall Britain remember, And hallow the goblet that flows to his name.

Nor forget His gray head, who, all dark in affliction,
Is deaf to the tale of our victories won,
And to sounds the most dear to paternal affection,
The shout of his people applauding his Son;
By his firmness unmoved in success or disaster,
By his long reign of virtue, remember his claim!
With our tribute to PITT join the praise of his Mas-
ter,

Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his

name.

Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad mea

sure,

The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid,

To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright treasure,

The wisdom that planned, and the zeal that obeyed!

Fill WELLINGTON's cup till it beam like his glory, Forget not our own brave DALHOUSIE and

GRÆME;

A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their story,

And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame.

SONG,

ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE HOUSE OF BUCCLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOOT-BALL MATCH

ON CARTERHAUGH.

FROM the brown crest of Newark its summons extending,

Our signal is waving in smoke and in flame;

And each forester blithe from his mountain descend

ing,

Bounds light o'er the heather to join in the game.

CHORUS.

Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her,
She has blazed over Ettricke eight ages and more;
In sport we'll attend her, 'in battle defend her,
With heart and with hand, like our fathers before.

When the Southern invader spread waste and disorder,

At the glance of her crescents he paused and withdrew,

For around them were marshalled the pride of the

Border,

The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of Buc

CLEUCH.

Then up with the Banner, &c.

A stripling's weak hand to our revel has borne her, No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearman sur

round;

But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should scorn

her,

A thousand true hearts would be cold on the ground.

Then up with the Banner, &c.

We forget each contention of civil dissention,
And hail, like our brethren, HOME, DOUGLAS, and
CAR;

And ELLIOT and PRINGLE in pastime shall mingle,
As welcome in peace as their fathers in war.
Then up with the Banner, &c.

Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the weather,

And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall, There are worse things in life than a tumble on heather,

And life is itself but a game at foot-ball.

Then up with the Banner, &c.