58 
OVER THE BORDER. 
There's a rush o'er the borders, of peer and of loon : 
Have ye heard that the Southrons are coming full soon ? 
Have ye heard that the cry hath gone up from the town — 
* Oh cast off the toga, and cast off the gown ; 
Leave the senate, the bar — leave the pulpit, the desk — 
Leave the Thames and its mud, for the Tay and the Esk — 
The sweets of Belgravia, the park's level sward, 
The lisp of my lady, the smile of my lord, 
For the rude Highland shieling, the bed of brown heath, 
And the rush of the torrent, Ben Nevis beneath — 
For the shrill salutation of Sandy at morn, 
And the eagle's wild scream, like a message of scorn ! 
Oh come ! for the heather has purpled the hills, 
The crags are all golden, and bright are the riUs ; 
And far o'er the moorland the call of the bird 
By the ear of the sportsman delighted is heard ; 
The Grey-hen has led forth her fledglings to feed, 
Till they 're heavy and plump, and are prizes indeed ; 
The Gorcock hath preened his red plumes in the sun, 
Till they seem the rich warmth of its beams to have won ; 
And the great Capercailzie hath crowed in the woods, 
'Mid the whisper of pines, and the flashing of floods, 
Till the slim lady-birches afar in the glen 
Seenied to dance, and shrill echo sent answer again.* 
Yes, come to the mountain, and come to the moor ; 
We sound not the pibroch, nor draw the claymore : 
The sons of the mist to the Saxon give hail, 
And welcome them all to the land of the Gael ! 
The Twelfth of August ! This is the great annual exodus 
of the lovers of shooting and of healthful exercise — the 
going forth of all and sundry who can leave their daily 
avocations and cares, and enjoy themselves for a while amid 
the romantic scenery of Scotland the renowned and 
picturesque. Now it is, when a golden tinge begins to 
pervade the corn-fields, and the first leaves are turning 
brown, and in the valleys, and on the upland slopes, the 
gossamers are weaving their silver webs, that the land of 
the Gael is invaded by an army of eager sportsmen, intent 
on filling their game-bags, and proving that they have 
steady arms and quick eyes. In the rocky glen through 
which the whimpling burnie flows — 
Where the Black-cock sweetest sips it, 
And the latest fairy trips it, 
