In this highly decorated hall the walls were covered with gorgeous tapestry from the splendidly brilliant looms of Arras, and which presented to the delighted eye various patriotic stories from Scottish as well as from Roman history. Here the feats of Wallace, there the victories of the Bruce; here were seen Marcus Curtius plunging with his charger into the yawning gulf, who nobly devoted his life for his country! Next frowned Brutus on the banished Tarquins; and next were portrayed the glorious achievements of the Decii and Fabii.
The guests in due order arrived; and good-humour and hilarity shed their social charms. The harp and the bagpipe were alternately played during dinner. The cloth being removed, the song and the tale passed round. One of the Annandale clan sung the following song:--
O! the lovely lass of Yarrow, Nane is like the lass of Yarrow; The sedge grows green by Gala's stream; Her name I'll carve upon the willow.
I've roam'd the sunny braes of Ayr, Hae ranged the bonnie banks of Doon; Beheld the winsome lassies there, In vernal morn and simmer's noon. But the lovely lass of Yarrow, &c. &c.
I've sail'd on Katrine's leesome lake, Hae climb'd the lofty Lomond's brow; Fair nymphs hae seen o' heav'nly make-- So sweet a form yet ne'er till now, Like the lovely lass of Yarrow, &c. &c.
This song was well received. The goblet having opened their hearts, prevented them from being too fastidious in their criticism. A song was now loudly called for from the Nithsdale clan, when auld Davie Maxwell, with much feeling sung the following:
I winna tell my Jeanie dear Our bairn's to battle gane; Her heart wad break, unshed a tear, For him, our anely wean.
I mauna tell--I dare nae speak The direful words accurst; The tale my Jeanie's heart wad break, And then my ane wad burst!
I'll say that to the Hielands flane, Or to the village fair, Our manly, darling bairn's gane; But nae ane ward o' war!
Or thae amid the birken shaw, Or in the Rowan-Bower, Or wand'ring o'er the heathry haugh, To while awa the hour.
But ah! nae mair I'll Jeanie tell, Nor word of battle speak, Nor at Kil'kranky's pass he fell, For then her heart wad break!
This pathetic little production produced much applause. And now stoups of claret circled round the table, certainly in an increased ratio of rapidity. Nor was the native Fairntosh neglected; for some, who complained that claret was too cold for a Caledonian stomach, accordingly fortified the same with some simple potations of their native spirit.
