"
Minstrelsy Of The Border "
Boast, Hawick, Boast, Thy structures reared
in blood
Shall rise triumphant over flame and flood;
Still doomed to prosper, since, on Flodden's field
Thy sons a hardy band unwont to yield,
Fall with their Martial King, and-glorious boast-
Gained proud renown, where Scotia's fame was lost
Between red ezlarbanks, that frightful scowl,
Fringed with grey hazel, roars the mining Roull;
Where Turnbulls once, a race no power could awe,
Lined the rough skirts of stormy Rubieslaw.
Bold was the chief from whom their line they drew,
Whose nervous arm the furious bison slew,
The bison fiercest race of Scotia's breed,
Whose bounding course outstrip'd the red deer's speed
By hunters chafed encircled on the plain,
He frowning shook his yellow lion mane,
Spurned with black hoof in bursting rage the ground,
And fiercely toss'd his moony horns round
On Scotia's lord he rushed with lighting speed,
Bent hi his strong neck, to toss the startled steed;
His arms robust the hardy hunter flung
Around his bending horns and upward rung,
With writhing force his neck retorted round,
And roll'd the panting monster on the ground,
Crush'd with enormous strength his bony skull;
and courtiers hail'd the man who turned the bull.
By John Leyden 1755 - 1811