"The spirits of Heaven launch not this
tempest on a defenseless head; 'tis chance!--but affliction shapes all
things to its own likeness. Thou, oh, my Father! would not suffer any
demon of the air to bend thy broken reed! Therefore rain on, ye
torrents; ye are welcome to William Wallace. He can well breast the
mountain's storm, who has stemmed the ingratitude of his country."
Hills, rivers, and vales were measured by his solitary steps, till
entering on the heights of Clydesdale, the broad river of his native
glen spread its endeared waters before him. Not a wave passed along
that had not kissed the feet of some scene consecrated to his memory.
Over the western hills lay the lands of his forefathers. There he had
first drawn his breath; there he imbibed from the lips of his revered
grandfather, now no more, those lessons of virtue by which he had
lived, and for which he was now ready to die. Far to the left
stretched the wide domains of Lammington: there his youthful heart
first knew the pulse of love: there all nature smiled upon him, for
Marion was near, and hope hailed him, from every sunlit mountain's
brow. Onward in the depths of the cliffs, lay Ellerslie, the home of
his heart, where he had tasted the joys of Paradise; but all there,
like that once blessed place, now lay in one wide ruin.
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