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His shallop to the shore he steer'd,
And took the fliers in.

And while against the tide and wind
Hans stoutly row'd his way,
The noble to his follower sign'd

He should the boatman slay.

The fisher's back was to them turn'd,
The squire his dagger drew,
Hans saw his shadow in the lake,
The boat he overthrew.

He whelm'd the boat, and as they strove,
He stunn'd them with his oar;
"Now drink ye deep, my gentle sirs,
You'll ne'er stab boatman more.

"Two gilded fishes in the lake
This morning have I caught,
Their silver scales may much avail,
Their carrion flesh is naught."

It was a messenger of wo

Has sought the Austrian land; "Ah! gracious lady, evil news!

My lord lies on the strand.

"At Sempach, on the battle field,
His bloody corpse lies there."
"Ah, gracious God!" the lady cried,
What tidings of despair!"

Now would you know the minstrel wight,
Who sings of strife so stern,
Albert the Souter is he hight,
A burgher of Lucerne.

A merry man was he, I wot,
The night he made the lay,
Returning from the bloody spot
Where God had judged the day.

Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary,
Cleft was his helmet, and wo was his mien.

"O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying.
O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low!
Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying;
And fast through the woodland approaches the

foe."

Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow,

And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with

despair:

And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,
For ever he set to the brave and the fair.

WAR-SONG

OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.

Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms?

Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general con

quest.

Had we a difference with some petty isle,

Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks,
The taking in of some rebellious lord,

Or making head against a slight commotion,
After a day of blood peace might be argued:
But where we grapple for the land we live on,
The liberty we hold more dear than life,
The gods we worship, and, next these, our honours,
And, with those, swords that know no end of battle-
Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour,
Those minds, that, where the day is claim inheritance,
And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest,
And where they march but measure out more ground
To add to Rome-

It must not be.-No! as they are our foes,
Let's use the peace of honour-that's fair dealing;
But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman,
That thinks to graft himself into my stock,
Must first begin his kindred under ground,
And be allied in ashes.

Bonduca.

THE MAID OF TORO.

O LOW shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,
And weak were the whispers that waved the dark
wood,

THE following war-song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volunteers, to which it was addressed, was raised in 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own expense. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the honourable Lieutenant-colonel

All as a fair maiden bewilder'd in sorrow,
Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure, of

flood.

arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was

"O saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bend-nowhere more successful than in Edinburgh, which

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furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps of artillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a force, above all others, might, in similar circumstances, be applied the exhortation of our ancient Galgacus: "Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores vcstros et posteros cogitate."

To horse! to horse! the standard flies,
The bugles sound the call;
The Gallic navy stems the seas,
The voice of battle's on the breeze,
Arouse ye, one and all!

From high Dunedin's towers we come,
A band of brothers true ;

Our casques the leopard's spoils surround;
With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd,
We boast the red and blue.*

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown
Dull Holland's tardy train;

Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn,
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,
And foaming gnaw the chain;

O had they mark'd th' avenging callt Their brethren's murder gave, Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, Nor patriot valour, desperate grown, Sought freedom in the grave!

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
In freedom's temple born,
Dress our pale cheeks in timid smile,
To hail a master in our isle,

Or brook a victor's scorn?

No! though destruction o'er the land Come pouring as a flood,

The sun that sees our falling day Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway, And set that night in blood.

For gold let Gallia's legions fight,
Or plunder's bloody gain;
Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw,
To guard our king, to fence our law,
Nor shall their edge be vain.

If ever breath of British gale
Shall fan the tri-colour,

Or footstep of invader rude,

With rapine foul, and red with blood, Pollute our happy shore

Then farewell home! and farewell friends!
Adieu each tender tie!

Resolved, we mingle in the tide,
Where charging squadrons furious ride,
To conquer or to die.

To horse to horse! the sabres gleam;
High sounds our bugle call;
Combined by honour's sacred tie,
Our word is, Laws and Liberty!

March forward, one and all!

MAC-GREGOR'S GATHERING.

WRITTEN FOR ALBYN'S ANTHOLOGY. Air-Thain' a Grigalach.*

THESE Verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively gathering-tune, used by the Mac-Gregors The severe treatment of this clan, their outlawry and the proscription of their very name, are alluded

to in the ballad.

THE Moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,

And the clan has a name that is nameless by day! Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach!

Gather, gather, gather, &c.

Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew, Must be heard but by night in our vengeful baloo! Then haloo, Gregalach! haloo, Gregalach! Haloo, haloo, haloo, Gregalach, &c.

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her towers,

Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours:

We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach!
Landless, landless, landless, &c.

But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord
Mac-Gregor has still both his heart and his sword!
Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalach!
Courage, courage, courage, &c.

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles!

Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gregalach!

Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c.

While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the river,

Mac-Gregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever! Come then, Gregalach! come then, Gregalach! Come then, come then, come then, &c. Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career,

O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer,

And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt, Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt! Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach! Gather, gather, gather, &c.

*The royal colours.

†The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss guards, on the fatal 10th of August, 1792. It is painful, but not useless, to remark, that the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded the death of their bravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty, encou raged and authorized the progressive injustice by which the Alps, once the seat of the most virtuous and free people upon the continent, have, at length, been converted into the citadel of a foreign and military despot. A state degraded is half enslaved.

MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT.

Air-Chu till mi tuille.†

MACKRIMMON, hereditary piper to the laird of Macleod, is said to have composed this lament when the clan was about to depart upon a distan

"The Mac-Gregor is come." "We return no more."

The

the head of an army superior to his own.
words of the set theme, or melody, to which the
pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic:
Piobaireachd Dhonuil, piobaireachd Dhonuil;
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonull;

and dangerous expedition. The minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; and hence the Gaelic words, "Cha till mi tuille; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Macrimmon," "I shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mack-Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; rimmon shall never return!" The piece is but too Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. well known, from its being the strain with which The pipe summons of Donald the Black, the emigrants from the west highlands and isles The pipe summons of Donald the Black, usually take leave of their native shore. The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place at Inverlochy.

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And call the brave

To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers,
Redder rain shall soon be ours-
See, the east grows wan-
Yield we place to sterner game,
Ere deadlier bolts and drearer flame
Shall the welkin's thunders shame ;
Elemental rage is tame

To the wrath of mar.

At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe
Heard of the vision'd sights he saw,

The legend heard him say:
But the seer's gifted eye was dim,
Deafen'd his ear, and stark his Jimb,
Ere closed that bloody day.

He sleeps far from his nighland heath-
But often of the Dance of Death

His comrades tell the tale

On piquet-post, when ebbs the night,
And waning watch-fires grow less bright,
And dawn is glimmering pale.

FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. ENCHANTRESS, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me, At the close of the evening, through woodlands to roam,

Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me

Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild, speaking

The language alternate of rapture and wo: O! none but some lover, whose heart-strings arc breaking,

The pang that I feel at our parting can know.

Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came Sorrow,

Or pale disappointment, to darken my way, What voice was like thine, that could sing of to

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HELLVELLYN.

IN the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland.

I CLIMB'D the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and wide;

All was still, save by fits when the eagle was yelling,

And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending,

And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,
When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer
had died.

Dark green was the spot 'mid the brown mountain heather,

Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretch'd in

decay,

Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless

clay.

Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill fox and the raven away.

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?

When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?

How many long days and long weeks didst thou number,

Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? And, O! was it meet that, no requiem read o'er him,

No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him,

Unhonour'd the pilgrim from life should depart?

When a prince to the fate of the pensant has yielded,

The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall;

With 'scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall:
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches
are gleaming;

In the proudly-arch'd chapel the banners are beam.
ing;
Far adown the lone aisle sacred music is streaming
Lamenting a chief of the people should fall.

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