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Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad

measure, The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid, To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright

treasure, The wisdom that plann'd, and the zeal that

obey'd ! Fill WELLINGTON's cup till it beam like his glory, Forget not our own brave DALHOUSIE and

GRÆME ; A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their

story, And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame.

SONG,

ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE

HOUSE OF BUCCLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOOT-BALL MATCH ON

CARTERHAUGH.1

From the brown crest of Newark its summons

extending, Our signal is waving in smoke and in flame; And each forester blithe, from his mountain de

scending, Bounds light o'er the heather to join in the game.

CHORUS. Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more ; In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her, With heart and with hand, like our fathers before.

1[This song appears with music in Mr. G. Thomson's Collection—1826. The foot-ball match on which it was written took place on December 5, 1815, and was also celebrated by the Ettrick Shepherd.]

ON LIFTING THE BANNER OF BUCCLEUCH. 267 When the Southern invader spread waste and dis

order, At the glance of her crescents he paused and

withdrew, For around them were marshalld the pride of the

Border, The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of BucCLEUCH.

Then up with the Banner, &c.

A Stripling's weak hand to our revel has borne

her, No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen sur

round; But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should

scorn her, A thousand true hearts would be cold on the ground.

Then up with the Banner, &c.

We forget each contention of civil dissension,
And hail, like our brethren, HOME, DOUGLAS,

and CAR: And Elliot and PRINGLE in pastime shall mingle, As welcome in peace as their fathers in war.

Then up with the Banner, &c.

Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the

weather, 1[The bearer of the standard was the Author's eldest son.]

And if, by mischance, you should happen to

fall, There are worse things in life than a tumble on

heather, And life is itself but a game at foot-ball.

Then up with the Banner, &c.

And when it is over, we'll drink a blithe measure To each Laird and each Lady that witness'd

our fun, And to every blithe heart that took part in our

pleasure, To the lads that have lost and the lads that

have won.

Then up with the Banner, &c.

May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and

Landward, From the hall of the Peer to the Herd's ingle

nook ; And huzza! my brave hearts, for BUCCLEUCH

and his standard, For the King and the Country, the Clan and

the Duke!

Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her,

She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more; In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her, With heart and with hand, like our fathers

before.

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The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The others were written for Mr Campbell's Albyn's Anthology.

[1816.]

“Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ?

Why weep ye by the tide ?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,

And ye sall be his bride :
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen ”—
But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean.

“ Now let this wilful grief be done,

And dry that cheek so pale ;

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