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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 Graeme;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 BUCOLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOOT-BALL MATCH ON

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

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.J

ON LIFTING THE BANNER OP BUCCLEUCII. 267

When the Southern invader spread waste and disorder, At the glance of her crescents he paused and withdrew, For around them were marshall'd the pride of the Border, The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of Buc

CLEUCH.

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 surround;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 inglenook;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 CampbeWs Albyn's Anthology.

[1816.]

I. "Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?

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

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

Sae comely to be seen "—
But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For Jock of Hazeldean.

Ii.
"Now let this wilful grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale;

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