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Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms ”
Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general conquest. 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 he 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.
The following War song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volunteers, to which it was addressed, was raised in 1707, 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 Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure, of arming frcemen in defence of their own rights, was nowhere more succes ful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3ooo 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 vestros 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,
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd;
* The Royal Colours.
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;–
* David of the white Rock.
his harp, and composed the sweet melancholy air to which these verses are united, requesting that it might be performed at his funeral.
DiNAs EMLINN, lament, for the moment is nigh,
In spring and in autumn, thy glories of shade
Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side; But where is the harp shall give life to their name? And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame?
And oh, Dinas Emlinn thy daughters so fair,
Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy lowed scene, To join the dim choir of the bards who have been; With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, And sage Telessin, high harping to hold.
And adieu, Dinas Emlinn' still green be thy shades, Unconquerod thy warriors, and matchless thy maids! And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell, Farewell, my loved harp ! my last treasure, farewell!
The MAID OF TORO.
O, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,
All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle,
“O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying!
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. 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,
How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?
When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded,
The first stanza of this ballad is ancient. His remains
JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. - Ain-A Border Melody.
The others were written for Mr Campbell's Albyn's Anthology.
* - Sleep on till day." These words, adapted to a melody somewhat different from the original, are sung in ": friend Mr Terry's drama of Guy Mannering.